Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Like Other Bloggers (and Why I Hate Best Buy, Part 2)

Ok, so, like, I had a really hard day? Like, Best Buy kept on treating me like dirt after weeks, no, months of bullshit? So, like I went and just bought my new Mac elsewhere without waiting for that worst of all possible corporations to return my money? After they lost my Mac in the mail, refused to send another for a week, then claimed to have sent a new one and then called back a day later to say oops, our bad -- we're out of stock! Surprise -- we didn't actually send it after all! You'll just have to keep waiting, even though you've made it clear that you'll be out of the country as of Monday. What? No, of course we don't ship overseas. No, you can't have your money back. No, we won't make an exception even though we've provided exceptionally bad service for almost a year. No. No. No. No.

I've told the story so many times, stretching back to Best Buy's first PC repair errors way back in November, that I just can't talk about it any more. The series of blunders defies credulity. I get wild-eyed and logorrheic, furious and foamy-mouthed and finally just ... just ... hateful. I have had some bad retail experiences, but this undercuts them all. In fact, I switched back to a Mac this week partly to get away from Best Buy's so-called "Geek Squad," just the useless collection of losers and misfits you'd expect to try to sell you software and services you don't need. They exaggerate PC dangers to get ignorant people worried, then they foist gobs of remedial products on the unsuspecting. And everything takes two weeks to fix.

(I know this is boring. But it beats taking out my aggression in other ways.)

Want to buy my $1000 Best Buy store credit at a discount? Email me.

Any good news? Why, sure. K is busy with lots of jobs lately, even if she's so busy she isn't sleeping much. She's sleeping now though. And my pal S is organizing a goodbye dinner for me. And I have my health. And Borat. And we went to a classic LA party at Geisha House tonight, where we met old friends and new, as the gossips might write. Except they'd name names.

At the party, a MediaBistro event to celebrate a new book, K and I ran into a striking number of friends and then met semi-famous "porn blogger" Luke Ford, who impressed me by having our names and even my aggrieved mini-report on the accident (see below) live on his blog before I'd even turned on my new computer. This post, shapeless and pointless though it is, was inspired by his swiftness and completeness.

And then, en route to a post-party snack, as we waited on Sunset for a red light to change, an absolute imbecile named LaToya (honest!) in a rented car and a tacky/(divine) brown spandex outfit rear-ended the Alfa. She was too dumb for words. She lied about whose car it was, named a fake insurance company for which she had no proof, laughed at K's neck pain, failed to apologize for wrecking my bumper, scoffed at the clear evidence that she had in fact wrecked the bumper, and even used her camera-phone to shoot the damage she'd caused. Hooray for Hollywood.

OK, back to a cheerier note. So what's all this about a Mac? Yep, driven in part by my desire never to set foot in Best Buy again, I've switched back to a Mac after seven years as a reluctant Friend of Bill. I hear they don't crash as much as they used to. But why is there no forward delete button? And why does Blogger function so very differently on a Mac? Where are all the helpful controls?

Re the title of tonight's post. Mr. Ford directed me to the blog of his ex, Tiffany, who delves in excruciating detail into such areas as waxing, breakfast fare (Hello, Bridget?), and neurotic fantasies. When I started this blog, such as it is, I promised to avoid the neverending stream of details about my personal life. But maybe I was wrong! I've been wrong so many times. From now on, you can look forward to a daily list of what I use for shampoo, what I've eaten, whom I've seen, what I've seen, whom I've -- uh, how I've felt, where I've been, and who's run into my car. Etc. I mean, isn't that -- and Valerie Plame -- what blogs are really all about?


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