Thunder booming into the early morning hours and strobes of lightning illuminating the dawn sky announced a quickly-moving, violent desert storm coming in from the northeast. Suddenly, it was pouring, rain bouncing off the dry desert sand and running down the street. It didn't last long, but finally settled into a more gentle rain for an hour after the thunderstorm moved across the valley and butted against the foot of the mountains.
We need the water, but too much rain in not enough time causes flashflooding and damage. The aftermath of more steady rain soaks into the sand and filters into the aquifer, which is what we need in the valley.
Watching the weather channel, I can see that this may be a precursor to the storms coming in through the Gulf of Mexico, predicted to make landfall somewhere in the LA/TEX region of the Gulf. Maybe we'll get more rain as the storm travels across the southwest?
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
All Others "Palin" Comparison
It is incredible to me that men continue to question the ability of women to ... function. I just listened to the introduction of Gov. Sarah Palin as the Republican candidate for Vice President, and with the mikes still on, the male commentators were already asking the question: If anything happens to the President, can she assume the office?
Yes. Let me list her credentials: (1) she's a woman (2) she's a wife (3) she's a mother (4) she's been a mayor and is now a govenor, and (5) she's an athlete who knows how to work with a team to accomplish a shared goal: winning.
Gov. Palin has more life experience with both time management and job performance than many politicians! She knows and lives multi-tasking, and apparently does it well. She's well-educated and can earn her own living, but she praises her life as part of the family unit. She knows how to volunteer her time to make other people's lives better and does not either disregard nor gloss over her service to the PTA, her coaching women's athletics, her passion for riding snowmobiles, her membership in and support of unions, her parents' working roots, her long-standing membership in the NRA, her stand against abortion, her commitment to her community, her patriotic commitment to her country and her son, who is serving in the US Army, and her determination not to do something just because someone else thinks she should. She has the ethics that allow her to examine the issues and make her own decision, not just to go along to get along.
When women lose their husbands through divorce or death, they have to carry on regardless of the hardships that loss imposes on them and their family. My mother was left a widow with 6 children -- and no option to walk out the door and let someone else do the job she began with her husband. The women I know do whatever it takes, as does Gov. Palin, who gave birth to a son with Down's Syndrome this past April, a son who was with her on the stage today. What women don't know when they are left alone, they first learn and then they do. If the President dies while in office, the Vice-President will assume the duties of the office -- even if she's a woman! The office of President is not a gender-based position.
That she is a woman is also not part of the qualification process. The snide asides and snarky smiles about her knickname in high school, Sara Barracuda, are simply indicative of the lack of respect for competent, competitive women. What is an admired trait in a man can also be a positive trait in a woman, so move past the color of one candidate's skin and the gender of another. Any man or woman who has the personal integrity to say no to a bill passed by Congress that doesn't benefit the people of the state for which it is intended and wastes taxpayers' money in the process, can handle the office of President of the United States of America.
I'm not wowed that John McCain is 72 years old today, but I'm not concerned that his running mate is a well-educated, articulate, experienced female govenor who would assume his duties if he is unable to fulfill them. Gov. Palin has qualifications above and beyond what most politicians brag about, and appears to be the kind of person this country needs in the Executive Office.
Yes. Let me list her credentials: (1) she's a woman (2) she's a wife (3) she's a mother (4) she's been a mayor and is now a govenor, and (5) she's an athlete who knows how to work with a team to accomplish a shared goal: winning.
Gov. Palin has more life experience with both time management and job performance than many politicians! She knows and lives multi-tasking, and apparently does it well. She's well-educated and can earn her own living, but she praises her life as part of the family unit. She knows how to volunteer her time to make other people's lives better and does not either disregard nor gloss over her service to the PTA, her coaching women's athletics, her passion for riding snowmobiles, her membership in and support of unions, her parents' working roots, her long-standing membership in the NRA, her stand against abortion, her commitment to her community, her patriotic commitment to her country and her son, who is serving in the US Army, and her determination not to do something just because someone else thinks she should. She has the ethics that allow her to examine the issues and make her own decision, not just to go along to get along.
When women lose their husbands through divorce or death, they have to carry on regardless of the hardships that loss imposes on them and their family. My mother was left a widow with 6 children -- and no option to walk out the door and let someone else do the job she began with her husband. The women I know do whatever it takes, as does Gov. Palin, who gave birth to a son with Down's Syndrome this past April, a son who was with her on the stage today. What women don't know when they are left alone, they first learn and then they do. If the President dies while in office, the Vice-President will assume the duties of the office -- even if she's a woman! The office of President is not a gender-based position.
That she is a woman is also not part of the qualification process. The snide asides and snarky smiles about her knickname in high school, Sara Barracuda, are simply indicative of the lack of respect for competent, competitive women. What is an admired trait in a man can also be a positive trait in a woman, so move past the color of one candidate's skin and the gender of another. Any man or woman who has the personal integrity to say no to a bill passed by Congress that doesn't benefit the people of the state for which it is intended and wastes taxpayers' money in the process, can handle the office of President of the United States of America.
I'm not wowed that John McCain is 72 years old today, but I'm not concerned that his running mate is a well-educated, articulate, experienced female govenor who would assume his duties if he is unable to fulfill them. Gov. Palin has qualifications above and beyond what most politicians brag about, and appears to be the kind of person this country needs in the Executive Office.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Zapped!
I drove directly from class to the medical center for the nerve conduction test, arriving 20 minutes early as requested. The greeter challenged my scheduled appointment, informing me that she couldn't find me on the computer. I gently suggested that she check for correct spelling, the appointment time, and then recall that it was she who called me late yesterday afternoon to confirm the appointment and provide me with the new address as the office moved over the past weekend.
Ah-ha, that did the trick. I was given the clipboard filled with a dozen different forms to fill in and sign, but I refused to sign the one that warned me that if I did not cancel an appointment at least 24 hours prior to the scheduled time, I would be charged a nominal fee ($50) for the inconvenience caused to the medical staff of this facility.
I wrote my comment: Until and unless the medical facility personnel will treat me likewise, I refuse to sign this document. My time is as valuable to me as your booking schedule is to you; therefore, if you cancel my appointment and do not provide me with at least 24 hours' notice, I will expect payment from you for the inconvenience caused to me by the medical staff of this facility.
They don't ever read all those papers, so it only made me feel better, but whatever.
Moving on to the actual appointment, the med tech who administered it was great! He began by asking me to tell him what has led to today's test: that has NEVER happened to me prior to today. I told him about the sudden swelling last May, the visit with my primary, the bone x-rays, the referral to the hand specialist that turned out to be a knee specialist, and the MRI last week.
I told him that it is my opinion that the bone x-rays of my neck, arm, and cervical spine, as well as the MRI and the test he was to perform today are all a waste of time, money, and use of equipment. I explained that there is "something" in my wrist that swells when I use my hand, appears to affect the circulation in the area, impedes usage, as well as hurts like screaming hell.
I showed him my hand and he actually looked at it and he commented that there appears to be a "lump" in the wrist area that could be involved in the symptomology, but the test he would conduct would not deal with that symptom. I added that because I have no symptoms whatsoever of a pinched or impinged nerve in my neck, cervical spine, or shoulder, I'm not sure why those are the areas being explored for cause, rather than my hand, which, so far, is not part of the diagnostic process.
He conducted all the diagnostic testing requested by the knee specialist, which didn't reveal anything other than healthy nerves and muscles. Then, he asked me if he could use an ultrasound to look at the swelling in my wrist, to which I agreed. He told me that he really couldn't see what's causing it, but he suggests that when I have the follow-up with the knee specialist, I should make sure he actually looks at this particular part of my anatomy because there is "something" there that could be causing my problem with my left hand.
"Will do," I replied, "IF I actually get to see a doctor."
So far, I've seen PAs and techs, but no doctor. I'm not sure who you have to be or how much the insurance costs to be seen by an actual medical doctor, but I'm not far enough up the food chain to be included.
To be continued after the follow-up with the knee specialist Sept 10 -- if the appointment isn't rescheduled again. It's already been changed twice, but hey, no problemo. My calendar is wide open, so I can go with the flow ... as long as I don't change or cancel the appointment, which would inconvenience the medical personnel, and that's what it's all about.
Ah-ha, that did the trick. I was given the clipboard filled with a dozen different forms to fill in and sign, but I refused to sign the one that warned me that if I did not cancel an appointment at least 24 hours prior to the scheduled time, I would be charged a nominal fee ($50) for the inconvenience caused to the medical staff of this facility.
I wrote my comment: Until and unless the medical facility personnel will treat me likewise, I refuse to sign this document. My time is as valuable to me as your booking schedule is to you; therefore, if you cancel my appointment and do not provide me with at least 24 hours' notice, I will expect payment from you for the inconvenience caused to me by the medical staff of this facility.
They don't ever read all those papers, so it only made me feel better, but whatever.
Moving on to the actual appointment, the med tech who administered it was great! He began by asking me to tell him what has led to today's test: that has NEVER happened to me prior to today. I told him about the sudden swelling last May, the visit with my primary, the bone x-rays, the referral to the hand specialist that turned out to be a knee specialist, and the MRI last week.
I told him that it is my opinion that the bone x-rays of my neck, arm, and cervical spine, as well as the MRI and the test he was to perform today are all a waste of time, money, and use of equipment. I explained that there is "something" in my wrist that swells when I use my hand, appears to affect the circulation in the area, impedes usage, as well as hurts like screaming hell.
I showed him my hand and he actually looked at it and he commented that there appears to be a "lump" in the wrist area that could be involved in the symptomology, but the test he would conduct would not deal with that symptom. I added that because I have no symptoms whatsoever of a pinched or impinged nerve in my neck, cervical spine, or shoulder, I'm not sure why those are the areas being explored for cause, rather than my hand, which, so far, is not part of the diagnostic process.
He conducted all the diagnostic testing requested by the knee specialist, which didn't reveal anything other than healthy nerves and muscles. Then, he asked me if he could use an ultrasound to look at the swelling in my wrist, to which I agreed. He told me that he really couldn't see what's causing it, but he suggests that when I have the follow-up with the knee specialist, I should make sure he actually looks at this particular part of my anatomy because there is "something" there that could be causing my problem with my left hand.
"Will do," I replied, "IF I actually get to see a doctor."
So far, I've seen PAs and techs, but no doctor. I'm not sure who you have to be or how much the insurance costs to be seen by an actual medical doctor, but I'm not far enough up the food chain to be included.
To be continued after the follow-up with the knee specialist Sept 10 -- if the appointment isn't rescheduled again. It's already been changed twice, but hey, no problemo. My calendar is wide open, so I can go with the flow ... as long as I don't change or cancel the appointment, which would inconvenience the medical personnel, and that's what it's all about.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Cute (Tee-Hee) Moment
One of the classes meets twice a week and it's a 4-credit class. We met last week Tuesday, again on Thursday, and then yesterday, prior to the power outage.
As I was checking the role, I asked one student why she missed class last Thursday.
"Uh, I think I did really well on my placement test, professor," she said, with a smug look on her face, "because I only have to attend the class on Tuesday."
Okay, so I wanted to guffaw, while the rest of the students looked bewildered, but she was so obviously proud of her accomplishment on the placement test, especially when she realized that everyone else has to attend twice a week, that I checked my grin.
We went outside for a quiet moment so I could explain that everyone has to attend twice a week, including her. She, however, showed me her schedule, which has class meeting on "TR," which is the college designation for "Tues-Thurs," but she wasn't aware that "R" is the code for "Thursday." Hence, the confusion.
"That's going to be a problem," she confided, "because I can only come to class on Tuesday." After signing up for her classes, she scheduled a mandatory group meeting for each Thursday, which works out perfectly because (in her mind) the class only meets on Tuesday.
Ta-da.
I'm not sure if she came to realize by the end of our discussion that she either has to attend the class twice a week or drop it, but we'll see tomorrow.
As I was checking the role, I asked one student why she missed class last Thursday.
"Uh, I think I did really well on my placement test, professor," she said, with a smug look on her face, "because I only have to attend the class on Tuesday."
Okay, so I wanted to guffaw, while the rest of the students looked bewildered, but she was so obviously proud of her accomplishment on the placement test, especially when she realized that everyone else has to attend twice a week, that I checked my grin.
We went outside for a quiet moment so I could explain that everyone has to attend twice a week, including her. She, however, showed me her schedule, which has class meeting on "TR," which is the college designation for "Tues-Thurs," but she wasn't aware that "R" is the code for "Thursday." Hence, the confusion.
"That's going to be a problem," she confided, "because I can only come to class on Tuesday." After signing up for her classes, she scheduled a mandatory group meeting for each Thursday, which works out perfectly because (in her mind) the class only meets on Tuesday.
Ta-da.
I'm not sure if she came to realize by the end of our discussion that she either has to attend the class twice a week or drop it, but we'll see tomorrow.
Good News and Okay News
The monthly cost for my Cobra health insurance is dropping $43.10; however, the out-of-pocket expenses are literally doubling! For instance, the annual deductible was $250 for an individual; the first of October it will be $500. I'm not one to run to the doctor for every little ache and pain, but I hope to find out what's wrong with my left hand before the cost of that knowledge doubles.
There are 2 female adjunct faculty members at the community college with the same name -- my first name. We are both women, sorta blonde, have eyes, ears, noses, and breasts, and we both wear glasses. In essence, we really don't look all that much alike, but personnel at the campus simply cannot distinguish between us. Thus, one of the classes I'm teaching during the day is "assigned" to her, and no matter that I have corrected that error three separate times (so far), the person in charge of correcting the published info continues to give her my class.
Ditto on my assignment sheet: I had to add the class to my paperwork before I'd sign it -- and they had to remove it from her paperwork before she signed hers. Because I have gone to the person face-to-face and explained the error, received sincere apologies, and been assured the error was corrected, I'm not sure why the most recent change notice still has it wrong.
I'm continuing to receive mail for people at my street address who don't live here. I've talked to my carrier, as well as the counter reps at the PO, and, finally, talked to the top dog at the local PO. Each and every time I have specified that if the mail does not have MY name on it, don't deliver it. It's that simple. I am the only person who lives here, I have lived here since January 2000, so it's time to stop delivering other people's mail.
Ah-ha, I thought, when the familiar names finally stopped arriving in my box. Alas, I groaned, when this week two new names showed up on mail delivered to my address. I've been back to the PO and gone through it all again, but who knows? I've explained that it could be someone who is using my house as a mail drop, or someone attempting to steal my identity, but whatever the case, the mail should NOT be delivered to the box because they don't live here.
I baked cookies today to take to the copy center worker before I teach my class tomorrow as she accommodates last minute emergency copy work with a smile. Yesterday, because I had 2 new class members show up, I needed copies of the workbook so they could work with the rest of the class. They're already last week behind, so didn't want them to be this week behind too. Tiffany took care of it right away and laughed off my thanks, but she goes above and beyond, which I want to recognize.
However, for the first time in probably forever, I over-baked a batch of cookies! I like cookies that are just baked because I don't eat dry, crunchy cookies. Although the batch isn't black on the bottom, just nicely brown, I'm embarrassed to give them to her and baked another batch. I haven't decided if I should feed them to the birds or just throw away the browned cookies, so they are still waiting on me for a decision.
Lastly, I've been working on a PowerPoint presentation for the frosh comp class. I used several sources, added clip art for interest, and ran a quote re: the writing process across the bottom of each slide. I've tried to get the presentation to "pak 'n go," but it won't. I don't know how to take the pieces and make them work, so I'm going to save what I have to a flash drive and stop by the IT classroom tomorrow and see if someone can help me to finish the project so I can use it. I'm tired of working this hard and having nothing to show for it.
That's it, the good news/not as good news of the day. It's still muggy outside, hot, and August. I can't wait for mid-September so it cools off a bit and I can resume going outside. I think my currently crabby self is a direct result of spending too much time inside when I'd rather be outside and doing something.
There are 2 female adjunct faculty members at the community college with the same name -- my first name. We are both women, sorta blonde, have eyes, ears, noses, and breasts, and we both wear glasses. In essence, we really don't look all that much alike, but personnel at the campus simply cannot distinguish between us. Thus, one of the classes I'm teaching during the day is "assigned" to her, and no matter that I have corrected that error three separate times (so far), the person in charge of correcting the published info continues to give her my class.
Ditto on my assignment sheet: I had to add the class to my paperwork before I'd sign it -- and they had to remove it from her paperwork before she signed hers. Because I have gone to the person face-to-face and explained the error, received sincere apologies, and been assured the error was corrected, I'm not sure why the most recent change notice still has it wrong.
I'm continuing to receive mail for people at my street address who don't live here. I've talked to my carrier, as well as the counter reps at the PO, and, finally, talked to the top dog at the local PO. Each and every time I have specified that if the mail does not have MY name on it, don't deliver it. It's that simple. I am the only person who lives here, I have lived here since January 2000, so it's time to stop delivering other people's mail.
Ah-ha, I thought, when the familiar names finally stopped arriving in my box. Alas, I groaned, when this week two new names showed up on mail delivered to my address. I've been back to the PO and gone through it all again, but who knows? I've explained that it could be someone who is using my house as a mail drop, or someone attempting to steal my identity, but whatever the case, the mail should NOT be delivered to the box because they don't live here.
I baked cookies today to take to the copy center worker before I teach my class tomorrow as she accommodates last minute emergency copy work with a smile. Yesterday, because I had 2 new class members show up, I needed copies of the workbook so they could work with the rest of the class. They're already last week behind, so didn't want them to be this week behind too. Tiffany took care of it right away and laughed off my thanks, but she goes above and beyond, which I want to recognize.
However, for the first time in probably forever, I over-baked a batch of cookies! I like cookies that are just baked because I don't eat dry, crunchy cookies. Although the batch isn't black on the bottom, just nicely brown, I'm embarrassed to give them to her and baked another batch. I haven't decided if I should feed them to the birds or just throw away the browned cookies, so they are still waiting on me for a decision.
Lastly, I've been working on a PowerPoint presentation for the frosh comp class. I used several sources, added clip art for interest, and ran a quote re: the writing process across the bottom of each slide. I've tried to get the presentation to "pak 'n go," but it won't. I don't know how to take the pieces and make them work, so I'm going to save what I have to a flash drive and stop by the IT classroom tomorrow and see if someone can help me to finish the project so I can use it. I'm tired of working this hard and having nothing to show for it.
That's it, the good news/not as good news of the day. It's still muggy outside, hot, and August. I can't wait for mid-September so it cools off a bit and I can resume going outside. I think my currently crabby self is a direct result of spending too much time inside when I'd rather be outside and doing something.
Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop
Yesterday, as I was humming along the highway with the soundtrack from Jersey Boys keeping me company, a good-sized box fell off the truck in front of me. Good news is that the lane next to me was clear so I could swerve and avoid it, and the box must have been heavy as it didn't bounce very high or fast. The driver of the truck was oblivious to the loss, but will probably be upset when he arrives at the job waiting for that item and finds that it is not only not on the truck, but gone.
When I arrived at work, I set about completing on-campus chores, such as making copies, checking e-mail, and then setting up the classroom. Just as I finished using the computer, the power went off totally and completely. Not a flicker, not a brown-out, just no power at all. Period. It was about 45 minutes until the start of class, so I headed for the classroom to wait for the power to come back on or the directive to cancel class.
We began class in the dark. The students signed in and I made some prefatory remarks, but it was not realistic to conduct class in the dark and/or in a desert classroom in August with no air conditioning. If we opened the door, we would lose the stored coolness, but with close to 25 students generating body heat, it wasn't going to stay cool long even with the door closed.
Just as I was about to call it, the power came back on: totally, completely, no flickers or false starts. We had class.
Driving back home, I was in a community long known for its large population of ancient drivers who have restricted licenses that allow them to drive ... to the grocery store and other venues to make quality of life purchases. Unfortunately, all of these businesses are on the highway that runs through the community, so the elderly drivers become menaces as they drive 20 mph in a posted 45 mph zone, change lanes without realizing there are other cars in proximity to their vehicle, and make left turns from the left lane, rather than from the turning lane, which can cause some sudden stops by vehicles who don't understand the only car on the road mentality.
As I poked along behind one of these elderly drivers whose head could not be seen above the headrest, the driver of a flashy bright red sports car behind me grew impatient, stomped on the gas, and blasted into the lane to the left to go around us just as the senior began to navigate into the same lane. It is a blessing that there is a 2-way turn lane the length of the highway as the red sports car screeched into it, missing the senior boat that takes much longer to finish changing lanes by about a foot. There would have been no damage to the antique Caddy, the elderly driver probably would not have known there was a collision, but the driver of the red sports car would have felt it!
I'm happy to report that the brakes on the truck are in fine working order, as must also be the brake lights as I was not rear-ended while avoiding what appeared to be a major disaster in the making.
On the other side of this incident, I came across the blocked lanes where the edison company was working to replace a major power pole that was snapped into three pieces, from which dangled shredded power lines. Guess I found the cause of the power outage, although whatever caused it had been cleared from the roadway 5+ hours after the initial power out. It looked like the repair would take a while, and judging from the number of official vehicles at the site, a lot longer.
It was good to get home as it seemed as if that's where I needed to be. Happy to report no further incidents and the DemCon coverage finally ceased, The Cleaner came on, and I went to bed a happy woman.
When I arrived at work, I set about completing on-campus chores, such as making copies, checking e-mail, and then setting up the classroom. Just as I finished using the computer, the power went off totally and completely. Not a flicker, not a brown-out, just no power at all. Period. It was about 45 minutes until the start of class, so I headed for the classroom to wait for the power to come back on or the directive to cancel class.
We began class in the dark. The students signed in and I made some prefatory remarks, but it was not realistic to conduct class in the dark and/or in a desert classroom in August with no air conditioning. If we opened the door, we would lose the stored coolness, but with close to 25 students generating body heat, it wasn't going to stay cool long even with the door closed.
Just as I was about to call it, the power came back on: totally, completely, no flickers or false starts. We had class.
Driving back home, I was in a community long known for its large population of ancient drivers who have restricted licenses that allow them to drive ... to the grocery store and other venues to make quality of life purchases. Unfortunately, all of these businesses are on the highway that runs through the community, so the elderly drivers become menaces as they drive 20 mph in a posted 45 mph zone, change lanes without realizing there are other cars in proximity to their vehicle, and make left turns from the left lane, rather than from the turning lane, which can cause some sudden stops by vehicles who don't understand the only car on the road mentality.
As I poked along behind one of these elderly drivers whose head could not be seen above the headrest, the driver of a flashy bright red sports car behind me grew impatient, stomped on the gas, and blasted into the lane to the left to go around us just as the senior began to navigate into the same lane. It is a blessing that there is a 2-way turn lane the length of the highway as the red sports car screeched into it, missing the senior boat that takes much longer to finish changing lanes by about a foot. There would have been no damage to the antique Caddy, the elderly driver probably would not have known there was a collision, but the driver of the red sports car would have felt it!
I'm happy to report that the brakes on the truck are in fine working order, as must also be the brake lights as I was not rear-ended while avoiding what appeared to be a major disaster in the making.
On the other side of this incident, I came across the blocked lanes where the edison company was working to replace a major power pole that was snapped into three pieces, from which dangled shredded power lines. Guess I found the cause of the power outage, although whatever caused it had been cleared from the roadway 5+ hours after the initial power out. It looked like the repair would take a while, and judging from the number of official vehicles at the site, a lot longer.
It was good to get home as it seemed as if that's where I needed to be. Happy to report no further incidents and the DemCon coverage finally ceased, The Cleaner came on, and I went to bed a happy woman.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Spam I Am
What a hoot! Every time my one g-mail address receives spam, I get cross-references for recipes with spam as a major ingredient. Although my mom loved spam and used it many different ways, that is truly one item I would NEVER purchase and bring home with me. Yucky stuff no matter how it's disguised.
You'd think that google could filter this somehow ... .
You'd think that google could filter this somehow ... .
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Smoke Screen
It's muggy outside, certainly not the time to be gardening or working on home maintenance projects. However, once all the inside jobs are finished, it's the perfect weather for crashing on the couch with a new book. I enjoy reading TRNs because they are usually straight-forward stories, with good guys and bad guys, as well as romances that turn out well by the last page. An author I used to read, but abandoned when I thought her stories became too trite, too predictable, is Sandra Brown, a well-published author. When I saw a new title (Smoke Screen) on the shelf in the book aisle, I spent time previewing the story before I took it to the cash register, not wanting to spend money if the plot was the same old/same old.
The story is interesting, with drama dominating the telling, rather than hot sex (although where there are male characters, there is always incredible, hot sex, usually on the first or second date, because the men are always more than adequately endowed and superbly skillful at fulfilling any woman's most vivid sex fantasy!). There is a nice blend of characters, some predictable and some not, that interact in a engaging plot with believable conflict and an unexpected resolution.
The plot involves a fire at a police station that results in 4 police officers being hailed as heroes for the lives they save that day. There are also deaths, including victims who are trapped in locked cells engulfed by the fast-moving blaze. When a fire inspector investigates, he cannot get information about one of the victims, no matter how often he asks for it from his childhood friend, who is also one of the heroes. Before he can finish the investigation, he attends a party, gets drunk, and wakes up in bed with his sexual partner dead of an apparent overdose. The publicity hounds him out of a job and into the woods, where he lives in isolation in a small cabin. His only neighbor is Delno, who seldom wears a shirt, never bathes or washes his hair, and lives off the fat of the land.
Five years later, an incident occurs that takes him back in time, and he decides it is time to finish what he had been prevented from doing: closing the investigation into the deaths of the victims of the fire. Of course, first he has to kidnap a very attractive young female newswoman (with an incredible body) who was involved with his childhood friend, the hero, who dies while they are in bed ... .
Seriously, it's a good read! Okay, maybe not a "serious" good read, but the story is a notch above a typical TRN. There are interesting twists and turns in the plot, as well as budding romance. By the denouement, Raley is vindicated, but that's what I want in a Sunday read: predictability. Now, back to finishing the laundry (I lied when I said I had already finished my chores. I got so caught up in the story that I read instead.).
The story is interesting, with drama dominating the telling, rather than hot sex (although where there are male characters, there is always incredible, hot sex, usually on the first or second date, because the men are always more than adequately endowed and superbly skillful at fulfilling any woman's most vivid sex fantasy!). There is a nice blend of characters, some predictable and some not, that interact in a engaging plot with believable conflict and an unexpected resolution.
The plot involves a fire at a police station that results in 4 police officers being hailed as heroes for the lives they save that day. There are also deaths, including victims who are trapped in locked cells engulfed by the fast-moving blaze. When a fire inspector investigates, he cannot get information about one of the victims, no matter how often he asks for it from his childhood friend, who is also one of the heroes. Before he can finish the investigation, he attends a party, gets drunk, and wakes up in bed with his sexual partner dead of an apparent overdose. The publicity hounds him out of a job and into the woods, where he lives in isolation in a small cabin. His only neighbor is Delno, who seldom wears a shirt, never bathes or washes his hair, and lives off the fat of the land.
Five years later, an incident occurs that takes him back in time, and he decides it is time to finish what he had been prevented from doing: closing the investigation into the deaths of the victims of the fire. Of course, first he has to kidnap a very attractive young female newswoman (with an incredible body) who was involved with his childhood friend, the hero, who dies while they are in bed ... .
Seriously, it's a good read! Okay, maybe not a "serious" good read, but the story is a notch above a typical TRN. There are interesting twists and turns in the plot, as well as budding romance. By the denouement, Raley is vindicated, but that's what I want in a Sunday read: predictability. Now, back to finishing the laundry (I lied when I said I had already finished my chores. I got so caught up in the story that I read instead.).
Friday, August 22, 2008
The First Week of School (Again)
If I think back at how many first weeks of school I've been through, it's amazing that I am still on my feet and functional. The first week is stressful, no matter how well prepared the teacher and/or how cooperative the students. They don't know me; I don't know them; and just getting them to sign in is a challenge.
I have 3 classes this semester, one comp and two reading, all of which have approximately 30 students enrolled. It is sad, but true, that many of them will stay in the class until the Pell grants are disbursed, at which time they will stop attending. I'm not sure if the majority of the students understand that the money MUST BE REPAID whether the coursework is completed or the student drops out.
We made it through the intro classes, where, after sharing the syllabus, I demonstrate a typical classroom session so the students are aware of the process and the procedures. There is always at least one student who grouses at my attendance requirement, but since a grade of "D" means "do over," the students need to understand that it's easier to pass a class and earn the credit if (s)he actually attends the class, completes the assignments, masters the material, and passes the assessments. I'm sure it sounds cool to brag to friends that you never attended a class, but aced the final exam; however, that's a movie script, not a college reality.
Doing one's own thing doesn't work well at the college level, although I understand it's still quite popular with high school students and is catching on at the middle school.
I've set up the email groups, sent the confirmation messages, and responded to the students who acknowledged my contact. Tomorrow, I'm going to update the master files, copy a few more handouts, and get ready for week two.
Then, I'll make my way to Lowe's to search the end-of-season sales for a comfy chair for sitting in front of the chiminea, as well as a metal arbor-like structure to tie the 3 paver patios together as one large patio. I'm enjoying sitting outside in the evenings as the sun goes down and the desert mellows out as we head toward fall, so want to finish the project I began during Spring Break.
Another first week of school takes its place on the history shelves in the study. It's a simple hop, skip and jump to Halloween, then Thanksgiving, and the end of another semester.
I have 3 classes this semester, one comp and two reading, all of which have approximately 30 students enrolled. It is sad, but true, that many of them will stay in the class until the Pell grants are disbursed, at which time they will stop attending. I'm not sure if the majority of the students understand that the money MUST BE REPAID whether the coursework is completed or the student drops out.
We made it through the intro classes, where, after sharing the syllabus, I demonstrate a typical classroom session so the students are aware of the process and the procedures. There is always at least one student who grouses at my attendance requirement, but since a grade of "D" means "do over," the students need to understand that it's easier to pass a class and earn the credit if (s)he actually attends the class, completes the assignments, masters the material, and passes the assessments. I'm sure it sounds cool to brag to friends that you never attended a class, but aced the final exam; however, that's a movie script, not a college reality.
Doing one's own thing doesn't work well at the college level, although I understand it's still quite popular with high school students and is catching on at the middle school.
I've set up the email groups, sent the confirmation messages, and responded to the students who acknowledged my contact. Tomorrow, I'm going to update the master files, copy a few more handouts, and get ready for week two.
Then, I'll make my way to Lowe's to search the end-of-season sales for a comfy chair for sitting in front of the chiminea, as well as a metal arbor-like structure to tie the 3 paver patios together as one large patio. I'm enjoying sitting outside in the evenings as the sun goes down and the desert mellows out as we head toward fall, so want to finish the project I began during Spring Break.
Another first week of school takes its place on the history shelves in the study. It's a simple hop, skip and jump to Halloween, then Thanksgiving, and the end of another semester.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Pleasure Reading
This past week, I read another Temperance Brennan story, written by Canadian author Kathy Reichs, Bones to Ashes, one in a series of books with "bones" in the title. This one kept my attention as the setting included places I have recently been in New Brunswick, Canada, including Moncton, which g'son and I drove through on our way back from walking on the ocean floor at Hopewell Cape, along the Bay of Fundy. The story details geographical descriptions, French names, and a crime drama involving a leper colony. It was fun to follow along, sort of, rather than wondering what the places look like.
The other book that was somewhat personal was a basic TRN (Trashy Romance Novel) about a single mom who bakes wedding cakes, a direct conflict with her diabetes. I recognized some of the descriptions of her sudden "crashes" when she doesn't eat, is not well-rested, or becomes too stressed out. The story was my experience of traveling from SoCal to Canada for my son's wedding, called the "fog of diabetes" by the author, Linda Goodnight. Symptoms include sudden physical weakness, blurry vision, voices that seem to be coming from miles away, a killer headache, racing heart, shortness of breath, and the realization that I need help -- NOW -- but can't provide it for myself.
My eating habits have always been poor, so remembering to eat about every 3-4 hours isn't something I do naturally or well. However, if I don't eat, the effects on my blood sugar become apparent so fast that it sometimes catches me unaware. Because my brain becomes so sluggish when my sugar is out of whack, sometimes I cannot think what could be the matter, and if someone else isn't tuned in to my sudden behavior changes, it could become challenging medically.
I'm working on it, but it was somewhat comforting to read about a person dealing with diabetes since childhood who also sometimes forgets to eat and has to cope with the consequences. She, as I, has a close circle of friends who are aware of her medical condition and hand her food to get her through the crisis. I carry protein bars with me all the time -- I just have to remember to eat them before things get out of hand. Ditto water intake, which is vital for a diabetic, and especially one who lives in the arid desert! It's amazing how much fluid I consume in any given day -- and I always feel thirsty.
I always tell students to write what they know well, and these 2 stories reinforced that it also is nice to read a story about something I know, too.
The other book that was somewhat personal was a basic TRN (Trashy Romance Novel) about a single mom who bakes wedding cakes, a direct conflict with her diabetes. I recognized some of the descriptions of her sudden "crashes" when she doesn't eat, is not well-rested, or becomes too stressed out. The story was my experience of traveling from SoCal to Canada for my son's wedding, called the "fog of diabetes" by the author, Linda Goodnight. Symptoms include sudden physical weakness, blurry vision, voices that seem to be coming from miles away, a killer headache, racing heart, shortness of breath, and the realization that I need help -- NOW -- but can't provide it for myself.
My eating habits have always been poor, so remembering to eat about every 3-4 hours isn't something I do naturally or well. However, if I don't eat, the effects on my blood sugar become apparent so fast that it sometimes catches me unaware. Because my brain becomes so sluggish when my sugar is out of whack, sometimes I cannot think what could be the matter, and if someone else isn't tuned in to my sudden behavior changes, it could become challenging medically.
I'm working on it, but it was somewhat comforting to read about a person dealing with diabetes since childhood who also sometimes forgets to eat and has to cope with the consequences. She, as I, has a close circle of friends who are aware of her medical condition and hand her food to get her through the crisis. I carry protein bars with me all the time -- I just have to remember to eat them before things get out of hand. Ditto water intake, which is vital for a diabetic, and especially one who lives in the arid desert! It's amazing how much fluid I consume in any given day -- and I always feel thirsty.
I always tell students to write what they know well, and these 2 stories reinforced that it also is nice to read a story about something I know, too.
Working the Process
I am all about using a process to develop a quality end product; therefore, I use process because I believe in it, especially as it affects the final outcome.
The MRI on my cervical spine was this morning, so I arrived promptly at 8:30 am as directed. Prior to beginning the scan, I asked if I could speak confidentially to the woman administering the test, and she agreed. I briefly explained my frustration at being referred specifically to a hand specialist by my primary care physician, then being changed without prior notice to a knee specialist.
She was not surprised that my appointment was changed, but was taken aback that I was not notified of the change prior to showing up for the appointment. She was incredulous that I clarified to the desk personnel that I was to see Dr. X, a hand specialist, but was told (basically) see the other doctor or leave. T, the MRI nurse, told me that, as the patient, I have the right to be seen by the doctor with whom I made the appointment and certainly had the right to refuse to see the other doctor whose speciality isn't even close to including the hand.
I also explained that I didn't see the doctor, just the PA, so have no idea whether he does as well with hands as he does with knees -- or if I was just fobbed off on him because he had an open appointment to fill with me.
I asked her candid opinion as a 20+ year employee at the clinic, and she assured me that the hand specialist is top notch, but that the knee doctor is also good in ortho and quite competent to work with me through this diagnostic process. She did add that depending on the results of the tests, the knee specialist may himself refer me to another doctor within the same clinic. T also allayed my concern about paying for expensive tests that may not result in a diagnosis as she had an issue in her cervical spine that resulted in hand surgery! She did note that I have arthritis in my cervical spine, as well as my shoulder, which also has deformity caused by the bowling injury, so the MRI on the cervical spine is warranted to see how all of that is affecting my physical well-being.
I had the MRI. I refused the earplugs, the headphones, the eye shade and the face shield as THOSE make me claustrophobic. If I just close my eyes, breathe deeply, and think about anything other than my upper torso confined inside a metal tube, I do okay...
... especially when I watched Benjamin Bratt in The Cleaner last night to prep for pleasant thoughts to distract me during the MRI this morning.
The MRI on my cervical spine was this morning, so I arrived promptly at 8:30 am as directed. Prior to beginning the scan, I asked if I could speak confidentially to the woman administering the test, and she agreed. I briefly explained my frustration at being referred specifically to a hand specialist by my primary care physician, then being changed without prior notice to a knee specialist.
She was not surprised that my appointment was changed, but was taken aback that I was not notified of the change prior to showing up for the appointment. She was incredulous that I clarified to the desk personnel that I was to see Dr. X, a hand specialist, but was told (basically) see the other doctor or leave. T, the MRI nurse, told me that, as the patient, I have the right to be seen by the doctor with whom I made the appointment and certainly had the right to refuse to see the other doctor whose speciality isn't even close to including the hand.
I also explained that I didn't see the doctor, just the PA, so have no idea whether he does as well with hands as he does with knees -- or if I was just fobbed off on him because he had an open appointment to fill with me.
I asked her candid opinion as a 20+ year employee at the clinic, and she assured me that the hand specialist is top notch, but that the knee doctor is also good in ortho and quite competent to work with me through this diagnostic process. She did add that depending on the results of the tests, the knee specialist may himself refer me to another doctor within the same clinic. T also allayed my concern about paying for expensive tests that may not result in a diagnosis as she had an issue in her cervical spine that resulted in hand surgery! She did note that I have arthritis in my cervical spine, as well as my shoulder, which also has deformity caused by the bowling injury, so the MRI on the cervical spine is warranted to see how all of that is affecting my physical well-being.
I had the MRI. I refused the earplugs, the headphones, the eye shade and the face shield as THOSE make me claustrophobic. If I just close my eyes, breathe deeply, and think about anything other than my upper torso confined inside a metal tube, I do okay...
... especially when I watched Benjamin Bratt in The Cleaner last night to prep for pleasant thoughts to distract me during the MRI this morning.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Steamin'
Am I the only one who thinks Benjamin Bratt is steamin' hot in his new series The Cleaner? I liked him with the short "policeman" L&O haircut, but the over-grown curly head hair and the scrungy facial look are totally hot on this guy -- and I don't like facial hair as I'd rather kiss a hairbrush than a man with facial hair!
And let's not even talk about his dreams of having sex with his wife, who is holding out WHY?
Honey, you best be taking care of that man or we old, grey-haired grannies are goin' start lookin' good to him. I may not be as good as I once was, but I'm darned sure I could be as good once as I ever was with that gorgeous hunkaman to help me remember a time long past. I'll be at the head of that line, waiting my turn. : )
And let's not even talk about his dreams of having sex with his wife, who is holding out WHY?
Honey, you best be taking care of that man or we old, grey-haired grannies are goin' start lookin' good to him. I may not be as good as I once was, but I'm darned sure I could be as good once as I ever was with that gorgeous hunkaman to help me remember a time long past. I'll be at the head of that line, waiting my turn. : )
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Excellent!
The plumber who installed the watering system stopped by today before leaving for Hawaii to fine tune a couple of minor issues. He's not entirely satisfied with the rate of water flow, so when he returns from his vacation, he'll stop by and change out some of the sprinkler heads to adjust the flow.
Yeah, I love it when someone takes pride in a job well done!
Yeah, I love it when someone takes pride in a job well done!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
On the Books
1. appointment for the MRI on my cervical spine
2. appointment for the nerve induction test
3. follow-up appointment with the knee specialist re: my hand issue
Sometimes, you have to go along to get along.
PS: did I mention that I have 30 days to have the "required medical tests" completed or I lose insurance coverage for this condition? Not only does the knee specialist get to figure out why my left hand is screwed up without first looking at my hand, but BC Anthem gets to decide whether I need the requested tests without even knowing who I am, much less what's wrong with my hand. Ain't the system great?
2. appointment for the nerve induction test
3. follow-up appointment with the knee specialist re: my hand issue
Sometimes, you have to go along to get along.
PS: did I mention that I have 30 days to have the "required medical tests" completed or I lose insurance coverage for this condition? Not only does the knee specialist get to figure out why my left hand is screwed up without first looking at my hand, but BC Anthem gets to decide whether I need the requested tests without even knowing who I am, much less what's wrong with my hand. Ain't the system great?
Standing Tall
Every now and again, I hear a phrase that catches my attention. This time, it's "survivor sit-ups," a phrase used by an author who has written a book entitled I Will Not Be Broken. When I caught snatches of his conversation with the TV personality, it brought back two times in my life when people took it upon themselves either to break me for their own purposes, or to convince others that I was already broken--and needed to be fixed. However, it also reminded me of my parent's strength to overcome lives that could charitably be termed dysfunctional.
My father was a man who was not broken by his harsh family life prior to his marriage to my mother. My father's mother, for whom I am named, died when he was 3 years of age. His father, perhaps wanting a fresh start, relocated from the east coast to the west coast, bringing his young children with him. He met and then married the daughter of a prominent family in the community, and started a second family with her.
At that time, the phrase "evil stepmother" wasn't commonly used, but that's what she was. She locked my father out of the house every morning at 7 am and allowed him to return at 7 pm for dinner and bed. Her days were spent caring for her own children, and she let it be known that my father was not, and never would be, her child. He was the baggage that came with her new marriage, baggage she wasn't going to carry.
My father survived, met and married his own woman, fathered 6 children, all of whom carry his name, the same name his father gave to the woman he married after his first wife died. My father stood tall and strong until his life was cut short at age 50 by leukemia, a disease which, at that time, was little known. Not once during his brief illness did anyone from my father's family contact him or my mother to express concern or, after his death, condolences. The step-mother did, however, confront my mother, now a young widow with 6 children, as she walked down the main street in town, and convinced her that my father had taken out a personal loan with her, for which there was no paperwork, and she demanded that it be paid in full -- NOW!
My mother had no personal resources, no financial resources, no employment. The insurance provided my mother with a total of $5,000, every penny of which she needed to keep her house, as well as her family, intact. It was not inconceivable that we would all end up living on the streets because we had nothing to prevent that from happening except the insurance money, and it wasn't going to stretch very far. The step-grandmother trash-talked my mother to other people in town, as well as to her family, insisting that my mother was living high on the hog on my father's insurance, while refusing to repay a personal loan. With everything else my mother had to handle, she simply did not need the added burden of the defamation of her character, as well as my father's name.
My mother did eventually pay back the "loan," but the hardship created by that demand is long-lived.
When my step-grandmother died at age 102, there was much bally-hoo in the local media about her, her life, and the unselfish giving that marked her later life as a pillar of the local church. You would have thought her a saint, but I knew better! My mind recalled the vengeance with which she hounded my mother to repay a loan that, perhaps, never existed. A Christian woman would have realized how desperate my mother's situation was and forgiven the loan in love and charity.
The final insult was that my father, who carried the last name his step-mother died with, was not mentioned in the lengthy obituary; however, her children, and their children and their grandchildren, were extensively chronicled.
Life's adversity strengthens us or it destroys us. In my life, I was taught "survivor sit-ups," to work through and then move beyond the tests of our endurance. My father never accepted the word "can't" as his focus was in the power of "can." I have been able to accomplish that which I doubted I could because I have the strength of my convictions, as well as the determination to be better than what has been done to me by others, a lesson I learned from my father's death and my mother's survival.
My father was reunited with his mother and his father after his death; I'm sure that when his step-mother arrived, he came to the Gates to greet her, too. She would have looked at him, bewildered, and asked, "Do I know you?" because that's the woman she was. Knowing my father, he would have introduced himself because that's the man he was.
My father was a man who was not broken by his harsh family life prior to his marriage to my mother. My father's mother, for whom I am named, died when he was 3 years of age. His father, perhaps wanting a fresh start, relocated from the east coast to the west coast, bringing his young children with him. He met and then married the daughter of a prominent family in the community, and started a second family with her.
At that time, the phrase "evil stepmother" wasn't commonly used, but that's what she was. She locked my father out of the house every morning at 7 am and allowed him to return at 7 pm for dinner and bed. Her days were spent caring for her own children, and she let it be known that my father was not, and never would be, her child. He was the baggage that came with her new marriage, baggage she wasn't going to carry.
My father survived, met and married his own woman, fathered 6 children, all of whom carry his name, the same name his father gave to the woman he married after his first wife died. My father stood tall and strong until his life was cut short at age 50 by leukemia, a disease which, at that time, was little known. Not once during his brief illness did anyone from my father's family contact him or my mother to express concern or, after his death, condolences. The step-mother did, however, confront my mother, now a young widow with 6 children, as she walked down the main street in town, and convinced her that my father had taken out a personal loan with her, for which there was no paperwork, and she demanded that it be paid in full -- NOW!
My mother had no personal resources, no financial resources, no employment. The insurance provided my mother with a total of $5,000, every penny of which she needed to keep her house, as well as her family, intact. It was not inconceivable that we would all end up living on the streets because we had nothing to prevent that from happening except the insurance money, and it wasn't going to stretch very far. The step-grandmother trash-talked my mother to other people in town, as well as to her family, insisting that my mother was living high on the hog on my father's insurance, while refusing to repay a personal loan. With everything else my mother had to handle, she simply did not need the added burden of the defamation of her character, as well as my father's name.
My mother did eventually pay back the "loan," but the hardship created by that demand is long-lived.
When my step-grandmother died at age 102, there was much bally-hoo in the local media about her, her life, and the unselfish giving that marked her later life as a pillar of the local church. You would have thought her a saint, but I knew better! My mind recalled the vengeance with which she hounded my mother to repay a loan that, perhaps, never existed. A Christian woman would have realized how desperate my mother's situation was and forgiven the loan in love and charity.
The final insult was that my father, who carried the last name his step-mother died with, was not mentioned in the lengthy obituary; however, her children, and their children and their grandchildren, were extensively chronicled.
Life's adversity strengthens us or it destroys us. In my life, I was taught "survivor sit-ups," to work through and then move beyond the tests of our endurance. My father never accepted the word "can't" as his focus was in the power of "can." I have been able to accomplish that which I doubted I could because I have the strength of my convictions, as well as the determination to be better than what has been done to me by others, a lesson I learned from my father's death and my mother's survival.
My father was reunited with his mother and his father after his death; I'm sure that when his step-mother arrived, he came to the Gates to greet her, too. She would have looked at him, bewildered, and asked, "Do I know you?" because that's the woman she was. Knowing my father, he would have introduced himself because that's the man he was.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
It is what it is ...
Anyone who tells me that their perception is their reality gets a wide berth as that is a person who thinks that what they see, what they say, what they think or do is the truth, and anyone who does not see, say, think or do as they is wrong. I’ve had encounters with these people in the past, people who have caused me the deepest heartache of my life until I had the strength to cut them out of my life and refuse to allow them back in. This weekend, listening to John Edwards’ news conference, Aldous Huxley’s quote came to mind: Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored. I was stunned when John Edwards’ actually said that God forgives him, his wife forgives him, so let’s all move on, the classic “sorry” excuse that far too many people believe provides license to act with impunity in their personal and professional lives.
I wish that life were as easy as Edwards wants it to be.
Edwards path is so much easier! He admits he had (I wonder about the use of the past tense; is this something one gets over?) a huge ego and believed he could act without consequences, obviously not realizing that he is continuing both the ego and the freedom of not conforming to the rules during the revelations of his infidelity. He may think his wife has forgiven him, but I’m going to suspect it is more a St. Francis reaction: there are some things in life that have to be accepted because they cannot be changed, and she’s dealing with terminal cancer. If I were Mrs. Edwards, I’d probably be exercising the wisdom 24/7 to accept that which I cannot change, but there wouldn't be much forgiveness involved in that decision.
Then, there are the pundits, the TV personalities who themselves must not have been tempted nor strayed from the straight and narrow path because they are bringing large piles of stones to the set with them and tossing them with glee at yet another politician caught with his zipper down. If it is he who is without sin who is entitled to cast the first stone, there are a lot more saints in politics and the media than I ever could have imagined. ANY good-looking, nicely built, articulate and powerful man who says he’s never strayed best be hoping that there aren’t storm clouds in the skies when he avers that purity! Perhaps it depends on how one defines “having sex with that woman” or the semantics of the word “is,” but biologically, men are ready, willing, and thanks to the little blue pills, more able to act on offers of sex from any and all willing women. Today’s morality says go for it because it’s all about me, myself, and I. There is no us anymore, not even in marriage, where “us” is the foundation without which it’s just another hook-up.
What’s next? The woman says there is no need for a paternity test, which means that she knows with whom she had sex that resulted in a pregnancy. I doubt that she was really doing Edwards and a campaign worker simultaneously because she seems smart enough to know on which side of the bread one applies the butter and jelly! I’m guessing that when she told Edwards she was pregnant, he made the tangential decision to do the “right thing” and cover his ass by doing whatever it takes to get out of this mess, even dumping it into the lap of an easily-duped campaign worker. The recurrence of his wife’s cancer out of remission can probably also be traced to the conversation her husband had with her, and I doubt it either began with “it was nothing” or ended with “I forgive you.” There is a lot of dirty laundry hanging out these days, and I’m sure we’ll be doing more wash in the coming weeks.
Huxley assures us that the facts are the facts, and John Edwards is trying to make them go away by ignoring them. Life comes crashing down when the truth comes out from underneath the layers of lies. It is far better to admit the truth, deal with, and then pray that you don’t die before either making the deathbed confession or actually changing your life to acknowledge the sin and atone for it. Edwards might want to get busy working on that plan.
I wish that life were as easy as Edwards wants it to be.
Edwards path is so much easier! He admits he had (I wonder about the use of the past tense; is this something one gets over?) a huge ego and believed he could act without consequences, obviously not realizing that he is continuing both the ego and the freedom of not conforming to the rules during the revelations of his infidelity. He may think his wife has forgiven him, but I’m going to suspect it is more a St. Francis reaction: there are some things in life that have to be accepted because they cannot be changed, and she’s dealing with terminal cancer. If I were Mrs. Edwards, I’d probably be exercising the wisdom 24/7 to accept that which I cannot change, but there wouldn't be much forgiveness involved in that decision.
Then, there are the pundits, the TV personalities who themselves must not have been tempted nor strayed from the straight and narrow path because they are bringing large piles of stones to the set with them and tossing them with glee at yet another politician caught with his zipper down. If it is he who is without sin who is entitled to cast the first stone, there are a lot more saints in politics and the media than I ever could have imagined. ANY good-looking, nicely built, articulate and powerful man who says he’s never strayed best be hoping that there aren’t storm clouds in the skies when he avers that purity! Perhaps it depends on how one defines “having sex with that woman” or the semantics of the word “is,” but biologically, men are ready, willing, and thanks to the little blue pills, more able to act on offers of sex from any and all willing women. Today’s morality says go for it because it’s all about me, myself, and I. There is no us anymore, not even in marriage, where “us” is the foundation without which it’s just another hook-up.
What’s next? The woman says there is no need for a paternity test, which means that she knows with whom she had sex that resulted in a pregnancy. I doubt that she was really doing Edwards and a campaign worker simultaneously because she seems smart enough to know on which side of the bread one applies the butter and jelly! I’m guessing that when she told Edwards she was pregnant, he made the tangential decision to do the “right thing” and cover his ass by doing whatever it takes to get out of this mess, even dumping it into the lap of an easily-duped campaign worker. The recurrence of his wife’s cancer out of remission can probably also be traced to the conversation her husband had with her, and I doubt it either began with “it was nothing” or ended with “I forgive you.” There is a lot of dirty laundry hanging out these days, and I’m sure we’ll be doing more wash in the coming weeks.
Huxley assures us that the facts are the facts, and John Edwards is trying to make them go away by ignoring them. Life comes crashing down when the truth comes out from underneath the layers of lies. It is far better to admit the truth, deal with, and then pray that you don’t die before either making the deathbed confession or actually changing your life to acknowledge the sin and atone for it. Edwards might want to get busy working on that plan.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Ketchup
The dogs were barking ferociously out back, so I wandered in that direction to see what was the matter. The next-door neighbor's above-ground pool is empty, and the winds picked it up and deposited it high above the fence and headed in the direction of my dog run. With all the flapping plastic and fury of the wind, the dogs were determined to pounce on it and take care of the problem. I poked at it with a broom, but could only move it slightly as it's a big pool; however, when I heard 2 boys playing kick ball across the street, I asked them to climb over the fence and pull the pool back into the neighbor's yard, which they did. Problem temporarily solved, but I think the neighbors may have lost the use of what appears to be a nice, big above-ground pool.
Meanwhile, George who is not really George came home, and he's upset because he has 20 days to vacate his studio apartment. He's looked everywhere but cannot find another studio or one-bedroom apartment. His son cannot provide him with a room because his house is too small and the family too big. George takes such good care of his place, watches out for me, and spoils Mia with little treats, and I'm going to miss him. If I had the money to buy the property and fix it up, I would as it's a great opportunity for steady income.
Grady's mom hasn't had a terrific time in Costa Rica: she's been robbed a total of 3 times during her vacation and cannot wait to come back home. She'll pick Grady up Tuesday while I'm visiting my friend at the coast. I must remember to leave Grady's things on the outside table. I must remember to leave Grady's things on the outside table. I must remember ... .
I replanted all the plants lost during the summer, including 2 in the paver patio, 2 alongside the driveway, 1 in the 1/2 clay flower pot, and 2 in the front yard planter. All of the replacement plants now have a water source since the plumber did a great job installing the paver patio watering system, and then reworking the front yard system. The timers are set, with the backyard on a separate system from the front. He said he'll stop by a couple of times during the next few weeks to check on the system function, which is great if he actually does so. Most people, once they finish a job, move on to the next with nary a glance behind.
I worked for about 10 hours this weekend updating syllabi and class materials, so I'll be ready for the first day of school on the 18th. Teaching 11 credit hours a week will be fine and should earn enough income to pay for continuing my medical care through January. I figured it out: I pay $6420 annually in insurance premiums, 20% of all non-allowable charges, as well as co-pay for prescriptions and medical services -- and I can't ask to have an MRI on the body part affected with a problem that needs to be diagnosed. If, however, I were indigent and had no medical insurance, all this would be FREEEEEEE!
Meanwhile, George who is not really George came home, and he's upset because he has 20 days to vacate his studio apartment. He's looked everywhere but cannot find another studio or one-bedroom apartment. His son cannot provide him with a room because his house is too small and the family too big. George takes such good care of his place, watches out for me, and spoils Mia with little treats, and I'm going to miss him. If I had the money to buy the property and fix it up, I would as it's a great opportunity for steady income.
Grady's mom hasn't had a terrific time in Costa Rica: she's been robbed a total of 3 times during her vacation and cannot wait to come back home. She'll pick Grady up Tuesday while I'm visiting my friend at the coast. I must remember to leave Grady's things on the outside table. I must remember to leave Grady's things on the outside table. I must remember ... .
I replanted all the plants lost during the summer, including 2 in the paver patio, 2 alongside the driveway, 1 in the 1/2 clay flower pot, and 2 in the front yard planter. All of the replacement plants now have a water source since the plumber did a great job installing the paver patio watering system, and then reworking the front yard system. The timers are set, with the backyard on a separate system from the front. He said he'll stop by a couple of times during the next few weeks to check on the system function, which is great if he actually does so. Most people, once they finish a job, move on to the next with nary a glance behind.
I worked for about 10 hours this weekend updating syllabi and class materials, so I'll be ready for the first day of school on the 18th. Teaching 11 credit hours a week will be fine and should earn enough income to pay for continuing my medical care through January. I figured it out: I pay $6420 annually in insurance premiums, 20% of all non-allowable charges, as well as co-pay for prescriptions and medical services -- and I can't ask to have an MRI on the body part affected with a problem that needs to be diagnosed. If, however, I were indigent and had no medical insurance, all this would be FREEEEEEE!
Friday, August 8, 2008
This Could Be Funny!
One last note re: the ortho appt re: the left hand.
Because I have refused the services of the hand specialist to whom I was referred, I will have to contact my insurance directly to obtain permission to make an appt with another doctor, according to my primary care physician.
Of course, I have NOT refused the services of the hand specialist to whom I was referred, but I have refused the services of the knee specialist to whom I was sent in lieu of the hand specialist with whom I made the appt.
Life goes on. I have 3 syllabi to update, 3 classes to prep, and textbooks to gather from the bookshelves. I'll deal with this another day.
Because I have refused the services of the hand specialist to whom I was referred, I will have to contact my insurance directly to obtain permission to make an appt with another doctor, according to my primary care physician.
Of course, I have NOT refused the services of the hand specialist to whom I was referred, but I have refused the services of the knee specialist to whom I was sent in lieu of the hand specialist with whom I made the appt.
Life goes on. I have 3 syllabi to update, 3 classes to prep, and textbooks to gather from the bookshelves. I'll deal with this another day.
Uh, No
So my doctor's office finally called back to recommend that I have the scheduled MRI because my doctor is one of the best-known hand specialists in SoCal and knows what he is doing. If he feels my symptomology warrants a cervical spine MRI and a nerve induction test, then that's what should be scheduled.
Uh, no, the doctor who wants these specific tests is a KNEE specialist, and I don't feel confident that he/his PA know what they are doing re: the problem with my left HAND. Hence, my query re: an MRI on my HAND, in addition to the cervical spine and the nerve conduction test recommended by the KNEE specialist.
Well, your appointment referral from the doctor was to see a HAND specialist. Why did you not schedule your appointment with that doctor?
I went through the entire sequence again, assuring her that when I walked into the ortho center, it was to see the HAND specialist to whom I had been referred and with whom I made the appointment. It was the ortho clinic that changed my appointment, not I. This info led to the need for her to disconnect, talk to the doctor again, and call me back, which she did. The doctor specifically referred me to the hand specialist and wants me to return to the nationally known orthopedic center and see the doctor to whom I was referred. He will assure that will happen.
Great theory; however, didn't have success the first time, so I reaffirmed my decision to see another hand specialist, one who is not affiliated with the same ortho center. That caused another disconnect for another conversation, and a promised call-back that never came.
Here's the deal: I am a person, not a problem. As such, I know that this set of symptoms involves my left hand, and perhaps the nerves, etc., are part of it. Therefore, I want the actual site of the problem to be included in the diagnostic process, which doesn't seem like such a far-out request. If the ortho center cannot accommodate that request, then I'm not going to give them my business.
There is a list of other doctors who specialize in the hand/wrist in the yellow pages, so I'm going to call and make an appointment with one of them if my primary physician cannot recommend someone who does not work at the nationally known ortho center. This is my HAND, so it is my decision. I will take care of it today.
As a side note, the plumber was here during the back and forth phone calls and became engaged in the process. He looked at my HAND and said it seemed pretty obvious from the presentation that someone needs to look at my HAND to determine what the problem is. He added an analogy: it's as if a customer calls him and says a toilet doesn't seem to be working correctly and he tells them they need to call for a rotor rooter service -- without coming to the home and checking out the function of the toilet! There are so many things that can cause a toilet not to work, and usually none of the fixes require a rotor rooting.
Good point.
Uh, no, the doctor who wants these specific tests is a KNEE specialist, and I don't feel confident that he/his PA know what they are doing re: the problem with my left HAND. Hence, my query re: an MRI on my HAND, in addition to the cervical spine and the nerve conduction test recommended by the KNEE specialist.
Well, your appointment referral from the doctor was to see a HAND specialist. Why did you not schedule your appointment with that doctor?
I went through the entire sequence again, assuring her that when I walked into the ortho center, it was to see the HAND specialist to whom I had been referred and with whom I made the appointment. It was the ortho clinic that changed my appointment, not I. This info led to the need for her to disconnect, talk to the doctor again, and call me back, which she did. The doctor specifically referred me to the hand specialist and wants me to return to the nationally known orthopedic center and see the doctor to whom I was referred. He will assure that will happen.
Great theory; however, didn't have success the first time, so I reaffirmed my decision to see another hand specialist, one who is not affiliated with the same ortho center. That caused another disconnect for another conversation, and a promised call-back that never came.
Here's the deal: I am a person, not a problem. As such, I know that this set of symptoms involves my left hand, and perhaps the nerves, etc., are part of it. Therefore, I want the actual site of the problem to be included in the diagnostic process, which doesn't seem like such a far-out request. If the ortho center cannot accommodate that request, then I'm not going to give them my business.
There is a list of other doctors who specialize in the hand/wrist in the yellow pages, so I'm going to call and make an appointment with one of them if my primary physician cannot recommend someone who does not work at the nationally known ortho center. This is my HAND, so it is my decision. I will take care of it today.
As a side note, the plumber was here during the back and forth phone calls and became engaged in the process. He looked at my HAND and said it seemed pretty obvious from the presentation that someone needs to look at my HAND to determine what the problem is. He added an analogy: it's as if a customer calls him and says a toilet doesn't seem to be working correctly and he tells them they need to call for a rotor rooter service -- without coming to the home and checking out the function of the toilet! There are so many things that can cause a toilet not to work, and usually none of the fixes require a rotor rooting.
Good point.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
My Decision
The appointment scheduler called today to set up the MRI; however, it was for the cervical spine. I explained that the problem is in my hand, so I'm not sure why my spine is being imaged. I asked if she could check with the doctor and request that my left hand is included in the MRI, which she said she would do.
The doctor's receptionist just called to inform me that it is the doctor's opinion that an MRI of my left hand is not medically warranted based on his examination. Well, considering that he never either saw me nor examined my left hand, he has no idea about my medical condition. The reason for the MRI is to rule out potential causes for the existing symptoms, and I don't feel like playing into that process at this time.
Therefore, I contacted the MRI center and told them to cancel the appointment, called back the knee surgeon's office and told them not to schedule any further appointments regarding my left hand, and have a call in to my referring physician to get the name of someone else with whom I can make an appointment, preferably a doctor who will actually LOOK at my hand before deciding what is -- or what is not -- medically warranted.
My goal is to determine what IS causing the symptoms, not what is NOT causing them, and I want a doctor who is on the same page.
The doctor's receptionist just called to inform me that it is the doctor's opinion that an MRI of my left hand is not medically warranted based on his examination. Well, considering that he never either saw me nor examined my left hand, he has no idea about my medical condition. The reason for the MRI is to rule out potential causes for the existing symptoms, and I don't feel like playing into that process at this time.
Therefore, I contacted the MRI center and told them to cancel the appointment, called back the knee surgeon's office and told them not to schedule any further appointments regarding my left hand, and have a call in to my referring physician to get the name of someone else with whom I can make an appointment, preferably a doctor who will actually LOOK at my hand before deciding what is -- or what is not -- medically warranted.
My goal is to determine what IS causing the symptoms, not what is NOT causing them, and I want a doctor who is on the same page.
Not a Dog's Best Friend
Mia's best friend, Grady, is spending his owner's 2-week vacation at my house. I was thrilled that she waited until Grady's diarhhea cleared up before booking her trip, but not so thrilled when she showed up with the 7 medications he takes daily!
The sick half-laugh escaped before I could censor it, along with the fervent plea, "You're kidding, right?" No, she wasn't kidding, and I'm anxious about what will happen when I give Grady the last of the diarhhea medicine tomorrow as she won't be back until the 12th.
Grady's a good dog and gets along well with Mia, who grooms him, sleeps alongside him, makes him go outside and chases him around so he gets exercise. Grady likes the stash of bones in the wheel-around container, and he happily spends hours gnawing and chewing. When Mia takes an unattended bone, Grady growls and comes after it, but Mia drops that one and picks up the one Grady has abandoned. Grady is pooping in the paver patio area, which is not allowed, but I've seen Mia walking him to the dog run to do his daily. Grady doesn't seem to care where he poops. Not a huge fan of poop patrol, I've ignored the piles in the dog run, but am keeping the piles cleaned up in the paver patio area to encourage Grady not to revisit that area.
Grady is also on a special diet, and if he doesn't eat what the vet has prescribed, the diarhhea becomes overwhelming. Therefore, I cannot put Mia's food out each day as she is a self-feeder and munches whenever she feels the need. If Grady's on a diet, Mia also has to be on a diet, which is causing some hardship as I'm only feeding them every 12 hours. When Grady gets his food, he's like a shark in the midst of a feeding frenzy, growling and shoveling the food into his mouth as fast as he can get it out of the bowl. If I open the fridge, Grady comes at me like a Kamikazi pilot after an American warship. God forbid I drop a crumb on the floor as the dogs both go after it as if their lives depended on it.
The other day, I was gone for several hours. When I returned home, the large kitchen waste basket was on its side and trash strewn from one end of the house to the other. Since Mia has NEVER gotten into the trash, I knew it was Grady's work. I let him have a barrage of "bad dog" messages and pissed off attitude as I cleaned up the mess and mopped the floor. Both Mia and Grady have raided the wastebaskets before if I haven't been home with them, but I never dreamed that they would topple the trash can!
Yesterday, when it was time for me to leave for the ortho appointment, I put a dishpan on top of the trash, along with some metal items that would make noise if they approached the trash can. It was trash day and I had emptied the can the night before, so I left confident that I would not have a repeat of the other day.
Wrong. They turned the trashcan over and spread what little there was throughout the house, along with the dishpan of metal noisemakers. Guess it didn't bother them to deal with the obstacles to get at the prize! Again, much yelling and another floor mopping from me didn't seem to phase either one of the dogs.
This will be Grady's last (extended) visit with me as he's become too high maintenance and too destructive. He's the bad-boy friend who somehow convinces Mia to do that which she would never do without his influence. The pill regimine simply puts his daily care over the top, so I will not be available for extended care in the future.
The sick half-laugh escaped before I could censor it, along with the fervent plea, "You're kidding, right?" No, she wasn't kidding, and I'm anxious about what will happen when I give Grady the last of the diarhhea medicine tomorrow as she won't be back until the 12th.
Grady's a good dog and gets along well with Mia, who grooms him, sleeps alongside him, makes him go outside and chases him around so he gets exercise. Grady likes the stash of bones in the wheel-around container, and he happily spends hours gnawing and chewing. When Mia takes an unattended bone, Grady growls and comes after it, but Mia drops that one and picks up the one Grady has abandoned. Grady is pooping in the paver patio area, which is not allowed, but I've seen Mia walking him to the dog run to do his daily. Grady doesn't seem to care where he poops. Not a huge fan of poop patrol, I've ignored the piles in the dog run, but am keeping the piles cleaned up in the paver patio area to encourage Grady not to revisit that area.
Grady is also on a special diet, and if he doesn't eat what the vet has prescribed, the diarhhea becomes overwhelming. Therefore, I cannot put Mia's food out each day as she is a self-feeder and munches whenever she feels the need. If Grady's on a diet, Mia also has to be on a diet, which is causing some hardship as I'm only feeding them every 12 hours. When Grady gets his food, he's like a shark in the midst of a feeding frenzy, growling and shoveling the food into his mouth as fast as he can get it out of the bowl. If I open the fridge, Grady comes at me like a Kamikazi pilot after an American warship. God forbid I drop a crumb on the floor as the dogs both go after it as if their lives depended on it.
The other day, I was gone for several hours. When I returned home, the large kitchen waste basket was on its side and trash strewn from one end of the house to the other. Since Mia has NEVER gotten into the trash, I knew it was Grady's work. I let him have a barrage of "bad dog" messages and pissed off attitude as I cleaned up the mess and mopped the floor. Both Mia and Grady have raided the wastebaskets before if I haven't been home with them, but I never dreamed that they would topple the trash can!
Yesterday, when it was time for me to leave for the ortho appointment, I put a dishpan on top of the trash, along with some metal items that would make noise if they approached the trash can. It was trash day and I had emptied the can the night before, so I left confident that I would not have a repeat of the other day.
Wrong. They turned the trashcan over and spread what little there was throughout the house, along with the dishpan of metal noisemakers. Guess it didn't bother them to deal with the obstacles to get at the prize! Again, much yelling and another floor mopping from me didn't seem to phase either one of the dogs.
This will be Grady's last (extended) visit with me as he's become too high maintenance and too destructive. He's the bad-boy friend who somehow convinces Mia to do that which she would never do without his influence. The pill regimine simply puts his daily care over the top, so I will not be available for extended care in the future.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
A Medical Occam's Razor
In May, my upper left arm began swelling and became extremely sensitive to touch. A student who noticed the swelling as I was teaching a class came to me, touched my arm in the area of the swelling, and I about went through the ceiling from the pain. A student in the class who has EMT training encouraged me to call my doctor and get an appointment -- asap.
I went to the doctor the next day and explained that there were 3 places on my left hand that constantly throbbed and sometimes caused me to lose the use of the hand. The sudden swelling in my upper left arm was a new symptom, but it seemed to be important. Because the PA could see the swelling and bruising at my wrist, but had no idea what could be causing it, I was sent for x-rays of my neck, shoulder, arm and hand. Those x-rays didn't provide information about the swelling and the throbbing in my hand, although they confirmed the fairly extensive arthritis, as well as the deformity caused by the shattered shoulder. I was told to wear a brace if I had to use the hand, try both heat and ice to reduce the swelling, and take Alleve for the pain.
I was also given a referral to a hand specialist qualified to diagnose the problem and then prescribe a treatment protocol. Today was that appointment; well, actually, it wasn't the appointment I scheduled with the hand specialist, but an appointment with another doctor at the facility, a doctor who specializes in knees. When I questioned the change, I was blown off: the hand specialist is busy, busy, busy, so if I want to be seen, I'll need to be seen by another doctor. When I began to explain that I really need a hand specialist, I got the look that told me there was no way that was going to happen, so let's move on.
I walked up to the third floor and checked in to see the knee specialist, but he was busy, busy, busy, so I saw his PA, who checked out the x-rays, which didn't address the issues I showed her in my left hand. She could see the symptoms of the problem, but she admitted that this is not their area of expertise.
I pointed out the blood vessel that appears to have collapsed in the middle, both ends of which swell until I seriously worry about them bursting and me bleeding to death as a result. I also showed the very large swollen "fatty tumor" in my wrist area that appears to be connected to the pressure and the pain in my left wrist. I also pointed out the blood vessel that runs the length of my left thumb, constantly throbs, and often causes my thumb to cease function when I try to either pick up or hold anything. I am going to have an MRI of my neck, shoulder, arm and hand, as well as a nerve induction test before anyone hazards a guess as to what the problem may be, much less how to treat it.
How is a nerve induction test going to explain what appears to be a blocked blood vessel? Why am I being seen by a knee specialist when I was referred to a hand specialist because the problem is with my left hand? I don't have much confidence that my problem is going to be diagnosed, treated, and cured by this medical team -- unless it is somehow connected to the 3 previous surgeries on my left knee!
Occam's Razor says that the simplest answer is usually the right answer, and if you ask me, there's a fatty tumor on the inside of my wrist that needs to be removed before either the pain or the swelling are going to disappear.
I went to the doctor the next day and explained that there were 3 places on my left hand that constantly throbbed and sometimes caused me to lose the use of the hand. The sudden swelling in my upper left arm was a new symptom, but it seemed to be important. Because the PA could see the swelling and bruising at my wrist, but had no idea what could be causing it, I was sent for x-rays of my neck, shoulder, arm and hand. Those x-rays didn't provide information about the swelling and the throbbing in my hand, although they confirmed the fairly extensive arthritis, as well as the deformity caused by the shattered shoulder. I was told to wear a brace if I had to use the hand, try both heat and ice to reduce the swelling, and take Alleve for the pain.
I was also given a referral to a hand specialist qualified to diagnose the problem and then prescribe a treatment protocol. Today was that appointment; well, actually, it wasn't the appointment I scheduled with the hand specialist, but an appointment with another doctor at the facility, a doctor who specializes in knees. When I questioned the change, I was blown off: the hand specialist is busy, busy, busy, so if I want to be seen, I'll need to be seen by another doctor. When I began to explain that I really need a hand specialist, I got the look that told me there was no way that was going to happen, so let's move on.
I walked up to the third floor and checked in to see the knee specialist, but he was busy, busy, busy, so I saw his PA, who checked out the x-rays, which didn't address the issues I showed her in my left hand. She could see the symptoms of the problem, but she admitted that this is not their area of expertise.
I pointed out the blood vessel that appears to have collapsed in the middle, both ends of which swell until I seriously worry about them bursting and me bleeding to death as a result. I also showed the very large swollen "fatty tumor" in my wrist area that appears to be connected to the pressure and the pain in my left wrist. I also pointed out the blood vessel that runs the length of my left thumb, constantly throbs, and often causes my thumb to cease function when I try to either pick up or hold anything. I am going to have an MRI of my neck, shoulder, arm and hand, as well as a nerve induction test before anyone hazards a guess as to what the problem may be, much less how to treat it.
How is a nerve induction test going to explain what appears to be a blocked blood vessel? Why am I being seen by a knee specialist when I was referred to a hand specialist because the problem is with my left hand? I don't have much confidence that my problem is going to be diagnosed, treated, and cured by this medical team -- unless it is somehow connected to the 3 previous surgeries on my left knee!
Occam's Razor says that the simplest answer is usually the right answer, and if you ask me, there's a fatty tumor on the inside of my wrist that needs to be removed before either the pain or the swelling are going to disappear.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Free Advertising: PriceLine.com
When I contacted a website offering discounts for travelers who stay at a certain group of hotels, I figured why not? I probably could save a few bucks and make reservations on-line, which is certainly easy.
Today, my credit card bill arrived and it was somewhat higher than I anticipated from totaling the receipts from the trip: about $175 higher. I audited the bill and found the problem: the hotel stay in PA was charged to the account, but I had canceled it the day before I was to arrive because I was sick and had to take myself and g'son home.
No problem: I have the cancellation number! I called 877-477-7441 and spent several minutes providing information to PriceLine.com's mechanical customer courtesy number so they could answer my questions about my itinerary. Interestingly enough, although the dates for my travel have passed, the mechanical voice still assured me that my travel itinerary was in place, which should have been my first clue that they didn't have a clue.
Kim asked for my reservation dates, the hotel site, the hotel phone number, my itinerary number, all of which I had already provided, and then asked how she could help me. I explained that I had become sick during my road trip, canceled the pending hotel reservation, and returned home early. I again provided the cancelation number -- and then she began reading the script: she would have to verify the information I provided, which would take 5-7 days, at which time I would receive an email message with their "decision" about my request for a refund.
No, I responded, there is no decision to make: I called, canceled the reservation, again provided the cancelation number, and want the charges removed from my credit card account now. Back to the script, with the previous section repeated word for word, at which time I directed Kim to connect with me a manager.
Many minutes later, Joan from Customer Relations came on the line and began reading the same script Kim had read twice. I directed Joan to stop reading, then told her that I canceled the reservation, again provided the cancelation number, and directed her to remove the charges from my credit card account. Back to the script ... so I interrupted again, again directing her to remove the charges from my credit card account -- and then she could have any conversation she wanted with the hotel personnel. The failure of the hotel to follow PriceLine.com's procedures is of no interest to me: I did follow the procedures and simply want that acknowledged and the amount of $175 removed from my account ... now.
Joan told me she would put me on hold, call the hotel to verify the information I had provided, and I told her, No, that isn't going to happen. I directed her to use the telephone number in front of her to call me back after she had concluded her call to the hotel because I was not going to wait on line for her to conduct her business with the hotel personnel.
When she called me back, Joan thanked me for being patient and told me that the hotel had confirmed that I had canceled the reservation, the cancelation number was correct, and it was a communication error. Therefore, Joan will pass this information on to Customer Relations and the refund will be processed within the next 10-15 business days. I was given a new cancelation number to cover the new transaction.
Meanwhile, the amount remains on the bill I owe for my road trip expenses.
At that point, I thanked Joan for doing what should have been done from the outset of my call, and then suggested that the script from which both she and Kim read needs to be changed as it assigns blame/assumes dishonesty of the customer, while absolving PriceLine.com and its subscribers of responsibility for a screw-up. I reminded Joan that I would NOT have a cancelation number had I not canceled the reservation, so it probably would be a more pleasant experience for both of us if the person who answers the PriceLine.com phone assumes that I am an honest person, not a deadbeat trying to get out of paying a hotel bill.
Needless to say, I won't use PriceLine.com for any future transactions. I'll call the customer service rep at my credit card company and make sure that my account is up-to-date, with no unauthorized charges on it.
If they'll ding me for $175 and not cancel the reservation, who knows what else they may do with my account info.
Today, my credit card bill arrived and it was somewhat higher than I anticipated from totaling the receipts from the trip: about $175 higher. I audited the bill and found the problem: the hotel stay in PA was charged to the account, but I had canceled it the day before I was to arrive because I was sick and had to take myself and g'son home.
No problem: I have the cancellation number! I called 877-477-7441 and spent several minutes providing information to PriceLine.com's mechanical customer courtesy number so they could answer my questions about my itinerary. Interestingly enough, although the dates for my travel have passed, the mechanical voice still assured me that my travel itinerary was in place, which should have been my first clue that they didn't have a clue.
Kim asked for my reservation dates, the hotel site, the hotel phone number, my itinerary number, all of which I had already provided, and then asked how she could help me. I explained that I had become sick during my road trip, canceled the pending hotel reservation, and returned home early. I again provided the cancelation number -- and then she began reading the script: she would have to verify the information I provided, which would take 5-7 days, at which time I would receive an email message with their "decision" about my request for a refund.
No, I responded, there is no decision to make: I called, canceled the reservation, again provided the cancelation number, and want the charges removed from my credit card account now. Back to the script, with the previous section repeated word for word, at which time I directed Kim to connect with me a manager.
Many minutes later, Joan from Customer Relations came on the line and began reading the same script Kim had read twice. I directed Joan to stop reading, then told her that I canceled the reservation, again provided the cancelation number, and directed her to remove the charges from my credit card account. Back to the script ... so I interrupted again, again directing her to remove the charges from my credit card account -- and then she could have any conversation she wanted with the hotel personnel. The failure of the hotel to follow PriceLine.com's procedures is of no interest to me: I did follow the procedures and simply want that acknowledged and the amount of $175 removed from my account ... now.
Joan told me she would put me on hold, call the hotel to verify the information I had provided, and I told her, No, that isn't going to happen. I directed her to use the telephone number in front of her to call me back after she had concluded her call to the hotel because I was not going to wait on line for her to conduct her business with the hotel personnel.
When she called me back, Joan thanked me for being patient and told me that the hotel had confirmed that I had canceled the reservation, the cancelation number was correct, and it was a communication error. Therefore, Joan will pass this information on to Customer Relations and the refund will be processed within the next 10-15 business days. I was given a new cancelation number to cover the new transaction.
Meanwhile, the amount remains on the bill I owe for my road trip expenses.
At that point, I thanked Joan for doing what should have been done from the outset of my call, and then suggested that the script from which both she and Kim read needs to be changed as it assigns blame/assumes dishonesty of the customer, while absolving PriceLine.com and its subscribers of responsibility for a screw-up. I reminded Joan that I would NOT have a cancelation number had I not canceled the reservation, so it probably would be a more pleasant experience for both of us if the person who answers the PriceLine.com phone assumes that I am an honest person, not a deadbeat trying to get out of paying a hotel bill.
Needless to say, I won't use PriceLine.com for any future transactions. I'll call the customer service rep at my credit card company and make sure that my account is up-to-date, with no unauthorized charges on it.
If they'll ding me for $175 and not cancel the reservation, who knows what else they may do with my account info.
Blonde Bimbo Update
"This job [f-ing] sucks! It's the worst [f-ing] job I've ever had."
Actually, the job stinks, but semantics be hanged: the 2 fired blonde bimbos from Sunset Tanning are on their backs, side-by-side, at a party, their totally nude bodies partially covered in sushi that is rapidly being consumed by the guests. Less sushi means more girls ... . I wonder what the hourly rate of pay is for this position?
Perhaps there was no resume to update? No job skills to list on job applications? No place to brag about [f-ing] language skills? No letters of rec from previous employers?
I'd blame their current employment situation on an educational system that has obviously failed to prepare these females for meaningful professional careers. Uh, well, perhaps they are pros, current slang for prostitute.
Whatever.
Actually, the job stinks, but semantics be hanged: the 2 fired blonde bimbos from Sunset Tanning are on their backs, side-by-side, at a party, their totally nude bodies partially covered in sushi that is rapidly being consumed by the guests. Less sushi means more girls ... . I wonder what the hourly rate of pay is for this position?
Perhaps there was no resume to update? No job skills to list on job applications? No place to brag about [f-ing] language skills? No letters of rec from previous employers?
I'd blame their current employment situation on an educational system that has obviously failed to prepare these females for meaningful professional careers. Uh, well, perhaps they are pros, current slang for prostitute.
Whatever.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
We're All Just One Big, Happy Family
There are some programs on TV that simply stupify me, but one of them was on while I was working in the kitchen, so I listened ... and could not believe my ears.
Sunset Tan is a tanning salon. The employees are all blonde and well-tanned. The manager is a male employee, and he has the misfortune to work with 3 females: dumb, dumber, and dumbest. Evidently, they were selected for the California look they all sport: bleached white hair, cosmetically enhanced bodies, and mod attire, which means short, tight and trashy. Another common trait is the over-use of the "f" word, regardless of the conversation: business, personal, or private. If you can't fit the "f" word into each and every statement you make, you will never make it in California.
Anyhoo, one of the owners allowed "the girls," his female employees, to stay at his home, a very large, obviously expensive home in the Hollywood Hills. In his absence, they hosted a party that involved a lot of drinking and whatever else. The remnants of the free-for-all were clearly evident to the male owner when he returned home to a totally trashed property and the bleached blonde females passed out on the living room couches.
When he woke them and told them to get out of his house, one of them complained about all the chips on the tile floor and had to kick empty plastic cups out of her way as she stumbled toward the stairs.
Liberally sprinkling the "f" word into his reaction, he made it quite clear that he was upset by the condition of his obviously expensive residence, as well as the conduct of his employees, who were guests in his home. The girls were bewildered by his reaction (it was just a party), but they stumbled their way up the stairs to pack their suitcases and left, bumping the big bags down the stairs, adding insult to the injury inflicted by their disrespect for the home and their boss.
At work, the female employees spent the majority of their time gossiping, as well as discussing a former relationship the male employee had with one of them before he met his current girlfriend. With that can of worms opened, the current girlfriend confronted the guy and expressed her displeasure with a plethora of "f" word usage, to which the poor guy was hard-pressed to respond. His plaintive plea to get over it as it happened before he even knew the current girlfriend fell on deaf ears. When it became clear to him that the conversation was going nowhere, he got up and left, the threat of this being the end of the relationship not slowing him down one bit.
Meanwhile, with all the pot stirring, obscenities, and mutual disrespect disrupting business and driving customers away, the bosses had a sit-down to straighten out the situation. It should have taken two words, "you're fired," but the bosses took another approach: the we are family discussion. We treat our employees like family, we invite you into our homes, we take you to dinner, we this and we that ... which is, of course, the reason for the poor employee performance: they don't know they've been hired to do a specific job, in return for which they receive a salary, because they've been told they are family. The rules are different for family, so if you tell employees they are family, they are going to trade on that relationship and it will affect job performance.
When the boss whose home was trashed summed it up by saying, "we're going to have to let you go," the response from one of the bleached blonde bimbos was classic: go where?
Really.
The other boss finally cleared it up by saying "you're fired," but that really should have been the total conversation, omitting the 15 minutes of family fun and frolic that came before. Once the girls got it, they left, pissed that they will no longer be getting a paycheck, but not totally understanding that they've just been fired from their job, which is probably simply a way to mark time while they wait for another totally hot guy to walk through the door and be taken with their breast implants, overly-whitened teeth, fake tan, bleached blonde hair and total self-absorption.
If this is reality, we're in a lot worse shape than I've been thinking. I know there are shallow, self-absorbed bimbos out there, but I guess I thought they came one at a time, rather than in packs. If that's what you're looking for, the package, rather than the contents, it takes a lot of moxie to fire employees for being exactly what you wanted when you hired them, but the lesson is to differentiate between family, whose crap you have to put up with, and employees, who can be fired on the spot for failure to perform the duties for which they are hired.
Sunset Tan is a tanning salon. The employees are all blonde and well-tanned. The manager is a male employee, and he has the misfortune to work with 3 females: dumb, dumber, and dumbest. Evidently, they were selected for the California look they all sport: bleached white hair, cosmetically enhanced bodies, and mod attire, which means short, tight and trashy. Another common trait is the over-use of the "f" word, regardless of the conversation: business, personal, or private. If you can't fit the "f" word into each and every statement you make, you will never make it in California.
Anyhoo, one of the owners allowed "the girls," his female employees, to stay at his home, a very large, obviously expensive home in the Hollywood Hills. In his absence, they hosted a party that involved a lot of drinking and whatever else. The remnants of the free-for-all were clearly evident to the male owner when he returned home to a totally trashed property and the bleached blonde females passed out on the living room couches.
When he woke them and told them to get out of his house, one of them complained about all the chips on the tile floor and had to kick empty plastic cups out of her way as she stumbled toward the stairs.
Liberally sprinkling the "f" word into his reaction, he made it quite clear that he was upset by the condition of his obviously expensive residence, as well as the conduct of his employees, who were guests in his home. The girls were bewildered by his reaction (it was just a party), but they stumbled their way up the stairs to pack their suitcases and left, bumping the big bags down the stairs, adding insult to the injury inflicted by their disrespect for the home and their boss.
At work, the female employees spent the majority of their time gossiping, as well as discussing a former relationship the male employee had with one of them before he met his current girlfriend. With that can of worms opened, the current girlfriend confronted the guy and expressed her displeasure with a plethora of "f" word usage, to which the poor guy was hard-pressed to respond. His plaintive plea to get over it as it happened before he even knew the current girlfriend fell on deaf ears. When it became clear to him that the conversation was going nowhere, he got up and left, the threat of this being the end of the relationship not slowing him down one bit.
Meanwhile, with all the pot stirring, obscenities, and mutual disrespect disrupting business and driving customers away, the bosses had a sit-down to straighten out the situation. It should have taken two words, "you're fired," but the bosses took another approach: the we are family discussion. We treat our employees like family, we invite you into our homes, we take you to dinner, we this and we that ... which is, of course, the reason for the poor employee performance: they don't know they've been hired to do a specific job, in return for which they receive a salary, because they've been told they are family. The rules are different for family, so if you tell employees they are family, they are going to trade on that relationship and it will affect job performance.
When the boss whose home was trashed summed it up by saying, "we're going to have to let you go," the response from one of the bleached blonde bimbos was classic: go where?
Really.
The other boss finally cleared it up by saying "you're fired," but that really should have been the total conversation, omitting the 15 minutes of family fun and frolic that came before. Once the girls got it, they left, pissed that they will no longer be getting a paycheck, but not totally understanding that they've just been fired from their job, which is probably simply a way to mark time while they wait for another totally hot guy to walk through the door and be taken with their breast implants, overly-whitened teeth, fake tan, bleached blonde hair and total self-absorption.
If this is reality, we're in a lot worse shape than I've been thinking. I know there are shallow, self-absorbed bimbos out there, but I guess I thought they came one at a time, rather than in packs. If that's what you're looking for, the package, rather than the contents, it takes a lot of moxie to fire employees for being exactly what you wanted when you hired them, but the lesson is to differentiate between family, whose crap you have to put up with, and employees, who can be fired on the spot for failure to perform the duties for which they are hired.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Sink It!
After making calls to plumbers in the area, I decided that I could do the job myself of removing the garbage disposal and connecting the drainage pipes without it, especially when the estimates ran from $275 to $450! As I explained to each of the plumbing services I called, I don't want to replace the garbage disposal, just remove and reconnect the plumbing without it.
They must be thinking about using the gold-plated pipes to accomplish this task, rather than matching the ugly, black, pre-existing pipes. Unfortunately, after paying for a new alternator and replacing the microwave, I have to find a less expensive work-around than what I've been quoted.
I took and printed some photos, then drove to the big box store and found the kitchen plumbing guy, who admitted that he knows nothing about kitchen plumbing, but could call a friend who does. Said friend is a plumber who just happens to have time today to come to the house and make the kitchen sink functional again -- without a garbage disposal and/or gold-plated pipes. He has a formal business card, as well as a website, which I checked out, and seems to know how to do the job. He carries the pipe on his truck, so I didn't have to buy those, just the sink drain fixture.
I'm thinking how hard can this be to do, but I've been ripped off before and this may well be another scam. However, if the drain functions without dripping, that'll be good enough for me. We'll see.
They must be thinking about using the gold-plated pipes to accomplish this task, rather than matching the ugly, black, pre-existing pipes. Unfortunately, after paying for a new alternator and replacing the microwave, I have to find a less expensive work-around than what I've been quoted.
I took and printed some photos, then drove to the big box store and found the kitchen plumbing guy, who admitted that he knows nothing about kitchen plumbing, but could call a friend who does. Said friend is a plumber who just happens to have time today to come to the house and make the kitchen sink functional again -- without a garbage disposal and/or gold-plated pipes. He has a formal business card, as well as a website, which I checked out, and seems to know how to do the job. He carries the pipe on his truck, so I didn't have to buy those, just the sink drain fixture.
I'm thinking how hard can this be to do, but I've been ripped off before and this may well be another scam. However, if the drain functions without dripping, that'll be good enough for me. We'll see.
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