Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Couchsurfing

Would you let a stranger crash on your couch for a night or two?

Kinda scary, isn’t it? Despite the myth of “southern hospitality”, most of us would be a bit reluctant to let someone we don’t know into our abode for any extended period of time.

There’s a trend, though, called Couchsurfing – it’s even got a website, www.couchsurfing.com – where people who want to get to know others that might not come from their normal circle of contacts.

The idea is pretty simple. You fill out a profile, upload some pictures, and sign up for the level of interaction you want. You could be looking for or offering a “couch to surf” (i.e. a place to stay), or you could be willing to show someone around where you live or meet them for coffee, dinner or a drink.

Others on the website vouch for members and explain how they know them, what level of interaction they’ve had and for how long. Contact is by email, and other than the general location, your exact address isn’t given out until you’re comfortable with it.

It tends to attract a lot of younger, backpacker-type folks. When you get to be our age, the need for your own space (physically and mentally) and privacy sometimes exceeds the need for cheap lodging. As one friend commented, “The older I get, the more stars I seem to need on my hotel.”

There’s truth to this. Our routines become more stable (rigid?), and it’s just more comfortable for everyone if we can adhere to some of that, even while travelling.

We’ve been members of Couchsurfing for several years. We haven’t ever stayed with anyone, but we’ve met some great people for coffee or drinks when we travel. In European countries, especially, people who are eager to practice their English are often happy to meet and show you interesting things in their community off the beaten path. You truly get a taste for what life is like in another country (or even a part of the United States).

We haven’t ever stayed with someone, but we have hosted several times. Most were just overnight encounters, like the guy on a cross-country bike trip who fought a thunderstorm all the way from Asheville to get here. We ran most everything he had through the clothes dryer, packed it all in ziplock bags so he didn’t run into water problems in the future, and sent him on his way in the morning.

But we followed his trip on his blog after that for weeks, and discovered why he was biking cross-country (to honor his brother and raise awareness about the disease that took his life).

Then there were two ladies from Florida on a furniture junket who’s husbands couldn’t believe they were going to come and stay in the house with a couple of guys they’d never met. They jokingly referred to it as the “Casa de Asesinos” (House of the Assassins), shopped a house full of furniture from local outlets we directed them to and arranged to have it shipped back to Florida.

Other than delightful conversation, the only thing we got out of it was an invitation to come watch one of the Shuttle launches from the VIP stands. Seems that one actually WAS a rocket scientist.

Then we met a someone who’s become a good friend in San Francisco, who spent three days (THREE DAYS!!) showing us around all the neat stuff that’s not in the tour books, directing us to hole in the wall restaurants for incredible meals and generally acting as a great host. We’re just waiting for him to come to North Carolina so we can return the favor.

We can't forget the Unitarian Minister who was ending a year-long sabbatical with a road trip across country to his new parish.  We still meet him for dinner when we go to New York City.

The other good thing about working through a website like this is that you can decline the opportunity to host without any hard feelings. Someone sends a request and it’s inconvenient (or you just have an “ookey” feeling based on their profile) and you just say, “Sorry, not available.” No drama, no angst – and it leaves open the opportunity for maybe next time.

What it shows is that people are willing to be friendly. Lots of people are open to new friendships, and recognize now that they can come from different sources – including the internet.

Couchsurfing’s motto says, “Participate in Creating a Better World, One Couch at a Time.” There’s a lot of truth to that. If you break bread with someone, share conversation and open your home, it’s hard for them to continue to be scary “others.” If we open up a bit, are open to friendships with people who might be outside our normal sphere of acquaintances, we often find that there are friendships available from the most unexpected sources.

That’s got to be better for all of us in the long run. If we see how others truly live, maybe they won’t be quite so scary, and there won’t be as much “us” and “them” between the cultures.

Monday, March 29, 2010

A Surprise Visitor

President Obama paid a surprise visit on President Karzai of Afghanistan over the weekend.

If you’ve decided it’s going to be a casual weekend spent in your sweats on the couch with the remote, having the head of state of another country drop in unannounced is going to really screw that up.

I’m not especially happy when someone pops in unannounced to borrow something, much showing up for the weekend without calling ahead.

And you know he didn’t come alone. There was no mention of Michelle and the girls going along for the ride, so Mrs. Karzai was off the hook – “No, you guys go watch the game, enjoy yourselves. I’ll bring in some sandwiches in a bit.”

In the back of her mind, she’s thinking, “At least the rest of the family didn’t show up. Last time those kids were tearing through the house like a bunch of wild banshees. And that Michelle. She was in MY KITCHEN trying to help. Lookin’ at MY STUFF like hers is all better. We’re in the middle of a war here, don’t she know that I got to make due with those old crusted up cookie sheets, I can’t be buyin’ no new Teflon ones?”

(The other way that one plays out is that the first lady of Afghanistan is a guilt-monger, saying, “I wish he’d brought Michelle and the kids along. I never get to visit with them any more; I’m not sure she really likes me, even. Of course, the kids were so bored last time they were here. We don’t have the toys and snacks that they’re used to. They just sat there and stared around the whole time, and I didn’t know what to do with them. She’s so overprotective, wouldn’t let them go play with the kids in the neighborhood or anything.”)

I suspect it wasn’t really a surprise visit as much as it was an unannounced one. With that posse’ in tow, it’s hard to imagine that Barack can sneak up much of anywhere. If nothing else, the custom paint on the plane is pretty much a give away.

Karzai’s got to think that’s a bit like having an investor come to check on how the project is coming along, like they do on those “Flip this House” TV shows, except this time it’s “Flip this Country”.

They are undoubtedly over budget and over time on the project, and are behind the 8 ball even more since Obama’s predecessor was the architect who designed it and really didn’t leave behind a very good blueprint. It’s more of a “design as you go” type project, which leaves a lot of opportunities for mistakes.

Now the excuses that Karzai (who’s kind of the General Contractor) has been giving the investors don’t fly any more, so the Boss (i.e. the Money Guy) showed up to see if there’s really plumbing and electrical installed or whether he’s getting a lot of doubletalk without much progress. Although much of the meeting was done out of the public eye (like during the commercial breaks on those shows, when you know that the financier is probably going ballistic over the decision to install purple shag carpeting on the bathroom walls because it’s trendy and fun), they came back smiling for the cameras and announced that they will now have definable benchmarks in the future and fully expect the project to be completed shortly.

Probably what we should have been doing all along, if the truth be known, but anyone who’s remodeled a building, much less a country, knows that it always runs over budget, especially if there’s not a good foreman on site keeping tabs on things. There are surprises with any remodeling project and that expensive phrase, “. . . .as long as we’re here, we may as well . . . . “

Unfortunately, we also know that contractor years and earth years have nothing to do with each other. We can only hope that war years aren’t similarly lost in that type of ambiguity and the budget for rebuilding can be reigned in a bit. Until then, surprise visits by the Money Guy or his reps probably ought to continue.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

My Confession

I have a confession to make today.

I am an addict.

No, it’s not drugs or booze – vomiting and day long headaches seem too big a payoff for the fleeting pleasure of the buzz, not to mention the empty calories that I don’t need.

It’s not sex, either, that apparently being reserved to trim younger men with exceptionally large, ummmm, “bank accounts”. Think Tiger Woods here.

It’s not even food, although I do admit to binging on potato chips when given the opportunity.

After all, every bag is a serving, whether it’s those little dinky lunchbox types that take 3 or 4 to give you a good cholesterol buzz or the big three pound “Family Size” bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, guaranteed to provide indigestion for the 48 hours following.

No, I’m addicted to newspapers. Not news in general, since I find the chaos of 24 hour news channels on television or the internet mind boggling, but the articles contained in newspapers.

I’ve been addicted since childhood.

It used to be just the printed format, electronic versions being unknown until relatively recently. Now, like every junkie, I’ve expanded my delivery method of choice to the traditional backed up by the more intense high brought about by improved delivery systems.

Now it includes the internet versions as well.

I blame it on genetics. My maternal grandfather read the newspaper every day, usually with either his pocket knife or a straight pin in hand.

This wasn’t to inflict injury on anyone but to cut out interesting tidbits to share around either by mail or when he saw the person next. I have vivid memories of sitting on his lap as a small child while he had his wheelchair pulled up to the kitchen table, cutting out snippets. His wallet was always stuffed with clippings.

He passed the addiction to Mom, who, even if they’re travelling, has to have her daily fix. Dad is often sent to the streets in unknown cities where they might be visiting to find a copy of the local rag for her perusal. After 50+ years, he doesn’t even try to avoid the chore any more but instead scopes out newspaper racks whenever they arrive somewhere new.

From the time I began to read, Mom and I were usually the first ones up sitting side by side, she with her coffee, me with a glass of chocolate milk, silently reading the newspaper while the radio played in the background. It is a silent ritual that I follow to this day.

So I come by it honestly. Although originally it didn’t cause much of a disruption in my life or the lives of others – other than the occasional over-zealous sharing of clippings with people who may have only been polite when they first expressed interest in something – it’s getting worse lately.

Most newspapers now have an on-line version. One that invites you to comment about the articles, so that the railing against the world which used to be confined to one’s own home or office is now shared with a broader, sometimes world-wide, audience.

An audience who either wisely agrees with the sage wisdom which I express, or shows their utter stupidity by disagreeing and posting their own insipid remarks.

Addicts seldom have a realistic view of either their problem or how it affects others.

I’m scaling back. I have to do it alone, since there’s not a 12-step program for this, and am starting with baby steps. Only the local newspaper, and it has to go away by 9:00 in the morning (well, except on weekends, when there’s more about which to opine), and I can’t go back to see what’s been posted in response to the wisdom I extol more than once a day.

Otherwise, you run the risk of getting into these flaming internet exchanges, two junkies working to magnify their own high and, like most addicts, needing more and more stuff to get the same feeling.

It’s hard, of course, especially when someone posts a reference to another newspaper that has more information about the topic. It’s right there at my fingertips, waiting to be typed into the search engine and offering an online account for free.

Dealers have often recognized that you create a client base by giving away lots of samples before you begin charging for the product.

The urge to expand beyond the local paper is particularly true as we go into the election season and local papers have already picked the candidates who they will support. Online comments direct one to other papers, in adjacent communities, that offer even more data for a bigger buzz.

Not to mention the opportunity to preach to an entirely new audience at a neighboring paper who might be even more appreciative of my opinions.

As far as addictions go, this one is pretty minor. It doesn't cause me to miss work, I don't have to lie about where I've been or what I've been doing, my health isn't impact and the cost is relatively minor. 

I keep saying I’m going to go cold turkey, stop the subscriptions, delete my profile and never go back. We know, of course, that’s not going to happen since addiction is something that must be fought every single day of a person’s life.

So I fight the battle one day at a time, needle in hand to forcibly wrest the physical proof of the information from the newsprint.

And hope that one day there’s a cure, or a support group, or something to help others like me who are destined to spend their mornings with ink on their hands as they protect their nasty little secret, going off to work after their fix to lead apparently normal lives.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Civility

Have we become an uncivilized nation? Or is it just that the lack of civility is now more apparent given the instant and continuous availability the various forms of media newscast?

When our country was founded, dueling wasn’t uncommon. If one gentleman in some way offended another, they met with weapons in hand and attempted to resolve their differences.

This frequently resulted in the death of one or both of them.

Did it make the winner right, though? Or just prove who was the better shot or swordsman?  Presumably it solved the immediate problem although on a larger scale one would think that's probably not an ideal solution.

Congress, itself, has not always been a model of decorum. While there would undoubtedly be disputes of opinion as to the appropriate course of action in any political body, “cane fights” were not uncommon on the floor of Congress during the early years of our Republic.

Charles Thompson, the first Secretary of the Continental Congress and primary recorder of the proceedings that lead to the creation of the United States Constitution was frequently either a participant in or the cause of some of these fights, amid allegations that he had either misquoted or misrepresented a delegate’s position.  After all, there were no tape recorders or video cameras to allow instant replays of what really happened, not to mention the lack of microphones for the speakers.  Some misinterpretation was kind of inevitable.

Being the Recording Secretary in any organization is a thankless job. It is one of the most powerful positions though, because he who writes down what happens gets to determine the facts.

One has to wonder whether even these incidents in Congress were more civilized than that which we’ve seen from both Congress and the public in recent months. When members of Congress engage in similar activity, who can blame the public for following their example? Yelling “You Lie” at the President or “Baby Killer” while another member of Congress has the podium sends a message from those who are supposed to be our nation’s leaders and are supposed to set the example for the rest of us. 

A message that civility is unnecessary and the one with the loudest voice is the one who is right.

There are places where mobs, while maybe not effective, may be appropriate.

Marches on the Mall in Washington have traditionally been a place that groups can express their support or displeasure with a societal and governmental position. Protests on the sidewalk or steps in front of the courthouse were necessary to get the attention of sufficient numbers to allow movements with regard to the rights of women and minorities.

But the difference was most of those had some element of organization. People were making their presence known and tended to listen to individuals who had thought out their message and were trying to persuade those who were either undecided or had a difference of opinion.

The flash mobs that appear now in many movements aren’t designed to persuade as much as to intimidate. Religious persecution through the ages should have taught us that individuals who are either afraid or in pain will say most anything at the time. They don’t necessarily mean it, though.

“Tea Party” protesters who show up with guns strapped to their waists and vaguely worded threats probably do little to help their cause, since their actions are so extreme as to alienate those who might be undecided. Regardless of my actual feelings, if I’m unfortunate enough to get trapped in one of those groups, I’m like to at least appear to agree until I can safely get away.

Never argue with the crazy guy with a gun. That’s one of those easy rules by which most of us can live.

It’s like the roadside preachers who stand and scream at passing cars. I’ve never heard of or read about a single person who’s been converted through the actions of these people. Instead, most come off as nut jobs who ought to be avoided.

Compare that to a polite, even passionate, discussion over a cup of coffee, where there’s an exchange of ideas and respect for the other person, listening to their concerns and thoughts and then countering with the opposing viewpoints. Even if an agreement isn’t reached, most people will likely come away with a respect for the other person and their convictions.

I’d submit discussion is a lot more likely to win folks in the middle over than screaming obscenities or epithets at them.  No one is likely to win over the people at the far end of either spectrum.  They're not the majority  although it may seem that way at times since they are the most visible in the media.

Maybe they weren’t taught any better and don’t know not to interrupt, to speak politely and to wait your turn to talk.  They do no one any favors, though, since they provide fodder to their opponents to discredit their position and sometimes alienate even those that might agree with them by their extreme tactics.

This is not good for either our country or our society and it doesn’t appear likely to change in the immediate future unless each of us decides to make it better. Turn off the nut jobs, point out that they’re not helping their cause (from a safe location, of course).

And start listening to the other side for a change, instead of shouting at them. It may be that we find we still have more in common than first appeared.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Road Trips

Spring inevitably leads to the conclusion that vacation season is almost here. Growing up, that usually meant a road trip somewhere, first with a tent, then later with either a pop-up camper or a small travel trailer.

In those pre-internet days, it also meant that Mom had to get on the job to plan the trip. This wasn’t a simple matter of just deciding where to go, mind you. It meant not only planning the ultimate destination but also the route to be followed, finding appropriate campgrounds (her requirements were minimal – flush toilets, hot showers, and at least once a week laundry facilities on-site) and the activities to occur on the trip.

To this day, I’ll drive 100 miles out of my way just to see the World’s Largest Ball of String or some other local oddity.

Looking back, I realize now that the logistics involved matched those of Hannibal taking his armies across the Alps – with the Elephants – to invade Rome.

Mom shopped rates to get the best deals, looked at travel guides for ratings and amenities, and wrote ahead for reservations.  Meals were planned from the freezer and packed in ice chests to minimize purchases on the road.  Gallons of iced tea were made for the journey and, anticipating what happens afterwards, a large coffee can with a plastic lid was brought along to minimize comfort stops for the kids.

Boys simply do have a biological advantage over girls in some cases.

I can’t imagine that mom ever dialed a “1” to make a long distance telephone call for any of those things. Long distance telephone calls were reserved for birth and death notices, and were kept to the bare minimum.  Mom managed so well by mail, though, and the trips were so well planned that my grandparents could send their weekly letters ahead to the campgrounds so mail was waiting for us when we arrived.

The first of the trips that I even vaguely remember was to California, in the summer of 1964. Dad had a new Ford Econoline Van. Ours was Kaopectate green initially.  My brother and I were 2 and 4, respectively.

Now, before you go romanticizing a trip like that let’s remember that this van was little more than a shoebox with wheels. Safety equipment was virtually non-existent, and when my youngest brother came along after this trip his perch was a collapsible stadium seat bolted to the motor box, which was located between the front seats.

There was no air conditioning. We were going from Oklahoma ACROSS THE DESERT to California. In the summer. Dad still maintains this was when he confirmed the joy of driving at night.

Children's car seats were virtually unknown and the van was great from the perspective that it had lots of room for my brother and me to crawl around during the trip.

Mom had a plan of action for keeping two toddlers happy, too. We had “goodie bags” that came out at regular intervals, and included a small lunchbox with thermos (just like Dad’s) that seemed to be magically replenished with animal crackers and Kool-aid while we napped. Coloring books, crayons and an assortment of a few toys both appeared and disappeared with enough regularity to keep them novel as well.

Travel now is a bit easier, if not less complicated. There are no toddlers in our lives currently, nor are any anticipated in the foreseeable future. The internet makes the pace of planning the trip faster even if it doesn’t take less time given the need to filter the overwhelming volume of information, and the ability to climb on an airplane and be transported in hours rather than days makes the venues available for vacation more numerous.

It does make it harder to figure how who has exactly the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, though, Cawker City Kansas, (http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/8543) or Darwin, Minnesota (http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/2128), and how best to get there.

Friday, March 19, 2010

The Passing of Daniel Boone

This morning’s paper carried the news of the death of yet another great American icon, Fess Parker.  He died March 18, 2010 at the age of 85.

If you’re under 40, you probably have no idea who he is, but if you were a little boy growing up in the 1960’s, you watched him just about every week. He played the great frontiersman Daniel Boone on a weekly television series from 1964 to 1970.

Fess Parker’s career started when Walt Disney picked up the 6’6” actor to play another frontiersman, Davey Crockett, in the 1950’s. Having only five episodes, the show was the first "mini series" in television history, although the term was unknown at the time. 

It also caused the first television based marketing trend, causing a run on ‘coonskin caps and “Old Betsy” long rifles. About the same time that it first aired, Charles Schultz came out with the Peanuts comic strips, and there is a story line that emphasizes one of the characters wearing his coonskin cap everywhere.

Being children of the 60’s, my brothers and I missed him the first time around, but we did catch him as Daniel Boone. I can’t remember what night it was on, but I do remember that the three little boys in our house were really upset if they missed “Dannel Boom”.

There was no small amount of confusion when a rerun of a “Davey Crockett” episode happened to occur on the Walt Disney Show in the same week that we saw Daniel Boone. We were convinced that the people on TV made a mistake, since they kept referring to “Daniel Boone” as “Davey Crockett”.  It probably didn’t help any that the costumes were similar and both had catchy theme songs that preschoolers could easily remember. 

In retrospect, the similarity of the costumes was probably intentional, since Disney could simply remarket the caps and firearms as from Boone rather than Crockett.  Then again, that may be the cynicism of a middle aged man who's had the Mouse suck too much money out of his wallet in the past.

We also played “Daniel Boone” with the other neighborhood kids in the back yard, in story lines that were produced and choreographed with enough intensity to put a Broadway Musical to shame. Although none of us had a coonskin cap, someone in the neighborhood had an Old Betsy Rifle. The rest of us had to make due with whatever props we could improvise, including an old blanket thrown over a V in the fence between two yards to make an improvised Teepee for either ambushes or peace conferences, as the script might direct.

Looking back, the story lines were pretty contrived and bore a historical inaccuracy that probably wouldn’t be tolerated today. The portrayal of clear cut good guys and bad guys belies the truth of the actual situations and stereotypes of Native Americans and women, among others, and fails to even come close to current politically correct requirements.

But in a neighborhood full of little boys (and one girl who frequently proved that she could “fight injuns” with the best of them) it provided a foundation for hours of entertainment that didn’t involve video screens or any equipment other than what was scrounged around the house.

Fess Parker didn’t remain in show business. He did a few other movies (Old Yeller probably being the most famous), but felt that Disney Studios did him no favors in promoting his career. After the series ended, he went on to become a successful hotel developer and winery owner. There’s no denying, though, that he had an impact on a generation of kids who stopped their play to go inside and watch his exploits on the flickering black and white screen of the living room television.

Not to mention his impact on more than a few raccoons.

http://www.danielboonetv.com/index.php?page=home

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Yard Art

Spring brings out the time to do the early yard clean up. Now that the debris that’s accumulated over the winter is no longer covered either by leaves or snow, and people are actually walking down the street and can see the place without looking through slush-splattered car windows, the neighborhood norms dictate that we take some kind of action.

When you’re doing that kind of cleanup is when you really get a look at how others see your yard. That leads some of us to the conclusion that there’s a fine line between “yard art” and “just plain trashy.”

I keep working on that balance here. Although I’ve accepted that it’s not physically possible to fit another plant or shrub into the yard anywhere, my mind keeps going back to the fact that there’s still a couple of locations that could stand a bit of ornamentation.

Right now, other than the fish pond and it’s waterfall that gets revised on a fairly regular basis – usually after critters have knocked enough of the rocks into the pond that reconstruction is unavoidable -- the only structural elements are a couple of bottle trees.

For those not in the know, bottle trees are a fine southern tradition that date back to colonial days, probably from slaves. The idea was that you hang brightly colored bottles out and evil spirits are enticed to move in to these spiffy new cribs. You then sneak up on them, cap the bottles to trap the spirits and then throw them in the river so they float downstream and annoy the neighbors.

Nowadays most of us choose to keep the bottles attached to the trees, throwing stuff in the river being politically incorrect and all. Besides, if the spirits keep the noise down and mind their own business, they qualify as good neighbors.

I built the first one of these a few years ago. We started saving wine bottles over several months and I began scrounging materials out of the basement. I didn’t want the freeform tree that’s most common, but instead wanted something that looks kind of like a cartoon Christmas tree – nice straight lines and lots of bottles.
It takes more bottles than you’d think to fill up the space. We had to up our “wine-of-the-month” subscription for a while. We also had to think creatively to find some colorful bottles – wine, for the most part, tends to come in green, brown or clear which is functional but kind of dull. Bright blue takes either vodka or tequila, not usually on our drink list. We also learned that any wine that comes in other colored bottles – pink, for example – is to be purchased solely for the purpose of acquiring the bottle. The wine is almost invariably so bad as to be unfit even for cooking.


So the big bottle tree dominates one part of the yard, hidden by foliage during the growing season and then emerging during the barren months. One unfortunate side effect is that it looks something like a Christmas decoration, giving the impression that I’m too lazy to bring it in and just leave the tree up year round.

This isn’t an unfair assumption, it’s just incorrect. If there were lights up on the eaves of the house, given my aversion to ladders and heights, they would undoubtedly stay up most of the year.
 
About mid-winter last year, a friend brought me another bottle tree, this one much more free-form and made of metal. It’s in a shady part of the yard that’s always looked somewhat forlorn in my opinion, unable to grow much of anything because of the oak tree that poisons the soil under it. It needs a bit more decorating, though, to brighten it up and may even need some lights before it’s finished.

That’s the quota for bottle decoration, though, in a yard this size. You reach a point where more is too much, and I don’t want a yard that looks like a recycling center.

I guess that also means that the bottles in the basement are going to have to find another home.

Of course, since gnomes, deer and cutouts of large people’s bottoms bent over and showing their drawers have been banned anything else is going to have to get kind of creative.

Monday, March 15, 2010

The Innocence Commission

I have a confession to make.  It appears that I need to be the subject of my own Innocence Commission and retract one of my earlier positions, based on prosecutorial misconduct.

For those who don’t know, Innocence Commissions look at criminal cases where someone has been convicted and there seems to be some fairly strong evidence that the wrong person is in jail. This has resulted in the release of several individuals recently, many of whom had spent decades in jail.

Back on January 9, I wrote about Murder at the Soup Kitchen and placed the blame for the fresh feathers under the bird feeders directly at the feet of the neighbor’s black and white cat.

I admit, I don’t like the cat. I have no particular fondness for felines anyhow, but this one is particularly loathsome. He’s arrogant and always sneaking around the yard, then he sits on the edge of the fish pond looking in like he’s picking out his next victim, as if the six remaining are merely sushi on the hoof waiting for his execution order.

The evidence that he was the perpetrator under the bird feeders was pretty strong against him – from the big windows in the kitchen I can watch him skulking across the yard and trying to sneak up on them. I have no doubt that he’s been guilty of murder in the past, but he may not have been properly identified as the appropriate defendant in January.

I base this in part on something that happened Sunday afternoon about 3:00, right in the heart of prime nap time. I was in my recliner in the den wondering why the story line on whatever was on television (probably Discovery Channel) was so discombobulated.

Of course, the fact that I was watching with one eye and dozing with the other may have contributed to that; since they usually put out pretty high quality stuff.

All of the sudden, there was a tremendous WHAM from the back of the house. At first, I thought there’d been another car wreck at the intersection – which would have put us up to about 19, incidentally – but didn’t see anything out that direction.

Going back to my chair, I happened to look out the kitchen window.

There, under the bird feeders, is one of the hawks that have taken to soaring over our neighborhood. Noble beasts they are, I love seeing them either perched atop the power poles or sailing through the air, hopefully thinning the squirrel population, which could stand a bit of birth control in any form.

Instead of sitting on the pole in the corner of the yard, though, where he usually monitors the comings and goings of the neighborhoods, he was sitting on the brick wall.

Under the bird feeders.

“Communing” with a turtledove. Although identification of which particular dove was there was no longer possible, there are (were) only four that lived in the yard. Now, presumably, there are three and one clutch of eggs is destined to be raised by a single parent.

Piecing things together, the victim must have sensed what was happening and tried to escape – unfortunately, the escape route was through the big kitchen window which wasn’t open.

And as sad as that is for the bird, I’m glad for us because if a sparrow in the house causes a certain amount of chaos, I can only imagine what a hawk chasing a pigeon around would do.

If the evidence on the ground is to be believed, the race ended there at the window when the hawk was able to pull up and avoid the collision and the turtledove wasn’t. Both seemed to go down in the lower patio region, near the hot tub.

When the hawk saw me looking at him, he made his lunch ‘to go’ and headed out to parts unknown.

But it appears that I owe the cat next door a new trial, as his guilt isn’t as clear cut as it first appeared.

That’s OK; there’s always next time.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Condoms in Rome

Rome has once again sparked a furor that’s made international news.

This is, in part, because the “City of Love” is also the “City of Catholicism,” in that it completely encircles the worlds smallest independent nation, the Vatican.

Officials in Rome’s public schools are alarmed at the high rates of teen pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases (STD’s) and have therefore developed a pilot project to put condom machines in one of the high schools.

School officials say it is a concession to reality, to try to curb these very real problems confronting young people.

The Vatican says the decision trivialized sex and reduced it to, “. . . a mere physical exercise,” and that educators are more concerned with,” . . . the health and hygiene consequences of sex,” rather than its moral implications.

Is that so wrong? Somehow, I think that I’d rather the kid’s math and science teachers be concerned with health and hygiene than with the children's morals.

In the United States, we have many of the same problems where those counties with the highest incidents of teen pregnancy and the associated ills are the same ones that most strongly oppose the introduction of medically based education in favor of “abstinence only” curricula.

There’s a disconnect between the thinking and reality that fails to acknowledge first that teenagers have little enough common sense about lots of things, but most especially sex.

The statistics are all over the place on this, so I’m not going to cite to anyone’s web page or information. Conservatives argue that anything other than abstinence only implicitly allows and encourages sexual activity (although, if we think about it, most teens need no encouragement in that regard at all; all they need is an opportunity), and liberal groups point to the high teen pregnancy rates among those who’ve been raised with a more fundamentalist ideology.

I base my opinions on what I’ve observed, both growing up as an active church member and having been involved with juvenile law for over 25 years.

Good kids get in trouble. Kids that aren’t “wild” and who know right from wrong. With full information in that regard, it seems illogical to keep that same kind of full information regarding protecting themselves from both unwanted pregnancies and diseases that can have major life impacts.

I was at a social event a few days ago, and fell into conversation with people that I hadn’t met before. They covered the breadth of the social spectrum, including teachers, social workers, and lots of others. We started talking about the stupid information that kids have, and one of the teachers who works in a district that allows abstinence only education confirmed that she sees high school students every week who have the same bad information that we had in the 60’s and 70’s.

You can’t get pregnant the first time you have sex.
You can’t get pregnant if we do it standing up.
I’m safe, you can’t catch anything from me because I’ve never done anything before.
I have a football injury and am sterile.
I’m on the pill, that protects us from STD’s.
I can’t get pregnant, I have my period.

This, in the age of the internet and almost unlimited information and kids are still as misinformed as they were almost half a century ago.

Rome Schools have the right idea. Denying the reality of teen sex does nothing to protect children from their own stupidity. It is about as rational as allowing a three year old to play in the street. It is up to adults to provide them with the tools they need to be safe. That includes not only an appropriate ethical foundation from their parents, but also the tools they need to keep themselves safe.

The appropriate thing to do here is to make the safety net of condoms readily available to keep one bad mistake from turning into a lifetime of regrets and more mistakes.  They also need to be provided an education in HOW to use them before they're faced with some tough decisions and insufficient blood flow to the brain.

This can then be complimented with the education their parents deem appropriate with regard to WHEN to use them.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

A Crisis on the Corner

There was a crisis here on Tuesday.

As cataclysms go, it wasn’t a huge one, at least not to anyone outside the house. No locusts or frogs, the water stayed clear, firstborn children seem intact.

But to me it was substantial.

My day usually starts in the early morning in the Den, with the newspaper, coffee and the computer. Sometime after daybreak I go upstairs to the office to work.

Tuesday I was following this routine and set my laptop on the counter while I refilled the coffee cup.

Gotta keep the creative juices flowing, you know. Need all the help I can get in that regard.

After filling my cup, as I turned around, the world began moving in slow motion, like in movies when someone’s in a car wreck or falling down the side of a mountain.

My laptop went from the countertop to the floor. Hard.

I tried to reach, to grab – to stop the hurt that I knew in my heart was potentially lethal, like when a parent sees their four year old running toward an electrical outlet with a pair of scissors in their hands, but it was not to be. I could not get there fast enough to avert the trauma.

As with so many falls, at first it looked like things were relatively unscathed. A minor scratch, the case had a crack and one hinge was out of kilter. Annoying, but things that I could live with. I had big hopes for, “No blood, no foul.”

After a few minutes, though, it was obvious that there were internal injuries. The little laptop, just a year old (which converts to about 45 in human years as best I can tell) now had narcolepsy.

Suddenly and without reason it would go to sleep, sometimes mid-sentence.

I’d slap it around a bit and eventually it would wake up, somewhat confused as to what happened and needing more than a bit of reminding to stay on the task at hand.

As the day progressed, I realized it was like talking to a stroke patient.

Words are slurred and responses delayed or irrelevant to the question posed. Short term memory isn’t what it was.

When I consulted with the experts, their suggestions were somewhat universal – one summed it up best when he suggested that I pray to the Computer Gods for moments of clarity, so that important information and last good-byes can be shared.

None offered hope, pointing out that at over a year old it was already bordering on obsolete and parts were no longer available.  There was no new hip in the future for this patient.

So I set about downloading anything important to my desktop. Experience with laptops has taught me that they are prone to such accidents, so I keep little on it that can’t be replaced. There were some vacation pictures and movies that needed to move, but otherwise it was a fairly short drill to clear the hard drive.

Now we wait, which is the hardest part.

There are rallies, moments of clarity that provide false hope, but in reality the cause is lost and it is but a matter of time. Confession has been heard and Extreme Unction administered. It will move on to the next plane of existence with a clear conscience and good Karma, having been a great computer during the short time it’s been in my life. We have hopes for a peaceful – and timely – passing.

There'll be no receiving. Memorial donations should be made to the electronic charity of your choice.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

The Freedom of Hate Speech

The Supreme Court is hearing a case this fall about free speech, something very near and dear to my heart.

It involves funerals for soldiers in the armed forces killed in the line of duty, something also of concern to me, especially since more and more of my friends have sons and daughters who are either there or contemplating that as a career possibility in the current economy.

It also involves the fringe Westboro Baptist Church and it’s leader, Fred Phelps, who engage in protests, most recently at the funerals of fallen soldiers.

So they show up at funerals to protest. Originally, it was just the funerals of AIDS victims. Now it’s at military funerals they appear and hold up signs not opposing the military involvement in Iraq or Afghanistan, but instead with trendy slogans like “Thank God for Dead Soldiers,” “God Hates the USA/Thank God for 9/11,” or the perennial “God Hates Fags” . Their theory is that the god in which they believe is causing these soldiers to be killed because of the United States “tolerance” of homosexuality.

This is undoubtedly obnoxious and upsetting to lots of people, but it’s easy enough to ignore; just don’t read those articles, or click right past them on the internet or with the TV remote.

Until they show up at your son’s funeral with their hatemongering. Then, their actions become outrageous and some of the most indecent things that have occurred in modern times in the name of religion.

Most local governments who have encountered this group and others of their ilk have established rules regarding protests around cemeteries. They’re required to stay outside of the cemetery, usually on public property or in designated areas, and most have restrictions on loudspeaker and other equipment to minimize the disruption to the service.

Nonetheless, when nerves are frayed and on edge, simply driving by these people with their vengeful – and largely irrelevant -- signs adds outrage to the family’s grief, especially since it targets not the individual who died but some broader societal circumstance or belief with which the deceased may have had no involvement.

It makes about as much sense as a cousin showing up at your wedding and objecting because her marriage didn't work out and she got divorced.

It so outraged one family that they sued the individuals in the group for both invasion of privacy and intentional infliction of emotional distress. They got an award of $10 million, which was then overturned by the 4th Circuit Court of Appeals, clearing the way for the case to go to the Supreme Court.

I understand the hurt they feel from this decision. Unfortunately, it is the right thing to do to support the greater good of our Country, the very thing that their son was fighting to support and preserve.

Interestingly enough, the Westboro Baptist people, who are primarily from one family, are pleased with the appeal (although presumably not with the original verdict) because, according to Mr. Phelp’s daughter, "We get to preach to the conscience of doomed America."

The 4th Circuit noted that the speech in which they engaged is especially repugnant and tasteless, especially given the circumstances under which the protest was staged, but noted that it is absolutely protected by the United States Constitution, given that it was the expression of opinion regarding a significant public policy.

I’m paraphrasing, not quoting. For the whole opinion, go to http://pacer.ca4.uscourts.gov/opinion.pdf/081026.P.pdf.

As much as I despise this group and what they stand for, unfortunately they are right in their claim that they can publish their propaganda as long as they comply with the rules as far as time, place and manner. If we, as a society, begin to limit the ability of even the most offensive individuals to engage in free speech, pretty soon we’re limiting those that don’t like the President or the Congress or the local City Council.

They absolutely ought to be allowed to protest – in the areas somewhat removed from the grieving families and with limitations on their sound equipment – to their heart’s content.

It’s questionable whether our current Supreme Court, staffed as it is with recent appointees who have shown a propensity to sometimes ignore the underlying principles of the Constitution in order to take the more popular route of banning the actions of this similar groups.

I hope that they do not do that. These people must be allowed to continue to spew their hate, just as many other groups are allowed to spread their message regardless of whether or not we agree with them.

Remember, this group is at least nominally a church, preaching their doctrine. Start limiting their ability and it’s not much of a step downward to approving the sermons that are permissible on Sunday mornings or banning certain curricula in Vacation Bible School.

Or limiting what the Tea Party folks can say at their rallies.

What I do wish would happen is that their goal could be denied them. They want a public platform. Instead, I’d rather see a summary opinion by the Court that simply supports the 4th Circuit in
one line. Less, if they can do it, although it must be remembered that Supreme Court Justices were once lawyers and brevity isn’t necessarily their strong point.  There are, however, pages and pages of opions that simply read "Affirmed" without further comment by the Court.

Follow this Summary Opinion by a virtual news blackout on the whole sordid affair, or keep reporting so generic as to limit the publicity on the specifics of what this group stands for, and a reasonable outcome can be achieved.

In that way, we both uphold the principle that is important while denying the hate that is so reprehensible.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Voting Records

Thirty-eight Iraqis lost their lives yesterday.

They weren’t shot while attacking US troops, or engaged in any kind of terrorist activities.

The were killed while trying to vote. Individuals opposed to the idea of a democratic election chose to engage in violent activities that caused their death.

Think about that for a minute.

Here in the US, voting is about as easy as it could possibly be. You can register whenever you renew your driver’s license, by going to the courthouse, or by responding to one of the gazillions of voter registration people that will accost everyone who appears to be over 18 at any shopping center during the right season.

You don’t have to declare your ideology or do a whole lot other than give your name and address. Registration lasts for the rest of your life, assuming you vote in at least some of the elections and don’t move your residence.

The actual voting is pretty easy, too. Early voting is open from early morning through the evening, usually at least 6 days a week, and is usually in relatively convenient locations – recreation centers, libraries, courthouses.

Voting on the election day is even easier. In one of the few throwbacks to an earlier time, voter locations are designed to be accessible by foot from the residents they serve, acknowledging a time when that was the primary form of locomotion. They are therefore seldom more than a few blocks away from anyone.

When you get there, any time between 6:30 in the morning to about 7:30 in the evening (this varies by state), you go to the people working the counter, tell them your name and get your ballot. If you’ve thought ahead, you can even download the ballot from the internet a day or two beforehand and go in with notes that will have you out in just a few minutes.

Nobody is shooting at Americans trying to vote. There haven’t been significant incidents of mass violence at US polling places in about four decades, although, of course, there are always isolated incidents otherwise. Even that is a rarity, though.

Most of us can be in and out in less time than it takes to get a cup of coffee. Depending on where you’re at, you may even be offered a cup of coffee. The people who run the polling places tend to be pretty friendly, despite any differences they may have politically.

In fact, the most annoying thing about going to vote in the US is usually the poll workers for the individual candidates, each with their toes carefully on the line of demarcation indicating the legal limit of how close they can get to the polls.

So why is voter turnout so abysmally low in the United States? Without a doubt, those running the government have a significant impact on most of our lives. Not only do they determine the taxes we’ll pay, but also things as remote as whom we’re allowed to marry, whether we can adopt children, what types of occupations we can enter and how wide the door to the bathroom is. They’re having impacts in a lot of areas that we might not even think about, and yet a huge percentage of US citizens eligible to vote don’t bother to do so.

I won’t put all the statistics here, because they put even me to sleep. It’s enough to recognize that voter turnout peaked in the early 1960’s, fell terribly until it hit an all time low in 1988 and have now climbed back up to about 1960 levels.

It’s still much lower than in most industrialized nations.

Check out http://www.fairvote.org/voter-turnout if you’re interested in specifics. It’s got a pretty good narrative about the different things that impact turnout and links to other statistics.

Here’s the underlying question – if Americans don’t appreciate democracy enough to turn up one day every couple of years (don’t forget the off-year elections, when turnout is traditionally even smaller) do we deserve to keep it?

If not used and protected, eventually our rights to determine the representatives to our government will be lost. Is this a fitting consequence for the apathy of the American people? While we may not lose the government entirely, it certainly seems likely that more radical fringe groups that are able to mobilize their constituency are having a greater and greater impact on the outcomes of elections.

Look at the ultra right-wing evangelical Christians, who were largely a non-entity until the 1980 election when Ronald Reagan first frothed them into motion. Today they exert a significantly disproportionate amount of influence on elections and the resulting government compared to their percentage of the population or those people who share their beliefs.

The sad reality is, with large numbers of our population choosing not to vote, a minority ends up taking over the government, especially when things are balanced as closely to 50/50 as they are in the United States today.

The winners in many elections are largely a function of the weather on election day and the ability of groups with special interests to get those with similar beliefs out to the polls. It doesn’t necessarily show what the majority of the people in the country want.

You have to wonder what turnout would be like if there were death threats and the possibility of being shot while exercising your right to vote. Yet the people in Iraq braved those conditions in hopes of forging a democracy are every bit as brave as the early US residents who stood up to the British King to create their new country.

Maybe we have something to learn from them.

Friday, March 5, 2010

No Tolerance

Someone in today’s newspaper was once again touting a “no tolerance” policy in our schools. While these sound like a good idea, there’s a couple of problems with them.

North Carolina, like many other states, has a rule put out by the who govern extracurricular activites that says that convicted sex offenders may not participate in those events. That means for any kid who is a “convicted sex offender” in High School (or Junior High, for that matter) may not be on any sports teams, can’t play in the band, and can’t even attend meetings of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes.

Sounds like a good idea, right? After all, these kids are hardened criminals who deserve to be punished. They can’t follow the rules of society, and therefore shouldn’t get to have any of the perks that go with it.

Let’s talk about the rule of unintended consequences, though, and how it impacts kids who really are good kids but do something dumb – specifically with regard to “sexting”.

For those that don’t know, sexting is the act of sending risqué pictures over the cell phone. Usually, it starts when someone sends a nude or semi-nude picture of themselves to their boyfriend / girlfriend.

What? Your child would never do that? Please, leave whatever planet you live on and visit the real world of High School -- and Junior High -- in the United States. Your kid is likely to do it. Any kid is likely to do it. Lots of kids are doing it.

While this might not be a parent’s proudest moment, and certainly not one that you’d like to talk about during Sunday School Class, it’s hardly the end of the world. It’s dumb, but if we all examine our deepest darkest secrets, we’ve all done something equally as dumb.

Here’s where it starts to turn into a big problem, though.

Prosecutors are now going after kids who send or receive pictures because, if they’re young enough, they are “distributing child pornography”. Check out a particular state at

http://im.about.com/od/sexting/United_States_Sexting_Laws.htm

Say that little Suzy, age 14, who’s an “early bloomer” and could pass for a college freshman easily, has sent a risqué picture of herself – sufficient to meet whatever the local standard for “obscene” – to 16 year old Jason, who’s the captain of the football team. They’ve been talking for four whole months, and are in LUUUVVVV forever. We know this is true, because she’s inscribed it in multiple colors on the cover of her school notebook and he’s let her do whatever is the current equivalent of wearing his letterman’s jacket.

The problem is Jimmy’s little adolescent brain has left control of his good sense to some other organ that’s a bit lower on the anatomical structure. Whatever is in charge, though, sees that his football captain capital has the potential to score him a lot of girls – more than just Suzy. All that attention has gone to his head, and he starts chatting with with Mandy and Brittany and Wendy as well, all of whom are convinced to similarly send him racy pictures.

Trust me, this is a very widespread practice. If you were to pick up your high school student’s cell phone right now and scroll through the pics (assuming you’re technologically savvy enough to pull that off and he / she isn’t bright enough to have deleted them) you’re likely to find something that you probably wouldn’t be thrilled to share with their grandparents.

Going back to our situation, though, suppose that Suzy finds out that Jason’s a player (not just on the football field) and she’s more than unhappy about the situation. Being a bit smarter than Jason, though, she doesn’t let him know that she’s onto him and manages to get hold of his cell phone one day.

While she has the cell phone, she scrolls through the pictures, finds those of the other girls and, deciding she’ll fix them for mackin’ on her man, shotguns a message out to the entire football team with the pics of the other girls attached.

Upon finding out about this, Jason decides to break up with Suzy as well as getting even, so he zaps her picture to all his buddies on the football team, who then share them with the track, soccer and baseball teams.

Jocks never share with the Band, for some reason.

Suzy, now mortified at having her privates splashed all over those tiny screens around the school, goes to her daddy complaining and, being a good dad, he calls the School Superintendent. The Superintendant, being mindful of litigation from many sources, does both an internal investigation and turns the matter over to the District Attorney’s office.

Does it occur to any of these kids – or their parents, for that matter -- that they’re guilty of several felonies?

Let’s start with the fact that every kid who has any of those pictures on his or her telephone is guilty of possession of child pornography.

Those who shared it around, zapping it from phone to phone to phone, are guilty of distribution of child pornography.

And given how mad Suzy’s dad is, the District Attorney is going to pursue the case. After all, he’s an elected official and getting distributors of child pornography off the street is good for the polls.

So charges are filed against an assortment of kids. Their parents, at least the ones too affluent to qualify for court appointed counsel for the kids, will be out several hundred – if not thousands – of dollars to deal with the Court system. More likely than not, Social Services will get a referral, too, because of course if the parents had been paying attention this wouldn’t have happened.

OK, that last sentence was sarcasm, I admit.

Those that are convicted or who cop a plea on the theory that, “. . . they’re juveniles, the record is sealed so it won’t make that much difference,” don’t realize that their kids will likely have to change schools, because sex offenders aren’t allowed at schools where “normal” children are. They, most likely, will go into some alternative schooling program if they’re lucky. If not, they’ll be at home with tutors sent out from the local school district.

Even if the child can stay in their regular school, even if the criminal authorities work out a deal that lets them continue to live where they do, they won’t be playing baseball, chess or the tuba. Convicted sex offenders are not allowed to participate in activities.

No appeal, no exceptions.

What’s that going to do to the college prospects? Any hope of a scholarship is going to be completely gone. Even admission may be gone, since lots of colleges look at those extra-curricular activities to determine qualifications.

Of course, as convicted sex offenders, they won’t be allowed other places.

Like home – if it’s within 1000 feet of a church or school or park (in North Carolina; that may be different in other states).

So that nifty little ranch that the fam has lived in since Junior was born is suddenly off limits because there’s a school a block away; in fact, that’s part of why mom and dad picked it out. Either he – or the whole family – will be moving somewhere else.

Youth group at church is now off limits, as are the boy / girl scouts.

If they get through High School and are successfully admitted to college, those incoming freshmen are now like kryptonite since some kids start at 17 and aren’t “adults” yet.

That means no dorms or student apartments will be available.

That means nothing close to the on-campus day care center.

There’s no doubt that we need to protect children from true predators. But sometimes, “zero tolerance” has unintended consequences that are far reaching. Common sense needs to be injected into these knee-jerk policies and reactions to make sure that the punishment – and the consequences – truly fit the crime.

Is it worthwhile to ruin a child’s life because they had a dirty picture on their phone?

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Tempus Fugit

How many times have we thought, “If only I had more time in the day?”

Well, guess what – as of last Saturday, our problems have been compounded. It seems that some scientists think that the rotation of the earth – which, incidentally “wobbles” a bit in something called the Chandler Effect – was slowed and our days are now shorter than they were before the earthquake.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=124249439

Granted, it’s only by about 1.26 millionths of a second, but still it’s less than we had before. Just like the packaging on M&M’s, things keep shrinking but the public isn’t ever compensated.

That amount of time seems insignificant, but time doesn’t pass equally.

It could really be important if, say, that 1.26 seconds that got cut out means that the car that runs the red light makes it through ahead of you.

Or that you catch the soup just before it boils over and flows across the stovetop, meaning that you’ll lose even more time spending an hour to clean it up.

Or you grab the baby’s hand before they put the paper clip in the outlet.

(Parents have got to have the fastest reflexes in the world – and children still manage to eat dirt!)

There are some events that could stand to be cut short by any amount of time, even a millionth of a second.

Any medical procedure that involves a rubber glove.

City Council Meetings, especially those involving zoning issues.

Any time you’re on “hold” waiting for Customer Service, especially if they keep repeating bad music and messages about how your call is very important to them.

Since those things are all going by at a glacial speed anyhow, you certainly wouldn’t notice anything that caused that to slow it down more anyhow. Fortunately, most of our brains go into a stupor after 3 or 4 minutes anyhow.

Except maybe during the medical stuff, but that’s another situation all together.

So is this loss of time good or bad? For most of us, it doesn’t matter. Like the hour you gain or lose during daylight savings time changes, the earthquake happened in the middle of the night. Most of us were asleep anyhow, and one more slap at the snooze button the following morning would have compensated for the loss a bazillion times over.

Incidentally, some scientists have found a way to actually extend the time remaining so it FEELS like we gained hours rather than losing 1.26 millionths of a second – by arguing over how much the earth actually slowed, if it did.

http://www.bautforum.com/universe-today-story-comments/101446-chilean-earthquake-may-have-shortened-length-day-earth.html.

Some people got too much time on their hands as it is.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Appliances

The appliances are in open revolt. That’s the only explanation.

I don’t understand why since for the most part we don’t mistreat them, but one by one a subversive movement is going through them to make our lives miserable.

It began a few months ago, when the oven in the kitchen stove decided that the “convection” setting would no longer work.

Mind you, this is a GE Profile Range that was less than three years old at the time. It was not an inexpensive piece of equipment, bought when we remodeled the kitchen and replaced all the appliances. It was a compromise between the 1988 relic that came with the house and the 60 inch Viking restaurant quality that would have looked killer in there.

But, c’mon – although we cook fairly regularly, it’s hardly worth $15,000 just because it looks good. Besides, we could easily match the fridge, dishwasher, microwave and trash compactor to the GE.

Just shy of the three year mark, after the warranty had expired and within the timeframe that I wished I’d taken out the extended warranty, the convection fan went out.

That sounds simple enough, right? I have tools, I can do simple repairs. I replaced the light bulb in the oven without a major loss of blood. Unfortunately, though, the stove has electronics. Anything more complicated than the oven light takes tools, comprehension and patience that I don’t have. It was necessary to call the appliance store we bought it from to send a repairman out.

On the phone to the appliance store, I tried to explain what it was that was needed. They could order the part and send it with him.

It seems doesn’t work that way. They have to come out and do a “diagnostic visit”, ($83.00, including mileage) to determine the part that needs to be ordered. Then they order the part and come back to put it in sometime in the future.

I guess you use the drive thru in the meantime.

When the repair guy got there, I asked if he could also look at the icemaker, which wasn’t working very well and was making a funny noise. Turns out for another $75.00 he could. He pointed out that at least I saved the mileage. I opted out.

And small local businesses wonder why customers no longer have any loyalty to them.

That visit took ten minutes. He needed the part I told him would need to be replaced. He was back to put it in a week later for a mere $328.00, which, as I recall, was slightly more than the cost of the extended warranty that I didn’t buy.

After that was the coffee maker. The old one was working OK, but looked a bit shabby so it was retired to the basement and a shiny new Sunbeam was put on the counter in its place, all black and chrome and sleek.

I promptly cracked the carafe against the granite countertop and broke it the first morning.

Now, you’d think that calling to order this would be a simple thing, right? Well, it’s not. And forget about buying one at the stores; nobody locally sells them.

So I go on the internet to the Sunbeam website and find that I have to call the “service agency” for this area – in this case, it’s in Columbia, South Carolina. I contacted them with my model number, part number and credit card number and ordered a new carafe.

They told me it would arrive in 6 to 8 weeks. 

I’d be dead by then if there’s no coffee.

So I dragged the retired coffee pot back upstairs and as soon as a pot was brewed used the renewed energy to fire off an angry letter to Sunbeam, who responded with a form letter saying they were sorry that I found their customer service inadequate.  They didn't offer any remedy, but were just sorry that I found them inadequate.

Don't they realize that people get divorced over much less than "inadequate"?

Three days later, a new carafe came in the mail. Not the one I ordered; this one came from Sunbeam. It was Followed by the one I paid for six weeks after that.

It would seem that they could stand to brush up a bit on their communication skills if they'd like to keep the customers they have.

Then last Thanksgiving, the electric blanket gave out. Well, halfway. One side heats and the other doesn’t.

After looking at the blanket, I realized that it was less than a year into a five year warranty. Those people are also nice enough to put the website right there on the label, so I found their phone number and called them.

“Yes, ma’am. My electric blanket has stopped working on one side, and it’s still under warranty. I’d like to get it repaired or replaced.”
“No, turning it over won’t work. It's not heating on the top or the bottom; it’s the left side that quit.”
“It is plugged in. I have dust bunnies in my eyebrows to prove that I crawled under the bed and checked. I even reversed the controls. I’m sure it’s the blanket.”

So I shipped it back to them. Three months ago. Three months of one of the coldest and wettest winters in years. And I’ve heard nothing.

Along about Christmas we bought another blanket, which was fine until last Saturday night when it stopped working. On one side. Sometime about 3:00 a.m.

If your side still works, it’s not such a big deal. If your side is the one that quit, though, it’s pretty important.

That first cup of coffee Saturday morning began to smooth things out after that rough night. The next one, though, seemed a bit tepid. The third was ice cold.

All the little lights were on. The clock was working. The heating element, however, seems to have gone out on this jinxed Sumbeam coffee maker. (Note that I said "Sumbeam" and not "Sum-something else" that I really was thinking; no point in offending anyone unnecessarily).

Were in not for the salvation of the old coffee pot still doing sentry duty in the basement and ready to be brought back into action, it could have been a bad day. It was still at least 3 hours before the stores opened where we could have bought another one.  Gas station coffee just won't do the trick, at least not on a Saturday morning.  Besides, they only sell one cup at a time and it's awkward to make repeat trips for refills.

As it was, there was enough energy in the cold coffee to let me bundle up the new pot to send it back to Sunbeam along with a letter full of righteous indignation about the quality of their products.

Now to find a box big enough for a blanket.