November 13th, 2009

Droid tethering

I installed PDANet from June Fabrics on the Droid. Bluetooth tethering doesn't seem to work very well, but wired tethering is great. I used it while I was at the car dealership today, and it was very robust and speedy.

I mostly love the phone. My biggest complaint is that the indicators for voicemail, missed calls, and text messages are small and non-obvious. Also, you can't change the ringer volume (such as to set the phone to vibrate) without going through the process of turning on and unlocking the phone-- I'm used to just flipping a switch on the Treo. The email app is pretty crappy.

Google turn-by-turn driving directions are good if a bit rough-- I've gotten some of the voice commands a bit later than is reasonable. The screen is fantastic, and the keyboard is starting to suck less. Voice search is an amusing toy, though I couldn't get it to search for my name-- it insisted on searching for Patty Beatle.

Still, it's a pretty slick phone, and way more usable than the iPhones I've played with.

Dear conscience, and a story

I went to the gym and ran tonight-- W3D2 is done. My heart wasn't in it quite as much as it has been on previous days, but I got through it and then some-- I tacked on a two-minute fast run at the end. I left my headphones at home, so I wound up watching whatever was on the TV at the gym. The irony of staring at the Food Network while running was not lost on me, and I felt like a greyhound chasing a rabbit-- "Faster! Faster! If I run fast enough I can catch Alton Brown's souffle!."

Or maybe it was, "if you didn't eat so much of this stuff, running wouldn't be so bloody hard."

On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store to clean up the odds and ends that were on my shopping list. My cashier was an older Asian woman, probably Chinese. She scanned while I did the debit card drill and didn't pay much attention to the goings-on. Then she asked for ID.

I did a mental doubletake. I'd considered buying a bottle of wine, but decided against it, and I was almost certain there was no alcohol in my cart. "Really? Why?"

She held up a bottle of Nyquil. "You have to be 18 to buy this." Ummmmm, yeah. I'm going to be 45 in nine days. People tell me I don't look that old, but I can't remember the last time anyone questioned my legal status to drink, let alone consume an over-the-counter cold remedy.

I extended my drivers' license, and a wave of embarrassment crossed her face. "Umm, your hair. I guess... I thought..."

She neglected to ask me whether I needed help getting groceries to my car, which was probably a wise move on her part.