5.26.2005
long ass post
My computer assignment this week is to download and install a digital certificate and then send the teacher an encrypted email containing an MS Word file detailing the experience. I probably could have just sent a mundane recount of my step-by-step actions, but since when am I so boring? So anyhow, here is my paper in all of its glory:
I Thawte This Was Supposed to be Easy
Wrong.
The whole process started out nicely. I watched the instructional video and set out to http://www.thawte.com with the cockiness of a young man who has filled out somewhere around 62,463 forms for various reasons online. The first few pages flew by (though the amount of personal questions I had to answer were on par with a mortgage application or a police interrogation). I finished up, submitted my request, and waited for the confirmation email. Well… not so much as waited as I kept refreshing the “pending” page until it suddenly became the “approved” page. The clock on the bottom right of my screen let me know that I had 40 minutes until Lost began.
Then my world started to collapse.
The link provided by Thawte to download and install my certificate would open a Firefox window, but it remained blank. I tried several times, but could never get it to open anything other than a blank window. “Perhaps it installed itself,” I thought, so I fired up Thunderbird to try and send myself a couple emails, but with no luck.
Having a strange history with Firefox and its inability to perform certain simple tasks, such as allow me to pay a Verizon Wireless bill, I reluctantly switched to Internet Explorer. Unfortunately this step required applying for a second certificate on my super-secure account, which led to another four minutes of frantically reloading and waiting for the appearance of the magic link. And when it did appear, I clicked it and lo and behold a real popup appeared asking for a username and password.
Again, no.
Upon installation of the certificate I retrieved my old, unwanted version of Microsoft Outlook and sent myself an email. No signature. I tinkered around with some settings, found something in the options about “digital certificates,” pressed some buttons and sent myself another email. I unsuccessfully inspected the email closely for signs of a digital signature. I closed Outlook and opened Thunderbird again in hopes that the certificate had magically appeared, but alas one had not.
Finally I pulled out the big guns. I vaguely remembered seeing Microsoft Outlook Express wedged in the forgotten depths of my Start Menu between Microsoft Works and “Remote Assistance” and I figured it couldn’t hurt to give it a try. Thirty-nine test emails and five minutes of crying later, I noticed the clock now read 7:55. Five minutes until Lost. I opened a blank email and moved my cursor over “Tools” on the menu bar, hoping to be given the choice to edit the options. Suddenly a choir of angels sang out in my computer room as the day’s last remaining rays of light shone through the window on my monitor and over the words “Digitally Sign.”
I ceremoniously pressed the “Send” button on my digitally signed email to myself and was granted the courtesy of an immediate delivery. Seeing the certificate in action, I quickly and confidently sent you a signed email and basked in my sense of accomplishment for the next two minutes before retreating to the living room to see the long-awaited (and nearly missed!) finale.
5.25.2005
rock stars?
A couple randoms:
I am playing the country station today for some background music, but not really paying a whole lot of attention. I was just sitting here doing some random accounting hooha as the dj droned on, and as the new song began I distinctly heard him say "...and that's the chemical formula for methamphetamines." Who ever though methamphetamines would be mentioned on a country station? And what the hell did he say to lead into that!? I will never know.
Also, Todd drew something to my attention last week that I hadn't yet considered. What will happen when Madonna dies? I think about the recent passings away of such terrible men, i.e. Ronald Reagan and Pope JP2, and how people grieved for what seemed like twenty nine years. But Madonna... that is going to be a serious tragedy, at least for most of us homers. There will be a National Gay of Mourning, in which we get to don a big red bow in our hair a la Borderline, or a cone bra from Blonde Ambition, or perhaps some henna on our hands and forearms as a nod to the Ray of Light era. Just as Reagan's mourners erased from their memories his aid to some of the world's most notorious terrorists and his negligence when faced with the birth of the AIDS epidemic, we 'mos will forgive our Queen for her missteps such as Swept Away and American Life. We're even willing to look the other way on all of the Mirwais collaborations. A sad, sad day it will be.
5.23.2005
fired
The other morning I came to work and opened up the Sirius website so I could stream some radio and I was greeted by this ad for special guest Donald Trump to "get gangsta with 50 Cent and DJ Whoo Kid" on Shade 45, Eminem's radio station. I can't even sort of imagine how that interview went.
5.03.2005
phunk
I love the Black Eyed Peas. They do (and do very well) what Destiny's Child started out to do - make fun music, often with somewhat silly elements, that turn into huge hits. Their new single, Don't Phunk With My Heart, is no disappointment. Radio sucks, though, because they made them change it to "Don't Mess With My Heart." It's times like these that I am glad I subscribe to Sirius.
Watch The Video (scroll down in the news box deal thing)
5.02.2005
dani-hell-a
I sat next to the most evil little three year old on the plane back from Boston yesterday. When the flight attendant informed her that she wouldn't be able to sit in her car seat until the plane was in flight, she started screaming at the top of her lungs "I'm not supposed to sit like this until I'm a teenager!" Followed by "I'm hungry!" So her mom gave her some fruit snacks, to which she answered "I'm hungry, but I don't want fruit snacks!" "This seat is itchy!" "Why are we moving so slow!? When is the plane going to take off?" "Ouch, mister! You're hurting me! Stop stabbing me in the face with a butcher knife that you somehow snuck on the plane!"