Jul 11, 2008 1
Oct 11, 2007 20
I Shake My Fist at the Apple Store
(Welcome, visitors from ifoAppleStore! Glad you could come visit. I encourage you to take a look around, and read the comments before posting one of your own. Thanks!)
I like Apple. I really do. Rachel and I have matching 15" Powerbook G4s, we each have an iPod, our house has two Airport Expresses, and I badly covet an iPhone. So it pains me to be filled with such boiling rage at a company that I admire.
My laptop died: these things happen. The hard drive croaked about six weeks ago, but I was able to resurrect it with the help of DiskWarrior, which totally rocks, and is much better than the useless crap the Apple guys tried. So I'm back up and running, and feeling pretty good about myself, until last night when I remembered that I'd turned off Spotlight indexing a while back for performance reasons, but then was irritated that I couldn't search my mail, and so turned it back on. Forty-five minutes later, blam-o. Hard drive dead again. This time, not even DiskWarrior could save it. (Edited to add: although DiskWarrior couldn't repair the drive this time, it was still able to access the files on the disk, and I was able to retrieve the few things that had changed since my last backup.)
So, I reluctantly schlepped my laptop into the Apple Store to have the hard drive replaced. What I was nervous about is Apple's repair policy: they take my computer, take out the broken hard drive, put a new one in, and give me back the laptop. It takes about five days, and that's cool with me, since it's covered under Apple Care. But! They keep the old drive. I understand why they keep the old drive from an inventory perspective, but I wasn't crazy about the idea. I've got stuff on there! Personal stuff! Six years of email, not to mention 40 GB of photos, and all of my bank account numbers.
I asked the "genius" at the Apple Store what my options were. (And let me just say, if you're going to refer to your employees as "geniuses," you should expect some sarcastic quotation marks.) Could he, for instance, format the drive while I was there so I could have at least some confidence that my personal data wasn't going to be easy for someone else to get? Sorry, no such luck, as the drive wouldn't mount, and see above re: their crappy software. I was disappointed, but more or less resigned to the situation until I saw the release I had to sign before they'd replace the hard drive:
Emphasis added. Lack of serial commas: sic.
I understand why Apple doesn't want to guarantee the security of my data, but there's something really offensive about requiring me to sign a release that pretty much explicitly gives them permission to sell my credit card numbers to Ukranian mobsters.
But, if I didn't initial the box and sign the form, they wouldn't fix my computer. I asked how much it would cost for me to buy a replacement hard drive myself, and "genius" Brandon pretty much admitted that Apple jacks up the prices for parts they sell to the general public to encourage us to pay for the labor instead. But besides, I'd paid for Apple Care already. I was entitled to the free parts and labor, and I wanted it. So, being a chump and kinda broke, I signed the damn form.
This policy sucks even if, as Brandon from the Apple Store claims, it's industry standard. The industry standard is stupid. I don't expect the Apple Store to be able to do anything about a terrible corporate policy, but I would have liked a little more sympathy. I would have left feeling much better if Brandon had said, "For legal reasons, we can't make any guarantees, but we've never had any complaints about data being misused, and here are the privacy and security policies we have in place to prevent anything like that from happening." He didn't say anything like that, and I'd like to know if that's because he found me irritating, or because Apple has no such policies.
(I'm praying that just because I made a fuss over this policy, Brandon and his buddies don't "accidentally" step on my poor defenseless laptop, or check the "please ruin this guy's life" box on the work order. Please don't ruin my life just because I hate your policy!)
I'll get my computer back in 5 days with a brand new hard drive, and that's great, but some of my love for this friendly corporate behemoth has been lost. Apple: try not to suck so hard in the future.
I like Apple. I really do. Rachel and I have matching 15" Powerbook G4s, we each have an iPod, our house has two Airport Expresses, and I badly covet an iPhone. So it pains me to be filled with such boiling rage at a company that I admire.
My laptop died: these things happen. The hard drive croaked about six weeks ago, but I was able to resurrect it with the help of DiskWarrior, which totally rocks, and is much better than the useless crap the Apple guys tried. So I'm back up and running, and feeling pretty good about myself, until last night when I remembered that I'd turned off Spotlight indexing a while back for performance reasons, but then was irritated that I couldn't search my mail, and so turned it back on. Forty-five minutes later, blam-o. Hard drive dead again. This time, not even DiskWarrior could save it. (Edited to add: although DiskWarrior couldn't repair the drive this time, it was still able to access the files on the disk, and I was able to retrieve the few things that had changed since my last backup.)
So, I reluctantly schlepped my laptop into the Apple Store to have the hard drive replaced. What I was nervous about is Apple's repair policy: they take my computer, take out the broken hard drive, put a new one in, and give me back the laptop. It takes about five days, and that's cool with me, since it's covered under Apple Care. But! They keep the old drive. I understand why they keep the old drive from an inventory perspective, but I wasn't crazy about the idea. I've got stuff on there! Personal stuff! Six years of email, not to mention 40 GB of photos, and all of my bank account numbers.
I asked the "genius" at the Apple Store what my options were. (And let me just say, if you're going to refer to your employees as "geniuses," you should expect some sarcastic quotation marks.) Could he, for instance, format the drive while I was there so I could have at least some confidence that my personal data wasn't going to be easy for someone else to get? Sorry, no such luck, as the drive wouldn't mount, and see above re: their crappy software. I was disappointed, but more or less resigned to the situation until I saw the release I had to sign before they'd replace the hard drive:
I acknowledge that service may be subject to a $100 USD diagnostic fee as described in the attached Repair Terms and Conditions, and agree that either I have made a backup copy of my data and removed any confidential, proprietary, or personal information and removable media such as floppy disks, CDs, or PC cards, or I have assumed the risk that such information or media may be lost, corrupted, or compromised during service and repair. I further acknowledge and agree that Apple cannot guarantee the safety, security or integrity of any data that remains on my computer while undergoing service or repair and that Apple shall not be liable for any loss, corruption or breach of such data, including any confidential, proprietary or personal information or removable data.
Emphasis added. Lack of serial commas: sic.
I understand why Apple doesn't want to guarantee the security of my data, but there's something really offensive about requiring me to sign a release that pretty much explicitly gives them permission to sell my credit card numbers to Ukranian mobsters.
But, if I didn't initial the box and sign the form, they wouldn't fix my computer. I asked how much it would cost for me to buy a replacement hard drive myself, and "genius" Brandon pretty much admitted that Apple jacks up the prices for parts they sell to the general public to encourage us to pay for the labor instead. But besides, I'd paid for Apple Care already. I was entitled to the free parts and labor, and I wanted it. So, being a chump and kinda broke, I signed the damn form.
This policy sucks even if, as Brandon from the Apple Store claims, it's industry standard. The industry standard is stupid. I don't expect the Apple Store to be able to do anything about a terrible corporate policy, but I would have liked a little more sympathy. I would have left feeling much better if Brandon had said, "For legal reasons, we can't make any guarantees, but we've never had any complaints about data being misused, and here are the privacy and security policies we have in place to prevent anything like that from happening." He didn't say anything like that, and I'd like to know if that's because he found me irritating, or because Apple has no such policies.
(I'm praying that just because I made a fuss over this policy, Brandon and his buddies don't "accidentally" step on my poor defenseless laptop, or check the "please ruin this guy's life" box on the work order. Please don't ruin my life just because I hate your policy!)
I'll get my computer back in 5 days with a brand new hard drive, and that's great, but some of my love for this friendly corporate behemoth has been lost. Apple: try not to suck so hard in the future.
Jul 7, 2007 2
iTunes Changes?
I got the latest iTunes upgrade, even though I don't have an iPhone, and it seems like they've changed the alphabetization rules. I tend to have my library sorted by artist, and the very first song used to be 'N Sync's "Pop" (shut up) followed by a whole bunch of 10,000 Maniacs.
After the update, 'N Sync seems to be sorted under "N" (rather than the apostrophe) and 10,000 Maniacs seems to be at the very end -- numbers now are apparently sorted after letters and initial punctuation is now ignored. All in all, a much smarter scheme than the previous ASCII-based sort.
Anyway, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that the first thing to come up in Cover Flow is now the much hipper A.C. Newman.
After the update, 'N Sync seems to be sorted under "N" (rather than the apostrophe) and 10,000 Maniacs seems to be at the very end -- numbers now are apparently sorted after letters and initial punctuation is now ignored. All in all, a much smarter scheme than the previous ASCII-based sort.
Anyway, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that the first thing to come up in Cover Flow is now the much hipper A.C. Newman.
Apr 16, 2007 16
Back To School
One of the benefits of spending ten hours a week in a car with a fundamentalist Christian is the opportunity to reflect seriously on the important things in life, like whether saving gas is really worth spending ten hours a week in a car with a fundamentalist Christian.
No, seriously, I really enjoyed many of the conversations we had in the carpool, especially when we were able to push beyond the surface disagreements to the underlying and sometimes unexamined beliefs that we hold strongly. In one memorable conversation, we ended up arguing about what was the measure of a good life. What, essentially, was the purpose of human existence? What is our destiny, as sentient and moral actors?
My carpool-mates agreed that this was an easy question: the goal of a good human life is to come to know and love Jesus Christ. Simple. It shouldn’t be shocking to you, dear readers, that I don't think it's quite that easy. Indeed, I argued that the essential goal of human life is to leave the world better than we found it – our duty as moral actors is to improve the world.
Comity was not reached, but it was a stimulating conversation. On reflection, though, it left me dissatisfied. Thinking it over later, I realized that if this is what I believe (and it is), then I’m not doing a very good job living up to it. I’ve spent ten years in a field that I’m pretty good at, and that has provided me with a very comfortable living, but was it helping to make the world a better place?
“Sure,” I could argue, “I work for a company that makes software that helps accelerate the pace of discovery, innovation, development, and learning in engineering and science. This is a good thing.” And it is. Our products are used to design better and more efficient cars, communication systems, medical systems, and so on, but the truth is that my contribution is really too abstract and remote for me to take real pride in the positive outcomes. I write software that helps people write software that other people can use to do good things – that’s just too nuanced for me to take much comfort in.
As it happened, I’d been pretty down on my job anyway. It was becoming clear that my dissatisfaction was over more than my particular job at this particular company. The whole enterprise of writing software just wasn’t getting me out of bed in the morning. Maybe a decade of programming was all I could take.
What could I do instead? What flavor of do-gooder would I become? Medicine was right out, both because there's no way I'm going to go through medical school and because I pretty much faint at the sight of a needle. I wasn't going to go build houses in impoverished countries because, well, I don't really like the out-of-doors. I decided that I need to get into public service, in some capacity that involves mostly talking, writing, and thinking. And, if at all possible, sitting.
To that end, I'm excited and terrified to say that this fall I'm quitting my job to start working towards a Masters in Public Policy at the Taubman Center for Public Policy and American Institutions at Brown University. Excited, because I'm going to be a grad student! At Brown! Terrified, because I'm quitting my job. Rachel (who functions as the CFO in our relationship) assures me that we'll still be able to live in our house and buy food, but we will have to institute a series of strict austerity measures. For instance, we might have to stop shopping at Whole Foods. And I probably won't be able to buy an iPhone. Talk about sacrifice.
I feel really good about this decision, and I feel especially good having the decision behind me since I'm sure my family and friends were getting tired of hearing me whine, "Should I go to grad school?" Of course, I still have to decide just what area of public policy I want to focus on, and what I want to do when I eventually get out of school, but I have some time to figure those things out. My dream job is to be Sam Seaborn from the West Wing, but I think I may need to find a slightly less ridiculous way to phrase that ambition.
No, seriously, I really enjoyed many of the conversations we had in the carpool, especially when we were able to push beyond the surface disagreements to the underlying and sometimes unexamined beliefs that we hold strongly. In one memorable conversation, we ended up arguing about what was the measure of a good life. What, essentially, was the purpose of human existence? What is our destiny, as sentient and moral actors?
My carpool-mates agreed that this was an easy question: the goal of a good human life is to come to know and love Jesus Christ. Simple. It shouldn’t be shocking to you, dear readers, that I don't think it's quite that easy. Indeed, I argued that the essential goal of human life is to leave the world better than we found it – our duty as moral actors is to improve the world.
Comity was not reached, but it was a stimulating conversation. On reflection, though, it left me dissatisfied. Thinking it over later, I realized that if this is what I believe (and it is), then I’m not doing a very good job living up to it. I’ve spent ten years in a field that I’m pretty good at, and that has provided me with a very comfortable living, but was it helping to make the world a better place?
“Sure,” I could argue, “I work for a company that makes software that helps accelerate the pace of discovery, innovation, development, and learning in engineering and science. This is a good thing.” And it is. Our products are used to design better and more efficient cars, communication systems, medical systems, and so on, but the truth is that my contribution is really too abstract and remote for me to take real pride in the positive outcomes. I write software that helps people write software that other people can use to do good things – that’s just too nuanced for me to take much comfort in.
As it happened, I’d been pretty down on my job anyway. It was becoming clear that my dissatisfaction was over more than my particular job at this particular company. The whole enterprise of writing software just wasn’t getting me out of bed in the morning. Maybe a decade of programming was all I could take.
What could I do instead? What flavor of do-gooder would I become? Medicine was right out, both because there's no way I'm going to go through medical school and because I pretty much faint at the sight of a needle. I wasn't going to go build houses in impoverished countries because, well, I don't really like the out-of-doors. I decided that I need to get into public service, in some capacity that involves mostly talking, writing, and thinking. And, if at all possible, sitting.
To that end, I'm excited and terrified to say that this fall I'm quitting my job to start working towards a Masters in Public Policy at the Taubman Center for Public Policy and American Institutions at Brown University. Excited, because I'm going to be a grad student! At Brown! Terrified, because I'm quitting my job. Rachel (who functions as the CFO in our relationship) assures me that we'll still be able to live in our house and buy food, but we will have to institute a series of strict austerity measures. For instance, we might have to stop shopping at Whole Foods. And I probably won't be able to buy an iPhone. Talk about sacrifice.
I feel really good about this decision, and I feel especially good having the decision behind me since I'm sure my family and friends were getting tired of hearing me whine, "Should I go to grad school?" Of course, I still have to decide just what area of public policy I want to focus on, and what I want to do when I eventually get out of school, but I have some time to figure those things out. My dream job is to be Sam Seaborn from the West Wing, but I think I may need to find a slightly less ridiculous way to phrase that ambition.
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