I am so sorry - I hate not being able to interract with you. But my vision problems continue from the Lasik Eye Surgery. My left eye's vision is blurry and I'm seeing double: It's as if you are viewing everything through a window pane which has been smeared with Vaseline.
My right eye is swollen half shut with an on-going infection.
This is my third Lasik eye correction. The first one didn't improve my vision significantly, so about a month later they corrected it again to 20/15.
Three years later, my vision began to deteriorate to 20/40. This type of deterioration is common, and something that the Lasik industry doesn't like to talk about. Most patients give up at this point, and resign themselves to glasses. Contacts aren't usually a good option, as a side effect of Lasik is dry eyes (another symptom the Lasik industry glosses over).
Some patients go back for a further correction, as I did.
I'm not happy with the consequences of my decision so far. I'm still touch-typing, as I can't see this screen very well. This is why I've refrained from posting.
Bear with me.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Lasik Eye Surgery
I had this surgery last week, and my eyes aren't cooperating, which is why I'm not posting. Bear with me and hopefully I'll be able to see well enough to do it on Wednesday.
Friday, April 10, 2009
The Murder of the Banana Trees
I have some really weird neighbors.
Maybe ALL neighborhoods have such weird neighbors, or maybe I'm just different because I get to know my neighbors. But...
They're weird.
You've already heard about Mr. Clean. But I have a neighbor on the other side of me who is a devout Jehovah's Witness but otherwise a kindly widow. We'll call her Maude.
When I spray for weeds, I go over and spray for weeds there (with her permission). When I need to borrow a tool, Maude loans it to me. I helped her mourn her husband, and she's been a sympathetic ear when I've had my problems.
But Maude has her moments.
A year ago the house on the other side of her was up for sale, so Maude thought she'd be helpful. She got the owner's permission to do some pruning and ended up over-enthusiastically mowing some prize azalea bushes to the ground.
Maude gets that way sometimes. She'll start to prune something and get carried away, manically reducing the victim to nothing but a stump while cheerfully proclaiming that it will come back better than before.
When the new owners moved in, they were fit to be tied and wouldn't speak to Maude for a couple of months. In fact they wouldn't speak about Maude except through their teeth, hissing like geese.
I work out in my yard every day, so I never imagined that Maude would be "helpful" over here.
Never the less, I went into my backyard the other afternoon, and stormed inside to find Pov.
"Why did you cut down two of my banana trees?!" I demanded indignantly. Pov was sprawled out on my couch, watching TV. He looked startled.
"I didn't do any such thing," he protested mildly. I had reason to suspect him, as he'd been doing a little pruning in my backyard a couple of days previous to that.
"Well then who did?" I asked somewhat unfairly, as he would have no idea.
We tramped out there again, with my pointing out the two banana trees that had been razed to the ground.
Puzzled, we came to the conclusion that it had to have been Maude. Pov is a great favorite of Maude's, so he went over and tried to figure out what she had been thinking, but Maude denied it adamantly. She told Pov that she had only gone over to do a little pruning and take out anything dead, and had carried home a baby banana plant to put in her back yard.
The next day I happened across Maude while we both were gardening and I put it to her again. She looked at me with wide-eyed innocence and told me the same tale, but I could see certain tell-tale signs that showed she was lying.
So, I dropped it. There is no sense lambasting a sweet but slightly mentally deranged widow.
But I am getting a padlock for my gate today.
Maybe ALL neighborhoods have such weird neighbors, or maybe I'm just different because I get to know my neighbors. But...
They're weird.
You've already heard about Mr. Clean. But I have a neighbor on the other side of me who is a devout Jehovah's Witness but otherwise a kindly widow. We'll call her Maude.
When I spray for weeds, I go over and spray for weeds there (with her permission). When I need to borrow a tool, Maude loans it to me. I helped her mourn her husband, and she's been a sympathetic ear when I've had my problems.
But Maude has her moments.
A year ago the house on the other side of her was up for sale, so Maude thought she'd be helpful. She got the owner's permission to do some pruning and ended up over-enthusiastically mowing some prize azalea bushes to the ground.
Maude gets that way sometimes. She'll start to prune something and get carried away, manically reducing the victim to nothing but a stump while cheerfully proclaiming that it will come back better than before.
When the new owners moved in, they were fit to be tied and wouldn't speak to Maude for a couple of months. In fact they wouldn't speak about Maude except through their teeth, hissing like geese.
I work out in my yard every day, so I never imagined that Maude would be "helpful" over here.
Never the less, I went into my backyard the other afternoon, and stormed inside to find Pov.
"Why did you cut down two of my banana trees?!" I demanded indignantly. Pov was sprawled out on my couch, watching TV. He looked startled.
"I didn't do any such thing," he protested mildly. I had reason to suspect him, as he'd been doing a little pruning in my backyard a couple of days previous to that.
"Well then who did?" I asked somewhat unfairly, as he would have no idea.
We tramped out there again, with my pointing out the two banana trees that had been razed to the ground.
Puzzled, we came to the conclusion that it had to have been Maude. Pov is a great favorite of Maude's, so he went over and tried to figure out what she had been thinking, but Maude denied it adamantly. She told Pov that she had only gone over to do a little pruning and take out anything dead, and had carried home a baby banana plant to put in her back yard.
The next day I happened across Maude while we both were gardening and I put it to her again. She looked at me with wide-eyed innocence and told me the same tale, but I could see certain tell-tale signs that showed she was lying.
So, I dropped it. There is no sense lambasting a sweet but slightly mentally deranged widow.
But I am getting a padlock for my gate today.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Stranger Danger
Ever hear the term "stranger danger"? It's something that very little children are taught: Strangers can be dangerous.
I love looking at homes for sale. If there's an open house, I'm there. Why? Because I'm curious, because I like getting ideas for my own home, because I enjoy the little fantasy of living elsewhere - it's almost the adult version of playing with dolls.
I usually drag my best friend, Pov, with me.
It's odd how often we can knock on a door and the only person opening the door to us is a woman who is there by herself. She is always friendly (she wants to sell her home) and is eager to bring us inside to look around.
How lucky they are that we mean them no harm.
But it makes me realize how vulnerable we all are to stranger danger. When I'm home alone, I no longer open my door to door-to-door salesmen. I let them leave their flyers on the door, instead.
We've all done thoughtless things that leave us exposed to the mercy of others, but it's wise to remember that so that in the future we can minimize stranger danger.
I love looking at homes for sale. If there's an open house, I'm there. Why? Because I'm curious, because I like getting ideas for my own home, because I enjoy the little fantasy of living elsewhere - it's almost the adult version of playing with dolls.
I usually drag my best friend, Pov, with me.
It's odd how often we can knock on a door and the only person opening the door to us is a woman who is there by herself. She is always friendly (she wants to sell her home) and is eager to bring us inside to look around.
How lucky they are that we mean them no harm.
But it makes me realize how vulnerable we all are to stranger danger. When I'm home alone, I no longer open my door to door-to-door salesmen. I let them leave their flyers on the door, instead.
We've all done thoughtless things that leave us exposed to the mercy of others, but it's wise to remember that so that in the future we can minimize stranger danger.
Monday, April 06, 2009
Florida's Environment: Who Cares?
Florida is in a terrible drought right now. We are facing the tightest watering restrictions we've ever faced because our sources have literally dried up.
The Tampa Bay Area is scrimping and saving all the water it can, hoping desperately to hold off until the rains come once more. This is a doubtful hope, as we've been in a drought for three years now, and we're terribly overdeveloped with a relatively poor infrastructure.
As a native, I hate to see this happening, but politicians and businessmen allowed their greed to exceed their judgement. And why shouldn't they? It's human nature to get what you want; the hell with everyone else. That is why government is supposed to be in place to check human nature. But government only works when it's also incorruptible.
Currently we have many abandoned homes in our neighborhoods. These are homes that have become neglected, run-down, with lawns that are dry and crispy from the lack of rain and no one to water them weekly.
The home behind me was once the most beautiful home in the neighborhood: It was a lovely oasis, tucked away from prying eyes, with a vast backyard of lush, green grass, rimmed with tropical landscaping and citrus trees. The tree in front of the house was majestic, and shaded a large part of this pristine home.
I recently checked on the home, which has been vandalized by local teens who've been holding parties there. Last Thanksgiving, they even dug a firepit in the middle of the formerly lush lawn, which is now nothing but brown straw. Alarmed neighbors called the police, as one spark could have brought down the entire neighborhood.
Windows are now broken, the roof has been compromised, the carpeting spongy and moist. The tree in the front yard has split in half, and is now laying on the white tiled roof.
The swimming pool had become a pond for a while, with murky depths that could conceal anything from a corpse to the Ebola virus. It was full of mosquito larvae and tadpoles - a sign that life hadn't entirely left the premises.
Due to the health hazard and my repeated calls to the city about it, the pool was finally drained and covered by some unknown group (possibly the bank that the property must have reverted to).
Other than this one concession, no one cares any more. The best property in the neighborhood is a virtually worthless tinderbox, waiting to go up in flames.
Down the street, some homes have become rental properties. A rental property usually means a different type of resident: Someone who doesn't care about the property or being part of the community. There is little to no obligation or responsibility.
Mexicans have moved into these homes, because (at least in this area) Mexicans don't mind cramming a couple families into one home and sharing the expenses. And because they have little-to-no regard for the people that they live amongst, they have contributed color to the neighborhood.
We now have thumping stereos from souped up cars travelling regularly through the neighborhood. We've had spectacular, noisy, screaming fights taking place at 7 AM on a Saturday morning: Our Mexican alarm clocks.
And yesterday, they decided to fire off illegal fireworks. Near the tinderbox.
We called the police.
They didn't bother to come.
Eventually, the Mexicans grew tired of all the pyrotechnics and, alarmed by seeing many of us watching them (and on our phones), they slunk off into their respective homes.
As I turned to go into my home, I saw that my next door neighbor, Mr. Clean, was running his sprinklers full-blast on a non-watering day. His lawn got some of the water; our street got the rest. You'd think if you were bent on doing something illegal, you'd at least want to get the full benefit of it.
I was pretty angry about this. I have tons of beautiful landscaping that I'm babying along because I'm playing by the rules. We are in the most severe drought that we've ever seen in Florida, and I'm a native suffering because so many people have moved down here that we may never see 'normal' water usage again.
So I called the hotline to report Mr. Clean's pirating. Do you see a theme here? Yup: I'm a tattletale.
The hotline's mailbox was full.
I called again, this time hanging on to the line so that an operator had to take my call.
"Oh, just leave it in the voicemail box," she said dismissively. I told her that the mailbox was full. "Well, we aren't equipped to take complaints," she said. "You'll just hafta call back durin' business hours. We don't send inspectors out at night, anyways."
"You don't?" I asked incredulously. "The news is full of reports of your inspectors catching homeowners watering illegally at night!"
"I dunno what ta tell ya," she said, bored already with our conversation. So, I shot off an email to Pinellas County Utilities. Who knows if they're any more interested than she is? I guess the disinformation was just a fluff piece to scare us into conforming: The tiger has no bite.
Who really cares about Florida's environment?
Who knows.
The Tampa Bay Area is scrimping and saving all the water it can, hoping desperately to hold off until the rains come once more. This is a doubtful hope, as we've been in a drought for three years now, and we're terribly overdeveloped with a relatively poor infrastructure.
As a native, I hate to see this happening, but politicians and businessmen allowed their greed to exceed their judgement. And why shouldn't they? It's human nature to get what you want; the hell with everyone else. That is why government is supposed to be in place to check human nature. But government only works when it's also incorruptible.
Currently we have many abandoned homes in our neighborhoods. These are homes that have become neglected, run-down, with lawns that are dry and crispy from the lack of rain and no one to water them weekly.
The home behind me was once the most beautiful home in the neighborhood: It was a lovely oasis, tucked away from prying eyes, with a vast backyard of lush, green grass, rimmed with tropical landscaping and citrus trees. The tree in front of the house was majestic, and shaded a large part of this pristine home.
I recently checked on the home, which has been vandalized by local teens who've been holding parties there. Last Thanksgiving, they even dug a firepit in the middle of the formerly lush lawn, which is now nothing but brown straw. Alarmed neighbors called the police, as one spark could have brought down the entire neighborhood.
Windows are now broken, the roof has been compromised, the carpeting spongy and moist. The tree in the front yard has split in half, and is now laying on the white tiled roof.
The swimming pool had become a pond for a while, with murky depths that could conceal anything from a corpse to the Ebola virus. It was full of mosquito larvae and tadpoles - a sign that life hadn't entirely left the premises.
Due to the health hazard and my repeated calls to the city about it, the pool was finally drained and covered by some unknown group (possibly the bank that the property must have reverted to).
Other than this one concession, no one cares any more. The best property in the neighborhood is a virtually worthless tinderbox, waiting to go up in flames.
Down the street, some homes have become rental properties. A rental property usually means a different type of resident: Someone who doesn't care about the property or being part of the community. There is little to no obligation or responsibility.
Mexicans have moved into these homes, because (at least in this area) Mexicans don't mind cramming a couple families into one home and sharing the expenses. And because they have little-to-no regard for the people that they live amongst, they have contributed color to the neighborhood.
We now have thumping stereos from souped up cars travelling regularly through the neighborhood. We've had spectacular, noisy, screaming fights taking place at 7 AM on a Saturday morning: Our Mexican alarm clocks.
And yesterday, they decided to fire off illegal fireworks. Near the tinderbox.
We called the police.
They didn't bother to come.
Eventually, the Mexicans grew tired of all the pyrotechnics and, alarmed by seeing many of us watching them (and on our phones), they slunk off into their respective homes.
As I turned to go into my home, I saw that my next door neighbor, Mr. Clean, was running his sprinklers full-blast on a non-watering day. His lawn got some of the water; our street got the rest. You'd think if you were bent on doing something illegal, you'd at least want to get the full benefit of it.
I was pretty angry about this. I have tons of beautiful landscaping that I'm babying along because I'm playing by the rules. We are in the most severe drought that we've ever seen in Florida, and I'm a native suffering because so many people have moved down here that we may never see 'normal' water usage again.
So I called the hotline to report Mr. Clean's pirating. Do you see a theme here? Yup: I'm a tattletale.
The hotline's mailbox was full.
I called again, this time hanging on to the line so that an operator had to take my call.
"Oh, just leave it in the voicemail box," she said dismissively. I told her that the mailbox was full. "Well, we aren't equipped to take complaints," she said. "You'll just hafta call back durin' business hours. We don't send inspectors out at night, anyways."
"You don't?" I asked incredulously. "The news is full of reports of your inspectors catching homeowners watering illegally at night!"
"I dunno what ta tell ya," she said, bored already with our conversation. So, I shot off an email to Pinellas County Utilities. Who knows if they're any more interested than she is? I guess the disinformation was just a fluff piece to scare us into conforming: The tiger has no bite.
Who really cares about Florida's environment?
Who knows.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Spring Break
Spring Break keeps getting in my way. I have loved ones with two different Spring Breaks this year, and this week is one of those Spring Breaks. Sorry for not writing more! I'm swamped!
We're out in the garden and at the beach more than we're at home.
We're out in the garden and at the beach more than we're at home.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Obama: Publicity Hound or Savvy Politico?
Walt Disney World just announced layoffs, though they won't say how many employees are being forced out. With Mickey firing Goofy, we know that we are close to economic collapse. I hear Minnie may be on the outs, too.
One of my friends just excitedly sent out an email saying that she just found a job after searching for two years. She was ecstatic, and why not? She is a beautiful, professional female with an excellent skill-set who was formerly in the mortgage industry.
And she will be making $12.50 an hour.
Ah well, she says optimistically: At least it's a foot in the door.
Meanwhile, Obama is busy running all over the USA, giving glam interviews and hangin' with trendy celebs. I have mixed feelings about this: On the one hand, I like a President who actually listens to the people and tries to reach out to them. Goodness knows that George Bush never did.
But, is Obama really listening? At a recent "Town Hall" meeting at the White House, his aides sifted through thousands of questions which eager citizens sent in, and he answered only a select few. He obviously only wanted to answer the questions which would support his views: To do otherwise would be akin to shooting himself in the foot. So, is he listening to all of us, or only the ones who can (in some way) further his agenda?
And how much of these fun little escapades really help our nation as we sink deeper into the mire? Is Obama losing sight of the people in his almost frenetic attempt to be King of the Media?
He is acting less like a President and more like a rock star, while our nation trembles on the brink of economic collapse, Muslim nations in the U.N. have declared religious free speech to be illegal in U.N. Resolution 62/154, and Korea is about to send up a nuclear warhead which will be able to directly threaten the USA, and the war(s) continue unabated.
Obama may be a "fun" President, but it is becoming frighteningly apparent that he may not be able to assume a leadership role.
Perhaps that doesn't matter any more. Perhaps America is in it's great decline. We are a people more interested in image than substance. But our very lives and freedom hangs in the balance.
If Nero fiddled while Rome burned, we are Dancing With the Stars as our nation crumbles from within.
One of my friends just excitedly sent out an email saying that she just found a job after searching for two years. She was ecstatic, and why not? She is a beautiful, professional female with an excellent skill-set who was formerly in the mortgage industry.
And she will be making $12.50 an hour.
Ah well, she says optimistically: At least it's a foot in the door.
Meanwhile, Obama is busy running all over the USA, giving glam interviews and hangin' with trendy celebs. I have mixed feelings about this: On the one hand, I like a President who actually listens to the people and tries to reach out to them. Goodness knows that George Bush never did.
But, is Obama really listening? At a recent "Town Hall" meeting at the White House, his aides sifted through thousands of questions which eager citizens sent in, and he answered only a select few. He obviously only wanted to answer the questions which would support his views: To do otherwise would be akin to shooting himself in the foot. So, is he listening to all of us, or only the ones who can (in some way) further his agenda?
And how much of these fun little escapades really help our nation as we sink deeper into the mire? Is Obama losing sight of the people in his almost frenetic attempt to be King of the Media?
He is acting less like a President and more like a rock star, while our nation trembles on the brink of economic collapse, Muslim nations in the U.N. have declared religious free speech to be illegal in U.N. Resolution 62/154, and Korea is about to send up a nuclear warhead which will be able to directly threaten the USA, and the war(s) continue unabated.
Obama may be a "fun" President, but it is becoming frighteningly apparent that he may not be able to assume a leadership role.
Perhaps that doesn't matter any more. Perhaps America is in it's great decline. We are a people more interested in image than substance. But our very lives and freedom hangs in the balance.If Nero fiddled while Rome burned, we are Dancing With the Stars as our nation crumbles from within.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Food Poisoning
I got food poisoning on Monday. Let me try to explain the joy of lying on a cold bathroom floor for four hours, until you're finally dragged off to the emergency room and stuck with needles. Then you get to spend hours in an icy, semi-private room.
It wasn't the best time of my life.
So forgive my not writing earlier. I'm not up to writing much today, though I'm considerably better.
I will write tomorrow.
It wasn't the best time of my life.
So forgive my not writing earlier. I'm not up to writing much today, though I'm considerably better.
I will write tomorrow.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Burn-Out
Every blogger eventually experiences burn-out at one point or another. I'm taking a mini-vacation both last week and this one. Think of it as Spring Break.
In the meantime, the Tampa Bay Area is experiencing a drought that is unprecedented. Three years of water shortage and we're down to almost no water at all, with little rain in the forecast.
Why?
Because the politicians down here never had the guts to stop all the building. They were too busy kissing butts and taking payoffs. Building permits are still being issued, while many of us natives wonder if we'll eventually become so restricted that we won't even be allowed to shower every day.
Right now there are no restrictions on using reclaimed water (treated sewage) but we expect that this will change soon.
In the meantime, our lawns are brown and crispy, our dirt is dry as sand and can't even retain water anymore.
And we continue to build new homes.
In the meantime, the Tampa Bay Area is experiencing a drought that is unprecedented. Three years of water shortage and we're down to almost no water at all, with little rain in the forecast.
Why?
Because the politicians down here never had the guts to stop all the building. They were too busy kissing butts and taking payoffs. Building permits are still being issued, while many of us natives wonder if we'll eventually become so restricted that we won't even be allowed to shower every day.
Right now there are no restrictions on using reclaimed water (treated sewage) but we expect that this will change soon.
In the meantime, our lawns are brown and crispy, our dirt is dry as sand and can't even retain water anymore.
And we continue to build new homes.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Interviews From Hell Part 2
(This is a relatively short post)
The other interview I recently suffered through was with a man who was looking for someone to head up his fundraising division. I could go on and on about this interview forever, but suffice it to say that I realized I wasn't interested when:
1. The interview took place in a condo, which was supposedly a "temporary" office.
2. He informed me that the two offices they had been in previously had been summarily closed when the landlord went belly-up (both times) and they were evicted (both times) and as a result their credit was now frozen by the bank. Go figure that one out: I know a pile of crap when I smell it.
3. I know accents better than most, having been raised by multi-lingual parents. This guy had a thick African accent (Johannesburg area) and when I asked him where he was from, he said "New York".
I said "No, I mean originally." He informed me that he was born in Brooklyn, and the accent was ...er... oh yeah, Jamaican.
I guess I look like a dumb white woman.
4. They were supposedly text book publishers. I looked up their books on Amazon and they were nowhere to be found. They're self-publishing, and the books look craptastic.
5. He told me that the IRS had called them and asked them why they weren't doing more fundraising. Oh yeah, that was believable. The IRS just oozes with brotherly love and is concerned about each and every one of us. The last time I had an IRS cheerleader call me was... never.
6. We got into a prolonged argument, with this African guy telling me that fundraising, public relations, marketing and selling weren't at all related. He also told me that he was an expert on this subject, as he taught Marketing at the University of California in the 1980s. If so, there are some very dazed and confused MacDonald's employees out there who gave up all hopes of breaking into the marketing field: Would you like fries with that?
7. He proudly showed me a Power Point presentation someone had cooked up which could be accessed on their site. It was very simplistic, but he told me with all solemnity that it should be ready within two weeks. Two weeks? For a Power Point presentation? At least he didn't have high expectations!
Obviously the guy was a few Fruit Loops short of a bowl. I got outta there as quickly as I could extricate myself.
So what was the gig?
I'm not sure, but they were obviously doing something illegal. He had told me that he and his "colleague" travel the world quite a bit, he's from Africa (and denying it), so my guess is that it's a smuggling operation of some type and they want a legit person as their front man.
Count me out.
The other interview I recently suffered through was with a man who was looking for someone to head up his fundraising division. I could go on and on about this interview forever, but suffice it to say that I realized I wasn't interested when:
1. The interview took place in a condo, which was supposedly a "temporary" office.
2. He informed me that the two offices they had been in previously had been summarily closed when the landlord went belly-up (both times) and they were evicted (both times) and as a result their credit was now frozen by the bank. Go figure that one out: I know a pile of crap when I smell it.
3. I know accents better than most, having been raised by multi-lingual parents. This guy had a thick African accent (Johannesburg area) and when I asked him where he was from, he said "New York".
I said "No, I mean originally." He informed me that he was born in Brooklyn, and the accent was ...er... oh yeah, Jamaican.
I guess I look like a dumb white woman.
4. They were supposedly text book publishers. I looked up their books on Amazon and they were nowhere to be found. They're self-publishing, and the books look craptastic.
5. He told me that the IRS had called them and asked them why they weren't doing more fundraising. Oh yeah, that was believable. The IRS just oozes with brotherly love and is concerned about each and every one of us. The last time I had an IRS cheerleader call me was... never.
6. We got into a prolonged argument, with this African guy telling me that fundraising, public relations, marketing and selling weren't at all related. He also told me that he was an expert on this subject, as he taught Marketing at the University of California in the 1980s. If so, there are some very dazed and confused MacDonald's employees out there who gave up all hopes of breaking into the marketing field: Would you like fries with that?
7. He proudly showed me a Power Point presentation someone had cooked up which could be accessed on their site. It was very simplistic, but he told me with all solemnity that it should be ready within two weeks. Two weeks? For a Power Point presentation? At least he didn't have high expectations!
Obviously the guy was a few Fruit Loops short of a bowl. I got outta there as quickly as I could extricate myself.
So what was the gig?
I'm not sure, but they were obviously doing something illegal. He had told me that he and his "colleague" travel the world quite a bit, he's from Africa (and denying it), so my guess is that it's a smuggling operation of some type and they want a legit person as their front man.
Count me out.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Interviews From Hell Part 1
(This is a relatively long post due to my need to vent. Sorry about that!)
Last week was simply too draining to write in my blog. I went through two interviews from hell.
Let me add that my current job is still limping along, but I'm looking for something more fast paced and exciting and that is why I'm looking: I'm tired of stagnation.
I will start with the first interview, which I am happy to say that I turned down, as it was totally craptastic.
I had received a call from someone who had seen my resume, and he wanted to schedule an interview at a nearby hotel to consider me for a partnership position. This sort of thing isn't uncommon: Sometimes owners or hiring managers will fly down to do a spate of interviews and the hotel setting is the most convenient.
When I showed up, I saw a very flashy elderly gentleman; obviously a Donald Trump wannabe. He had white roots, and the remainder of his hair was dyed a flat walnut brown. He wore it in thick waves. He was sporting a pair of Cartier glasses, flashy capped teeth, and had so many wrinkles it was hard to tell what he originally had looked like.
"Donald" was wearing a grey cashmere sweater over slacks, and was sporting a pair of gentleman's dress boots which I haven't seen since the 1970s. He obviously saw himself as a true sartorial wonder.
We chatted briefly, and he asked me to fill out a form. I did so, but omitted my social security number deliberately: You never know who you're dealing with.
He asked me to accompany him to his suite upstairs, and I didn't have any problems with that. The girls at the desk knew I was there for an interview (I had asked them where he was when I entered the lobby), and he left his door wide open to the hallway.
We settled down, and he asked me to tell him a little about myself. "Well," I began, "What would you like to know? Personal or professional?"
"Anything, anything," he said breezily.
I had just begun to tell him a little bit about myself when he interrupted me. "That reminds me of..." Donald began, and he was off and running. This was typical of the entire interview: He wanted to know little to nothing about me, but he was most anxious to preen himself and let me know how amazingly desirable he was.
During the course of my "interview", Donald told me that:
1. He had two ex-wives, both of them "beauty queen gorgeous".
2. He was currently divorced from Ex-Wife #2, but claims he still lives with her simply for the convenience of it.
3. He once told Ex-Wife #2 that he would leave her if she kept whining about how he still loves Ex-Wife #1. Ex-Wife #2's "petty jealousy" was getting under his skin.
4. He says that Ex-Wife #1 wants him back, because she married a man that is 25 years older. I did some investigation when I got home. If her new hubby is 25 years older than Donald, he is 95 years old.
5. Donald brought Ex-Wife #1 flowers and a cake for his son's birthday a couple of days ago. Even though he keeps assuring Wife #2 that he has no interest in Numero Uno. And then he went to the diner up the street, where the owner has supposedly been dying to date him. He lost her phone number, so he decided to drive over there in person, instead. I'm sure she was overjoyed.
6. Donald goes constantly to a nightclub for the local trailer park crowd called "New York, New York" and claims to be a regular.
7. Donald felt it important that I should know that he used to own a horse ranch north of here.
8. He was eager to tell me that he once hired friends who were lawyers, then promptly fired them when they cost him an account through error. The account's is supposedly worth was over a half a million dollars per year. The account was worth more than the friendship.
9. His last "Girl Friday" quit because she was getting married. He made it very clear that he didn't want another complication like that again. Those silly women, with their personal lives and such.
10. He used to golf a lot with the former owner of the Home Shopping Network: He was a "close, personal friend". So it might surprise Donald to learn that the guy doesn't golf. How do I know? I happen to know the former owner of the Home Shopping Network.
11. Even though the day of our interview was his son's birthday, Donald wasn't going to go to the birthday party. Instead, he was going to the bar for the evening. As Donald said dismissively, he'd already sent his kid a present.
12. Those marvelous Cartier glasses and the BMW that Donald drives are 100% his, and they are there to impress. Additionally, he will not do business with anyone who doesn't drive a BMW. Apparently if you don't drive a BMW, you have not arrived.
13. His favorite drink is beer. It used to be wine. He stopped drinking mixed drinks when he once had so many rum and cokes that he couldn't stand up when it came time to get up. Another important factoid I couldn't live without.
14. He had bragged to me (twice) that he had another candidate and he had been able to get her best friend to cough up the fact that her husband was a cocaine addict. He felt this made her a less-than-desirable prospect.
15. He claims he makes millions of dollars a year, and those who work for him will also do extremely well. I admit that this is the only appealing thing that I heard.
At the beginning of the interview, Donald mentioned that he had pulled his shoulder out. Because I saw no harm in it, I told him I knew of an excellent massage therapist (my friend Lisa). Due to all his "ladies' man" talk, I later warned him that Lisa was off-limits: She doesn't date clients.
So when Donald called Lisa to make his first appointment, he thought he was being clever when he told her that he was an ex-boyfriend of hers. Once that little prank fell flat, he added that I said they couldn't date, as they both were too crazy.
Lisa didn't bite (which must have disappointed him) but she did schedule him for a massage the next morning. She needs the business, and she is able to deal with wackos.
I had already decided I didn't want to work with this idiot, so I was formulating a "Thanks But No Thanks" letter when she called me the next day to let me know that Donald had told her he wasn't sure if I had enough fire, and asked a lot of prying questions about me (just as he had done with his other candidate).
That was it. I sent him a letter that was a real eye-opener (if he had the guts to read it). Strangely enough, when I researched his company I saw that Wife #2 seems to be the owner of the company. As I sent the letter to their generic email address, she may have seen it before he had a chance to delete it.
"You asked me what my main motivator was, and my answer was "money". You said that was the right answer, and this was your main motivator too. But you didn't listen when I said what my other motivators are. In fact, I doubt you could tell me what I said. What you didn't understand is that money is only my main motivator in a job. I want money, and the more money the better, but this is balanced by my sense of professional and personal ethics. I must also work with people that I can respect.
Do I have fire? Yes. As I told you during our interview, I have plenty of fire. And I have fire enough to tell you that your position isn't right for me."
Last week was simply too draining to write in my blog. I went through two interviews from hell.
Let me add that my current job is still limping along, but I'm looking for something more fast paced and exciting and that is why I'm looking: I'm tired of stagnation.
I will start with the first interview, which I am happy to say that I turned down, as it was totally craptastic.
I had received a call from someone who had seen my resume, and he wanted to schedule an interview at a nearby hotel to consider me for a partnership position. This sort of thing isn't uncommon: Sometimes owners or hiring managers will fly down to do a spate of interviews and the hotel setting is the most convenient.
When I showed up, I saw a very flashy elderly gentleman; obviously a Donald Trump wannabe. He had white roots, and the remainder of his hair was dyed a flat walnut brown. He wore it in thick waves. He was sporting a pair of Cartier glasses, flashy capped teeth, and had so many wrinkles it was hard to tell what he originally had looked like.
"Donald" was wearing a grey cashmere sweater over slacks, and was sporting a pair of gentleman's dress boots which I haven't seen since the 1970s. He obviously saw himself as a true sartorial wonder.
We chatted briefly, and he asked me to fill out a form. I did so, but omitted my social security number deliberately: You never know who you're dealing with.
He asked me to accompany him to his suite upstairs, and I didn't have any problems with that. The girls at the desk knew I was there for an interview (I had asked them where he was when I entered the lobby), and he left his door wide open to the hallway.
We settled down, and he asked me to tell him a little about myself. "Well," I began, "What would you like to know? Personal or professional?"
"Anything, anything," he said breezily.
I had just begun to tell him a little bit about myself when he interrupted me. "That reminds me of..." Donald began, and he was off and running. This was typical of the entire interview: He wanted to know little to nothing about me, but he was most anxious to preen himself and let me know how amazingly desirable he was.
During the course of my "interview", Donald told me that:
1. He had two ex-wives, both of them "beauty queen gorgeous".
2. He was currently divorced from Ex-Wife #2, but claims he still lives with her simply for the convenience of it.
3. He once told Ex-Wife #2 that he would leave her if she kept whining about how he still loves Ex-Wife #1. Ex-Wife #2's "petty jealousy" was getting under his skin.
4. He says that Ex-Wife #1 wants him back, because she married a man that is 25 years older. I did some investigation when I got home. If her new hubby is 25 years older than Donald, he is 95 years old.
5. Donald brought Ex-Wife #1 flowers and a cake for his son's birthday a couple of days ago. Even though he keeps assuring Wife #2 that he has no interest in Numero Uno. And then he went to the diner up the street, where the owner has supposedly been dying to date him. He lost her phone number, so he decided to drive over there in person, instead. I'm sure she was overjoyed.
6. Donald goes constantly to a nightclub for the local trailer park crowd called "New York, New York" and claims to be a regular.
7. Donald felt it important that I should know that he used to own a horse ranch north of here.
8. He was eager to tell me that he once hired friends who were lawyers, then promptly fired them when they cost him an account through error. The account's is supposedly worth was over a half a million dollars per year. The account was worth more than the friendship.
9. His last "Girl Friday" quit because she was getting married. He made it very clear that he didn't want another complication like that again. Those silly women, with their personal lives and such.
10. He used to golf a lot with the former owner of the Home Shopping Network: He was a "close, personal friend". So it might surprise Donald to learn that the guy doesn't golf. How do I know? I happen to know the former owner of the Home Shopping Network.
11. Even though the day of our interview was his son's birthday, Donald wasn't going to go to the birthday party. Instead, he was going to the bar for the evening. As Donald said dismissively, he'd already sent his kid a present.
12. Those marvelous Cartier glasses and the BMW that Donald drives are 100% his, and they are there to impress. Additionally, he will not do business with anyone who doesn't drive a BMW. Apparently if you don't drive a BMW, you have not arrived.
13. His favorite drink is beer. It used to be wine. He stopped drinking mixed drinks when he once had so many rum and cokes that he couldn't stand up when it came time to get up. Another important factoid I couldn't live without.
14. He had bragged to me (twice) that he had another candidate and he had been able to get her best friend to cough up the fact that her husband was a cocaine addict. He felt this made her a less-than-desirable prospect.
15. He claims he makes millions of dollars a year, and those who work for him will also do extremely well. I admit that this is the only appealing thing that I heard.
At the beginning of the interview, Donald mentioned that he had pulled his shoulder out. Because I saw no harm in it, I told him I knew of an excellent massage therapist (my friend Lisa). Due to all his "ladies' man" talk, I later warned him that Lisa was off-limits: She doesn't date clients.
So when Donald called Lisa to make his first appointment, he thought he was being clever when he told her that he was an ex-boyfriend of hers. Once that little prank fell flat, he added that I said they couldn't date, as they both were too crazy.
Lisa didn't bite (which must have disappointed him) but she did schedule him for a massage the next morning. She needs the business, and she is able to deal with wackos.
I had already decided I didn't want to work with this idiot, so I was formulating a "Thanks But No Thanks" letter when she called me the next day to let me know that Donald had told her he wasn't sure if I had enough fire, and asked a lot of prying questions about me (just as he had done with his other candidate).
That was it. I sent him a letter that was a real eye-opener (if he had the guts to read it). Strangely enough, when I researched his company I saw that Wife #2 seems to be the owner of the company. As I sent the letter to their generic email address, she may have seen it before he had a chance to delete it.
"You asked me what my main motivator was, and my answer was "money". You said that was the right answer, and this was your main motivator too. But you didn't listen when I said what my other motivators are. In fact, I doubt you could tell me what I said. What you didn't understand is that money is only my main motivator in a job. I want money, and the more money the better, but this is balanced by my sense of professional and personal ethics. I must also work with people that I can respect.
Do I have fire? Yes. As I told you during our interview, I have plenty of fire. And I have fire enough to tell you that your position isn't right for me."
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Blueberry Coffee
I recently had my old coffee maker finally die in a spectacular manner, which included flashing lights and spouting gouts of boiling water in a never-ending stream all over my kitchen counter until I could grab the cord and rip it out of the wall.
The coffee maker had been a Gevalia single-serve unit, and I wisely decided it was time for a change. So over the holidays, I bought a Keurig single-serve maker which was on sale for an excellent price, full of bells and whistles and a pretty blue flashing light.
The great thing about single-serve coffee is that everyone can have exactly what they want, and no pots of coffee lay around, half-full and going to waste. The downside is that coffee in K-Cups (single servings) can be more expensive than the standard bulk coffee. Since I drink only a cup or two a day, it's of no difference to me and it's nice to have an assortment to offer my guests.
I currently have on hand: Mudslide, Pecan Pie, Cowboy Coffee (which is stronger than Starbucks), a hawaiin blend of macadamia and coconut, Chocolate Almond, French Vanilla, and more.
But I discovered that when you buy an assortment, you invariably get something you don't want. So instead of drinking it or simply throwing it away, I try to foist it off on the people that I love.
My friend Pov is a blueberry fan. He can sit down and consume large amounts of blueberry pancakes and muffins. This is in contrast to me: I have never met a blueberry I liked unless it was freshly picked and eaten the same day.
However, a recent coffee assortment had two K-Cups of blueberry flavored coffee. I can't imagine there is a demand for the stuff, and I am really amazed they ever chose to offer it. It's as appealing as chicken-flavored hot cocoa.
So when Pov was over about a month ago, I slipped him a cup of blueberry coffee and he cheerfully drank it, proclaiming it to be great coffee.
I tried it again about a week ago. However, Pov was in a difficult mood. When he gets this way, he's unbearable to be around and he becomes deliberately disagreeable. No matter what you say or do, he is bound to argue with you about it.
So when Pov asked for a cup of coffee and I suggested the last blueberry flavored dose, he declared that he would never like the stuff and was unconvinced when I told him that I had served him some before. I quickly gave up, and he settled for a Mudslide flavored cup instead.
For over a week, the blueberry K-Cup sat there, mocking me. I felt guilty about throwing it away, but I would always reach over it to pick something... anything else.
I had almost thrown it away, when Pov came over this morning, demanding coffee. "No problem!," I said. "Sit down, watch the news, and I'll brew one up for you!" And while he was distracted, I whipped that last blueberry K-Cup into the machine and brewed him a fresh cup of the noxious stuff.
I had to run out the door to take my friend to the airport, and Pov was going in the opposite direction. But a little while later, he called to check in and I had to ask, "By the way, how was the coffee?"
"Great!" declared Pov.
"Great?" I asked, pressing my luck. "Everything was fine?"
"Yup, absolutely perfect," replied Pov.
I am finally rid of the last of the blueberry and since he never reads my blog, Pov is none the wiser. Perhaps I can interest him in chicken-flavored hot cocoa.
The coffee maker had been a Gevalia single-serve unit, and I wisely decided it was time for a change. So over the holidays, I bought a Keurig single-serve maker which was on sale for an excellent price, full of bells and whistles and a pretty blue flashing light.The great thing about single-serve coffee is that everyone can have exactly what they want, and no pots of coffee lay around, half-full and going to waste. The downside is that coffee in K-Cups (single servings) can be more expensive than the standard bulk coffee. Since I drink only a cup or two a day, it's of no difference to me and it's nice to have an assortment to offer my guests.
I currently have on hand: Mudslide, Pecan Pie, Cowboy Coffee (which is stronger than Starbucks), a hawaiin blend of macadamia and coconut, Chocolate Almond, French Vanilla, and more.
But I discovered that when you buy an assortment, you invariably get something you don't want. So instead of drinking it or simply throwing it away, I try to foist it off on the people that I love.
My friend Pov is a blueberry fan. He can sit down and consume large amounts of blueberry pancakes and muffins. This is in contrast to me: I have never met a blueberry I liked unless it was freshly picked and eaten the same day.
However, a recent coffee assortment had two K-Cups of blueberry flavored coffee. I can't imagine there is a demand for the stuff, and I am really amazed they ever chose to offer it. It's as appealing as chicken-flavored hot cocoa.So when Pov was over about a month ago, I slipped him a cup of blueberry coffee and he cheerfully drank it, proclaiming it to be great coffee.
I tried it again about a week ago. However, Pov was in a difficult mood. When he gets this way, he's unbearable to be around and he becomes deliberately disagreeable. No matter what you say or do, he is bound to argue with you about it.
So when Pov asked for a cup of coffee and I suggested the last blueberry flavored dose, he declared that he would never like the stuff and was unconvinced when I told him that I had served him some before. I quickly gave up, and he settled for a Mudslide flavored cup instead.
For over a week, the blueberry K-Cup sat there, mocking me. I felt guilty about throwing it away, but I would always reach over it to pick something... anything else.
I had almost thrown it away, when Pov came over this morning, demanding coffee. "No problem!," I said. "Sit down, watch the news, and I'll brew one up for you!" And while he was distracted, I whipped that last blueberry K-Cup into the machine and brewed him a fresh cup of the noxious stuff.
I had to run out the door to take my friend to the airport, and Pov was going in the opposite direction. But a little while later, he called to check in and I had to ask, "By the way, how was the coffee?"
"Great!" declared Pov.
"Great?" I asked, pressing my luck. "Everything was fine?"
"Yup, absolutely perfect," replied Pov.
I am finally rid of the last of the blueberry and since he never reads my blog, Pov is none the wiser. Perhaps I can interest him in chicken-flavored hot cocoa.
Monday, February 16, 2009
C Span Clip: Tremendous Draw-Down of Money in an Hour or Two
"At 2 minutes, 20 seconds into this C-Span video clip, Rep. Paul Kanjorski of Pennsylvania explains how the Federal Reserve told members of Congress about a "tremendous draw-down of money market accounts in the United States, to the tune of $550 billion dollars." According to Kanjorski, this electronic transfer occured over the period of an hour or two.
This does not bode well for our economy."
This discussion took place on February 10th, 2009.
This does not bode well for our economy."
This discussion took place on February 10th, 2009.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Jobs and the Economy
I am currently being considered for a well-paying career with a glamorous title, but it will mean a hellish workday and a great deal of travel. Obviously my blog would have to go on hiatus if the offer is ultimately made, because I will be forced to accept it.
I don't really want the job, but I can't afford to sit around and wait for the perfect one to come my way. In this economy, I'll be lucky to be employed at all.
The economy is becoming a matter of global security. In the New York Times today, we read:
"The new director of national intelligence told Congress on Thursday that global economic turmoil and the instability it could ignite had outpaced terrorism as the most urgent threat facing the United States."
As we now know:
"The latest job loss is the worst since December 1974, and brings job losses to 1.8 million in just the last three months, or half of the 3.6 million jobs that have been lost since the beginning of 2008."
Also, ""The breadth of job losses now surpasses the prior two recessions," said John Silvia, chief economist for Wachovia."
Florida is particularly hard-hit, and will be the slowest to recover, as our economy is largely based on tourism.
By now, many of you may find this topic to be somewhat dull and redundant. But for those who live in its shadow every day, it is anything but.
Many are hoping that the Economic Stimulus Package will help. For more details on this package, there is an excellent article in USA Today about it. But the problem, as I see it, is that jobs will be created for blue collar workers only.
Some Republicans believe in trickle down economics: Is this trickle up economics?
There is no doubt that our blue collar workers have been hardest hit, but this is of the government's making. The government has allowed the illegal immigrant in to take the blue collar jobs, and the government has allowed Big Business to send other jobs overseas. So this is obviously an attempt to fix some of the damage that the Bush administration has done.
I do know that something may be better than nothing, but is it enough? And what of the pork that has wormed it's way into the package?
Again, we see a government that gives more lip service than actual service.
USA Today says "The $789 billion stimulus bill moving toward final passage by Congress will not quickly solve the historic problems besetting the economy, but it could reduce the damage, while providing relief for the unemployed and the uninsured."
That's wonderful if you've hit rock-bottom. But what about those of us who haven't? We have struggled but managed to pay our bills. We aren't in dire straights yet, but it's because we're sacrificing and scraping by.
If they're not careful, we will be penalized for our responsibility, while irresponsible spending and behaviors are rewarded.
I don't really want the job, but I can't afford to sit around and wait for the perfect one to come my way. In this economy, I'll be lucky to be employed at all.
The economy is becoming a matter of global security. In the New York Times today, we read:
"The new director of national intelligence told Congress on Thursday that global economic turmoil and the instability it could ignite had outpaced terrorism as the most urgent threat facing the United States."
As we now know:
"The latest job loss is the worst since December 1974, and brings job losses to 1.8 million in just the last three months, or half of the 3.6 million jobs that have been lost since the beginning of 2008."
Also, ""The breadth of job losses now surpasses the prior two recessions," said John Silvia, chief economist for Wachovia."
Florida is particularly hard-hit, and will be the slowest to recover, as our economy is largely based on tourism.
By now, many of you may find this topic to be somewhat dull and redundant. But for those who live in its shadow every day, it is anything but.
Many are hoping that the Economic Stimulus Package will help. For more details on this package, there is an excellent article in USA Today about it. But the problem, as I see it, is that jobs will be created for blue collar workers only.
Some Republicans believe in trickle down economics: Is this trickle up economics?
There is no doubt that our blue collar workers have been hardest hit, but this is of the government's making. The government has allowed the illegal immigrant in to take the blue collar jobs, and the government has allowed Big Business to send other jobs overseas. So this is obviously an attempt to fix some of the damage that the Bush administration has done.
I do know that something may be better than nothing, but is it enough? And what of the pork that has wormed it's way into the package?
Again, we see a government that gives more lip service than actual service.
USA Today says "The $789 billion stimulus bill moving toward final passage by Congress will not quickly solve the historic problems besetting the economy, but it could reduce the damage, while providing relief for the unemployed and the uninsured."
That's wonderful if you've hit rock-bottom. But what about those of us who haven't? We have struggled but managed to pay our bills. We aren't in dire straights yet, but it's because we're sacrificing and scraping by.
If they're not careful, we will be penalized for our responsibility, while irresponsible spending and behaviors are rewarded.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Keeping Helga Busy
My best friend, Pov, and I recently volunteered to field calls for our local Christian radio network. It's a great network, full of very kindly people and great programs. As with all charitable groups, donations keep it afloat and they were having a fund drive.
Pov ended up seated next to a very nice elderly lady, who introduced herself to us as "Helga". Helga had a wonderful sense of humor, and soon she and Pov were as thick as thieves. Pov missed his calling as a stand up comedian, and in-between phone calls you could hear Helga shrieking with laughter. I cringed at times, wondering if it carried onto the airwaves, as the deejays were drifting among the volunteers, interviewing them on the air.
"Alissa", a personable and flamboyant deejay, came up to us during a lull in the calls and told us that she'd be interviewing us soon, if we weren't on the phone. Pov shook his head violently. "Oh no, not me," he said. "You don't want that. Pick her," he said, gesturing at me.
"OK, I'll just talk to the better half, then," said Alissa, winking at me. Everyone was assuming that Pov and I were married, and I didn't have time to correct her misconception as she drifted off again.
We ended up with a growing volume of calls that kept us busy for a while. Our average donation was around $50, although some were pledging as little as $15 and some were pledging as much as $400. Many people were asking for prayer as they'd just lost their jobs. I was happy that they had enough sense to keep their donations to a minimum.
In a little while, Alissa caught me when I wasn't busy and she did a warm little folksy "so-why-are-you-doing-this" interview. I was relieved that she didn't bring up my "husband", which would force me to correct that on-air.
I soon grew busy with the phones again, and the next time I looked up, Pov was gesturing to me with an agonized look upon his face.
"What is it?" I hissed.
"I TOLD her not to interview me!" he said, looking very strained.
"What happened?" I asked skeptically. After all, how bad could it be?
"Well," Pov began, "She came up to me, thrust a microphone in my face, and asked me why I was doing this! I couldn't think of anything to say, so I told everyone to donate so that they could help keep Helga off the streets!"
"Oh NO," I gasped. "You didn't! Is Helga still talking to you?"
"Yeah," he said, looking abashed. "But," he added with growing wonder, "it worked!"
"What do you mean it worked?" I asked.
"The next call I got was from a lady who said that she had heard me on the radio and pulled over right away so that she could call in her donation immediately," he said, watching my face.
"Really?" I said incredulously.
"Yup," he nodded. "And guess how much she pledged?"
"How much?" I asked.
"Six hundred dollars," Pov announced triumphantly.
Pov ended up seated next to a very nice elderly lady, who introduced herself to us as "Helga". Helga had a wonderful sense of humor, and soon she and Pov were as thick as thieves. Pov missed his calling as a stand up comedian, and in-between phone calls you could hear Helga shrieking with laughter. I cringed at times, wondering if it carried onto the airwaves, as the deejays were drifting among the volunteers, interviewing them on the air.
"Alissa", a personable and flamboyant deejay, came up to us during a lull in the calls and told us that she'd be interviewing us soon, if we weren't on the phone. Pov shook his head violently. "Oh no, not me," he said. "You don't want that. Pick her," he said, gesturing at me.
"OK, I'll just talk to the better half, then," said Alissa, winking at me. Everyone was assuming that Pov and I were married, and I didn't have time to correct her misconception as she drifted off again.
We ended up with a growing volume of calls that kept us busy for a while. Our average donation was around $50, although some were pledging as little as $15 and some were pledging as much as $400. Many people were asking for prayer as they'd just lost their jobs. I was happy that they had enough sense to keep their donations to a minimum.
In a little while, Alissa caught me when I wasn't busy and she did a warm little folksy "so-why-are-you-doing-this" interview. I was relieved that she didn't bring up my "husband", which would force me to correct that on-air.
I soon grew busy with the phones again, and the next time I looked up, Pov was gesturing to me with an agonized look upon his face.
"What is it?" I hissed.
"I TOLD her not to interview me!" he said, looking very strained.
"What happened?" I asked skeptically. After all, how bad could it be?
"Well," Pov began, "She came up to me, thrust a microphone in my face, and asked me why I was doing this! I couldn't think of anything to say, so I told everyone to donate so that they could help keep Helga off the streets!"
"Oh NO," I gasped. "You didn't! Is Helga still talking to you?"
"Yeah," he said, looking abashed. "But," he added with growing wonder, "it worked!"
"What do you mean it worked?" I asked.
"The next call I got was from a lady who said that she had heard me on the radio and pulled over right away so that she could call in her donation immediately," he said, watching my face.
"Really?" I said incredulously.
"Yup," he nodded. "And guess how much she pledged?"
"How much?" I asked.
"Six hundred dollars," Pov announced triumphantly.
Friday, February 06, 2009
The Devil's BBQ
I was babysitting my friend's precocious five year old girl yesterday. We had to run some errands, and as we were shopping, "Tegan" and I were discussing what sort of behavior is expected of good children.
"Ah hafta be good," Tegan announced dramatically in her deep-fried southern Tennessee accent. "If not, the Devil hates little girls and he's gorna grab my soul, drag it into the depths of hell, and cook it!"
I couldn't help myself. I threw back my head and howled with laughter in the middle of the store while Tegan watched me, bewildered. "What?" she demanded. "What did ah say?"
I wiped my eyes, picturing the Devil hovering over a barbecue grill with a spatula, wearing a "Hell's Kitchen" apron.
"Who told you this?" I finally demanded.
"Mah cousin Angela," she said. "What? It's the truth!"
"Not exactly, little one," I said. "Angela sounds like a particularly nasty little girl."
"Wahl, she is," Tegan admitted. "She useta be purty mean to me."
"Well don't worry about it, honey. The Devil doesn't send children to hell if they do something bad. You believe in Jesus and he's watching out for you," I said. Or that's what I think I said. I had never had to discuss theology with a five year old before.
I called Tegan's dad, and told him what she had said so that he could handle it at another time. I listened to him roaring with laughter before I hung up the phone.
"What?" asked Tegan again. "Why is ever'one laughin'?"
"Well, that's just something that we hadn't heard before," I tried to explain soothingly.
"So he ain't gonna eat it when it's nice an crispy?" she asked.
"Ah hafta be good," Tegan announced dramatically in her deep-fried southern Tennessee accent. "If not, the Devil hates little girls and he's gorna grab my soul, drag it into the depths of hell, and cook it!"
I couldn't help myself. I threw back my head and howled with laughter in the middle of the store while Tegan watched me, bewildered. "What?" she demanded. "What did ah say?"
I wiped my eyes, picturing the Devil hovering over a barbecue grill with a spatula, wearing a "Hell's Kitchen" apron.
"Who told you this?" I finally demanded.
"Mah cousin Angela," she said. "What? It's the truth!"
"Not exactly, little one," I said. "Angela sounds like a particularly nasty little girl."
"Wahl, she is," Tegan admitted. "She useta be purty mean to me."
"Well don't worry about it, honey. The Devil doesn't send children to hell if they do something bad. You believe in Jesus and he's watching out for you," I said. Or that's what I think I said. I had never had to discuss theology with a five year old before.
I called Tegan's dad, and told him what she had said so that he could handle it at another time. I listened to him roaring with laughter before I hung up the phone.
"What?" asked Tegan again. "Why is ever'one laughin'?"
"Well, that's just something that we hadn't heard before," I tried to explain soothingly.
"So he ain't gonna eat it when it's nice an crispy?" she asked.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
How to Get Back at Your Girlfriend
My best friend, "Pov", called me last night. "We have a crisis on our hands," he announced.
Our friends, "Jim and Arlene", have four kids. For a farm family out of the 1900s, this would be a manageable brood, but in today's age it's rather overwhelming when neither parent has made it past high school.
Jim and Arlene are very kindly people but with little common sense and a lack of ambition. Recently two of their boys, "Romeo" (age 16) and "Howie" (age 14), were picked up for shoplifting. Jim called Pov in a panic to ask for advice, and Pov and I discussed the various options with them.
Pov and I came up with a few suggestions. Immediate punishment was of great importance: Both boys were to be grounded and have everything taken away from them. But Jim and Arlene are great at asking for advice, and then not taking it. We weren't too sure about how well they would handle the situation.
However, shoplifting turned out to be minor in comparison to the next revelation. It was at this point that Romeo also confessed to his parents that he was having a sexual relationship with Juliet, a 15 year old girl.
Sex between teens is, sadly, not uncommon. But there is a line drawn by the court system between 15 and 16 year olds. It is possible for a 16 year old to be thrown in jail if he's caught having sex with a child who is 15 or younger. Furthermore, it is something that can become a permanent part of his record.
I warned Jim and Arlene about this. "Well, what should we do?" asked Jim. Pov and I agreed that it was a tough call. If I were Juliet's mother, I would want to know. I would be furious if I found out that another parent knew and hadn't told me. On the other hand, being honorable and approaching the other parents could land Romeo in jail.
Jim and Arlene decided to tell Romeo to cool it, and call it off with Juliet for now. Since Juliet's father is on the S.W.A.T. team, Pov and I agreed that it was probably the smartest option that Romeo could choose.
Everyone held their breath, crossed their fingers, and hoped it had all blown over. We hadn't heard another word about it until yesterday, when Juliet texted Arlene with the news that she might be pregnant.
Arlene immediately went into a panic, and was ready to go charging out the door with a pregnancy test, until Jim pointed out that this would certainly send up red flags with Juliet's parents. "It's only been a day," Jim pointed out. Then he called Pov, who in turn called me.
Everyone agreed that it still was best to simply leave it alone: The last thing that Jim and Arlene should do would be anything which might make Juliet's parents suspicious. "Give it a couple more days," I counseled them. "Wait and see. You'll know soon enough!"
I finished up the call by asking Jim if he'd really grounded Romeo and Howie, and was following through on everything that we had all agreed upon.
"Oh yes," Jim replied. "They're grounded all right! I don't know what more we can do!"
In half an hour, Jim called me again. "Well," he said breezily, "I guess it's been taken care of."
"Already?" I said, surprised. "How is that?"
"Well, I guess Juliet's been going around at school, telling all of her little friends that she might be pregnant. Romeo had warned her to keep quiet about it, and he was so angry about it that he decided to get back at her by texting her mom with the news."
"WHAT?" I gasped.
"Yup," said Jim, "But at least it's all out in the open now."
"Er, yeah, you could say that," I agreed. "But what about jail for Romeo?"
"Oh, we think it probably won't happen," Jim said breezily. "Besides, Arlene feels so much better now that everyone knows."
"Uh, OK," I said hesitantly. "Well, good luck with that."
My grandmother had a saying for such silly behavior. She called it "cutting off your nose to spite your face."
Perhaps jail will smarten Romeo up a bit. And if Juliet's pregnant, he will have eighteen years of child support to teach him a permanent lesson.
But the apple doesn't fall far from the tree: None of that family has much sense. No one has stopped to think: If Romeo was truly grounded... how was he able to text Juliet's mom?
Our friends, "Jim and Arlene", have four kids. For a farm family out of the 1900s, this would be a manageable brood, but in today's age it's rather overwhelming when neither parent has made it past high school.
Jim and Arlene are very kindly people but with little common sense and a lack of ambition. Recently two of their boys, "Romeo" (age 16) and "Howie" (age 14), were picked up for shoplifting. Jim called Pov in a panic to ask for advice, and Pov and I discussed the various options with them.
Pov and I came up with a few suggestions. Immediate punishment was of great importance: Both boys were to be grounded and have everything taken away from them. But Jim and Arlene are great at asking for advice, and then not taking it. We weren't too sure about how well they would handle the situation.
However, shoplifting turned out to be minor in comparison to the next revelation. It was at this point that Romeo also confessed to his parents that he was having a sexual relationship with Juliet, a 15 year old girl.
Sex between teens is, sadly, not uncommon. But there is a line drawn by the court system between 15 and 16 year olds. It is possible for a 16 year old to be thrown in jail if he's caught having sex with a child who is 15 or younger. Furthermore, it is something that can become a permanent part of his record.
I warned Jim and Arlene about this. "Well, what should we do?" asked Jim. Pov and I agreed that it was a tough call. If I were Juliet's mother, I would want to know. I would be furious if I found out that another parent knew and hadn't told me. On the other hand, being honorable and approaching the other parents could land Romeo in jail.
Jim and Arlene decided to tell Romeo to cool it, and call it off with Juliet for now. Since Juliet's father is on the S.W.A.T. team, Pov and I agreed that it was probably the smartest option that Romeo could choose.
Everyone held their breath, crossed their fingers, and hoped it had all blown over. We hadn't heard another word about it until yesterday, when Juliet texted Arlene with the news that she might be pregnant.
Arlene immediately went into a panic, and was ready to go charging out the door with a pregnancy test, until Jim pointed out that this would certainly send up red flags with Juliet's parents. "It's only been a day," Jim pointed out. Then he called Pov, who in turn called me.
Everyone agreed that it still was best to simply leave it alone: The last thing that Jim and Arlene should do would be anything which might make Juliet's parents suspicious. "Give it a couple more days," I counseled them. "Wait and see. You'll know soon enough!"
I finished up the call by asking Jim if he'd really grounded Romeo and Howie, and was following through on everything that we had all agreed upon.
"Oh yes," Jim replied. "They're grounded all right! I don't know what more we can do!"
In half an hour, Jim called me again. "Well," he said breezily, "I guess it's been taken care of."
"Already?" I said, surprised. "How is that?"
"Well, I guess Juliet's been going around at school, telling all of her little friends that she might be pregnant. Romeo had warned her to keep quiet about it, and he was so angry about it that he decided to get back at her by texting her mom with the news."
"WHAT?" I gasped.
"Yup," said Jim, "But at least it's all out in the open now."
"Er, yeah, you could say that," I agreed. "But what about jail for Romeo?"
"Oh, we think it probably won't happen," Jim said breezily. "Besides, Arlene feels so much better now that everyone knows."
"Uh, OK," I said hesitantly. "Well, good luck with that."
My grandmother had a saying for such silly behavior. She called it "cutting off your nose to spite your face."
Perhaps jail will smarten Romeo up a bit. And if Juliet's pregnant, he will have eighteen years of child support to teach him a permanent lesson.
But the apple doesn't fall far from the tree: None of that family has much sense. No one has stopped to think: If Romeo was truly grounded... how was he able to text Juliet's mom?
Monday, February 02, 2009
Walmart's Oily Charm
As experts agree, it is a great mistake to assume that falling gas prices are an end to our nation's fuel problems.
I recently sat down with a company that has a new gizmo which can be attached to any vehicle's engine and will allow an economizing of fuel by up to 15%, or so they claim. They say that they will not allow me to see schematics because this invention is still in the patenting process. Apparently this device was given to them by the Chinese government in exchange for an unrelated piece of hardware which they allowed the Chinese to use in some of their power plants.
Currently this company is seeking out other companies that would be willing to allow them to install this machinery so that a series of studies can be run in order to bolster their assertion that this is the most amazing invention since sliced bread.
And they're not the only ones scrambling to find fuel consumption remedies.
Walmart has recently announced that it has improved its fuel efficiency by more than 25% since 2005. It's been able to do so through more careful routing and packaging, which has reduced the number of trips required from the distribution center to the various stores. They also insist that drivers follow a dictated route, with no variances.
Finally, Walmart has retooled 15 trucks in Arizona to run on the used cooking grease which comes from their delicatessans. Their plans are to expand this number to other areas soon.
Love them or hate them, Walmart continues to be a success story due to their never-ending quest to save a dime whenever possible.
I was in Walmart this Sunday. Their entire store is the size of a couple warehouses stacked together, and the smell of food permeated every inch. I didn't find it at all appealing, but what is appealing is the notion that they will soon be recycling that oil into something which may set the standards for future retailers.
I recently sat down with a company that has a new gizmo which can be attached to any vehicle's engine and will allow an economizing of fuel by up to 15%, or so they claim. They say that they will not allow me to see schematics because this invention is still in the patenting process. Apparently this device was given to them by the Chinese government in exchange for an unrelated piece of hardware which they allowed the Chinese to use in some of their power plants.
Currently this company is seeking out other companies that would be willing to allow them to install this machinery so that a series of studies can be run in order to bolster their assertion that this is the most amazing invention since sliced bread.
And they're not the only ones scrambling to find fuel consumption remedies.
Walmart has recently announced that it has improved its fuel efficiency by more than 25% since 2005. It's been able to do so through more careful routing and packaging, which has reduced the number of trips required from the distribution center to the various stores. They also insist that drivers follow a dictated route, with no variances.
Finally, Walmart has retooled 15 trucks in Arizona to run on the used cooking grease which comes from their delicatessans. Their plans are to expand this number to other areas soon.
Love them or hate them, Walmart continues to be a success story due to their never-ending quest to save a dime whenever possible.
I was in Walmart this Sunday. Their entire store is the size of a couple warehouses stacked together, and the smell of food permeated every inch. I didn't find it at all appealing, but what is appealing is the notion that they will soon be recycling that oil into something which may set the standards for future retailers.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Karen Dinsfriend
UPDATE 2/4/16: This article was originally written on 1/30/09 and it contains my own knowledge of a victim of a famous serial killer and how it affected me. It is written in respectful truth. Since then, people have periodically left comments that are relevant. Comments that are distasteful or irrelevant will, of course, be deleted. That being said, anonymous requests or comments from people to remove this post will be ignored as I don't know the source. And, frankly, if the attention that this article receives gets the attention of the authorities who may be able to move Long along to the gas chambers after 30+ years, then it is well worth it, isn't it?
I recently got a request from a stranger to take this editorial down, saying the post was suddenly offensive to Karen's surviving family members. However, this post has been up for 7 years so I find this highly improbable. Some of them have supposedly already contributed to the comments (again, there is no way of knowing who really is contributing). And how do we make the distinction? What if half of her existing family wants her personalized and the other half does not, for whatever reason?
Other crime sites detail Bobby Joe Long's crimes and they would scoff at anyone attempting to remove such information. Likewise, I will not be removing this post. Instead, I would encourage all energies to be directed to the Department of Corrections in an attempt to speed along Long's journey to the death chamber.
When I was young, my family and honorary aunt and uncle were involved in attempting to help rehabilitate women from prison. One of the women my aunt tried to help was Karen Dinsfriend. Although I rarely mention real names in my writing, there is a reason for this exception.
Karen Dinsfriend was a engaging but manipulative: A woman who had repeated run-ins with the law. She had a young daughter, Alexa, who was only 2 years old when my aunt met them. Karen was in prison for one of her usual problems: Prostitution.
Alexa had no home, and Karen didn't want her to go into the foster care system (or so I was told). She latched onto my aunt and uncle and begged my aunt to take in Alexa until Karen got out of prison. My aunt agreed.
Over the next couple of years, my aunt and uncle raised Alexa as their own daughter. They had good reason to: Karen had decided that Alexa was better off with a stable family, and Alexa cramped her style. Karen kept promising them that she would sign the adoption papers, but at the same time, she kept putting them off.
When the time came and Karen got out of prison, she showed up on their doorstep, demanding Alexa. No one fully understood the change of heart, but everyone knew that Karen was serious about this.
The system had declared that Karen was rehabilitated, and my aunt and uncle had to face a hard decision: Should they give the child back to a mother who was potentially reformed and could now be a good mother? Or should they spend the money to fight for custody?
My aunt and uncle debated this for a long time, but they eventually allowed Karen to leave with Alexa.
That was the last my aunt and uncle saw of Alexa, to the best of my knowledge. The last they heard, Alexa was living in a car with her mother (who was still turning tricks and doing drugs).
Until Karen disappeared one day.
Although we never found out exactly what happened to Alexa, we know that she went back into foster care. She should be in her mid-thirties by now.
But we do know what happened to Karen: She will go down in history as the victim of Bobby Joe Long, notorious serial killer.
"On October 14, 1984, a fifth body was discovered in northeastern Hillsborough County.
Her wrists were bound with a red bandana, and her legs and neck had been tied with a long thick shoelace. She had been beaten about the head and raped. Her yellow sweatshirt was pulled up to her neck, exposing a bruised and bloodied torso, with indicators that she had been dragged. She was wearing only the sweatshirt, although the rest of what appeared to be her clothing was scattered nearby.
The cause of death was strangulation.
Because she was a known prostitute and drug addict, the investigating team had recognized her, but she was officially identified by her fingerprints as Karen Beth Dinsfriend, 28. To link her with the other victims, both types of the red fibers had been found on her clothes. There were also brown Caucasian pubic hairs and semen that indicated A and H blood substances."
When Long was captured in November 1984, "He described the murder of Karen Dinsfriend, in which he had started to strangle her in one orange grove, but had heard dogs barking, so he put her in the trunk and moved her to another grove where he finished the job."
But Karen was one of many. Long's transcribed confession ran 45 pages long.
Bobby Joe Long is still in prison, despite having a death sentence. The wheels of justice grind slowly, but in Bobby Joe's case they stopped moving long ago.
Most of Bobby Joe Long's victims were unloved and disliked. They were the women that could be picked up cheaply, used, and discarded.
I still can see Karen, walking up the road toward me, her feet in flipflops and dusty from a long walk, wearing ragged denim shorts and a red bandana shirt tied at her midriff. She was deeply tanned, slender, with nervous, quick movements and a lit cigarette that she would draw deeply from, as if to savor every inch of it.
The last time I saw her, she was sporting a horrid afro-style perm (which was very trendy in the early 80s). By the time she was killed, her hair was in a simple flip shag. Her final picture makes her look so young and vulnerable: It doesn't show that inner steel or devil-may-care toughness which she wore like a badge.
None of us liked Karen very much, and she was rife with many problems, but she was a human being who did not deserve her fate.
I recently got a request from a stranger to take this editorial down, saying the post was suddenly offensive to Karen's surviving family members. However, this post has been up for 7 years so I find this highly improbable. Some of them have supposedly already contributed to the comments (again, there is no way of knowing who really is contributing). And how do we make the distinction? What if half of her existing family wants her personalized and the other half does not, for whatever reason?
Other crime sites detail Bobby Joe Long's crimes and they would scoff at anyone attempting to remove such information. Likewise, I will not be removing this post. Instead, I would encourage all energies to be directed to the Department of Corrections in an attempt to speed along Long's journey to the death chamber.
When I was young, my family and honorary aunt and uncle were involved in attempting to help rehabilitate women from prison. One of the women my aunt tried to help was Karen Dinsfriend. Although I rarely mention real names in my writing, there is a reason for this exception.
Karen Dinsfriend was a engaging but manipulative: A woman who had repeated run-ins with the law. She had a young daughter, Alexa, who was only 2 years old when my aunt met them. Karen was in prison for one of her usual problems: Prostitution.
Alexa had no home, and Karen didn't want her to go into the foster care system (or so I was told). She latched onto my aunt and uncle and begged my aunt to take in Alexa until Karen got out of prison. My aunt agreed.
Over the next couple of years, my aunt and uncle raised Alexa as their own daughter. They had good reason to: Karen had decided that Alexa was better off with a stable family, and Alexa cramped her style. Karen kept promising them that she would sign the adoption papers, but at the same time, she kept putting them off.
When the time came and Karen got out of prison, she showed up on their doorstep, demanding Alexa. No one fully understood the change of heart, but everyone knew that Karen was serious about this.
The system had declared that Karen was rehabilitated, and my aunt and uncle had to face a hard decision: Should they give the child back to a mother who was potentially reformed and could now be a good mother? Or should they spend the money to fight for custody?
My aunt and uncle debated this for a long time, but they eventually allowed Karen to leave with Alexa.
That was the last my aunt and uncle saw of Alexa, to the best of my knowledge. The last they heard, Alexa was living in a car with her mother (who was still turning tricks and doing drugs).
Until Karen disappeared one day.
Although we never found out exactly what happened to Alexa, we know that she went back into foster care. She should be in her mid-thirties by now.
But we do know what happened to Karen: She will go down in history as the victim of Bobby Joe Long, notorious serial killer.
"On October 14, 1984, a fifth body was discovered in northeastern Hillsborough County.Her wrists were bound with a red bandana, and her legs and neck had been tied with a long thick shoelace. She had been beaten about the head and raped. Her yellow sweatshirt was pulled up to her neck, exposing a bruised and bloodied torso, with indicators that she had been dragged. She was wearing only the sweatshirt, although the rest of what appeared to be her clothing was scattered nearby.
The cause of death was strangulation.
Because she was a known prostitute and drug addict, the investigating team had recognized her, but she was officially identified by her fingerprints as Karen Beth Dinsfriend, 28. To link her with the other victims, both types of the red fibers had been found on her clothes. There were also brown Caucasian pubic hairs and semen that indicated A and H blood substances."
When Long was captured in November 1984, "He described the murder of Karen Dinsfriend, in which he had started to strangle her in one orange grove, but had heard dogs barking, so he put her in the trunk and moved her to another grove where he finished the job."
But Karen was one of many. Long's transcribed confession ran 45 pages long.
Bobby Joe Long is still in prison, despite having a death sentence. The wheels of justice grind slowly, but in Bobby Joe's case they stopped moving long ago.
Most of Bobby Joe Long's victims were unloved and disliked. They were the women that could be picked up cheaply, used, and discarded.
I still can see Karen, walking up the road toward me, her feet in flipflops and dusty from a long walk, wearing ragged denim shorts and a red bandana shirt tied at her midriff. She was deeply tanned, slender, with nervous, quick movements and a lit cigarette that she would draw deeply from, as if to savor every inch of it.
The last time I saw her, she was sporting a horrid afro-style perm (which was very trendy in the early 80s). By the time she was killed, her hair was in a simple flip shag. Her final picture makes her look so young and vulnerable: It doesn't show that inner steel or devil-may-care toughness which she wore like a badge.
None of us liked Karen very much, and she was rife with many problems, but she was a human being who did not deserve her fate.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Weather
It's a nice balmy 70+ degrees here in the Tampa Bay area. It looks as if this may be what we will be able to expect for Super Bowl this Sunday.
Today I have been puttering about outside, gardening. I'm on my way outdoors again to enjoy this weather. This is the enjoyable aspect of climate change. The drought, which has been going on for years, is another facet and one that is more worrisome.
I'm glad that we have the option of using reclaimed water here. I've put in a massive vegetable garden (with the help of my friend, Pov), and am making other alterations. Thankfully I can use the reclaimed water for this marvellous garden, but what would happen if I couldn't? We may have such a problem in the future that even reclaimed water will be regulated.
Because Florida's politicians and Big Business have been so terribly greedy, there's actually a glut of housing now. Some experts say that it will be about three years before there is a demand for any new housing.
This is good, as we're desperately overcrowded and stealing water from our northern neighbors, as it is.
Let's just hope that climate change can be slowed or reversed, before it's too late. In the meantime, I am happy for reclaimed water.
Today I have been puttering about outside, gardening. I'm on my way outdoors again to enjoy this weather. This is the enjoyable aspect of climate change. The drought, which has been going on for years, is another facet and one that is more worrisome.
I'm glad that we have the option of using reclaimed water here. I've put in a massive vegetable garden (with the help of my friend, Pov), and am making other alterations. Thankfully I can use the reclaimed water for this marvellous garden, but what would happen if I couldn't? We may have such a problem in the future that even reclaimed water will be regulated.
Because Florida's politicians and Big Business have been so terribly greedy, there's actually a glut of housing now. Some experts say that it will be about three years before there is a demand for any new housing.
This is good, as we're desperately overcrowded and stealing water from our northern neighbors, as it is.
Let's just hope that climate change can be slowed or reversed, before it's too late. In the meantime, I am happy for reclaimed water.
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