Good news: the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette is for sale at the Mighty Minn Mart and other places in Loonfoot Falls. No problems with our production.
The servers, on the other hand - that's another matter.
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Small Town Charm: With Internet
I read a warm, glowing account of life in small town America this week. It started with something like "Take a step back in time, to a simpler world without the cares and worries of today."
I don't know where that place is: but it's not like any small town I know. Sure, the buildings downtown are mostly around a hundred years old. That's partly because the town's grown out more than up. In our case, mostly toward the Interstate. Those old fashioned storefronts reappeared a few years ago, after City Hall realized that folks passing through liked the olde towne look.
What you see today is 'authentic:' but it's what we got after tearing off paneling set up in the fifties and sixties. It took a lot of sandblasting, paint, and elbow grease to get something like fifty years of cobwebs, bat droppings, and, in one case, smoke, removed.
Are we isolated? Some folks in Loonfoot Falls don't have a full telephone/cable/Internet hookup in their homes: but it's a matter of choice or economic necessity. The technology's there, ready to be connected.
Our Internet services use the newish cable that's been laid alongside the Interstate. Cable television comes in mostly from satellites. The lot behind Vidiconnections is covered with dish antennas, and so is the ground around another cable service's mast a few miles outside town.
It's good that folks think nice thoughts about small towns in America. I sort of like it here, myself. But let's get real.
I don't know where that place is: but it's not like any small town I know. Sure, the buildings downtown are mostly around a hundred years old. That's partly because the town's grown out more than up. In our case, mostly toward the Interstate. Those old fashioned storefronts reappeared a few years ago, after City Hall realized that folks passing through liked the olde towne look.
What you see today is 'authentic:' but it's what we got after tearing off paneling set up in the fifties and sixties. It took a lot of sandblasting, paint, and elbow grease to get something like fifty years of cobwebs, bat droppings, and, in one case, smoke, removed.
Are we isolated? Some folks in Loonfoot Falls don't have a full telephone/cable/Internet hookup in their homes: but it's a matter of choice or economic necessity. The technology's there, ready to be connected.
Our Internet services use the newish cable that's been laid alongside the Interstate. Cable television comes in mostly from satellites. The lot behind Vidiconnections is covered with dish antennas, and so is the ground around another cable service's mast a few miles outside town.
It's good that folks think nice thoughts about small towns in America. I sort of like it here, myself. But let's get real.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Silly Season, LFTV, and Howard Leland
Ever notice how, in August, you're more likely to see news about, say, off street parking or prize beagles on the front page? It's called the silly season. I read a post on Boston.com about this phenomenon: what Miriam Webster online says is "a period (as late summer) when the mass media often focus on trivial or frivolous matters for lack of major news stories."
Which reminds me of what happened when I went to Vidiconnections, to get pictures of their antenna farm. Howard Leland was there, too: at their public access
television center, LFTV, taping a sort of infomercial.
I thought he'd be plugging his Loonfoot Falls Museum of Lint and Gum Wrappers. He explained that plans weren't far enough along to make a public appeal. His goal that day was to raise awareness and funds for the SPCD, or Society for the Prevention of Continental Drift.
I'll say this for Howard Leland: his sense of civic duty is quite well developed. He has, for a time, set aside his dream of a museum celebrating undervalued cultural treasures: in a quest to stop North America's reckless march westward.
He was quite disappointed that LFTV wouldn't air a program by SPCD's candidate in the midterm election, and even more disappointed when I wouldn't sign SPCD's latest petition to Congress.
He perked up considerably when I agreed to let everyone reading this column know that he'd be on LFTV, warning of the dangers of continental drift, next Wednesday at 10:30 p.m.
Which reminds me of what happened when I went to Vidiconnections, to get pictures of their antenna farm. Howard Leland was there, too: at their public access
television center, LFTV, taping a sort of infomercial.
I thought he'd be plugging his Loonfoot Falls Museum of Lint and Gum Wrappers. He explained that plans weren't far enough along to make a public appeal. His goal that day was to raise awareness and funds for the SPCD, or Society for the Prevention of Continental Drift.
I'll say this for Howard Leland: his sense of civic duty is quite well developed. He has, for a time, set aside his dream of a museum celebrating undervalued cultural treasures: in a quest to stop North America's reckless march westward.
He was quite disappointed that LFTV wouldn't air a program by SPCD's candidate in the midterm election, and even more disappointed when I wouldn't sign SPCD's latest petition to Congress.
He perked up considerably when I agreed to let everyone reading this column know that he'd be on LFTV, warning of the dangers of continental drift, next Wednesday at 10:30 p.m.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Today It Warmed Up
With bright sun and temperatures in the high 20s today, I decided to give my car a long-overdue wash during my lunch break.
Quite a few other people had the same idea. I was third in line at the Mighty Minn Mart's drive-through wash. No problem: I'd budgeted time for a delay like this.
My turn came, I drove up and punched my code into the keypad, and drove forward.
No: I planned to drive forward. What actually happened was that after going about six inches forward, I heard the tires spin and felt my car slide to the left.
There was a sort of reverse rut where dozens, maybe hundreds, of people had driven into the wash. Mighty Minn Mart's plowed and shoveled, but compacted snow and ice are as stubborn as some of our older Norwegians.
So, my front-wheel-drive car started rolling up a narrow ridge that had been periodically washed with warm, moist air from the car wash all morning. And lost traction, sliding off the ridge.
Good news: I didn't damage the keypad's box, and my car wasn't more than dented.
Bad news: I wasn't going anywhere until I got my car and that box away from each other.
More good news: Jake Nordstrom and Stan Parks were there, and the three of us were able to shove my car over to where I could drive forward. Around here, meeting people you know at a convenience store isn't much of a coincidence. Thanks, guys!
Quite a few other people had the same idea. I was third in line at the Mighty Minn Mart's drive-through wash. No problem: I'd budgeted time for a delay like this.
My turn came, I drove up and punched my code into the keypad, and drove forward.
No: I planned to drive forward. What actually happened was that after going about six inches forward, I heard the tires spin and felt my car slide to the left.
There was a sort of reverse rut where dozens, maybe hundreds, of people had driven into the wash. Mighty Minn Mart's plowed and shoveled, but compacted snow and ice are as stubborn as some of our older Norwegians.
So, my front-wheel-drive car started rolling up a narrow ridge that had been periodically washed with warm, moist air from the car wash all morning. And lost traction, sliding off the ridge.
Good news: I didn't damage the keypad's box, and my car wasn't more than dented.
Bad news: I wasn't going anywhere until I got my car and that box away from each other.
More good news: Jake Nordstrom and Stan Parks were there, and the three of us were able to shove my car over to where I could drive forward. Around here, meeting people you know at a convenience store isn't much of a coincidence. Thanks, guys!
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Dark Story of This Week's Column
Power failures always come at an inconvenient time. Think about it: when would it be convenient, for the lights to go out, the furnace to stop working, and your computer monitor to go black?
Okay: maybe you're one of those folks whose livelihood doesn't depend on whether or not the network and your computer are on speaking terms.
Speaking of which: hats off to Stan Parks, who came out to work on our Vacnet servers this evening. They were a bit temperamental, after the power outage.
There are all sorts of winter storms. Some are howling blizzards. Others involve serene descents of lovely drifting snowflakes whose accumulated weight collapses the roof.
Today's storm specialized in ice. Lots of ice. Layers of ice. Sheets of ice.
Ice on power lines. And cars.
When I let him in, Stan Parks told me that my car, had about a quarter-inch of ice on it. I'm seriously considering staying here in the office overnight.
By now, you may be wondering why there's so much "me" and "I" in this column. Aren't I supposed to be writing about something or someone in Loonfoot Falls? You're quite right: and I had a perfectly nice column written, when the lights went out.
Stan tells me it may still be somewhere in the digital depths of the network's memory. He may even be able to get it out, eventually.
But deadlines are deadlines. So this week's column will be an explanation of why there's no column this week.
Okay: maybe you're one of those folks whose livelihood doesn't depend on whether or not the network and your computer are on speaking terms.
Speaking of which: hats off to Stan Parks, who came out to work on our Vacnet servers this evening. They were a bit temperamental, after the power outage.
There are all sorts of winter storms. Some are howling blizzards. Others involve serene descents of lovely drifting snowflakes whose accumulated weight collapses the roof.
Today's storm specialized in ice. Lots of ice. Layers of ice. Sheets of ice.
Ice on power lines. And cars.
When I let him in, Stan Parks told me that my car, had about a quarter-inch of ice on it. I'm seriously considering staying here in the office overnight.
By now, you may be wondering why there's so much "me" and "I" in this column. Aren't I supposed to be writing about something or someone in Loonfoot Falls? You're quite right: and I had a perfectly nice column written, when the lights went out.
Stan tells me it may still be somewhere in the digital depths of the network's memory. He may even be able to get it out, eventually.
But deadlines are deadlines. So this week's column will be an explanation of why there's no column this week.
Friday, June 19, 2009
'Sam' and the Electrifying Case of the Modem and the Surge Protector
A fellow I know, I'll call him Sam, lives over a hundred miles north and west of here, on an old farmstead near a smallish town. He's a very smart man, but not particularly tech-savvy. But, he'd read about home computers, and all the information that's available on the Internet.
So, he bought a computer, printer, surge protector: the whole works.
Sam decided to pay someone to get the system running.
The fellow from town who ‘knew about computers' got cables plugged into boxes, power, and telephone outlets: and when he was through, Sam's computer started up.
Sam was delighted. He started learning how to use Google, and was developing a small set of favorite websites.
Sam was climbing a rather steep learning curve, when the first big thunderstorm of the season hit. When it was over, his computer worked, but he couldn't find anything on the Internet.
In that part of the country, rural telephone lines are all above ground. The network of poles and wires act as a giant lightning attractor. The relatively low-tech telephones don't seem to be affected that much, but a modem is something else.
The fellow who "knew about computers" had bypassed the telephone sockets in the surge protector, and plugged a telephone cord directly into the modem. Which, after the storm, was a bit of high tech pop sculpture.
Sam got a new modem, and he's surfing the Web again. But this time, without the help of the fellow who "knew about computers."
So, he bought a computer, printer, surge protector: the whole works.
Sam decided to pay someone to get the system running.
The fellow from town who ‘knew about computers' got cables plugged into boxes, power, and telephone outlets: and when he was through, Sam's computer started up.
Sam was delighted. He started learning how to use Google, and was developing a small set of favorite websites.
Sam was climbing a rather steep learning curve, when the first big thunderstorm of the season hit. When it was over, his computer worked, but he couldn't find anything on the Internet.
In that part of the country, rural telephone lines are all above ground. The network of poles and wires act as a giant lightning attractor. The relatively low-tech telephones don't seem to be affected that much, but a modem is something else.
The fellow who "knew about computers" had bypassed the telephone sockets in the surge protector, and plugged a telephone cord directly into the modem. Which, after the storm, was a bit of high tech pop sculpture.
Sam got a new modem, and he's surfing the Web again. But this time, without the help of the fellow who "knew about computers."
Friday, May 29, 2009
Have MRI, Will Travel
One of the perks of being a journalist, or at least a columnist, is having an excuse to strike up conversations with just about anybody. I've gotten to know people in the porta potty maintenance business, a unicycling computer store owner, and now MRI technologist Harold Floyd.
He travels with Central Minnesota Diagnostic's Mobile Magnetic Resonance Imaging unit. The thing weighs a couple tons, and travels inside a semitrailer, visiting hospitals in this part of the state. That way, people in smaller towns can use up-to-date imaging technology without traveling an hour or more to a city.
I talked with Harold after he'd taken care of his last patient for the day at St. Damian's Hospital. The last one to show up, anyway.
Harold Floyd's been doing MRI scans for about three years. He's certified to use other imaging technologies, too. He spent around four years, learning which buttons to push and what not to do.
Safety is a big deal for people running MRI scanners. Their supercooled magnets have sucked everything from paper clips to a firefighter's air tank into an MRI's donut hole. The firefighter survived, but a six-year-old died, back in 2001, when a steel oxygen tank hit him.
On the lighter side, Harold showed me how the American Registry of Magnetic Resonance Imaging Technologists, ARMRIT, looks a lot like "armpit," if part of the "R" is covered.
He'd have told me more, but at that point it was time to head out to the next stop.
He travels with Central Minnesota Diagnostic's Mobile Magnetic Resonance Imaging unit. The thing weighs a couple tons, and travels inside a semitrailer, visiting hospitals in this part of the state. That way, people in smaller towns can use up-to-date imaging technology without traveling an hour or more to a city.
I talked with Harold after he'd taken care of his last patient for the day at St. Damian's Hospital. The last one to show up, anyway.
Harold Floyd's been doing MRI scans for about three years. He's certified to use other imaging technologies, too. He spent around four years, learning which buttons to push and what not to do.
Safety is a big deal for people running MRI scanners. Their supercooled magnets have sucked everything from paper clips to a firefighter's air tank into an MRI's donut hole. The firefighter survived, but a six-year-old died, back in 2001, when a steel oxygen tank hit him.
On the lighter side, Harold showed me how the American Registry of Magnetic Resonance Imaging Technologists, ARMRIT, looks a lot like "armpit," if part of the "R" is covered.
He'd have told me more, but at that point it was time to head out to the next stop.
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Rhythm of the Presses Pounding in My Brain - - -
It's just over two weeks since a small fire drove the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette staff into the street. For now, we're working on the press floor at Folden Press, where the Chronicle-Gazette gets printed.
Actually, we're just off the press floor, where they process large orders. Folden Press gets very busy, starting around Thanksgiving. We'd better be out of here by then.
Printing companies have a particular atmosphere. I'm not talking about feelings and associations. Between the inks, oils, and solvents, these places have a distinctive and noticeable bouquet.
While we were setting up here, Stan Parks was back at the old offices. He got permission to take the Vacnet servers out of the building: for which I am grateful. He also got the servers working again: about which I am impressed.
Stan strung together a network for us, here behind the press floor, with the Vacnet equipment sitting between two long tables: and a mess of cable and duct tape connecting it to a motley assembly of rented computers. Nobody's complained, very much, about the arrangement.
I think that's partly because Folden Press is such a successful company. Besides our paper, they do printing for several other weeklies in the area, plus advertising and a few catalogs.
That means that most of the time we've got the 'whooshathunkaTHUMPAklunka' of the printing presses permeating the air and our brains. I'm glad we have a place to work: but I'd have preferred one that didn't encourage the use of earplugs.
Actually, we're just off the press floor, where they process large orders. Folden Press gets very busy, starting around Thanksgiving. We'd better be out of here by then.
Printing companies have a particular atmosphere. I'm not talking about feelings and associations. Between the inks, oils, and solvents, these places have a distinctive and noticeable bouquet.
While we were setting up here, Stan Parks was back at the old offices. He got permission to take the Vacnet servers out of the building: for which I am grateful. He also got the servers working again: about which I am impressed.
Stan strung together a network for us, here behind the press floor, with the Vacnet equipment sitting between two long tables: and a mess of cable and duct tape connecting it to a motley assembly of rented computers. Nobody's complained, very much, about the arrangement.
I think that's partly because Folden Press is such a successful company. Besides our paper, they do printing for several other weeklies in the area, plus advertising and a few catalogs.
That means that most of the time we've got the 'whooshathunkaTHUMPAklunka' of the printing presses permeating the air and our brains. I'm glad we have a place to work: but I'd have preferred one that didn't encourage the use of earplugs.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Bill and Mavis, and the Incredible Kitchen Fountain
Ladies, if you've been frustrated about the way your husband maintains the house, consider this: it could be worse.
Men, don't let this happen to you.
I was taking a break the other day at one of the eateries here in Loonfoot Falls. Conversation from a tableful of women washed past, until I one of them said something like, ‘Bill's really done it this time.' The name wasn't Bill, and those aren't the exact words.
Like most people, I don't think I eavesdrop. Also like most people, it happens sometimes.
Bill and Mavis – not their real names – had some shelving to put up in the kitchen. Mavis thought the nails Bill was using were on the long side, but he pointed out that they had to be. Those shelves would be holding cooking supplies, and had to be securely fastened.
Bill started hammering. He drove the nail through the drywall, the stud, and a fraction of an inch into the water pipe. Mavis heard a sort of POP: followed by the sound of briskly flowing water, somewhere in the wall.
Bill reacted quickly, yanking the nail out. That might not have been the wisest move. Water was now streaming into the kitchen from a pencil-size hole in the wall.
By the time Mavis got the water shut off, there were few dry surfaces in the kitchen. And, thanks to Bill's attempts stem the tide with a frying pan, the back door had been thoroughly soaked: and was solidly frozen shut.
Men, don't let this happen to you.
I was taking a break the other day at one of the eateries here in Loonfoot Falls. Conversation from a tableful of women washed past, until I one of them said something like, ‘Bill's really done it this time.' The name wasn't Bill, and those aren't the exact words.
Like most people, I don't think I eavesdrop. Also like most people, it happens sometimes.
Bill and Mavis – not their real names – had some shelving to put up in the kitchen. Mavis thought the nails Bill was using were on the long side, but he pointed out that they had to be. Those shelves would be holding cooking supplies, and had to be securely fastened.
Bill started hammering. He drove the nail through the drywall, the stud, and a fraction of an inch into the water pipe. Mavis heard a sort of POP: followed by the sound of briskly flowing water, somewhere in the wall.
Bill reacted quickly, yanking the nail out. That might not have been the wisest move. Water was now streaming into the kitchen from a pencil-size hole in the wall.
By the time Mavis got the water shut off, there were few dry surfaces in the kitchen. And, thanks to Bill's attempts stem the tide with a frying pan, the back door had been thoroughly soaked: and was solidly frozen shut.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Sorry About That!
My apologies to Ed Brunsvold, whose latest column ("Manda LaFleur: Retiring Art Teacher Looking Forward With a "Quiet Country Sunrise"") should have been posted last Friday.
Actually, the column was posted on Friday: but was not available online until a few minutes ago. Ed finished writing about Manda LaFleur Friday afternoon, posted it to the server here in the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette offices, verified that it displayed correctly, and left for the weekend.
I was still in the office, doing a little maintenance, and left shortly after he did. Ed, I can't blame this on the gremlin. In order to keep off-site users from experiencing delays that my work might cause, I pointed off-site requests to a backup which had been made around noon.
When I left, I did not point off-site requests away from the backup, and back to the correct addresses. Right now, I'm determining how many items were affected over the weekend.
Again, I apologize.
And, Ed? I took the liberty of emptying the cup of coffee you left on your mousepad. The cup's by the second-floor coffeemaker.
Stan Parks
Actually, the column was posted on Friday: but was not available online until a few minutes ago. Ed finished writing about Manda LaFleur Friday afternoon, posted it to the server here in the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette offices, verified that it displayed correctly, and left for the weekend.
I was still in the office, doing a little maintenance, and left shortly after he did. Ed, I can't blame this on the gremlin. In order to keep off-site users from experiencing delays that my work might cause, I pointed off-site requests to a backup which had been made around noon.
When I left, I did not point off-site requests away from the backup, and back to the correct addresses. Right now, I'm determining how many items were affected over the weekend.
Again, I apologize.
And, Ed? I took the liberty of emptying the cup of coffee you left on your mousepad. The cup's by the second-floor coffeemaker.
Stan Parks
Friday, January 2, 2009
Looking Into the Winter Sky
It might seem that living in a small town means being isolated from the rest of the world: cut off from the ebb and flow of ideas and the rolling wheels of commerce.
Perhaps, but as I gaze out at the starlit sky the universe itself seems as close as the looming trees.
Orion stands in the southern sky, with Rigel, Bellatrix, and Betelgeuse shining like streetlights on some celestial boulevard. Beyond them, the Milky Way marks a galactic horizon.
Somewhere, in the darkness between those glittering lights, other galaxies spin. I can only make one out: the one in Andromeda, toward the west. It beckons, like a neighboring island might to a shipwrecked sailor.
Gazing into the ebon immensity of the intergalactic void, I remember the poet Tennyson's words:
"Many a hearth upon our dark globe sighs after many a vanish'd face,
"Many a planet by many a sun may roll with a dust of a vanish'd race.
"Raving politics, never at rest—as this poor earth's pale history runs,—
"What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?..."
Vastness. That was the name of the poem.
I wonder: did Tennyson look out on a sky like this when he wrote that?
As I glance from star to star, am I, unaware, looking into the distant eyes of another watcher? If we met, what would we discover we have in common?
Besides being in the middle of a power outage.
Perhaps, but as I gaze out at the starlit sky the universe itself seems as close as the looming trees.
Orion stands in the southern sky, with Rigel, Bellatrix, and Betelgeuse shining like streetlights on some celestial boulevard. Beyond them, the Milky Way marks a galactic horizon.
Somewhere, in the darkness between those glittering lights, other galaxies spin. I can only make one out: the one in Andromeda, toward the west. It beckons, like a neighboring island might to a shipwrecked sailor.
Gazing into the ebon immensity of the intergalactic void, I remember the poet Tennyson's words:
"Many a hearth upon our dark globe sighs after many a vanish'd face,
"Many a planet by many a sun may roll with a dust of a vanish'd race.
"Raving politics, never at rest—as this poor earth's pale history runs,—
"What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?..."
Vastness. That was the name of the poem.
I wonder: did Tennyson look out on a sky like this when he wrote that?
As I glance from star to star, am I, unaware, looking into the distant eyes of another watcher? If we met, what would we discover we have in common?
Besides being in the middle of a power outage.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The Gremlin in the Machine
One thing that separates Stan Parks from your run-of-the-mill IT expert and computer consultant is that he doesn't know everything.
And, admits it.
I know enough about information technology to strongly suspect that some 'experts' are either clueless, or assume that the rest of us are. Years ago, at one of my first jobs, I overheard a technician tell my boss (this was before I worked at the Chronicle-Gazette) that data had gotten "stuck in the cable."
That sounded like a good explanation for why data sent to the printer would drop out of sight, only to re-emerge later. Often, when special paper had been loaded.
Problem is, the cable was an inert piece of metal wire and plastic insulation, with a plug at each end. How data could get "stuck" in there - and come out undamaged - is beyond me. I think the tech was pulling my bosses leg. Or, covering his own lack of knowledge.
Anyway, Stan still doesn't know what caused the latest problem with our network. It's working now, after Stan did a cold boot, using a backed-up copy of the system from a couple weeks ago. That's not what Stan said: I'm translating it into English.
Why it went nuts, Stan doesn't know: and told us. He's taking data he pulled out when it was a little psycho, and says he'll see what he can learn from it.
At this point, I'm almost ready to believe that there really were gremlins in the building.
And, admits it.
I know enough about information technology to strongly suspect that some 'experts' are either clueless, or assume that the rest of us are. Years ago, at one of my first jobs, I overheard a technician tell my boss (this was before I worked at the Chronicle-Gazette) that data had gotten "stuck in the cable."
That sounded like a good explanation for why data sent to the printer would drop out of sight, only to re-emerge later. Often, when special paper had been loaded.
Problem is, the cable was an inert piece of metal wire and plastic insulation, with a plug at each end. How data could get "stuck" in there - and come out undamaged - is beyond me. I think the tech was pulling my bosses leg. Or, covering his own lack of knowledge.
Anyway, Stan still doesn't know what caused the latest problem with our network. It's working now, after Stan did a cold boot, using a backed-up copy of the system from a couple weeks ago. That's not what Stan said: I'm translating it into English.
Why it went nuts, Stan doesn't know: and told us. He's taking data he pulled out when it was a little psycho, and says he'll see what he can learn from it.
At this point, I'm almost ready to believe that there really were gremlins in the building.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Technical Difficulties and the IT Guy
I still like Stan Parks. He's the one who installed the Chronicle-Gazette's network.
I'm beginning to think he should get more sleep, though.
There's a good reason why you haven't seen last Friday's column online. I still can't log in. Even if I could, it probably wouldn't do much good. Candace Kane let me use her computer, after logging in, to get some work done: including that column.
Everything else went fine. In fact, I uploaded the column without any trouble.
Then, it disappeared.
The column, I mean. Candace's computer is fine.
Stan has been working since very early Saturday morning, trying to find out why the Chronicle-Gazette's new Frisco-Shamrock Envirowarp computers, and the Vacnet Local Area Network that connects them, had a psychotic break late Friday. And, fix it.
Someone here in the office suggested a crudely mechanical means of dealing with the issue. I sympathize, but Mr. Johnson's old pedestal fan might have been damaged in the process, so we dissuaded him.
Back to Stan.
I'd say that he hasn't slept since he arrived at the Chronicle-Gazette offices, early Saturday morning: but when I came in, early, Monday, to pick up some equipment, I heard snoring in Mr. Johnson's office.
It was Stan Parks, sitting at the Vacnet console. The monitor was displaying a 'progress' bar.
I'm beginning to think he should get more sleep, though.
There's a good reason why you haven't seen last Friday's column online. I still can't log in. Even if I could, it probably wouldn't do much good. Candace Kane let me use her computer, after logging in, to get some work done: including that column.
Everything else went fine. In fact, I uploaded the column without any trouble.
Then, it disappeared.
The column, I mean. Candace's computer is fine.
Stan has been working since very early Saturday morning, trying to find out why the Chronicle-Gazette's new Frisco-Shamrock Envirowarp computers, and the Vacnet Local Area Network that connects them, had a psychotic break late Friday. And, fix it.
Someone here in the office suggested a crudely mechanical means of dealing with the issue. I sympathize, but Mr. Johnson's old pedestal fan might have been damaged in the process, so we dissuaded him.
Back to Stan.
I'd say that he hasn't slept since he arrived at the Chronicle-Gazette offices, early Saturday morning: but when I came in, early, Monday, to pick up some equipment, I heard snoring in Mr. Johnson's office.
It was Stan Parks, sitting at the Vacnet console. The monitor was displaying a 'progress' bar.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Technical Difficulties and This Columnist
I like Stan Parks. He's a great guy: smart, diligent, and all that.
I'm beginning to wonder if he ever sleeps.
My telephone rang at about 2:15 Saturday morning. It was Stan. He was in the Chronicle-Gazette offices, getting up close and personal with our network. Seems it had decided to replace the current online version of the paper with articles that had no headlines, were datelined November 17, 2006, and were blank after that.
One more thing: my column was gone. Stan wanted me to know, so that I could re-post it. Good idea, actually.
Only one problem: I couldn't log in. I call Stan, let him know, and try to get back to sleep. About 9:00 Saturday morning, the phone rang again. It was Stan, asking me to try again.
Same result. Or, rather, lack of a result.
That went on all weekend. I've gotten on the network now, obviously, but the system won't let me upload anything.
That's it. I'm done for now. I've got an assignment tomorrow morning, and I have got to get some sleep.
I'm beginning to wonder if he ever sleeps.
My telephone rang at about 2:15 Saturday morning. It was Stan. He was in the Chronicle-Gazette offices, getting up close and personal with our network. Seems it had decided to replace the current online version of the paper with articles that had no headlines, were datelined November 17, 2006, and were blank after that.
One more thing: my column was gone. Stan wanted me to know, so that I could re-post it. Good idea, actually.
Only one problem: I couldn't log in. I call Stan, let him know, and try to get back to sleep. About 9:00 Saturday morning, the phone rang again. It was Stan, asking me to try again.
Same result. Or, rather, lack of a result.
That went on all weekend. I've gotten on the network now, obviously, but the system won't let me upload anything.
That's it. I'm done for now. I've got an assignment tomorrow morning, and I have got to get some sleep.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
We are Experiencing Technical Difficulties: Please Stand By
Thank you for your patience, while normal service is restored on the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette website.
-Stan Parks, IT Consultant
-Stan Parks, IT Consultant
Saturday, October 11, 2008
About Leaf Blowers, Wild Flowers, and Raking
I've never minded leaf blowers myself. That whining roar is as much a part of what I grew up with, as the sound of lawnmowers. But, some people don't like the sound. At all.
Howard Leland, who converted his back yard into a butterfly preserve back in 2005, met with the city council to ban leaf blowers twice: Once, in 2003, because they were too loud; again in 2006, because exhaust fumes from the leaf blowers were making his milkweeds and wild flowers sick. He put it a little more scientifically than that, but that's the gist of it.
A week after that 2006 meeting, Glenn Severtson, a neighbor of Mr. Leland's, invited Howard and the other homeowners on that block to the Whistle Stop Cafe. They spent the better part of a Saturday afternoon there, talking about Mr. Leland's yard-full of milkweed, fireweed, columbine, goldenrod, and so forth; and their leaf blowers.
When it was over, they'd agreed that Mr. Leland wouldn't try to get leaf blowers banned in Loonfoot Falls, if they'd stop using leaf blowers. Mr. Leland said that he'd make sure their yards got raked.
In the autumn of 2007, Howard Leland was out daily for well over a week, getting one yard after another raked. He told me that it was great exercise: better than jogging.
He also told me that he was getting a leaf blower for the job this year. He's not giving up his principles, he explained. The blower's motor is electric.
Howard Leland, who converted his back yard into a butterfly preserve back in 2005, met with the city council to ban leaf blowers twice: Once, in 2003, because they were too loud; again in 2006, because exhaust fumes from the leaf blowers were making his milkweeds and wild flowers sick. He put it a little more scientifically than that, but that's the gist of it.
A week after that 2006 meeting, Glenn Severtson, a neighbor of Mr. Leland's, invited Howard and the other homeowners on that block to the Whistle Stop Cafe. They spent the better part of a Saturday afternoon there, talking about Mr. Leland's yard-full of milkweed, fireweed, columbine, goldenrod, and so forth; and their leaf blowers.
When it was over, they'd agreed that Mr. Leland wouldn't try to get leaf blowers banned in Loonfoot Falls, if they'd stop using leaf blowers. Mr. Leland said that he'd make sure their yards got raked.
In the autumn of 2007, Howard Leland was out daily for well over a week, getting one yard after another raked. He told me that it was great exercise: better than jogging.
He also told me that he was getting a leaf blower for the job this year. He's not giving up his principles, he explained. The blower's motor is electric.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Our new Server and Working From Home
For everyone who looked for my column over the weekend, and today, my apologies. I had it ready for the paper, but hadn't gotten the online version done by quitting time on Friday.
No problem! We're experimenting with working from home, here at the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette, and this was a good way to see how well it worked.
I went home, ate supper, and then logged on through our new Vacnet server. No problems. I uploaded the column, checked to make sure that it looked right, logged off, and had a pleasant weekend.
Back at the offices, I checked again, and the column was right where it should be.
Then, about 2:00, someone handed me the phone.
I've been asked not to use the name, but a regular reader let me know that the my most recent online column was still that "Feverish Server" one.
That's not good. I got the website up, went to my column, and the one you're seeing now (I hope) was there.
I did not tell the caller 'it must be a problem with your connection.' That's a technical support tradition I don't mind abandoning.
I thanked the caller, and called Stan Parks, the computer guy.
We still don't know why, but when I logged in from a remote location and uploaded that column, it was put in a secure location. Anyone could see it: as long as they had an employee account on the server, and had logged in.
Putting the column where it was supposed to be took about a minute. My guess is that it'll take Stan quite a while to sort this little glitch out.
And, no: I didn't hit the wrong key. That was the first thing I thought of. Stan and I went to my place, where I uploaded a dummy column, and so did Stan. We tried it a couple of ways, and got the same frustrating results each time.
So, until and unless this glitch is fixed, I'm not working from home.
No problem! We're experimenting with working from home, here at the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette, and this was a good way to see how well it worked.
I went home, ate supper, and then logged on through our new Vacnet server. No problems. I uploaded the column, checked to make sure that it looked right, logged off, and had a pleasant weekend.
Back at the offices, I checked again, and the column was right where it should be.
Then, about 2:00, someone handed me the phone.
I've been asked not to use the name, but a regular reader let me know that the my most recent online column was still that "Feverish Server" one.
That's not good. I got the website up, went to my column, and the one you're seeing now (I hope) was there.
I did not tell the caller 'it must be a problem with your connection.' That's a technical support tradition I don't mind abandoning.
I thanked the caller, and called Stan Parks, the computer guy.
We still don't know why, but when I logged in from a remote location and uploaded that column, it was put in a secure location. Anyone could see it: as long as they had an employee account on the server, and had logged in.
Putting the column where it was supposed to be took about a minute. My guess is that it'll take Stan quite a while to sort this little glitch out.
And, no: I didn't hit the wrong key. That was the first thing I thought of. Stan and I went to my place, where I uploaded a dummy column, and so did Stan. We tried it a couple of ways, and got the same frustrating results each time.
So, until and unless this glitch is fixed, I'm not working from home.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Mystery of the Feverish Server
The new Vacnet Local Area Network server we'd gotten last month is in the owner's office. Mr. Johnson's closet, actually. It's the best location in the building: close to a sort of shaft where a chimney had been, a few renovations back.
Stan Parks, who has the computer store in town, ran cables through that shaft, down to the basement, then over to all the ground-floor offices, and up to the second floor, without making more than a few new holes in the floors, walls, and ceilings.
That meant that Mr. Johnson had Stan in and out of his office for a couple of days. Make that a couple weeks. It wasn't until just before Labor Day weekend that Stan had the network running almost to everyone's satisfaction.
The Thursday before Labor Day weekend, Mr. Johnson closed the doors in his office, told us that he'd call Tuesday to see how things were going, and left town.
Most of the staff took off around noon Friday. There wasn't much to do, except receive a half-dozen cartons of coated paper and get them stacked in the hallway.
I stayed late, trying to learn more about how the new network worked. Around 7:00, I called it a day, turned out the lights, and locked up.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008. 8:00 a.m. Heather Fisk discovered that her computer worked, but that she couldn't get anything on the network. The rest of us were in the same boat, except some of our computers had gotten twitchy over the weekend.
Mr. Johnson called. I had the honor of telling him that the network was dead. He said, "you deal with it." It's nice to be trusted, but I was in no mood to enjoy the vote of confidence.
Stan Parks came in and traced the problem to a bad card in the Vacnet server. To my relief, he also told everyone that there was no way I could have ‘done something' to the network Friday evening. By 4:00, he'd contacted a supplier in the Twin Cities, and was told that a replacement would be here the next morning.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008. Noon went by, but no card arrived. This time I called the supplier. Their shipping clerk told me that we'd received the card that morning. Somebody had signed for it, so we had it.
Except we didn't. After talking to someone else, I was assured that they'd send another card, and that we'd get it Thursday morning.
Thursday, September 4, 2008. Noon went by, but no card arrived. I was punching in the vendor's number, to have an earnest discussion about Vacnet cards, when Mr. Johnson told me that he'd make the call. About fifteen minutes later, Mr. Johnson told me that he'd been assured that a replacement card would arrive Friday morning.
Friday, September 5, 2008. Just after 8:15 Friday morning, a gray-haired man in a business suit left a package at the front desk. It was the card we'd been waiting for. We rejoiced and, more practically, called Stan Parks.
Stan swapped cards, tested the network, and everything worked.
A good afternoon was had by all, and we went home for the weekend. I came back on Saturday, to see if the network was still working. It was.
Monday, September 8, 2008. 8:00 a.m. Heather Fisk reports that she has access to the network. The problem seems to have been solved.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008. Mr. Johnson returns, catches up on what's been going on, goes through correspondence that's collected on his desk, closes up his office and goes home. As do the rest of us.
Thursday, September 11, 2008. 8:00 a.m. Heather Fisk says, "not again." This was pretty much a replay of September 2, except this time two cards were burned out. Stan Parks orders replacements for both, and spends the rest of the day inspecting the server's power source, heat sinks, fans: everything.
Friday, September 12, 2008. The cards arrive. In the morning. They're the right cards. Stan installs them, tests the network. It works. Mr. Johnson gives the okay for him to stay for the afternoon, so he can check out every part of the network. I help out in this task, since I'm the most computer-savvy member of the staff. Which means that I can understand almost half of what Stan says.
5:15 p.m. Stan hasn't found any reason why the Vacnet server should have burned out three cards in a week. He and I are outside Mr. Johnson's office as he gets ready to leave: locking his desk and closing the closet door before turning out the lights.
Closing the closet door.
The closet door had been open almost all the time since the Vacnet server came. Stan had been back and forth so much, it didn't make sense to swing it shut each time.
Stan had cut a small vent in the wall of the closet, with a blower that pulled air in from the back hallway. That would have kept the closet cool enough, even with the door closed.
Except that the last of those half-dozen paper cartons was still stored in the hallway. Right in front of the vent.
20-20 hindsight is a wonderful thing. It's obvious, now: The server had its hall vent running and the closet door open until Mr. Johnson left that Thursday. It worked find with the closet door closed, until cartons stored in the hallway blocked its air vent.
It took hours for the heat to build up, Friday afternoon and evening. But finally it got to hot, and one of the server's cards failed.
The closet door was opened again, when Stan started working on the server. He probably didn't notice any warmth, since the Vacnet server system shuts itself down if there's a failure.
We didn't have a problem again, until Mr. Johnson came back and closed the closet door.
Stan's replaced the vent blower with something a bit more robust, we've marked the hallway as a 'no storage' area, and Mr. Johnson made his own contribution toward keeping the server healthy.
Somewhere up on the second floor, he found an old pedestal fan and took it down to his office.
I don't think that server is likely to overheat again, any time soon.
Saturday, September 13, 2008. Just to be sure, I stayed up most of Friday night, babysitting that server.
Monday, September 15, 2008. 8:00 a.m. Heather Fisk's computer works: and is connected to the network.
It works. What a relief. It works.
I started a short vacation.
(A special thank-you to Mr. Johnson and the editorial staff, for allowing me to take up four times the usual space for this week's column. They told me that at 'epic' experience like that warranted a longer column.)
Stan Parks, who has the computer store in town, ran cables through that shaft, down to the basement, then over to all the ground-floor offices, and up to the second floor, without making more than a few new holes in the floors, walls, and ceilings.
That meant that Mr. Johnson had Stan in and out of his office for a couple of days. Make that a couple weeks. It wasn't until just before Labor Day weekend that Stan had the network running almost to everyone's satisfaction.
The Thursday before Labor Day weekend, Mr. Johnson closed the doors in his office, told us that he'd call Tuesday to see how things were going, and left town.
Most of the staff took off around noon Friday. There wasn't much to do, except receive a half-dozen cartons of coated paper and get them stacked in the hallway.
I stayed late, trying to learn more about how the new network worked. Around 7:00, I called it a day, turned out the lights, and locked up.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008. 8:00 a.m. Heather Fisk discovered that her computer worked, but that she couldn't get anything on the network. The rest of us were in the same boat, except some of our computers had gotten twitchy over the weekend.
Mr. Johnson called. I had the honor of telling him that the network was dead. He said, "you deal with it." It's nice to be trusted, but I was in no mood to enjoy the vote of confidence.
Stan Parks came in and traced the problem to a bad card in the Vacnet server. To my relief, he also told everyone that there was no way I could have ‘done something' to the network Friday evening. By 4:00, he'd contacted a supplier in the Twin Cities, and was told that a replacement would be here the next morning.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008. Noon went by, but no card arrived. This time I called the supplier. Their shipping clerk told me that we'd received the card that morning. Somebody had signed for it, so we had it.
Except we didn't. After talking to someone else, I was assured that they'd send another card, and that we'd get it Thursday morning.
Thursday, September 4, 2008. Noon went by, but no card arrived. I was punching in the vendor's number, to have an earnest discussion about Vacnet cards, when Mr. Johnson told me that he'd make the call. About fifteen minutes later, Mr. Johnson told me that he'd been assured that a replacement card would arrive Friday morning.
Friday, September 5, 2008. Just after 8:15 Friday morning, a gray-haired man in a business suit left a package at the front desk. It was the card we'd been waiting for. We rejoiced and, more practically, called Stan Parks.
Stan swapped cards, tested the network, and everything worked.
A good afternoon was had by all, and we went home for the weekend. I came back on Saturday, to see if the network was still working. It was.
Monday, September 8, 2008. 8:00 a.m. Heather Fisk reports that she has access to the network. The problem seems to have been solved.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008. Mr. Johnson returns, catches up on what's been going on, goes through correspondence that's collected on his desk, closes up his office and goes home. As do the rest of us.
Thursday, September 11, 2008. 8:00 a.m. Heather Fisk says, "not again." This was pretty much a replay of September 2, except this time two cards were burned out. Stan Parks orders replacements for both, and spends the rest of the day inspecting the server's power source, heat sinks, fans: everything.
Friday, September 12, 2008. The cards arrive. In the morning. They're the right cards. Stan installs them, tests the network. It works. Mr. Johnson gives the okay for him to stay for the afternoon, so he can check out every part of the network. I help out in this task, since I'm the most computer-savvy member of the staff. Which means that I can understand almost half of what Stan says.
5:15 p.m. Stan hasn't found any reason why the Vacnet server should have burned out three cards in a week. He and I are outside Mr. Johnson's office as he gets ready to leave: locking his desk and closing the closet door before turning out the lights.
Closing the closet door.
The closet door had been open almost all the time since the Vacnet server came. Stan had been back and forth so much, it didn't make sense to swing it shut each time.
Stan had cut a small vent in the wall of the closet, with a blower that pulled air in from the back hallway. That would have kept the closet cool enough, even with the door closed.
Except that the last of those half-dozen paper cartons was still stored in the hallway. Right in front of the vent.
20-20 hindsight is a wonderful thing. It's obvious, now: The server had its hall vent running and the closet door open until Mr. Johnson left that Thursday. It worked find with the closet door closed, until cartons stored in the hallway blocked its air vent.
It took hours for the heat to build up, Friday afternoon and evening. But finally it got to hot, and one of the server's cards failed.
The closet door was opened again, when Stan started working on the server. He probably didn't notice any warmth, since the Vacnet server system shuts itself down if there's a failure.
We didn't have a problem again, until Mr. Johnson came back and closed the closet door.
Stan's replaced the vent blower with something a bit more robust, we've marked the hallway as a 'no storage' area, and Mr. Johnson made his own contribution toward keeping the server healthy.
Somewhere up on the second floor, he found an old pedestal fan and took it down to his office.
I don't think that server is likely to overheat again, any time soon.
Saturday, September 13, 2008. Just to be sure, I stayed up most of Friday night, babysitting that server.
Monday, September 15, 2008. 8:00 a.m. Heather Fisk's computer works: and is connected to the network.
It works. What a relief. It works.
I started a short vacation.
(A special thank-you to Mr. Johnson and the editorial staff, for allowing me to take up four times the usual space for this week's column. They told me that at 'epic' experience like that warranted a longer column.)
Monday, September 15, 2008
It's Been an Interesting Two Weeks
When I'm not writing this column, taking pictures, or filling in for Heather Fisk, the Chronicle-Gazette's feature writer, I'm the Chronicle-Gazette's 'computer guy.' Usually, that means that I get a break from routine a couple times a week.
Not that I'm any kind of expert: it's just that I'm more comfortable with, and know more about, information technology than anyone else here. As a rule, it's good for my self-esteem.
Then, there's the last two weeks.
I'll get back to you, with details.
Not that I'm any kind of expert: it's just that I'm more comfortable with, and know more about, information technology than anyone else here. As a rule, it's good for my self-esteem.
Then, there's the last two weeks.
I'll get back to you, with details.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette Announces New Green Computers
The Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette has gone green. Last Friday, this newspaper replaced its old computers with new Frisco-Shamrock Envirowarp low-emission/high-efficiency units.
Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette energy-saving new computers are now connected through a Vacnet Local Area Network. The staff is looking forward to easier sharing of information, after a short learning curve.
-Stan Parks, IT Consultant
Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette energy-saving new computers are now connected through a Vacnet Local Area Network. The staff is looking forward to easier sharing of information, after a short learning curve.
-Stan Parks, IT Consultant
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