I’m pretty good with computers. I’m not an engineer, but I’m reasonably competent and not easily daunted. But, there comes a day for humility, when one finds oneself in the high-tech equivalent of quicksand. With grinning alligators on all sides.
It started, as it so often does, with an update. An Adobe update to CS5. I have CS6, but when I installed it, the guy at Adobe suggested I just leave the earlier version on the computer (bad idea and I shouldn’t have listened). This arrangement was dodgy from the start. My system was never sure to which version it should default … and Adobe kept sending updates for both.
The moment this update downloaded, CS5 started throwing error messages about a missing DLL file and CS6 stopped working. I realized it was a bad download. Not the first bad download of my computer-using life. I didn’t panic, even though I wanted to scream. I calmly did what I usually do: I restored the computer to an earlier point, before the download. That pretty much always fixes the problem.
Not this time.
So I took a deep breath and tried reinstalling CS5, hoping that it would restore the missing DLL and all would be right on heaven and earth.
All of this took place while the Red Sox were whipping the Cardinals and winning the World Series at Fenway Park. A good thing because there isn’t anything more boring than uninstalling, installing, reinstalling and rebooting a computer. Repeatedly. For hours.
Photoshop is a big application, so whatever you are doing, it takes a while. When the reinstall failed, I bit the bullet and uninstalled CS5. Unfortunately, CS6 still wouldn’t load. So I uninstalled CS6. Then I rebooted. And rebooted again. Just to make sure.
Grateful for that I actual own the installation discs, I reinstalled CS5. My version of CS6 is an upgrade and won’t install unless it finds an earlier version of Photoshop (it turns out there’s a way around this, but I didn’t know it). It installed. I took a deep breath, cheered for the Sox and went to bed.
I repeated the operation on my desktop, after which I decided to adjourn to the living room and relax. I took CS6 with me so I could install it on the laptop where I confidently believed I had already fixed the problem.
When I turned on my laptop, the Adobe updater popped up and without thinking, I clicked okay. At that moment, I knew I was doomed.
Down in flames. Not merely back to ground zero. Underground. Deep underground. I tried uninstalling CS5, but it threw errors up the wazoo. I tried (again) restoring to an earlier point. A much earlier point. Last week. When the world was young and innocent.
This brought back a shadow version of CS6. It looked like the application, except nothing worked. CS6 wouldn’t open. CS5 was dead. I could not uninstall either application. It suggested using the Adobe Cleaning Tool (download it from Adobe’s website). I used it. The situation got much worse.
I threw in the towel. I was in over my head. Far, far over my head. I had to do the thing I most dreaded. I had to call Tech Support.
First call. After 9 prompts, I am told it will be a 9 to 10 minute wait. I try to put the phone on speaker and hit END instead. I look at the dead telephone. Take a deep breath and dial again. Go through all of the prompts.
Second call. I’m told it will be a 4 to 6 minute wait. This time, I carefully find the speaker button and put the phone down and start to check my email. A minute later, I hear the sound of a human voice. Male. Actually, I’ve never gotten a woman at Adobe. Do they employ any? Just asking.
The guy isn’t listening. He’s got a script and he is determined to follow it, no matter what. He’s telling me to uninstall and I’m trying to tell him I can’t. Finally, he says I should wait a moment, he’ll be right back. Forty minutes later, annoying music commences and I realize he’s gone for good.
I reboot my computer and patiently, oh so patiently, call Adobe again.
Third call. The Charm! I get someone who listens (yay). “Did the previous technician do anything with your computer?”
“No,” I reply. “He said he’d be back, but when the music came on, I got the feeling he was gone for good.”
Chuckle. “Okay. I need you to … “
He took over the computer. Eventually, we went deep into the soul of my laptop and extracted — one piece at a time — both versions of Photoshop. Nine gigs and more than 40,000 files. That’s right. 40,000. I didn’t know my recycle bin could hold that much. It took me almost 15 minutes to empty it. That’s a lot of files.
We then reinstalled CS6 and I discovered you don’t need the earlier version, just its serial number.
I hope all of you forgive me for not checking out your sites today. I was busy. Do I know how to have a good time or what?
Into the infinite distance, this is Boston from Mission Hill looking across Fenway Park to the Blue Hills in the distance.
Talk about infinity. Arizona’s Grand Canyon is overwhelming, almost incomprehensible in its vastness and seems to go on forever. Visually, it does.
And it goes on forever. The city, the sky, life. Infinity.
I always liked baseball. I grew up in New York where the annual epic battles between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Yankees were so important we listened to the games in classrooms in elementary school during school hours. When the Dodgers beat the Yankees in 1955, that was as good as it gets for a baseball fan, or more accurately, a Dodgers fan.
When the Dodgers deserted Brooklyn for the west coast, we were heartbroken. Faithless Dodgers! I drifted away. College, babies, work … no time for much else.
Until I married Garry. To say he lived and died with the Red Sox is not an overstatement. Like me, he came from New York and had been a passionate Dodgers fan. Like me, he felt he had been set adrift when our team abandoned us. Although we revived a bit when the Mets came to town, it wasn’t the same, though the Miracle Mets of 1969 almost (but not quite) made up for some of the hurt feelings left in the wake of the Dodgers emigration. Unlike me, he had moved to a true baseball town and found a new team to love.
Ah, Boston. And oh — the Red Sox! In what other town could a huge neon Citgo sign at the ballpark become a city landmark?
The beloved, hapless, hopeless, cursed team of teams. When I came to live in Boston in 1988, they hadn’t won a World Series since 1918. They’d gotten so close … and then some terrible error, some disaster would occur. Everyone would scream, tear out their hair, then finally sigh and murmur “Wait until next year.”
Next year came. Twice, in 2004 and 2007. After that, everyone calmed down. We had done it, not one, but twice. The second time proving the first was no fluke. We could hold our heads up. The curse was lifted. All would be well.
Back to my life with baseball. Garry is, was, always will be an ardent devotee of The American Pastime. Baseball season is long and busy. It isn’t a game a week. It’s a game everyday and even more often, if like Garry, you follow more than one team. I realized early in our marriage I had a choice. Spend my summers without Garry … or learn to love baseball.
I went with baseball. It wasn’t hard to love it. More like remembering something I had once known. I’ll never be quite as much a fan as Garry, but I understand the game, appreciate the art of it and know how baseball is an integral part of American history and tradition. I’ve been to Cooperstown and the Hall of Fame and loved it.
Baseball has enriched my life and my marriage. And I have a year-round husband.
I had to be at the Baptist Hospital today to see my spine guy, harboring a hope that something can be done to make it hurt a bit less. I have been to the Baptist before and I remembered that it was at the top of the hill on Parkman Hill Avenue in the area known to everyone as “hospital city.”
I’m not going to bother to explain what that means because I’m pretty sure you can figure it out. What I did not remember, or perhaps had never noticed, is that the view from the hospital is great, particularly if you’re a baseball fan and the words “CITGO sign” resonate for you.
There’s a saying in Boston: “London has Big Ben, Paris has the Eiffel Tower. Boston has the CITGO sign.”
If you are neither a baseball fan and nor from New England, you are probably saying “Huh?” A gigantic neon sign for CITGO does not have the iconic sound that you get from Ayers Rock, Big Ben, or the Taj Mahal, but for Bostonians, it’s so entwined with Fenway Park, the Red Sox, and Boston’s identity that the idea of losing it is unacceptable.
Should CITGO cease to exist, I’m sure Boston would make sure the sign remained, flashing over Fenway Park. It’s as obvious an identifier of Boston as the Empire State Building is of New York or the Gold Gate Bridge is of San Francisco.
A Sign Of The Times
The iconic CITGO sign has been a part of the Boston skyline since 1940. Located at 660 Beacon Street, on what was once a Cities Service divisional office, the sign originally featured the Cities Service logo, but was replaced with the famous CITGO “trimark” of today when the CITGO brand was created for the marketing division of Cities Service in 1965.
Efforts to remove the sign in the early 1980s faced fierce opposition and led CITGO to restore the sign, with groups even fighting to declare the sign a landmark.
The CITGO Sign is held in particular high regard by Boston sports fans. Red Sox sluggers are enticed by the so-called “C-IT-GO” sign as they blast home runs over the left-field wall, and runners in the grueling Boston Marathon welcome its sight as the 20th mile mark. Its pulsing flash in the night sky has even been used by mothers-to-be at nearby Beth Israel to time their contractions.
It’s no secret that the CITGO Sign in Boston’s Kenmore Square is beloved by people across the country and around the world. Not only has it become a major image of the city of Boston, featured in postcards and tourist brochures, but the sign was deemed an “Objet d’Heart” by Time Magazine, was photographed by Life Magazine and featured in the New York Times. It has even become a source of inspiration for artists, musicians and filmmakers from around the world.
A Boston Icon Gets a Facelift
In late July 2010, the 45-year-old, 3,600-square-foot sign had all its LED lights replaced with more technologically advanced and environmentally friendly versions. The upgrades required that the sign go dark while the work was done.
Boston residents watched excitedly as the sign was relit on Sept. 17 during the 7th inning stretch of a Red Sox home game— just in time for baseball playoff season. Today, the famous beacon looks better than ever!
When I first came to Boston in 1987, I was puzzled. I couldn’t understand why everyone loved this huge, garish neon sign. Half the time only pieces of it lit up, so what was all the fuss about? It didn’t take me long to get it: this sign was part of the whole Fenway Park-Red Sox mystique, a signature of the park, the team and the city. Moreover, the CITGO sign is visible from far and wide. It is the first landmark I recognized and used to find my way around the peculiar streets of the city. You can use it to find Fenway … and it’s important to be able to find Fenway Park. You might be forgiven for not being able to find Faneuil Hall, but you have to know the way to Fenway. Even if you don’t care about baseball. It’s a Boston thing.
So there I was, on the third floor of the Hospital, which is the lobby floor since the building is built into the hill and suddenly, I looked out and I saw Boston. Better, I saw the CITGO sign … and below it, the green walls of Fenway Park. They tried to build a new ball park some years ago but it turned out the fans didn’t want a new ball park. They wanted Fenway Park. In this house, we simply couldn’t imagine giving up Fenway.
After a great deal of hoopla and political maneuvering, they renovated the old park. CITGO fixed their sign. All is right with the world: Fenway is safe, at least for a while.
This year, 2012, was the 100th anniversary of Fenway Park. If the team hadn’t had their worst season in decades, it probably would have been a more gala occasion. Nonetheless, the Red Sox have put together a great website with pictures going back to the turn of the century. Lots of history and more. Check it out!
Dolls I've known and loved.
The odds and sods of everyday life.
I shoot crazy!
Chronicles, Stories & Books by a French-American Writer
Humor for the frustrated reader and writer
Random musings of a godless heathen
Movie reviews - because everyone is entitled to my opinion
Photography ventures and views shared.
The place to be yourself and express your views relevant topics.
Because why not?
Marilyn Armstrong - Seeking Intelligent Life on Earth
DLJordan - The Full Stories
Inside the Mind of a History Professor
Human Relationships, Marriage Relationships, Children/Parents Relationships, Work Relationships, Friendships, Love, Abuse, Addiction, Support
Mostly unfinished stories primarily produced as a direct result of my association with the OC Writers Guild
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