NewEgg is my favorite place to buy hardware: Near rock-bottom prices, no-hassle returns, lots of information about what you’re buying, customer reviews for every item, no monkey business about shipping costs. I have a good feeling buying from NewEgg.

But I hate their marketing campaign: “Shop there, buy here.” We’re supposed to go to our local computer store, waste some salesperson’s time, get her expectations up that we’re going to buying from her, and then buy at NewEgg because Newegg’s prices are low … and those prices are low because NewEgg asks us to steal services from another store.

I don’t have a good feeling about buying from a parasite.

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Every time a ball fails to clear the fence, assume that the players are already giving 110% and calculate exactly how many more percentage points were needed to make it a home run.

Supply the answer in the form, “If baseball player had only given ___%, that would have been a homer.” Repeat until your wife and son go upstairs to watch in your bedroom.

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I fell into a social black hole last night.

The crowd was exiting from what was probably the best single day of PopTech in the five years I’ve been coming. A bunch of people I know and like were going to a cocktail party about a mile away. I decided not to go because ever since my freshman year in college, I’ve noticed that parties with loud music, people I don’t know, and crudites push me into a recursive mumbling awkwardness that is only cured by leaving. (It’s actually been diagnosed as a mild form of aphasia.)

So, I found myself on the too-pretty streets of Camden with no one to eat dinner with or even to whine to. I poked my head into a few restaurants looking for people I recognized. No luck. I had a quick (but too-expensive) dinner in an Italian restaurant, sitting at the bar (no tables were available), reading a magazine. Then I bought a copy of The Weekly World News (“President Finishing National Guard Service” — that’s what all those long vacations have been about), went back to my motel room, and moped.

I am a social putz, no matter what The Washington Post says.

On the other hand, while spinning the dial last night, I saw a great Sarah McLachlan music video (is that what we call them these days?): “This video cost $100,000.” It shows how that $100,000 was actually spent doing good around the world.

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Halley is hilarious (and ribald) about why she hates b&b’s.

I hate them too, but my reasons don’t require me to use the phrase “doggy-style.” In part it’s because, as Halley puts it so well, “The kooky couples who decide to run them are eavesdroppers at best and psychotic quaintmongers at worst.” Ok, that’s a tad harsh (but funny), but it’s true that, in my experience, the owners often trangress the lines. For example, the owner of one b-and-b carefully pointed out to us a coffee table book the cover of which had a photo of a baby emerging from a vagina. “That’s our daughter,” she said proudly, leaving it to us to decide if she was referring to the baby or the vagina. Some questions are better left unasked. (Of course, that left our coos of “Gosh, so beautiful!” unfortunately ambiguous.)

Even when the owners are not characters played by Kathy Bates, I have other issues that make bed-and-breakfasts only a little more appealing than sleeping on a tarp spread out in a parking lot. For example:

The owners pretend to be delighted to see you.

You have to pretend to be interested in their collection of 19th century compass tips.

Your strained conversations with the owners come precisely at the moments when you don’t want to have a strained conversation: When you’re checking in after a long trip and when you want to read a newspaper while eating breakfast.

The obsessive orderliness of their house silently rebukes my own slovenly appearance.

Apparently I am supposed to be so fascinated by my room’s knotty pine paneling that I won’t want to watch TV.

Before you leave in the morning, you have to examine your room to see what kind of impression you’re making.

Stealing the towels takes a special kind of courage.

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Are my long, long days of frying electronic components finally over?

Long-time readers (Hi, Mom!) know that I go through computers, computers, hard drives, hard drives, hard drives, stereos, monitors, laptops and even high-end surge protectors the way I go Frosted Flakes — an entire box at a time.

So, about 6-9 months ago, we paid the Louis Pearson electric company to investigate. Their diagnosis: I needed two new 20-amp lines pulled into my office. That required replacing the electric panel we’d put in 10 years ago. A thousand dollars later, the situation was still SNAFU: Situation Normal, All Fried Up. Plus, my new, soon-to-be-fried uninterruptible power supply tells me that I’m actually pulling well under 10 amps in my office, and thus didn’t really need the 2 new cables.

Yesterday, Walter Nowicki, Master Electrician came by. Here’s his report:

Investigate voltage issues. Findings:
No ground at phone or CATV
Loose ground at offset nipple customer panel. 24-22 volts from ground to neutral
Broken coupling at grounding electrode conductor
No house side bond
No supplemental grounding loose node
Loose ground at tenant panel

After tightening the offset nipple (ok, so I don’t look in the mirror that often), the voltage differential went waaaay down. (Please do not ask me questions. I do not know what I’m talking about. I can’t even read Walter’s handwriting precisely.)

Here are thumbnails of my new hero, Walter Nowicki. Why, I’m even tempted to give him a wiki! (Click on the photos to see them full-size.)

Main panel – disconnected strap from neutral

Loose ground connection – “nipple” between panel and meter

Tenant’s panel – no bushing on power coming in

Main cut off – Ancient as Capone’s vault

Grounding pipe needs work

Current where there shouldn’t be

Walter J. Nowicki, Master Electrician

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View from Blogger Blvd

Rebecca Blood and Dave Winer in Bloggerland

Edwards pauses while the crowd cheers

Press banks on the floor

At the DCCC & Google party

Rebecca Blood sees the sign of the end of blogging as we know it

Bloggers party. Can you spot the garofalo?

Granny D, not walking across America

Jessamyn West, with Christian Crumlish in the shadows

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So, when Symantec’s Anti-Virus program — which has been around for, what, 75 years? — lists the viruses it’s found, it gives you the three key pieces of information: The name of the infected file, the virus, and the action Symantec took to fix the problem.

Click on this image to see the full screen capture.

Unfortunately, there’s not enough room in the window to list everything. And it’s an un-resizable window with no horizontal scroll bar. And, no, hovering doesn’t work.

Another couple of decades and maybe Symantec will get this right.

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