From phone calls to email is a step up, wouldn't you say? We love sending email, for obvious reasons. And for the most part, we love receiving email. Or at least we love receiving email from the right people. As long as it says the right things. Or at least doesn't say the wrong things. Hmmmm. Let's just say email is generally better than the alternative.
But consider this:
I read recently in the formerly-esteemed-but-now-suspect Wall Street Journal that the speed with which people respond to your email is a reliable measure of their feelings about you. In other words, people respond more quickly to people they care about.
Whoa talk about a punch in the gut! I started making a list of all the people I had written to this week and not heard from. That went into the hate pile (they must hate me). Then I arranged the rest of this week's mail in order from longest to shortest response time. When I looked at some of the people on the long end of the spectrum, I nodded my head and thought, "Well sure, that makes sense."
As for the rest of you on the "long" list, to be honest, I had no idea you felt that way about me. It certainly does cast our relationship in a new light. On the plus side, I guess I can keep that box of candy I was going to send you for the holidays.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Odd Days: Phone Sex?
Geez, Anonymouse, I was going to put phone sex on my list of reasons to *like* phones. Oh wait, you did that. You just don't want to pay for it!
Ok, enough trash talk. Back to item #1 of my earlier post. In all honesty, I believe most adults feel pretty much the same way about making and receiving calls. Of course there will be a few outliers, but for most people, picking up the phone is like preparing to jump into an outdoor swimming pool in the dead of winter. (Right, T3?)
What are we afraid of? Well, we are afraid of exactly what we should be afraid of:
1) That the person on the other end doesn't feel like talking;
2) That the person on the other end doesn't feel like talking to *you*;
3) That the person on the other end will talk for two hours about their little rug rats' poop;
4) That the person on the other end will ask you to do something you don't want to do;
5) That the person on the other end will speak in mandarin-studded mumble-speak and you will have to pretend you understand so as not to hurt his feelings;
6) That the person on the other end of the phone will put his 5 year old on the phone for a chat.
That sort of thing.
But most of us continue to make phone calls, because 9 times out of 10 when you call someone you care about and actually hear her voice and have a decent conversation, you come away with a warm glow that lasts at least...well, it lasts until the next time the phone rings.
Ok, enough trash talk. Back to item #1 of my earlier post. In all honesty, I believe most adults feel pretty much the same way about making and receiving calls. Of course there will be a few outliers, but for most people, picking up the phone is like preparing to jump into an outdoor swimming pool in the dead of winter. (Right, T3?)
What are we afraid of? Well, we are afraid of exactly what we should be afraid of:
1) That the person on the other end doesn't feel like talking;
2) That the person on the other end doesn't feel like talking to *you*;
3) That the person on the other end will talk for two hours about their little rug rats' poop;
4) That the person on the other end will ask you to do something you don't want to do;
5) That the person on the other end will speak in mandarin-studded mumble-speak and you will have to pretend you understand so as not to hurt his feelings;
6) That the person on the other end of the phone will put his 5 year old on the phone for a chat.
That sort of thing.
But most of us continue to make phone calls, because 9 times out of 10 when you call someone you care about and actually hear her voice and have a decent conversation, you come away with a warm glow that lasts at least...well, it lasts until the next time the phone rings.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Odd Days: Phones
As I have aged, I have gradually become aware that many, if not most, adults have an incredibly neurotic relationship with the phone. In fact, I suspect we could mark entry into adulthood as the period before which you loved your phone more than anything else in your possession, and after which you have a love-hate relationship with the phone. Maybe mostly hate.
And why is that? In my particular case, several reasons come to mind:
1. [Ok, I wrote this first one, meditated on it, and then censored it. Although it was true for me and probably everyone else on the planet, if I spoke it aloud, I would almost certainly lose the last of my friends. So I will suffer in silence. Trust me, though, #1 for me is the same as #1 for you.]
2. Way too often, the person on the other end of the phone is a client. Mind you, I love my clients. But when they *call* me (as opposed to sending me email), it means trouble. When there's trouble, I like to *read* about it first and think it through carefully *without* the panicky heavy breathing on the other end of the phone. So I try to train my clients to send me email *before* they call. I do that by letting voicemail take the call. Then I listen and send the client an email. Of course, I have to wait a suitable amount of time after listening to the message before sending out that email. Otherwise the client will call and say, "I just got your email, so I know you're there. Hello?"
3. And then there's the IRS. The IRS doesn't do email. Fax yes, email no. Frequently, and I really mean frequently, I call, wait 45 minutes for a connection, explain the issue and am promptly disconnected. On the days I have to call the IRS, it is *very* hard for me to get out of bed.
The problem with the phone is it robs you of control -- whether you are making or receiving the call. I mean, when I want to reach someone on the phone, I want to reach them *now*!
And why is that? In my particular case, several reasons come to mind:
1. [Ok, I wrote this first one, meditated on it, and then censored it. Although it was true for me and probably everyone else on the planet, if I spoke it aloud, I would almost certainly lose the last of my friends. So I will suffer in silence. Trust me, though, #1 for me is the same as #1 for you.]
2. Way too often, the person on the other end of the phone is a client. Mind you, I love my clients. But when they *call* me (as opposed to sending me email), it means trouble. When there's trouble, I like to *read* about it first and think it through carefully *without* the panicky heavy breathing on the other end of the phone. So I try to train my clients to send me email *before* they call. I do that by letting voicemail take the call. Then I listen and send the client an email. Of course, I have to wait a suitable amount of time after listening to the message before sending out that email. Otherwise the client will call and say, "I just got your email, so I know you're there. Hello?"
3. And then there's the IRS. The IRS doesn't do email. Fax yes, email no. Frequently, and I really mean frequently, I call, wait 45 minutes for a connection, explain the issue and am promptly disconnected. On the days I have to call the IRS, it is *very* hard for me to get out of bed.
The problem with the phone is it robs you of control -- whether you are making or receiving the call. I mean, when I want to reach someone on the phone, I want to reach them *now*!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Odd Days: Dough Boy
I enlisted Durf and his creative genius to help decorate cookies this year.
Ready...set...go! (Be careful with that club!)
At 5 minutes: "Check out my artistic detail."
At 10 minutes: "Ummmm tastes good too!"
At 12 minutes: "I'm concentrating, I'm concentrating."
At 15 minutes: "You gotta do one sprinkle at a time, or it will look crappy."
At 20 minutes: "Done with my cookie!"
At 40 minutes: Twila finishes the rest of the cookies...
Ready...set...go! (Be careful with that club!)
At 5 minutes: "Check out my artistic detail."
At 10 minutes: "Ummmm tastes good too!"
At 12 minutes: "I'm concentrating, I'm concentrating."
At 15 minutes: "You gotta do one sprinkle at a time, or it will look crappy."
At 20 minutes: "Done with my cookie!"
At 40 minutes: Twila finishes the rest of the cookies...
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Odd Days: Sweet analgesic
We all know the world can be divided into two types of people, those who generally prefer sweet snacks and those who prefer salty snacks. I'm sweet. Durf's salty.
Our society tends to judge those who like sweets more harshly than we judge those who like salt. It's not just that sweets are more fattening than salt -- and we worship thinness -- but somehow the eating of sweets conjures bacchanalian behavior (or misbehavior) and character flaws, such as indulgence, lack of discipline, blah blah blah.
What you don't hear much about are the benefits of sugar. For example, sugar is a natural analgesic for kids. That's why your kids went wild after eating sugar. They were just soooo happy to be free of pain. (It's true, I read it in Rupert Murdoch's most esteemed paper.)
So anyway, yesterday I went to an open house at the local deli where I observed that there were more trays of food than people...and there were hordes of people! I spent the entire 20 minutes I was there in the bakery section, eating cake. I think I sampled all 108 varieties. You'll be happy to know that I thoroughly enjoyed myself and came away feeling absolutely no pain. So there.
Our society tends to judge those who like sweets more harshly than we judge those who like salt. It's not just that sweets are more fattening than salt -- and we worship thinness -- but somehow the eating of sweets conjures bacchanalian behavior (or misbehavior) and character flaws, such as indulgence, lack of discipline, blah blah blah.
What you don't hear much about are the benefits of sugar. For example, sugar is a natural analgesic for kids. That's why your kids went wild after eating sugar. They were just soooo happy to be free of pain. (It's true, I read it in Rupert Murdoch's most esteemed paper.)
So anyway, yesterday I went to an open house at the local deli where I observed that there were more trays of food than people...and there were hordes of people! I spent the entire 20 minutes I was there in the bakery section, eating cake. I think I sampled all 108 varieties. You'll be happy to know that I thoroughly enjoyed myself and came away feeling absolutely no pain. So there.
Friday, December 9, 2011
The magic power of "Fuck it."
[I accidentally stomped on Twila's "Odd Days" post, which is under this one.]
My dear wife, whom most of you know as "Twila", is sometimes driven to distraction by trivial annoyances or obsessions. I, the self-proclaimed philosopher in our family, advise her to (as they say) chill, don't sweat the small stuff, go with the flow, fuck it. There are so many irritations in day-to-day life that it isn't possible to find justice in every situation, and attempting to do so is more harmful than helpful. ("Twila", under my sage-like guidance, has become much better at recognizing cliches.)
Yet recently I've found myself feeling like a bomb ready to explode, in spite of a liberal application of pharmaceutical remedies, a poor human whose internal pressure was threatening to exceed 14.7 psi, and you know what that would mean. (If not, ask Carl.)
It's diabolical. I mean, there you are, skipping along with a devil-may-care attitude, and then you trip, so you start to walk instead of skip, and then you find yourself tripping over every bump in the sidewalk. You start to obsess over that first bump. You really want to go back there with a sledge hammer and flatten it, so that no-one else will trip, but also because you hate it. And that obsession with the first bump weakens your resistance to other bumps, and before long you're seething, Mt. Etna in human form.
That was me.
What woke me was a purchase I made on Amazon.com, a company that owes to me a large part of its success. A couple of days ago I searched for and found an item that I was considering as an XMess gift. It's cool, but the shipping charge is $20, which I think is a lot. These items (which I cannot, for obvious reasons, describe here) come in various sizes and shapes, and while perusing those on Amazon I found one size/shape that had free shipping! So I ordered it. And then I got a bill and they'd charged $20 for shipping.
GRRRR!
My psyche already weakened by BetOnline, I went ballistic. I wrote to the company that produces the item and told them I won't pay the shipping, that I'll tell my bank not to pay the shipping charge, etc. I'm sure you all know the drill.
Then, with my internal pressure at 14.8 psi, I finally realized what was happening. I'd been skipping, I'd tripped, I was out of control. So I said, "Fuck it."
That was a blessed moment.
The XMess item company wrote and said they'd ship me a new item for free (in my preferred shape) and that I could keep the one I have. I told them no and apologized. Then I sent BetOnline scans of both sides of my debit card and requested to withdraw my funds. But the best part is, I'm not angry anymore. (That's even better than the soon-I-will-get-a-check-for-$977 part.)
I have at least a few days now to enjoy this mellow state. I've also freed many future hours from having to destroy a company that might not be above, as Anonymous suggested, breaking my legs.
Life is good.
My dear wife, whom most of you know as "Twila", is sometimes driven to distraction by trivial annoyances or obsessions. I, the self-proclaimed philosopher in our family, advise her to (as they say) chill, don't sweat the small stuff, go with the flow, fuck it. There are so many irritations in day-to-day life that it isn't possible to find justice in every situation, and attempting to do so is more harmful than helpful. ("Twila", under my sage-like guidance, has become much better at recognizing cliches.)
Yet recently I've found myself feeling like a bomb ready to explode, in spite of a liberal application of pharmaceutical remedies, a poor human whose internal pressure was threatening to exceed 14.7 psi, and you know what that would mean. (If not, ask Carl.)
It's diabolical. I mean, there you are, skipping along with a devil-may-care attitude, and then you trip, so you start to walk instead of skip, and then you find yourself tripping over every bump in the sidewalk. You start to obsess over that first bump. You really want to go back there with a sledge hammer and flatten it, so that no-one else will trip, but also because you hate it. And that obsession with the first bump weakens your resistance to other bumps, and before long you're seething, Mt. Etna in human form.
That was me.
What woke me was a purchase I made on Amazon.com, a company that owes to me a large part of its success. A couple of days ago I searched for and found an item that I was considering as an XMess gift. It's cool, but the shipping charge is $20, which I think is a lot. These items (which I cannot, for obvious reasons, describe here) come in various sizes and shapes, and while perusing those on Amazon I found one size/shape that had free shipping! So I ordered it. And then I got a bill and they'd charged $20 for shipping.
GRRRR!
My psyche already weakened by BetOnline, I went ballistic. I wrote to the company that produces the item and told them I won't pay the shipping, that I'll tell my bank not to pay the shipping charge, etc. I'm sure you all know the drill.
Then, with my internal pressure at 14.8 psi, I finally realized what was happening. I'd been skipping, I'd tripped, I was out of control. So I said, "Fuck it."
That was a blessed moment.
The XMess item company wrote and said they'd ship me a new item for free (in my preferred shape) and that I could keep the one I have. I told them no and apologized. Then I sent BetOnline scans of both sides of my debit card and requested to withdraw my funds. But the best part is, I'm not angry anymore. (That's even better than the soon-I-will-get-a-check-for-$977 part.)
I have at least a few days now to enjoy this mellow state. I've also freed many future hours from having to destroy a company that might not be above, as Anonymous suggested, breaking my legs.
Life is good.
Odd Days: Welcome to the People's Republic of Boulder
I thought I should report some good news for a change. Our congressional district has been redrawn and we now share representation with the People's Republic of Boulder. Jared Polis, the most liberal politician in Colorado is our representative. I'm feeling so much more at home today!
Polis makes republicans really mad. That's because he's richer than they are and he's a democrat.
Before you say what I think you're going to say, I'll say it. I really should prefer to remain in our old congressional district and be represented by the likes of Marilyn Musgrave (first) and Cory Gardner (now). You know, so that we can bring about change where it's most needed.
Ha! Let me remind you that when Marilyn Musgrave lost her re-election bid, she pouted for two weeks, refusing to concede the election or speak to *anyone*. These aren't the sort of people you reason with. The only hope for change is to join forces with Boulder and shout the idiots down.
Now I'm going to go burn my bra...if I can find it.
Polis makes republicans really mad. That's because he's richer than they are and he's a democrat.
Before you say what I think you're going to say, I'll say it. I really should prefer to remain in our old congressional district and be represented by the likes of Marilyn Musgrave (first) and Cory Gardner (now). You know, so that we can bring about change where it's most needed.
Ha! Let me remind you that when Marilyn Musgrave lost her re-election bid, she pouted for two weeks, refusing to concede the election or speak to *anyone*. These aren't the sort of people you reason with. The only hope for change is to join forces with Boulder and shout the idiots down.
Now I'm going to go burn my bra...if I can find it.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Odd Days: Channeling my inner Dolly Parton
As long as I'm revealing secret desires (Harley, for example), I'm going to put my *most* heartfelt desire right out there on the blog for all to see: I have always wanted big hair. So fervent and vocal has been my yearning that Durf went out (many years ago) and bought me a giant rabbit, thinking it would provide solace, in some weird way. And indeed it does. When my yearning overwhelms me, I bury my face in Big Hare's big hair and shed little tears of self pity.
So what about a wig, I thought. Well, I've tried on a few wigs in my day, and as you can see, below, I ain't no Dolly Parton.
I eventually decided the solution was to have a professional fitting, and off I went to the local wig shop. Once there, I found myself at the back of a long line of cancer patients. Embarrassed by my inane desire in the face of actual need, I bought a hat for a friend who was undergoing chemo and scurried away.
(Apropos of nothing, my friend hated the hat and the clerk at the wig store stole my credit card number and charged a bunch of resume-printing costs -- at $1.19 a pop -- to my credit card. All in all, it was not a satisfying experience.)
Today, four years later, I went back to the same shop (why? well, it's the only wig shop in town) and found myself alone with the wig fitter. She asked me if I was going through treatment. Once again feeling guilty, I responded disingenuously that I expected to be losing my hair...soon. Technically it was not a lie because I've signed up to be a chemo buddy and I have every intention of doing the sympathetic head-shaving thing. ("See, somebody actually looks worse than you do with a bald head.") Of course, there is a distinct possibility that the sight of my baldness will do her more harm than good. Hence the need for a wig.
And besides, I want one, as you now know.
So I tried on some wigs. Pictures to follow...some day...probably. Stay tuned.
So what about a wig, I thought. Well, I've tried on a few wigs in my day, and as you can see, below, I ain't no Dolly Parton.
I eventually decided the solution was to have a professional fitting, and off I went to the local wig shop. Once there, I found myself at the back of a long line of cancer patients. Embarrassed by my inane desire in the face of actual need, I bought a hat for a friend who was undergoing chemo and scurried away.
(Apropos of nothing, my friend hated the hat and the clerk at the wig store stole my credit card number and charged a bunch of resume-printing costs -- at $1.19 a pop -- to my credit card. All in all, it was not a satisfying experience.)
Today, four years later, I went back to the same shop (why? well, it's the only wig shop in town) and found myself alone with the wig fitter. She asked me if I was going through treatment. Once again feeling guilty, I responded disingenuously that I expected to be losing my hair...soon. Technically it was not a lie because I've signed up to be a chemo buddy and I have every intention of doing the sympathetic head-shaving thing. ("See, somebody actually looks worse than you do with a bald head.") Of course, there is a distinct possibility that the sight of my baldness will do her more harm than good. Hence the need for a wig.
And besides, I want one, as you now know.
So I tried on some wigs. Pictures to follow...some day...probably. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Betting online.
When the NFL began its current season I had the idea that the 49ers would be better than expected - though I certainly didn't imagine they'd be 10-2 at this point. I decided it would be fun and possibly profitable to bet a few dollars on their games. Since Las Vegas is a long commute, I looked for a place to bet online, eventually settling on BetOnline.com. Little did I realize what a can of worms I was opening.
Being still a Puritan country, online gambling is illegal in the U.S. Our guardians in the government have protected us by prohibiting banks from allowing deposits to gaming sites via credit or debit cards. I had to use a 3rd party site to deposit $200 into my account at BetOnline.
As football fans know, the 49ers got off to a great start, and I won my bets week after week. When my account was up to $750 I decided to opt out, since the betting lines on the Niners were becoming more realistic. When I tried to withdraw my funds from BetOnline, I got the message, "Customer has not met rollover requirement." The what????
What happened was this. I went online to bet $100 on one of the early games and saw a box that said, "You have a $30 Free Play. Do you want to use it?" That sounded like a good deal - BetOnline advertises free plays for depositing money - so I used the free play and bet $70 straight. Unfortunately, using the free play toggled a section in BetOnline's non-advertised and well-hidden rules: according to their formula, I could not withdraw any money at all until I had wagered $1450.
That infuriated me and I went ballistic, but it didn't do any good, they didn't budge. BetOnline is legally located in Panama City, Panama, so any thin possibility of a legal remedy had evaporated. I called them names but decided to play by their rules. I started by making some $300 straight bets on highly favored NCAA basketball teams. That was scary, because in each case I was risking $300 to win about $18. I did win those bets, but it didn't help much. BetOnline credits to the rollover amount the lower of the amount bet or the amount that could be won, so I just got some $18 credits.
My next attempt was a few $50 bets where I bet on both teams, thinking there would be no big losses. Then the commissions were eating up my stash. Finally I realized that the best thing to do would be to just make some straight bets, because money I couldn't get certainly wasn't doing me any good. I bet $100 on each of several basketball games with spreads of 3 points or less, taking the home team. I bet $100 on last week's 49ers game and… choke… the Broncos in last week's game. When I checked my account it was up to $997 and the rollover amount had been met! I put in an order to withdraw my money, which BetOnline said they would "review". I was optimistic, but then I got an email saying that according to their rules… aaarrrggghhh… I had to send them documentation: a scan of my driver's license and a recent utility bill.
That was just one more way for BetOnline to annoy me. Why did they need that? I'd given them my address when I signed up and they were going to mail me a check - what was the problem? After more complaining (they really hate me now), I decided to send them the scans and end the entire affair. But it didn't work. Reaching deep into their Bag 'O Rules, they said that I had to send them a scan of the front and back of the credit card with which I funded my account, even though that was done through a 3rd party with no direct connection to BetOnline.
That was the last straw. As Twila mentioned to me, I could send the credit card scans and then monitor charges, but I will not do it. There is something nefarious going on, or extreme harassment at the least. I told them they can keep my money, because I am going to destroy them. They don't seem overly concerned, but they should be.
It was actually my intent to ruin their company when I first heard about the rollover thing, and I must confess that the desire to do that mostly disappeared when I thought I'd be paid. But now I am highly motivated again and the only real money I'm giving up is $200. I'm calling it a cost of doing business.
Stay tuned.
Being still a Puritan country, online gambling is illegal in the U.S. Our guardians in the government have protected us by prohibiting banks from allowing deposits to gaming sites via credit or debit cards. I had to use a 3rd party site to deposit $200 into my account at BetOnline.
As football fans know, the 49ers got off to a great start, and I won my bets week after week. When my account was up to $750 I decided to opt out, since the betting lines on the Niners were becoming more realistic. When I tried to withdraw my funds from BetOnline, I got the message, "Customer has not met rollover requirement." The what????
What happened was this. I went online to bet $100 on one of the early games and saw a box that said, "You have a $30 Free Play. Do you want to use it?" That sounded like a good deal - BetOnline advertises free plays for depositing money - so I used the free play and bet $70 straight. Unfortunately, using the free play toggled a section in BetOnline's non-advertised and well-hidden rules: according to their formula, I could not withdraw any money at all until I had wagered $1450.
That infuriated me and I went ballistic, but it didn't do any good, they didn't budge. BetOnline is legally located in Panama City, Panama, so any thin possibility of a legal remedy had evaporated. I called them names but decided to play by their rules. I started by making some $300 straight bets on highly favored NCAA basketball teams. That was scary, because in each case I was risking $300 to win about $18. I did win those bets, but it didn't help much. BetOnline credits to the rollover amount the lower of the amount bet or the amount that could be won, so I just got some $18 credits.
My next attempt was a few $50 bets where I bet on both teams, thinking there would be no big losses. Then the commissions were eating up my stash. Finally I realized that the best thing to do would be to just make some straight bets, because money I couldn't get certainly wasn't doing me any good. I bet $100 on each of several basketball games with spreads of 3 points or less, taking the home team. I bet $100 on last week's 49ers game and… choke… the Broncos in last week's game. When I checked my account it was up to $997 and the rollover amount had been met! I put in an order to withdraw my money, which BetOnline said they would "review". I was optimistic, but then I got an email saying that according to their rules… aaarrrggghhh… I had to send them documentation: a scan of my driver's license and a recent utility bill.
That was just one more way for BetOnline to annoy me. Why did they need that? I'd given them my address when I signed up and they were going to mail me a check - what was the problem? After more complaining (they really hate me now), I decided to send them the scans and end the entire affair. But it didn't work. Reaching deep into their Bag 'O Rules, they said that I had to send them a scan of the front and back of the credit card with which I funded my account, even though that was done through a 3rd party with no direct connection to BetOnline.
That was the last straw. As Twila mentioned to me, I could send the credit card scans and then monitor charges, but I will not do it. There is something nefarious going on, or extreme harassment at the least. I told them they can keep my money, because I am going to destroy them. They don't seem overly concerned, but they should be.
It was actually my intent to ruin their company when I first heard about the rollover thing, and I must confess that the desire to do that mostly disappeared when I thought I'd be paid. But now I am highly motivated again and the only real money I'm giving up is $200. I'm calling it a cost of doing business.
Stay tuned.
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