Dear Red Minivan

If you're in such a hurry that you must creep forward, 10 feet past the stop line, throughout the red light .... why do you then drive consistently 3-5 miles below the speed limit?

Also, please tell your friend, white sedan, that turn signals are meant to be used prior to sitting in an intersection waiting to turn left. I've already figured it by now, thanks.

Is It Really That Hard?

Why is it, every time I place something Very Important in a Very Special Place so I can NOT lose it ... I can never remember where that very special place?

On the other hand, I'm also capable of losing things that I use all the time. Where are you, glasses? I miss you!

Is It Really That Hard? Hubcaps

The Matrix lost a hubcap a few weeks back. Considering the state of the potholes in this city (they're littered with, at times, up to several feet of road—just disgraceful!), it's a surprise that it took this long. But we have also tarried in getting the hubcap replaced, and this is why.

It's IMPOSSIBLE to replace just one hubcap. Do they really think that all 4 fall off at once? Are you telling me that NO ONE ELSE replaces hubcaps that fall off; everyone is trading up to fancy rims and spinners and whatnot? Keith tried to find just one replacement hubcap online (the repository of everything, on sale for cheap with free shipping), and the price was much too high to justify it. Instead, I will end up going to a local auto parts store and buying a set of 4 new hubcaps.

And what am I supposed to do with the three perfectly good hubcaps that I will now be discarding? It's just so wasteful. And perhaps a bit wanton.

Last weekend, in the Costco parking lot, we saw a Matrix that had only one hubcap. Keith suggested we stake out the car and offer to buy the one hubcap off the hapless owner for $10; the owner could make some money, and we would still be putting our 3 good hubcaps to use.

Maybe we need some sort of online hubcap exchange. I just tried googling the phrase "online hubcap exchange" and didn't find anywhere that both offered 1) the right hubcaps and 2) proper American English. So I guess I will stick with going to the store and buying all new ones.

But is it really that hard to just replace one?!?

Is It Really That Hard?: Haircuts

Why is it so hard to find a good place for a haircut? I really don't think my standards are so very exacting. I want a decent haircut; that is, one that is a) noticeably shorter than when I arrived, and b) looks better than when I arrived.

I also don't want to pay an exorbitant amount for it. In the Midwest, for a haircut that only takes maybe a half-hour, I would consider a fair price to be around $30-40. Making a dollar per minute sounds pretty good to me.

And yet. We've lived here for 3 years now, and I still am having a hard time finding a place to get my hair cut at a good price. At first I got it cut on the West side, near my parents'. But that was quite a trek, and the person who I liked there moved somewhere else .... so I figured I should find somewhere closer to me.

There's actually 2 salons within walking distance of my house. But both of them charge $50 or more for just the haircut alone, not counting the obligatory 20% tip. I think that's F-ing ridiculous.

But, on the other hand, I also refuse to go to someplace like Best Cuts where I could wait for an hour or more, and I have no idea who is going to be cutting my hair. I've had enough hair traumas in my life that I'm not going to expose myself to that much risk.

Another new hair place opened up a few months ago, and my friend Emily tried it and liked it so I thought I'd go there, too. Until I found out that this brand new place ALSO charges $50 for a haircut. But you just opened!!! That doesn't seem right.

FINALLY, I found a place about 5 minutes away called Fast Eddy's Chop Shop. They had a motorcycle theme, which isn't my favorite but I really didn't care all that much. Lots of chrome and black and orange, with loud music and a very open styling floor. Not a lot of the frills that come with a "salon." They didn't offer me herbal tea or sparkling water when I arrived, and that was fine by me. The stylist cut my hair, did a good job, and all for less than $40. I was sold!

That was back in the winter, and I've been meaning to go back for awhile but hadn't gotten around to it. But with Eleanor's birthday fast approaching and the prospect of many pictures that will be saved for posterity, I figured it was really time.

But I've been trying to call them off and on for a week, and never managed to get through. Finally, today, I get a recording that says they are temporarily closed, sorry for the inconvenience, and I can leave my name and number if I want to be notified of their grand reopening soon.

So I gave up. I called one of the over-priced salons near my house and made an appointment for next Tuesday. I can't fight the system any more! But I'd better have damn good hair in all of Eleanor's birthday photos, and I'll be sure to tell the stylist that when she hands me my steaming mug of chai.

Is It Really That Hard? Carpet Cleaner

Lately, I've been spending a LOT more time than I would like (because any time is too much), on my hands and knees, scrubbing the carpet after another one of Beckett's messes. He's not very happy that I'm actually getting out of the house more now that the weather is nicer. Nor is he enamored of the fact that he's on a leash until the backyard gate is fixed and Houdini-proof.

So he poops on the carpet or digs up houseplants .... just whatever way he can show his displeasure with the humans. In a passive/aggressive doggy kind of way.

But anyway, here's my point: I'm trying to spray the carpet cleaner down onto a specific spot on the carpet. And it keeps clogging. It only works if you point it directly out in front of you; it doesn't work if you're pointing down. BUT IT'S CARPET CLEANER. Isn't "down" the whole point?!?

Is It Really That Hard? IT Upgrades

We just recently had some changes done to our server at work. Primarily, our network drive got moved to a much bigger server, and therefore everyone in the office had to be re-mapped to the new server.

Except apparently that's not all that it was, because when the IT guy was done with my desktop it looked different. A lot of my preferences/display options had disappeared. How did that happen?

I would consider myself somewhere between computer literate and technology-disabled. Hopefully more toward the literate end of the scale. I mean, I have a blog, right? Surely that counts for something?

So I'd like to think that I'm at least somewhat savvy about computer upgrades and such. That it's not a complete mystery to me when IT appears and and does something on my computer. And yet ....

Here's what bothered me so much about this transition to the new server:

1. My boss tried to tell them that it would NOT be a good time for us to have any downtime, and we would much prefer to wait until the end of the fiscal year (June). That was ignored.


2. I was slated to be the first person mapped to the new network, because it's imperative that I have access to it. This just turned into me being the guinea pig, so I lost use of my computer AND the network for nearly a whole day while our IT guy found out everything that was wrong with the process while he was trying to get me set up.


3. This process wasn't tested before it was inflicted upon me. Or rather, it sort of was ... at one point, our IT person called the campus help desk about an issue and I heard him say, "This didn't work last week when I tested it. I called and left you guys a message, but I never heard back ..." So in other words he'd started testing it, got far enough to know the process didn't work .... and then just did it anyway.


Plus, there were all sort of smaller issues that were just seriously annoying to fix:

4. An Internet Explorer shortcut showed up on my desktop. I NEVER use IE. And I HATE icons on my desktop.


5. My quicklaunch toolbar, which (sadly) took me months and careful guidance from Keith to discover, yet only minutes to love, had disappeared.


6. My Firefox plug-ins were gone.


7. My outlook set-up preferences were gone (reading pane, don't categorize the inbox messages, etc.) As I said, not earth-shattering, but it still takes me a good deal of searching and trial-and-error to remember how to restore things.


8. What was, to me, the most annoying thing of all, is that he took my left-handed mouse and switched it to right-handed. Physically he moved it to the right-side of the desk, and he also switched the buttons. I understand that many people are perplexed by the left-hand mouse, so that's fine.
   
   But he LEFT it that way. I just think that's rude, don't you?

I'm sure this is one of those perpetual problems. IT/help desks complain about inept users. And the users complain about IT taking too long to respond to complaints or resolve issues. All I know is, the LEAST he could have done is switch my mouse back to being left-handed.

he made my mouse right-handed and LEFT it there, with the buttons switched

Is It Really That Hard? Concert Etiquette

Is there an etiquette guide to attending concerts? Because if not, there definitely should be.

Keith and I went to the Regina Spektor concert a few nights ago. We got there close to 9 o'clock—after the opening band, and just 5 or 10 minutes before Regina took the stage. It wasn't too crowded; most of the audience was even seated at small tables. We found a standing spot behind one table that wasn't too far back, nor too far to the side. We were pleased.

Until the people in front of us started behaving like idiots. What really struck me is that they didn't seem there to be at the concert. Their actions made it seem like they were hyper-aware of themselves as being people at a concert. If that makes sense. Like when they started singing along (which happened at regular intervals), it wasn't a natural, spontaneous thing. It felt, to me as an observer anyway, like this person had decided singing along at just this point is what one does at a concert. Do you know what I mean?

Anyway, it reminded me of some basic concert etiquette questions that bother me nearly every time we go to a semi-large concert. (And I mean "semi-large" very loosely— we were still at a pretty small venue with just a few hundred people, I would guess.)

1. Why sing along with the singer at the top of your voice? Do you honestly think you're going to sound better than the act you paid to see? Do you imagine everyone around you standing and clapping for you? Perhaps you'll get offered a record contract on the spot?
   
   Not going to happen. I can understand mouthing the words, or singing softly to yourself. Because you obviously enjoy the music, and feel connected to the singer. But this is the 2nd concert in recent months (the other being the Decemberists, not that that's relevant) where we were near to concert-goers who tried to outsing the band. Not cool.



2. Are you really so carried away by the music that you have to wave your hands/arms in the air, mid-song? Blocking the view of everyone behind you? I don't believe it.



3. If you're going to pretend to be a Superfan, then stick with that persona. You can't cheer and scream excessively at the first few chords of every other song .... and then talk LOUDLY over the rest of the song. Are you telling me that this is your favorite song to converse to? Because that's just stupid.

If you're this type of concert-goer, you're still more then welcome to go to concerts. Just don't sit by me. Or—even better—don't go to my concerts. Stick with popular acts at large venues and we'll all be happier.

Return to Sender

Before I start my rant about our U.S. Postal Service, I have to add a disclaimer: my father-in-law is a postal carrier. I know that many--probably most--are wonderful, dedicated people who do a fantastic job and make our everyday lives a little easier.

However, that is not the case with our mail carrier. I was always taught that, under certain circumstances, the mailbox is a two-way communication device. If the mail has been delivered to the wrong house, or if you have a package delivery slip that needs to be signed, you can leave these items in the mailbox and your postal carrier will respond appropriately. He or she will take away the incorrect mail, or deliver the package.

At our house, this does not happen. When we leave mail in the mailbox, that's exactly where it stays.

Does our mailman think that we're too lazy to bring in all of our mail? Or maybe, because we don't get a lot of mail, he thinks we like to leave some in the box for the next day. To tide us over, as it were.

So now our dilemma is that, if mail is incorrectly delivered to our house, we have absolutely no way to get it back to its rightful owner without excessive time and effort on our part. The other week, I walked a piece of mail a block over and dropped it in their mailbox. Even though I had to walk the dog anyway, I was still irritated. I spent the whole time thinking, "This isn't my job! I shouldn't be delivering mail!"

We've tried leaving the mailbox open, with the mail sticking up so he notices it. We've tried folding the mail over the edge of the box, so it's hanging halfway out. If anyone has another other ideas of how we might convince our mail carrier we actually left that mail there for a reason, I'm open to suggestions.

Is It Really That Hard? 800 Numbers

Not in the same league as the insurance debacle ... but what's the deal with companies whose 800 numbers have more than 7 digits?

I was online today, trying to reserve a campsite at a state park. For help, they suggest you call their 1-800 number: 1-800-OHIO-PARKS. Okay, if you dialed all those letters, you'd end up with two digits too many.

Obviously, some letters must be combined, like the HI in "OHIO" are probably just one keystroke. But why are you making me think about this?

And the actual number, in digits, was nowhere to be found on the website. Anywhere contact information was given, it was always the stupid spelled-out version. So then I'm looking at the phone, trying to figure out all the possible combinations that would give me 7 digits. Ridiculous! That's time better spent at thesuperficial.com or Ken Jenning's blog.

Seriously people. I am perfectly capable of wasting my time on my own--I don't need any help from your cutesy 800 numbers with that.

Is It Really That Hard? Insurance

Alright, I'm going to try and keep this succinct, because every time I think about it, I get twitchy.

After my car was stolen and it took the insurance 5 weeks to get the car back to me (keeping in mind that it was recovered after only one), I was fed up. They raised our rates every 6 months, and I didn't feel like I was being treated like a valued customer. So we switched.

Our next-door neighbor recommended his guy. We talked to the guy and got a quote. He seemed nice enough; he even explained that he was salary and didn't make any money off our policies, so anything he recommended would only be in our best interest--not his. Plus the quote was a significant savings from our old insurance company, so we were all set!

There was one thing that bothered me, though. When discussing our rates, he made a point to remind us of all the things that could be counted against us when looking for new rates. They included:

• My car being stolen
• Keith getting hit (through no fault of his own)
• Me getting into a fender-bender (through some fault of my own) over 4 years ago

He told us that NONE of these things should technically count against us when getting insurance. Insurance companies are legally required to ignore things that aren't your fault and accidents that are over 3 years old. But, he warned us, they'll consider it anyway.

Ummm, okay. Why tell me that? What the hell am I supposed to do about it?!? It just makes me feel helpless before The Man.

But we signed with him anyway, because it really was a great rate ..... then, a week later, we get the bill. And it's for $300 higher than what he'd quoted me.

I emailed him and asked what was going on. He said I was probably confused because the bill was for auto and home. I wasn't--the auto alone was $300 above the quote. He ignored me for a few days, then finally emailed back that there'd been a "miscommunication" about the quote ... but the good news is that we were still saving $133 from our old insurance.

I'm getting seriously pissed. I don't want to save $133. I want to save the $433 you promised me when I chose your insurance company. I say I don't think the client should be responsible for bearing the entire burden of his mistake, and ask him what he's going to do to fix it.

He goes on vacation for a week.

He got back on Tuesday. We needed to mail in our premium by today to make sure it wasn't late. I emailed him Tuesday morning and laid it all out: It's your mistake, your company should make up the difference between the quote and the actual cost. I understand it's a one-time deal, and our insurance would go up to the norm next time, but you should honor your quote.

I don't hear back. I email again Wednesday morning. And then I call and leave a message with both my work phone and cell phone.

8:30 Thursday morning, I call and leave another message with my contact numbers. Keep in mind--I'm calling his cell phone.

10:30 Thursday morning, I call his assistant and explain he's MIA, I want this resolved, and can she please give me the name and number of his supervisor so if I haven't heard back from him by the end of the day, I'll work my way up the chain of command.

I don't want to be doing this. I hate wasting my time and energy correcting other people's mistakes. In this instance--the insurance guy's mistake that he wasn't owning up to. But just because he was avoiding me, I wasn't going to just give up and pay him the money. What other choices did I have?

His assistant refuses to give me his supervisor's name--she says she doesn't know who that would be. But he's in today--she'll transfer me to his office number.

I leave yet another vaguely threatening message with my contact numbers.

An hour later ... Keith calls. The insurance guy CALLED KEITH. That's the lengths to which he'll go to avoid me. He told Keith his hands are tied--the company won't pay us the difference. But he magnanimously offered to send us the $50 commission he was making on our insurance, to make things right.

Keith pointed out to me that he'd originally told us he's solely salary--not commission-based at all. So where's this $50 coming from?

And that's how it ends. We have to pay the $300 above the quote, and he's giving us the commission he wasn't really making. And he refuses to talk to me. Would you have handled it any differently?

Is It Really That Hard? Tile

We moved into our house on June 30. Which means that we've made it 6 whole months without any major repairs. I don't know what the norm is, but I'm feeling pretty lucky to have lasted this long.

But alas, all good things come to an end. And I'm fudging the numbers a bit in the first paragraph because in October, before we went on our trip to the UK, I noticed a water stain on our kitchen ceiling, caused by the upstairs shower.

We had people coming to visit, and then we were going on vacation. After we got back, we had a plumber take a look. He determined that the spout was the problem, but we all agreed that the tile around the spout and control (i.e., thing above the spout that controls how much hot and cold water is spouting) was not in good shape. They didn't think the tile was causing the leak, but the general consensus was that, if we're getting a new spout anyway, it's a good time to get that tile redone.

And then it was deep into the holiday season. Our credit card was already on fire from the usual gifts plus all the food, decorations, etc. for our first time as Christmas hosts. So we put it off until the new year.

Now that it's February, I think it's safe to say that 2007 is well underway. And we're finally trying to figure out exactly what we're doing with the upstairs bath tile. The tile guy came out last week and gave us two options: #1 (cheap version) replace only the tile around the spout/control. It might not match in size or exact color, so it won't be pretty but it'll be functional OR #2 (OCD version) Replace the bottom third of tile all the way around the bathtub.

If you have OCD tendencies, as I do, you find option #2 appealing because you want it all to match. You can't stand the idea that, every time you shower for the next 15 years, you'll notice the mismatched tile. But at nearly 3 times the cost, is it worth the peace of mind? I mean, usually your eyes are closed in the shower, right?

But actually, all of that is background that should probably have been summed up in one succinct paragraph. Here's my beef: the tile guy put Keith and I in charge of trying to match the tile. His point being that we know what we like/can stand, so if we provide tile and say "we're happy for you to use this," there's less likelihood of us crying to them afterward.

Which makes sense, I guess ... except WE KNOW NOTHING ABOUT TILE. For the past week I've been on this wild goose chase for the exact same size tile in white. I don't particularly care if it's "alabaster lily" or "snow glitter," I would be happy with any version of white.

But we can't figure out what size the damn tile is. You know why? Because it's currently still IN our bathtub, surrounded by grout. And you know what else? We don't know anything about tile!! Have I mentioned that part before? So if a tile is 4" square, I don't know if that means it typically has a 1/16" spacer, or that 4-1/4" square tile is much more common, but that 4-3/8" is also an option.

I've learned about these things, on many calls to tile dealers and a trip to our favorite hang-out, Home Depot. But even after all this, here's my conclusion: I don't know what size our current tile is, and I shouldn't have to.

We're paying someone to replace the tile. THEY should know what size it is, what size is common, and the best way to approach the project.

My dad suggested asking them to reuse the current tile whenever possible, since the tiles themselves look okay—they were just laid incorrectly. I mentioned this to the tile guy in our second conversation yesterday, and got a grudging "That's a good idea. I don't know why I didn't think of that."

Gee, thanks. If this is just the first project of many to come .... I may only be able to handle the aggravation of one project a year, max!

Congratulations on your new baby Gomez!

I am seriously annoyed. To the point where I can almost feel flames curling up from the ends of my hair. It's hard to breathe because my chest is tight. I'm picturing the people (not the animals) at the Cleveland APL in many horrible, tortuous positions.

I first drafted the title of this post on July 27. Why? Because on July 21 we'd picked out a cute little kitten at the local APL. She was waiting to be spayed, but they said that we should probably be able to bring her home the following week.

And yet, I've never written the post. Why? You might reasonably ask. The unreasonable answer is that we've not been allowed to bring her home. About a week after we put a hold on her, she still hadn't been operated on, and she got sick with an upper respiratory infection. She's been sick ever since, which means that even though it's been a month, she's still on surgery wait, and actually still sick.

After Keith and I placed the hold on her, I started hearing stories from family and friends about how strange it was that they wouldn't let us bring her home to await surgery. Because when lots of animals are together they—surprise!—tend to pass around illnesses.

I completely understand why it's important to spay and neuter pets. Bob Barker has made it clear. And, as a responsible pet owner, I always intend to spay and neuter our dogs and cats.

I also understand that not everyone in this world feels the same way. So shelters need to do what they can to ensure that their animals are spayed and neutered. However, there are much better ways to get pet owners to have the procedures done. Like include the fee as part of adoption and give the new owners a certificate to have the animal spayed at a local vet's. That way they've already paid for it, so it's extra incentive to get it done. Or, Jen and Ben in Michigan said that the shelter will take extra money as an insurance policy that you have the procedure done. Once you have paperwork to prove that your pet's been spayed/neutered, you get the money refunded.

I just called again today. After waiting on hold for 15 minutes (which always puts me in a great mood) I was told that Gomez is no better--may actually be sicker--than before. They didn't say anything to indicate that she gets moved to the top of the surgery wait list because we've been waiting a month for her or anything like that. Just that the kitten's not available, and they'll call us when she's ready to bring home. I asked if we could bring her home and bring her back for surgery and was told, "absolutely not."

I hate to abandon a poor, innocent kitten, but this is f*&@ing ridiculous. Why would you make it this hard to adopt a homeless animal? As of this afternoon, Keith and I are trying to adopt elsewhere. If we're successful, we'll send a strongly-worded letter explaining exactly to the Cleveland APL why we did not adopt from them. I urge anyone that's in the Cleveland area: learn from our mistakes and do NOT adopt from the Cleveland APL.

Is It Really That Hard?: Wait staff

My mom and I went out to dinner at Applebee's the other night, which is apparently always a risky choice.

Why are so many restaurant servers crazy?

In the past few weeks, I've had a lot of crazy servers. I know this is partly due to the fact that, in the past couple weeks, I've eaten out a lot. But even so, I feel that the ratio of sane, capable servers to the crazies is much too low.

It's not so much that they're incompetent, although that's part of it. When we were in Kentucky a few weeks ago, Michael's and my beers didn't arrive until after the food. Long after the food. What good is that? But what was the icing on the cake was when, after we'd complained to two other servers (she never came near enough to our table for us to get her attention), our server made a big show of telling us that, in the 20 years that she's waitressed, this is the first time she's ever been so busy that it took her so long to get drinks. It's never happened before. Riiiight.

So like I said, my mom and I went to Applebee's, the chain where, strangely enough the above incident had also taken place. Perhaps Applebee's hires particularly incompetent/crazy waitstaff? During this excursion, our waitress took a mental break in the middle of taking our order and made me repeat my entire order. This is after I tried to order a glass of red and she didn't even know what kinds they had—she mentioned one or two of the labels, but not the actual wine (chardonnay, merlot, etc.), which I tend to find more relevant.

After all those fun times, when I had signed the credit card receipt and she stopped by to pick it up, she actually said, "You're leaving me? I didn't do anything wrong and you're still leaving me?"

I'd assume she was going for funny. But it came out as stalker. Not funny.

I could go on, about the waitress that sat down next to Michael one time and talked about what a long day she'd had, or the time our server ran off to Yemen to find his long-lost twin brother before we'd even gotten our appetizer, but I'm sure you all have had that happen to you, too.

Is It Really That Hard?: Laundry

Like many people, I tend to do laundry on the weekends. Roughly 9 pm, Sunday evening I remember that I have absolutely nothing to wear for the upcoming week.

In college, it was a matter of scrounging up quarters and cramming as many jeans and t-shirts into one load as possible and still shut the washing machine door. However, now that Keith and I have had a few years to develop professional wardrobes, doing laundry is becoming increasingly more complicated.

Our basic separation is into darks (normal/warm), whites (normal/hot), and delicates (gentle/cold). But then there’s a sweater or two that has to be Dryeled—that gets set aside. And then there’s the intermingling between the three main categories: it can be washed normally, but can’t be put in the dryer. They suggest washing it with warm water on the gentle cycle. The latest trend is for labels to say that this particular item of clothing should be washed normal/cold and can be tumble dried but you cannot under any circumstances use a dryer sheet.

If I actually paid attention to all of these directions, by this point I would have 20 separate piles of one to possibly two items in each. And then there’s the clothes that actually say “wash separately.” Um, washing machines today are big. Gargantuan behemoths that could, if given the chance, eat my entire wardrobe in one fell swoop. I am not wasting an entire load (I believe the smallest setting on my parents’ machine is “small boutique’s worth”) on one stinkin’ shirt. No matter how stinkin’ it is!

You keep hearing on the radio and in the news about how much busier people are. Our lives are filled to the brim with work and hobbies, etc. All of these modern conveniences are supposed to be saving us time. And aren’t man-made fabrics supposed to be easier to care for?

Give it a couple years and I’ll be so fed up with the minutiae on every laundry label, Keith and I will only be wearing polyester leisure suits.

Is It Really that Hard? Phone Etiquette

Phone Etiquette

I'm not a very good phone talker, in general. I get easily distracted by shiny objects and lose track of the conversation. Or I ramble and completely lose sight of my original train of thought—if one even existed.

But there are other reasons why I don't particularly enjoy talking on the phone. Since Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone in 1876, people have been using this fabulous instrument to annoy each other on a daily basis. The annoyance can come from the phoner or the phonee, but most likely both.

The ring. Historically, the ring of a phone is shrill and irritating. But the arrival of cell phones in recent years has taken the potential for "ring rage" to a whole new level. As the person being phoned, it can be your own fault for choosing "Ice Ice Baby", or you may be an innocent bystander afflicted by J. Lo in tinny, cell speaker glory. Either way, the ring sets the tone (couldn't resist!) for the next 10 to 200 minutes.

The salutation. A phone greeting should be subtle. Boring. Stick with your basic "hi" or "how's it going?" Don't try to spice things up by modulating your pitch or using popular expressions like "How's it hangin'?" or "Whasuuuuuuuuuuuuup." (Okay, so those phrases are severely outdated, but I don't speak Britney. So sue me.)

And for Bell's sake, identify yourself. Serious pet peeve: "Hey, it's me." I know I may come off as a curmudgeonly hermit, but I do know more than two people. When I'm doing something else and am interrrupted by the phone in mid-thought or mid-washing dishes, it takes several moments to switch tracks and participate in the conversation. Refusing to identify yourself only prolongs the part where I stand with my mouth hanging open and stare blankly at the phone, trying to fit this voice into a context, based on one or two syllables.

The pleasantries. After all parties have been appropriately identified, the pleasantries commence. Relatively insipid topics like "how's the weather?" or "watcha been up to?" They
require little thought and equally banal answers.

I actually am in favor of the pleasantries. As I mentioned before, phone calls usually interrupt an activity, since I am a very busy, important person. A proper salutation and exchange of pleasantries gives me some time to focus on the phone call and prepares me for the conversation. However, pleasantries can go wrong. I've heard it happen, and it's not a pretty sound.

Pleasantries can become over-extended, consisting of a conversation in and of themselves. Resist the urge to ask every polite question about a person's well being or state of mind; one or two will suffice. On the other hand, a pleasant question deserves a pleasant (read short) answer. Everybody knows the person who actually answers the initial "how's it going" with an in-depth self-psychoanalytical analysis and uses it to launch into a discussion of the latest depressive episode and fear of where one's life is heading. Don't be that guy.

The conversation. This element can only be judged on an individual basis. In general, I approve of conversation. Unless you're a telemarketer, in which case it's less "conversation" and more "belligerent badgering of an innocent citizen."


The distractions. While conversation is a good thing, distractions during the conversation is a bad thing. If you have called me, or have answered the phone when I called and deigned to talk to me, then we've entered into a nonverbal agreement to pay attention to each other. Don't start a conversation with someone in your geographical vicinity that I cannot partake it. Especially if it doesn't even concern me. Don't answer your other line/phone multiple times for minutes at a time.

You may engage in activities like cooking, knitting, folding laundry ... anything that requires physical effort but no mental engagement. You may not read a book, watch a TV show (and tell me what happens), or play Typer Shark.

The sign-off. We've greeted, conversed, and are ready to get off the phone. The best good-byes are short and sweet. "Talk to you later" is always appropriate. You obviously have my phone number and/or I have yours and we've made it through the conversations, so it's a pretty good bet that we will, indeed, talk again at a later point in time.

There's no need for words to come flowing out of your mouth and over the phone lines in a rushing torrent, about any last thoughts that may occur to you. If we've been on the phone for a significant amount of time, if it were really important you would have said it already.

---

So now that I sound more like a curmudgeonly hermit than ever, I'm expecting my phone to not ring for the next few days while you all wonder, "Is she talking about me?" I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about everyone—myself included. I do the extended I-might-never-talk-to-you-again good-byes, and oftentimes my conversation probably leaves a lot to be desired. Maybe I'm just saying try not to break all of the rules in one phone call.

A Double Shot of Coffee Talk

First of all, I must give props when they are due. And Bob's description of a "Decaf no fat with whip frappa-mocha-latte-chino" surpasses my drink in ridiculosity. Well done, Bob.

Secondly, Keith directed me last night to an article on Slate about the mega-cup of all coffee shops, the caffeine empire: Starbucks.

According to this article, a smaller size than the vaguely-named "tall" does exist. Starbucks claims that the "short" is not listed on menus because there's not enough room, but you can order it at any Starbucks in the country and you'll get it. An 8-ounce cappuccino with just as much caffeine as a 12-ounce tall.

Now, I don't know whether this applies to my preferred mocha drink, or if it's only for a cappuchino. If I'm brave enough to risk looking cheap in front of a snobby barrista, I'll let you know. But it also reminds me of some other things that don't make the menu.

Like the tea selection. No one ever posts their tea selection and coffee shop workers tend to be impatient people. If you haven't conveyed your order within five second after stepping up to the counter, you get at least a raised eyebrow. And if you step up to the counter and then lean away from it, squinting at the menu and muttering "Now, what do I want?," forget about it. They despise you already.

But what am I supposed to do when I know I want tea but have no idea what teas they offer? When I ask for the tea menu, either I get an extensive list printed in size 9 font that had been tucked away behind three layers of advertising, or I am directed to look at the tea boxes 10 feet behind the counter. Now, I'm getting older and my telescopic vision isn't what it used to be. So if it's the boxes behind the counter, and I'm seriously determined, I'll make the barrista read the teas to me.

They hate that. They get irritated very easily. I think this is why all beverages are made in plain view of the customer—because we can sense that coffee shop workers have an 87.6% higher chance of spitting in our drinks than even normal food service employees.

Something that is usually on display, yet notoriously hard to get, are ceramic coffee mugs. I like the environment. I'd like to think that we get along okay, and I do what I can to make life for my friends a little easier. So when a coffee shop has ceramic mugs piled high next to the register, I make sure to say that I'm getting my tall decaf nonfat no whip frappa-mocha-latte-chino for here. And they charge me tax, and put it in a flimsy paper cup with an extra layer of dead trees to insulate my fingers. Is it laziness on the part of individual barristas? Or is it a corporate mandate that the mugs are just for show?

Either way, I'm starting to think that we may need to lead a revolt against some of the coffee shop practices we've just been taking for granted. Order a "short." Or even better, refuse to use Starbucks' manufactured sizes and order a small. Ask for the tea selection and take five minutes to decide, if that's what you need. And stage a sit-in until you get a ceramic mug, if that's what it takes. As people who enjoy overpriced beverages, we have rights!

A Raging Inferno of Anger

Okay, right now I am a raging inferno of anger. Techno-anger, because my computer thinks it's smarter than me and should decide what's best.

I leave my computer on all the time. It takes forever to boot up, I can leave open websites that I'm using to research articles, it's just more convenient. When I haven't turned it off in a couple weeks or if I need to reboot for updates to happen, I am happy to do so.

I am not, however, happy to have my computer decide to reboot for me.

Yesterday, I was nearly finished with a 700-word article. It was so painful to write, my fingers were practically dripping blood by the end. I was about 50 words away from finishing and decided to call it quits, so I could finish it up quickly in the morning and have a good start to a day of writing many more boring, painful articles.

When I got to my computer this morning, it informed me with a chirpy message that Windows downloaded an update and needed to restart. So apparently it restarted without my permission. All of the programs I was leaving open because they were trials (Photoshop, Illustrator) are gone. Okay, yes, I deserved that.

BUT, all the websites I had found for references for my articles are gone. AND when I opened my Word doc, any versions of the painful article that had been autosaved or I had saved myself were gone. Completely gone! I checked where I usually save articles. I checked the temp file. I checked the tilda versions of the file. All old and pre-bloody finger work. Everything I'd worked on during the evening when I could have been having quality chill time on the couch with Keith was gone.

So who's in charge here? Because I used to think that the computer was a useful tool that I commanded with my superior brain to do my bidding. But if the computer is taking decisions like when to reboot into its own black plastic and microprocessing hands, where does that leave me? A computer shouldn't decide to reboot without at least mentioning it to me first.

Maybe if the computer would write the damn articles itself, I could handle its suddenly self-assertive nature much better. Maybe I'll write that suggestion into notepad, take the day off, and see what happens ...

Is It Really that Hard?

Welcome to the first installment of an ongoing series, "Is It Really that Hard?" In this forum, we'll discuss how "people" (meaning everyone else but us, of course) make even the simplest task amazingly difficult. In keeping with the theme of a few earlier posts, today's topic is: the grocery store.

You make a list, get the items on your list and put them in your cart/basket, and check out. Is it really that hard?

There's countless ways in which shoppers make an economy-sized toilet paper pack purchase out of a pack of gum, if you know what I mean. For example:

• The squeezer/sniffers: Yes, you want your fruit to be fresh. Ripe, flavorful, but not teetering on the edge of illness-inducing decrepitness. That's fair. But exactly how long does it take to determine the fruit's status? How many ways much you check, repeatedly? And why must you leave your cart in front of the peppers I want while you test the tomatoes?
• Poor cart form: Speaking of leaving your cart... what about the people that don't understand the purpose of a grocery cart. I thought a grocery cart was meant as an extension of your arms. You keep it close, and it holds all of the things you can't physically hang on to all at once. Pretty useful! It's not meant as a ramming tool, with which you can careen around the ends of aisles and shove unsuspecting shoppers out of your way. It's not meant as a barrier to prevent people from reaching products that you just might want in the next few minutes. And it's not meant to be left unattended in the middle of a busy aisle because something shiny caught your eye, causing an ugly traffic jam in front of the coffee filters and fresh beans.
• Incessant cell phone talkers: I can almost understand the grocery store conversations along the lines of, "Hey, you wanted Raisin Nut Bran, but there's none on the shelves. Will anything else satisfy that craving for nutty, crunchy, sweet goodness?" I cannot understand the Trigger Happy TV show-esque conversations of, "What are you doing? ... Oh, nothing. I'm just at the store... Yeah, my fridge is empty .... No way! I can't believe she said that. What'd you say?" These conversations are usually carried on at high volume, while the offender is simultaneously committing the cart sins mentioned above. It makes me twitchy
• Checking out faux pas: 1) If you picked up a frozen or refridgerated item while perusing the store and decided not to purchase, don't leave it to melt onto the front of Martha Stewart Living, out of sight of the cashier. Not that I'm a Martha Stewart fan, but really. 2) If you are in an express lane, don't stare into space until the cashier has rung up all your items and bagged them, and then rummage through your purse for a checkbook. Not cool.
  3) When you've finished putting your items on the belt, check out etiquette dictates you should put the plastic bar on the belt also, since the person behind you cannot reach it. If you don't put it there, I have to waste half a belt and precious minutes until you've moved out of my way and I can slam down the plastic divider and start loading up my groceries.

But I'm not angry or annoyed when I go grocery shopping at all! Whatever gave you that impression? Maybe I need to start from the alcohol, open a bottle of whisky, and work my way backward. Come on people, is it really that hard?