OK computer

I'm not exactly sure when it started, but it has been going on for quite some time. I'm talking about those mysterious calls from a man or woman with a vaguely-familiar, yet unidentifiable, foreign accent originating from a number blocked by your caller ID. The caller, speaking in a staccato, obviously scripted, delivery, officially informs you that they are calling on behalf of Microsoft Technical Support. They continue with bad news. It seems that your Windows computer has been sending them messages that it has been infected with a dangerous virus (sometimes more than one dangerous virus! Eeek!) The alleged technician says he has called to help remove the virus from your Windows computer. Usually for a price.

These calls are infuriating... for a few reasons. First, I imagine my poor in-laws receiving one of these calls and being thrown into a panic. While they have accomplished a lot and have improved on their computer skills, my wife's parents are not exactly what you would call "techies." Anything more advanced than sending an email would be like asking them to plan the next mission to the International Space Station. Not to knock their ability — after all they just turned 80 and computers were unheard of in their day — but they are not really interested in furthering their computer knowledge. They know enough to perform the few necessary tasks they need and that's sufficient. So, if one of these so-called "Microsoft Technical Support" calls are convincing enough, there could be some real trouble — both technical and financial.

The second reason I hate these calls is my contempt for anything deceitful. Obviously, these calls are Trojan horses preying upon the fears of the uninformed. They know they're lying. They know they are not calling from Microsoft. I could never understand how some people can tell lies and feel fully justified in their actions. Why don't they get a job where lying is not a requirement? It's maddening.

My wife, however, has turned the whole thing around and made these unsolicited and unwanted calls into a game. The object of the game is to get the caller to hang up first. Mrs. P usually goes the "I'm an Idiot" route, pretending that she is not familiar with anything the caller says. 

"Microsoft?," she'll ask in faux surprise,"What's that?" 

Sometimes the caller will hang up immediately. Other times, she'll get someone with infinite patience who will explain everything. 

"It's the company that made your computer.," they'll offer. 

"Someone made my computer?," she'll reply... and that usually does the trick.

I play this game by different rules. I try to catch the caller in their own trap. I have told these people that, indeed, my computer is sending messages. Messages from Satan!  *click!*  My usual line of attack is to tell these callers that I don't own a computer. This has elicited varied reactions — from an immediate disconnection to an incredulous "are you sure you don't?" 

Two nights ago, our daily viewing of Jeopardy! was interrupted by one of these calls. A very well-spoken, articulate woman, again claiming to be from Microsoft, informed me that she was receiving messages from my Windows computer. I cut her scripted spiel off mid-sentence.

"What kind of computer do I have?," I asked.

She paused and remained quiet for a few seconds. Then, she answered, "We have been getting messages from your Windows computer."

"What version of Windows am I running?," I pressed.

She paused again, gathered her thoughts (possibly to scan her script for the proper reply) and took another approach. "We are getting messages from your server." She carefully emphasized the word "server" to let me know that she, indeed, had technical know-how. 

I quickly countered. "What kind of server am I running?"

*click!*

I guess I won that round.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

what a fool believes

I have been in the marketing field for years. I seek out and admire clever and innovative marketing practices regularly. Everything from Coca-Cola commandeering ol' Santa Claus for their own financial gain to Christian Mingle, the matchmaking website, claiming that God himself has endorsed their services. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

But so far, the best one I've seen is the campaign behind Sony Pictures' film The Interview. Follow this proposed scenario*, if you will...

Seth Rogen, an actor/writer possessing a modicum of talent, wrote the screenplay for a goofy film concerning the implausible concept of two reporters being recruited by the CIA to assassinate Korean dictator Kim Jong-un. When the silly concept was first conceived the object of the would-be assassins was Kim Jong-il, the current leader's father, who died in 2011, while the script was still in development.

As many kinks as possible were ironed out of the one-joke script and an August 2014 release date was set. Rogen, along with regular collaborator and Freaks and Geeks co-star James Franco (another actor that, despite a Best Actor Oscar nomination in 2011, has questionable acting range) were asked by Sony to reshoot and rewrite portions of the film. So, from the beginning Sony had its doubts about the sophomoric romp. The release date was changed to Christmas Day, a long-time popular and profitable day for the release of films.

Suddenly, what appeared (to me, at least) to be a brilliant marketing campaign was launched. Sony announced to the rabid, hungry-for-a-story media that their corporate email system had been hacked, the culprits releasing hundreds of personal correspondences that would prove embarrassing to a slew of executives, producers, directors and actors. The media leaped all over the story like a mouse to a peanut butter-smeared snap trap. 

A day or so later, alleged hackers released several as-yet unreleased films online, to the apparent shock and dismay of Sony (including the inexplicable second remake of Annie).

After days of jarring emails — some deriding famous and beloved actors and their films — Sony announced that the source of the criminal infiltration was rebel group calling themselves Guardians of Peace, based in malevolent North Korea (read: George Orwell's Eurasia). Kim Jong-un himself had condemned The Interview, promising a "merciless" retaliation if the film is released. The Guardians of Peace threatened a 9/11-type attack on theaters daring to show the film. Suddenly, Sony was shaking, giving in to the threats and demands of an evil foreign government who was allegedly behind a massive email attack, although their previous technological know-how resulted in four consecutive failed satellite launches, Sony canceled the Christmas Day release of The Interview. The voice of the people roared with displeasure. Celebrities took to Twitter (the cool outlet of choice) to express their outrage about the decision. Even the President took time out of his busy day to offer an opinion, calling Sony's decision "wrong." With just a few days to spare, Sony did a complete turnaround, standing proud against foreign threats. The studio announced that it would show the film in a select group of theaters, terrorist groups be damned! It would also make the film available to online outlets, like YouTube, Google Play and many, many others, for a small rental fee. Social media exploded in approval. We won! We beat the terrorists! We would now exercise our God-given American rights of Free Speech to see shitty movies! One fellow in the military was even prompted to tweet to Mr. Rogen: "You make me proud with your courageous decision to stand up to North Korea. I support you and am proud to serve you. You are a true American." (Seth Rogen is Canadian, but, y'know... whatever.)  U-S-A!  U-S-A! U-S-A! 

So, defiantly, The Interview was released on Christmas, as promised. It made one million dollars — granted it was only shown in 330 independent theaters nationwide (as opposed to Unbroken, which was shown on 3,100 screens). The home, video-on-demand views, once tallied, will, no doubt, bring that total higher. The critics, however, were less than kind, mostly panning the film as "misogynistic," "racist," "filled with toilet humor and penis jokes," and "vulgar." One critic wanted to know "What was all the fuss about?"

A little more than a week after the hoopla has died down, The US Government (the same one that recently admitted to lying about the CIA's torture methods) revealed that North Korea may not have been behind the Sony hacking, but plans for sanctions against North Korea will still be implemented.

Oh well, you got to see your Seth Rogen movie. You got to wave the American flag for a little while. And you fell right into Sony's master plan.

Happy?

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

* the opinions expressed here are mine and mine alone, but maybe you'll share them.

won't you please, please, help me

Let me take you for a ride up the corporate ladder.

Wednesday morning brought another Comm meeting (that's corporate lingo for "Communications Department"), a small sub-group of the larger Marketing Department of which I am a paid proud member. 

Comm is comprised of Elgie, the Director of Communications, who, in addition to other responsibilities, spends a good portion of her day maintaining a diplomatic calm over the more hot-headed members of her team (read: me). In my thirty years as a professional artist, Elgie is one of the best bosses I have worked for — and I'm not just saying that because she reads my blog. (And I'm not putting her solely at the top of the list  because my former boss Diane reads my blog, as well.)  Perhaps you remember Elgie as a supporting player in this ordeal. Comm boasts two writers, including my friend Kym, whose well-meaning antics have made for many an amusing blog post. Then, there's the Data Steward, a key member of the team, but whose actual job function remains a mystery to most of the Market Department. Comm is rounded out by the Web Master, whose job title sounds as though he should be wearing a cape and a tunic emblazoned with a big red "W."

On Wednesday morning, we were joined by the CMO (Chief Marketing Officer, for those non-corporate types playing along at home), as he wished a status report on an upcoming, highly-anticipated, internal website overhaul. So, at 10 AM, with coffee mugs and note pads in hand, we all filed into a conference room. Web Master had arrived early and was busily fiddling with connections from his laptop to the big, wall-mounted, flat-screen monitor looming over the the far end of long conference table. He was rigging a video feed so the whole group could see his computer's desktop on the big screen. We sat patiently, sipping coffee and nibbling the donut hole treats that Elgie graciously brought, as Web Master checked his plugs and jacks until he was satisfied with the connections. Then, he grabbed the multifunction remote control, pointed it at the sleek black video receiver on the wall and pressed the power button.

Nothing.

He pressed the button again.

Again nothing.

He examined the remote. He popped the back open and rotated the batteries, hoping to remedy a faulty contact. He replaced the battery compartment lid and pressed the power button again. Nothing.

"Maybe there's a power button on the unit itself." he said, as he jumped up and approached the wall displaying the massive monitor. Slowly and carefully, he slid his hands around the outside of the unit, each side, top and bottom. He inspected the back of the unit and crouched down to visually survey the underside, hoping to spot something he may have missed with his hands. Nothing. He shook the remote and mashed the power button again. Exasperated, he called the company Help Desk. Past experiences have revealed that name to be a misnomer.

"Help Desk," said the voice from the four way speakerphone at the center of the conference table.

"Did you
try pushing
the power
button?"

Web Master explained his dilemma.

The Help Desk voice paused, obviously assessing the technicalities of the situation, then offered this astute, previously-untried solution: "Did you press the power button?"

We all exchanged stunned glances. "She didn't really say that did she?" We all thought it, but no one spoke it. Well, maybe I did.

"Yes. Yes I did.," Web Master replied, doing his very best not to end his sentence with "you fucking moron!" (He was successful.)

Help Desk voice was not defeated, as she provided another suggestion. "Did you check for a power button on the unit?"

"Yes, I tried that.," Web Master replied, nearly biting his lip.

"I'll send someone down to check it out.," Help Desk voice reported.

A short time later, two gentlemen entered the room. If we had not already known their purpose, we would have believed the pair to be entertainers for a children's birthday party, judging purely by their wobbly gaits, ill-fitting tool belts and droopy clothing. One of the men immediately snatched the remote from the table and repeatedly pressed the power button several hundred times. Then, he popped the battery compartment lid and.... do I even need to finish this sentence? Meanwhile, his cohort slid his hands along the outside of the wall-mounted unit and inspected its posterior for a power button. This was followed by several minutes of head-cocking, chin-stroking and thoughtful skull-scratching, supplemented by a generous amount of "hmmm"s. 

One of the men whipped out a cellphone and called — we can only assume — someone in a supervisory position. Within a minute, the conference room doors flew open and  a woman with a no-nonsense stride burst in. She headed straight for the wood-grain cabinet beneath the wall-mounted monitor. Leaning over, she studied a large, black unit on a shelf, previous hidden by the cabinet doors. She pressed a button on the front and the monitor came to life with bright a LED glow. She turned on her heel, smiled, and headed back from whence she came.

"What was the problem?," the CMO asked, as she crossed by him on her way out.

"Someone had turned off the main power switch.," she answered, shaking her head.

The two men followed her out of the room — ambling unsteadily, mouths agape — looking like lost puppies about to be given a new home and a big bowl of sloppy meat by-products.

Problems behind us, we started our meeting.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com