Wireless Schmireless - First Published 1997

So, listening to the pundits, 98 will be the year of wireless data. Well… you never know, it’s remotely possible that they could be right this time - the fact that this tetherless utopia hasn’t materialized yet, hasn’t stopped them from presenting the same predictions every year for about the past 5 years. As each year reaches it’s mid-point a hasty re-affirmation is made in a much louder voice that the “next year”, which they referred to “last year”, was of course next year and not this year (still with me?). On this basis I am predicting that next year will be the year that the world will end and, in line with many of the more bizarre religions, my prediction stands until a year arrives when it actually does. Therefore, if there’s anyone left, I’ll be able to say “I told you so!”, with a smug grin. I further predict that salmon will live up trees and eat pencils… Anyway! We should leave the so called pundits to wallow in there own crapulence and examine some of the realities surrounding the wireless data conundrum.

So for wireless data to work, the first thing we’d seem to need would be a uniform national digital wireless standard (analog is very messy for data, yuk!), a bit like Europe, Australia and chunks of the East who have GSM. Any offers? Nope! Sorry! I forgot! Instead of doing something vaguely useful for the citizens of the US, the FCC thought that could make a bit more cash by auctioning off 1900 MHz licenses to any imbecile with a few bucks and a network build out schedule. This has resulted in a marvel we call “PCS 1900”, a marketing term for a frequency, but with undertones implying something far more tangible. This “standard” was designed primarily to baffle and mislead anyone without a very recent degree in cellular engineering. PCS 1900 stands for “Personal Communication Services on the 1900 MHz waveband”. That’s it, end of standard. To date the US has for some bizarre reason  chosen to launch GSM, CDPD, CDMA, and TDMA-US all under the guise of PCS 1900. In addition, flitting about on their own wavebands outside of PCS 1900, 2 way paging, Mobitex, Ricochet and Ardis. These are the first few that spring to mind and of course they are all entirely different standards available sometimes together, sometimes on their own, or most often not at all.

Rather than go through the idiosyncrasies of each of them, it is sufficient to know that they are not the same, don’t really talk with each other and none of them has even close to reasonable national coverage. Of course, with the exception of GSM, even attempting to be a global citizen is just about impossible. US GSM network providers (who use a phone frequency incompatible with the rest of the world) do let you take the little tiny chip thing out of your phone so you can immediately lose it. Or, if you have wisely attached it to your forehead with crazy glue, insert it into another phone in Europe where you can start to accrue “the mother of all” roaming fees from calls made by telesales people at 4am Europe time (your phone number stays the same, which of course is a mixed blessing). Now, we can probably assume that “voice” (the killer wireless app), will realistically need to happen before data. Hmmm… it’s not looking good is it.

The only other option for the Global citizen is to purchase a satelite phone, but of course it’s the size of a briefcase, costs a small inheritance to purchase and maintain and you can only use it outdoors with a satelite dish. Most convenient!

You’ll also need some sort of device to examine your data on. First it’s got to realistically fit in a pocket otherwise you’re not going to take it anywhere with you are you! Second it has to be at a price to buy and maintain that does not make you clutch your chest in feigned heart attack.

What’s on offer? Well, still a bit thin there as well. You can spend about a grand on a phone about the size of a house brick with a hopeless PDA thing inside, or you can use a phone with a little LCD display and spend years trying to decode abbreviations with your thumb permanently on the scroll button.

You’re barely quivering with anticipation at this stage, are you.

Finally, what’s the killer app? What compelling functionality is there for the mobile information freak. A local cheese reference? Stock quotes and restaurant guides for the aspiring yuppie? Local bus timetables? Weather reports? Email? Are any of these things you positively need to have access to 24 hours a day? If you do, then you have far too much time on your hands (Geek!) or you are an ambitious financial climber (Freak!). About the closest I have come to killer app so far is something a Dutch friend of mine has. He lives in Amsterdam and uses his phone as an  alarm clock. A service in Holland schedules a text message to his GSM phone at 7am every morning. The text message contains a new joke about Belgians each morning. Fun, but not high on the “must have” list is it.

This has been said before, but aren’t we all too connected as it is? Do you really need to read your email in the bath? Doesn’t your heart already drop every time your mobile phone rings. What’s your emotional response when your pager goes off? Leaping for joy is probably not high on your list of reactions.

I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I have a mobile phone and all I really use it for is to phone people to tell them I’m going to be late. Usually they don’t have one, so I’m left with leaving them a message on their answering machine at home so they can listen to it when they have returned from the place where I met them a few hours beforehand.

So what’s the conclusion? The technologies lacking, and the compelling “killer app” has yet to materialize and the costs are high (I’m reaching for my wallet already). The target audience would seem to be Silicon Valley at this stage.

Is next year going to be the year of wireless data? Well there does not appear to be much in it’s favor at present. So I give up and I offer a challenge! Anyone who has the killer wireless data application for the average Joe should email me and help me figure it out!

Wearable Computers – We are not the Borg

It seems that not too long ago the idea of wearing a computer on your body would have been about as appealing and practical as attempting a triathalon in an iron lung. Imagine a backpack with one of the first “portable” computers inside it. These things were seemingly made of uranium and lead and I sneakily suspect had special magnets in them that made them attracted to the Earth’s core. To carry one of these monsters around on you back would result in a triple hernia and the need to lean forward 15 degrees to maintain your balance. This of course would give you the appearance of a dangerous leering psycho as you lean forward and sweat and pant profusely into people’s conversations at social or business gatherings (This is nothing compared to what the boys at MIT Labs are currently capable of, but more of that later). Still people would certainly listen to what you had to say, in fact you’d probably end up closing deals because people were frightened of you and your demeanor. Those users that weren’t killed by this technology would have presumably bred and developed into some sort of yuppie master race. A terrifying natural selection process, though arguably there would be less of them.

Anyway, as good fortune would have it we managed to avoid this particular eventuality and are now ruled by normal yuppies which is not quite as bad. However as Mr. Moore of Intel fame has often observed by means of his “Law”, electronic stuff has gotten more powerful and a lot smaller (gosh!). Now it has become de rigeur in technological social circles (yes they exist!) to drop “wearable computing” and “personal networks” into your conversation to make people think you’re clever or visionary or perhaps live near the Stanford Linear Accelerator (which is curiously donut shaped for something supposedly linear).  Getting a little tired of hearing these terms bandied around like so much Pacific Salmon (it’s the beef of the 90’s!) I asked myself: “Mercury, what is this whole wearable computers lark about then?” Unable to answer myself I felt embarrassed and decided to visit the “Web” to do some “on-line research” or “Educational Skateboarding” as I have chosen to call it. Raking through an extensive collection of porno site bookmarks (Ahem! Not mine you understand, I suspect the janitor “uses” my PC after I go home for self gratification) I eventually stumbled upon the URL for MIT Labs (widely observed and internationally renowned wierdo’s) and figured they must be involved somehow… because…  they always are… you can pretty much guarantee it… them and IBM Research. Of course I could have just done a search on the word “Wierdo” and found them that way.

After a little cursory browsing I am presented with a screen that shows people that wear video cameras on top of their heads like periscopes, and look at a mini TV screen embedded in a pair of glasses to see where they are going. They are wearing data gloves that operate prosthetic robot arms attached to their torso’s and their jackets are made of photoelectric cells. There is a suspicious bulge in their pants, but nothing to confirm my personal theory about this dangling from the outside. The whole thing is powered by rabid hamsters stitched to their sneaker’s, or some such equally improbable device. I know I am metaphorically ‘home’. They look pale and disorientated but serenely happy. Presumably this good humor is brought about by the thought of the next grant check, or possibly the thing in their pants (if indeed such a thing exists, which we have not been able to confirm per se). They wear all this gear 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. (Did someone say ‘Freaks!’?  No? Are you sure?)

Call me old fashioned if you will, but I think it would be safe to say that this lifestyle is probably not for everyone. Unless of course you can feign enough genius to get away with it for your entire life (tricky), or you are naturally wealthy and therefore can afford to do this and, if you wanted, combine it with the lifestyle of a mad French poet from the Baroque period.

Anyhow, back to the point in question! It seems that the whole wearable computer thing, in order to be practical really boils down to having a “personal network”. No, this is not your own TV broadcast station or a host of Novell products linking your elbows to your temples (?!). This is a computer embedded in the sole of your shoe which passes a mild electrical current and data signal over the surface of your skin (Sounds appealing, I can hardly wait). The power is generated by a little thing that converts the force of your heal touching the ground into electricity. One might assume that running or vigorous jumping movements might cause one microwave ones genitals or something equally unpleasant.

The computer, which is worn in the lining of your pants or in your tshirt or your hat, or most likely in your shoes, can do things like monitor your bodily functions, heart rate, temperature and presumably give you cancer of the brain and irradiate your sperm, that sort of thing. So if your heart stops and for some reason you fail to notice, it’ll be sure to remind you. My, how we’ve advanced! Furthermore the electrical field can transmit and receive information to things you touch that are similarly equipped. I can imagine business meetings where the traditional shake of hands becomes a ritual of fear, the smell of charred flesh and agonized screams as personal data in the form of electronic business cards are exchanged. But it doesn’t end there.

This technology of course can be taken further into the home life. Apparently when you touch your fridge it can tell you that you need to buy more milk or cheese. This is clearly a boon to those tired by the laborious task of actually opening the fridge door and looking inside. What if you’re lactose intolerant? I think the fridge might meet an untimely and premature demise. The vacuum can tell you its full, err the cooker could tell you it was hot, after you’d touched it of course…

Apart from the household appliances your car can tell you things about itself, like perhaps the ashtrays are full - because you’ve started smoking again, probably because machines that sound like Stephen Hawking lurking in unlikely places talk to you incessantly and you’re having difficulty keeping a grip on things. The car can also talk to the fridge and the supermarket via your personal net, a marriage made in hell. So you drive past the “Quickie Mart” and the car tells you to stop and get milk (and more cigarettes because your blood pressure just went up from being told to buy milk by your car). So you get out and your net has already purchased the milk and deducted it from your credit card. Your role in life is reduced to menial tasks to keep your appliances happy. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around?

We all remember the previous talking cars whose robotic voices told you the door is open or your seat belt is not on. How long did that little fad last? Most of them were driven for about six weeks before their owners piloted them at high speed into large immovable objects or abandoned them in swamps. Without wanting to labor the point, these cars primary flaw was never to talk in plain English. For example: “Your in-motion upper body and groinular tethering and restraint device is not fully engaged in the requisite locking orifice” in the voice of a pedantic snitty 12 year old. If it had said “Buckle up, shithead” instead - and then only after we’d pulled away instead of the moment we open the door to get in, we’d probably have loved it and kept it and not smashed it into a tree/rock/pulp.

Refusing to learn this valuable lesson the persistent little devils at MIT etc. continued their work to bring this electronic disease into more areas of our everyday lives in the continued belief that our brains need these virtual extensions or enhancers. Taken to natural extremes this means that your brain is relieved of burdensome trivia such as having to know when to go to the bathroom and it can focus it’s energy on road rage, consumerism or the small TV in your glasses that constantly pumps advertisements for “Vagistat” and “The New Dodge” (Ramalamalama) into your retina. Sounds great doesn’t it? So what happens if it breaks? Hmmm? Nuclear weapons for example! They send out an electromagnetic pulse that destroys electronics. Would we all run out of milk and shit ourselves to death? It’s possible! Of course I suppose we’d all be fried by radioactivity anyway, but what about those in the bunkers?

OK, so improbable Nuclear Armageddon aside, what happens if you pick up static electricity after walking on a particularly vicious 1970’s style nylon carpet and your body net interprets this random voltage burst as “Heart Failure imminent, release amyl nitrate capsules, evacuate bowels and apply defibrillator current across chest”. You move like Buster Keaton on acid to the nearest convenience, simultaneously clutching your chest and your pants screaming “Frrrzztt! Off! Turn me Frrrzztt! off!”. Not a very gallant or genteel way of going about things.

The question remains why are they doing this? Why would we even countenance such actions? Why is money being spent in this way. It seems that eccentricity has become an industry but I suppose it’ll all become clear eventually. In the meantime the guys at MIT are the only people who really know what the objective is and I have sneaking suspicion that Buster Keaton is their mascot.

The Venture Crapital Conspiracy

Sitting provocatively at my desk the other day, I was scanning through the business section of the Chronicle and was astounded by the quantity of companies collapsing, buying each other out or just doing stupid things in general. Reflecting as I do in these circumstances, this sort of activity cannot go by with out some of my casual observations. With fingers poised over the keyboard I set about my latest lambasting.

It has become apparent that huge amounts of money are invested in ideas which never have a hope of leaving the hangar, let alone flying and the ones that do succeed are quickly bought out by wise corporations looking for a quick buck. It’s like a form of evolution. On the upside, you can watch a large corporation pull together successful smaller units like one of the “pools of mercury” special effects from Terminator II. This new Borg then teams up with other growing monoliths so they can go and poke fun at the industry leader, whoever it may be at that time. Once they’ve usurped the market leader they have a brief few years of glory, get senile and then get ousted themselves. This last bit, of course, is the most interesting for us gore vultures! You can watch as dying corporations clutch to their now fragile corporate by-lines and acquire other losers in a desperate bid to bring some of that old magic back into the business. What they don’t seem to comprehend is they need some of the new magic (unless it’s the general type, which of course is useless).

One famous company, “Failures in Nice T-Shirts Inc”, after appointing Vinnie the Pimp as their CEO to steer them directly into the murky depths, has purchased “Floundering Ex-employees of Failures in Nice T-shirts Inc” presumably in the hope of forming the “Complete Disaster Corporation”. Since then their stock has plunged, things look even bleaker and Vinnie is getting it in the nads from stockholders. What happens next is of course corporate downsizing, which always leads to an alarming increase in the ever growing independent consultants population forming companies with names like “Radical Dynamics Inc”. This of course is terrifying for the rest of us who have to deal with these morons and who reluctantly end up employing them when they fail to either a) succeed or b) go away.

The most alarming group of companies are those who for years and years have never had a successful product or made a profit, but continue to grow despite what common sense dictates. An example of this is Neofails Inc who recently purchased Nirvana Ltd because they did not have a technology which was quite crap enough for the really crappy products segment they were trying to really make an impact in. Apparently, this was such a thrilling experience (for them alone it would seem) that they are planning several more such ventures in the future, presumably so they can keep the evil specter of profit from their door indefinitely. Still if they all club together they are at least all under one universally avoidable banner.

Failing at first to comprehend how companies like this continue to exist, let alone grow, the answer suddenly it struck me!

Deep in a valley, far, far away live and extremely rich tribe of “Lucky Trolls”. Their purpose is to take money from the gambling Proletariat Elves and flush it down the magic toilet as fast as possible. It flows down the PR sewers, through the admin. treatment works and on to the sea of availability. Eventually it washes up on the reality shores where the Fantastic Pixies, who live in the mists of delusion, collect it. Some Pixies take the money and spend it on big parties to entertain the Corp-Rats and Anal-Whisps who work in the PR sewers. Because the Corp-Rats and Anal-Whisps like the parties so much they go back to the sewers and write their favorite Pixies names on the money so that when it gets to the beach the Pixies know who it belongs to.

The lucky trolls don’t mind this because they are stupid and it’s not their money anyway.

Some Pixies have discovered the beneficial leaves of the ROI tree which helps them see through the mists of delusion. They take the money and build things which are useful and that the Proletariat Elves want to buy. But these are nearly extinct so we should forget about them. The rest just have fun with it and make things which they think are cool and because of the delusion mists they assume the proletariat elves will think theyare cool too. They are usually mistaken so they go to the parasitical Consultants, who tell them how to reinvent themselves, using the sacred and powerful runes of diversion. During this time they become famous because the Hype Dragon has been howling their names from the top of the hill and scaring the Elves into buying their shares. The Corp-Rats and Anal-ists, love the hype Dragon very much and invite him to their parties. They are also close friends with the Lucky Trolls and tell them how clever they are and that they must keep flushing or else the world will come to an end or even worse, the Samurai will get them.

With this little parable in mind one can’t wonder at the collective sanity of the inhabitants of the valley because they’re on the magic gravy train. The real question which should be asked is why do the Elves let it happen? Well it’s because they are all stupid too. Once bitten, twice shy would seem to offer some sense, but the Elves willingly allow themselves to be mauled to death. Go figure!

The IT Department – These things are sent to (de)test us…

A few months ago I had the audacity to require some backup software on my PC, so I made the calculated mistake of calling our IS group. For some inexplicable reason all of our IS requests are handled by a “(so called) control center” 1500 miles away where presumably bulk telephone answering halfwits are cheaper, despite the fact that the IS people sit a mere 100 feet away on the other side of my building. Of course these people have no idea about who you are, where you are from, what system you are using or any foundation in technical terminology or system usage. But they’re cheap and they can answer a phone! Good enough for government work! As the saying goes…

So, accepting that I am imminently going to be doomed to a lifetime of suffering and confusion from making this call, I wearily dial the remote number. Now! As a precursor I should further explain my doomed feeling. I’d just read another of  IS’s broadcast email messages telling us about a problem somewhere with something, or so we can only assume. True to form it went something like this.

“Due to climactic variations and a failing Strobe Rectifier in Flanger 3a (better known to some of you as  “Kiki the curious frog”), Ack packets will be spherical for each alternate spectral millisecond until we bring the Mutharouter on line and diversify the bipolar anode. Those of you referencing ~FF3990.DLL will experience fruculation of the transponent and this of course results in an occlusion pattern. We’re sorry about this but expect to have it fixed during the annual IS clambake next August. It’s not our fault; it’s the manufacturer who the exec committee insisted we go with despite our protests. If you want to complain please feel free to Telex us at the usual code in Bahrain. Thank you, The IS Gods.”

AND THIS AFFECTS ME HOW EXACTLY? Whatever happened to: “The Network is down, no computer related work can happen until we fix it this afternoon.” No, that would be too simple and people might understand. Information is power in today’s world and those that have it want to keep it, usually because they have bad personal hygene and it’s their way of feeling adequate.

As a further precursor I’m also bearing in mind that IS people are basically egotistical incompetents who thrive on anarchy, hate all non-technical people and who’d basically rather be doing something else until they can convince an Engineering department to employ them. Thus the more cryptic the message the more they believe people think they’re clever as opposed to simply annoying and obstructive. You can tell I’ve been through this before can’t you!

Thus it is plain sailing from there to surmise that allowing them to have control of the system that puts users in touch with them (ie the phones) is a relatively bad plan. Anyhow, after a few rings, the phone is answered and a live recording of Tom Jones singing “It’s not unusual” at around 1000 decibels rips down the wire and causes the handset to start melting in a rush of feedback. But I’ve been here before and had the handset in a draw full of packing popcorn! You see, after a previous similar experience I captured a live IS person and after a couple of days of Spanish Inquisition style torture, extracted the secret keypad code to access the main inquiry menu. Punching in the code whilst wrapping the handset in a damp towel, I get to the voice mail system equivalent of the Arc of the Covenant, the Main Menu. Ha!

Navigating through an excruciating selection menu of questions based around Jupiter’s lunar cycle and average regional rainfall, a voice says thank you for calling the “I Jest Ye Not Madam IS Hotline, Goodbye” <click>. Drat! Clearly in the last menu option when they asked for the average annual rainfall figure for California, they wanted me to extrapolate the effects of El Nino for this year and then deduct likely drought areas to give the Urban average and not the State “combined” average. But it’s OK, like an adventure arcade game, once you’ve learned it, the basic moves don’t change.

So, like a kid with a Nintendo I hit go and start again. This time I get through to the right call queue and am informed that I have scored 100 extra bonus points for remembering the final move in Kasparovs last game (a lucky guess actually! Knight to Bishop 4). I’m then told that I’m first in the queue by a recorded voice (which sounds frankly surprised that I’ve got there at all) and sit and wait patiently, all the while looking through the window at the gamboling IS team playing darts and gorging on Pizza and Dr. Pepper in their office at the other side of the quadrant.

The usual half millenium passes and eventually I get a different message saying that (if I have the reflexes of a Ninja) I can press 0 to leave a message, which they guarantee will be returned within 24 working hours (exactly 3 terrestrial days). Now, a hell of a lot can happen in 3 days. Imagine if couldn’t log onto the network or something serious happened like my RAM imploded or my hard drive went through a worm hole or something. That’s OK, we’ve got a crack response team that can be starting to think about processing your request in 3 days. And we guarantee it! Well thank god for customer service!

Well, just as I’m slipping into a coma, a chirpy voice answers the phone. It’s the response center! Phew! I was about to call out for supplies. “Hi, I need some backup software for my laptop”. “Why, have you lost your original software? We can re-image you!”, comes the response. “Err… no! I need to automatically back up the data and documents on my laptop when I’m connected to the network, you see?” It didn’t. “We don’t backup terminals here, we don’t have the disk space on the server. Why don’t you buy a Zip Drive?”. At this stage I swear I can actually hear my hope fading like the last few seconds of a 70’s disco track. Anyhow, persistent as I am, I persisted, “Why don’t you buy some bigger drives then? A gig is about five bucks nowadays and a Zip drive and disks are about $170, for a 10^th of the space and is a complete pain in the arse to use, oh and of course I’d have to organize media rotation and spend about $2K on a fire safe and remember to actually do all this on a daily basis”. Silence. Clearly this had stumped them. “We’ll send someone to see you. They should be with you in the next weeks (plural). <click>”

Immediately the following month, someone drifted past my cube while I was at lunch removed all of my PC equipment and pinned a cryptic and semi legible note to my chair. “It has come to our attention that your system is functioning correctly and therefore your computing privileges have been suspended until we rectify the situation. To find out more, email us (ha, ha, ha!) at: bastards@isdept.com or call the “Help” line. It further went on to mention something about “non-compliance leading to death” and what looked like “scribble… scribble… you weren’t here… on a rotisserie… scribble… the plague and painful excommunication, ha, ha, ha, ha!”, but I hoped I was wrong about the last bit. Usually I can tell they’ve been in my cube on an “IS stealth mission” (they only come when you’re not there) because I notice that someone has changed my Windows TM © (we’ve got you now!) desktop color scheme and also altered a myriad of my default desktop settings and preferences. The pastry crumbs on the floor by my desk will often confirm my worst fears.

Undaunted but severely irked, I checked the phone for plague carrying bacteria (always carry a pocket microscope!), and resolved to call them again. But a rebellious element rose within me and I thought NO! Escape the madness! I’m going over there and asking them myself, screw convention and company procedure, I need to work now… (Seriously, I know it’s unusual but I did!).

Furtively I crept over to the IS department, which is behind a locked door and waited behind a convenient mainframe for one of them to come out (it has been known around feeding and – god forbid – mating time!). An hour later I had grown impatient and had a brainwave. I knocked on the door and shouted “Pizza Delivery!” There was instantaneous sullen click as the lock disengaged and I wedged my foot in the door. Flinging the door open I strode in “sans Pizza” to the bemused looks of the pale and mid-frolic IS team. Clearly this breach of protocol was the last thing they were expecting so they scuttled for the safety of their electronic nests, panic stricken. With the air of people deliberately ignoring the gaping hole in the side of the Titanic, they picked up their phones and started muttering about TCPIP stacks and CHAP verification to fictitious geeks.

Not to be daunted, I strode for the door of Mr. Draconian the IS manager, feigning my best, extremely irritated and about to go mental smile. The door opened automatically to reveal an earily darkened windowless room where a barely visible figure sat silhouetted by a halo of scorching bright light. I couldn’t see his face, apparently no one ever had. “Ah! Montclair, we have been expecting you!”. Said a voice like silicon being dragged across a coffin lid, “Ah! Mr. Draconian”, “Oh! Call me Adolph please, Mercury. What can we do for you?” came the fawning but menacing response. I shuddered but thought of Garlic and explained my dilemma. “Have you ever thought of a career in IS Mercury? We’re all very close here, I think you’d like to come over to the Dork side.” came the inquisitive response. “No not really, I just want to get my PC…” Suddenly he called out, “Vidor! Come in here and take Mr. Bond… err… I mean Mr. Montclair, to his desk and rectify his err… problem for him, there’s a good chap”. I could swear I heard him chuckle before I felt the sharp pain in my head and then everything went black.

I awoke two days later in hospital with a pain radiating from my head and according to a nurse I had banged my head on a computer room door and was knocked unconscious. My recollections of those two days are still blank and I assume I must have dreamt the whole confrontation with Mr. Draconian, because he doesn’t exist. Apparently we don’t have an IS manager as such, they’re run as part of the operations group.

However, there are a few things I still can’t explain. When I was brought to hospital I was babbling incoherently about, “The eyes, the horrible eyes” and “Not the probe, I promise I won’t do it again.” I was also strangely anemic with two small puncture marks on my neck and I don’t think I can “feel the force” anymore. I’m thinking about a career in IS, but I can’t really explain why. I have my backup software and my PC back and it works as expected (rarely). Still, they’ve never really been able to explain how the bump got on the back of my head and on rare occasions when I see an IS person in the parking lot, they nod at me, grin conspiratorially at me and mutter something that sounds like, “Next time Montclair, next time”.