This morning, my wife had an appointment with her cardiologist, a follow-up to her stress echocardiogram. I went along because the doctor, a guy with South African roots, expressed some concerns about some abnormalities the echo revealed. He recommended a CT scan, which he had recommended before but which the bastards at Aetna had refused because its use was "experimental" in detecting the problems he was seeking to identify. The other option is an angioplasty, a more expensive, more invasive, more expensive, and more dangerous procedure. They are willing to pay for that. Morons! Anyway, the doctor is going to battle the insurance company again in an attempt to get them to agree to cover the procedure.
All the news lately about the U.S. being 37th in quality of health care (and France being #1) has depressed me. Why do we insist on spending all our money, and the money of the children of our children's children, on invading other countries, yet refuse to fund a decent healthcare system for our own citizens?
It's a pitiful little statement from one rarely-read blogger, but I'll say it nonetheless: IMPEACH BUSH! I am so astonished at this government's ignorance and arrogance. Our president is a national embarrassment of unparalleled proportions. I have to think that, sometimes, the people who are being hurt the worst by his brutish policies may get a sense of justice by just thinking about the time when they will be able to urinate on the bastard's grave.
I don't have the energy to rail against him forever, but the occasional rant is enough to keep my own blood boiling.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Political, Social Rant
We're all so damn certain. Certain that there are weapons of mass destruction. Certain we'll be welcomed with open arms when we invade a country. Really, it's not just the nutjob right-wingers who are certain. Dems are certain that pulling the troups out will get us where we want to be. Libertarians are certain our lives would be hunkey-dory if we'd just get government off our backs.
I'm sick of people who are so damn certain. Life is not like that. Uncertainty rules us and will continue to do so. All of our black & white solutions to our problems, all of which were caused by "the other side," are unenlightened and shallow and utterly at odds with reality.
Once Bush and company completely fucked up the works by invading Iraq, there was no certainty left about how to extricate ourselves. Sure, no weapons of mass destruction, but does their absence absolve us of responsibility to rebuild what we destroyed? Will pulling out of Iraq actually help the Iraqis, or seal their fate to succumb to horrific civil war? We're invested in Iraq; we have to extricate ourselves carefully and we must not abandon the people we ostensibly invaded to save. We have to acknowledge that our own actions helped boost Al Queda and we need to figure out ways to stop that boosterism.
Democrats and Republicans alike are behaving in such an incredibly partisan manner that it makes me want to scream. They're both a bunch of spineless pricks who won't own up to the fact that, like it or not, we're the cause of the chaos and we must not simply walk away, leaving the spoils to whoever can muster the most power. First and foremost, Iraq should be a lesson: never invade a country on the off-chance it might be plotting against you. Second, when you break rule one, your choices are cowardice and its obvious results or sacrifice and it obvious pain. Third, the second rule should always guide us: don't break the first one.
This entire administration and the Congress should step down and let people with principles step up to govern this land. I truly hate the bastards who have bet our lives on their own personal political agendas.
I'm sick of people who are so damn certain. Life is not like that. Uncertainty rules us and will continue to do so. All of our black & white solutions to our problems, all of which were caused by "the other side," are unenlightened and shallow and utterly at odds with reality.
Once Bush and company completely fucked up the works by invading Iraq, there was no certainty left about how to extricate ourselves. Sure, no weapons of mass destruction, but does their absence absolve us of responsibility to rebuild what we destroyed? Will pulling out of Iraq actually help the Iraqis, or seal their fate to succumb to horrific civil war? We're invested in Iraq; we have to extricate ourselves carefully and we must not abandon the people we ostensibly invaded to save. We have to acknowledge that our own actions helped boost Al Queda and we need to figure out ways to stop that boosterism.
Democrats and Republicans alike are behaving in such an incredibly partisan manner that it makes me want to scream. They're both a bunch of spineless pricks who won't own up to the fact that, like it or not, we're the cause of the chaos and we must not simply walk away, leaving the spoils to whoever can muster the most power. First and foremost, Iraq should be a lesson: never invade a country on the off-chance it might be plotting against you. Second, when you break rule one, your choices are cowardice and its obvious results or sacrifice and it obvious pain. Third, the second rule should always guide us: don't break the first one.
This entire administration and the Congress should step down and let people with principles step up to govern this land. I truly hate the bastards who have bet our lives on their own personal political agendas.
A Lone Kayaker
Last Sunday, my wife and I went to a mall where she returned a pair of shoes and ultimately selected another pair. While she was conversing with the shoe salesman, I visited a large sporting goods store nearby. I am not a sportsman, though I sometimes wish I were, but there are things in sporting goods stores that I find appealing.
After looking at pedometers, I took a look at bicycles. While taking a look, a helpful New Zealand native, just a few years my junior, talked to me about the various bicycles and offered some suggestions. The one he suggested was best suited to my intended uses only cost $209. Add the car carrier at $60 and it's still a steal. I didn't buy them, but I very well might in the not-too-distant future.
What appealed to me more than pedometers and bicycles were the kayaks and canoes. Just looking at them and thinking about being on the water, exercising and having a good time, really got my juices flowing. I was anxious to learn how to use them and to have fun and get some exercise in the process.
Later, after her shoe excursion, my wife joined me in the sporting goods store. I tried to get her interested in the kayaks or the canoes, but had no success. I really want to get out in the water...get some exercise...experience something different from a desk. But my wife is the only person who I'd ask to do such things with me, and she's just not interested.
Maybe I should try it as a loner.
After looking at pedometers, I took a look at bicycles. While taking a look, a helpful New Zealand native, just a few years my junior, talked to me about the various bicycles and offered some suggestions. The one he suggested was best suited to my intended uses only cost $209. Add the car carrier at $60 and it's still a steal. I didn't buy them, but I very well might in the not-too-distant future.
What appealed to me more than pedometers and bicycles were the kayaks and canoes. Just looking at them and thinking about being on the water, exercising and having a good time, really got my juices flowing. I was anxious to learn how to use them and to have fun and get some exercise in the process.
Later, after her shoe excursion, my wife joined me in the sporting goods store. I tried to get her interested in the kayaks or the canoes, but had no success. I really want to get out in the water...get some exercise...experience something different from a desk. But my wife is the only person who I'd ask to do such things with me, and she's just not interested.
Maybe I should try it as a loner.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Usability
Several months ago, I bought Blackberry cell phones for my wife and myself. I got bluetooth wireless earpieces, as well, thinking it would be much safer to use them than to try to wrestle with a cell phone in hand while we were driving.
Like many technologies, the promises of bluetooth, at least on our Blackberries, were greater than the experience. We haven't used the earpieces since we bought them, despite my valiant efforts to make them work. They are cantankerous, hard to get placed, harder still to sync with the phones, and generally more of a pain than they are worth.
But, today, I will try again. I'm going to go through all the motions of charging the beasts, syncing them to our phones, and all the other myriad steps required to get them to work. And I'm sure they will...just not as easily and as conveniently as they should.
Once, I bid on providing management services to an association of usability professionals, i.e., people whose job it is to assess and evaluate changes to products to make them easy to use, intuitive, and to maximize the relationship between effort and performance. We didn't get the business. If usability professionals were involved in reaching the level of performance achieved in my Blackberry/bluetooth earpiece combo, those professionals should be removed from their professional gene pools and returned to jobs watering plants, roles for which they are better-suited.
But I'll try again. I'm pretty technologically-saavy. Maybe I was having a bad time before and it will be easy. In that case, I'll withdraw my scathing comments about the culpability of certain usability professionals. Otherwise, I'll continue to gloat that the association didn't select my company for management, a sure sign of ineptitude!
Like many technologies, the promises of bluetooth, at least on our Blackberries, were greater than the experience. We haven't used the earpieces since we bought them, despite my valiant efforts to make them work. They are cantankerous, hard to get placed, harder still to sync with the phones, and generally more of a pain than they are worth.
But, today, I will try again. I'm going to go through all the motions of charging the beasts, syncing them to our phones, and all the other myriad steps required to get them to work. And I'm sure they will...just not as easily and as conveniently as they should.
Once, I bid on providing management services to an association of usability professionals, i.e., people whose job it is to assess and evaluate changes to products to make them easy to use, intuitive, and to maximize the relationship between effort and performance. We didn't get the business. If usability professionals were involved in reaching the level of performance achieved in my Blackberry/bluetooth earpiece combo, those professionals should be removed from their professional gene pools and returned to jobs watering plants, roles for which they are better-suited.
But I'll try again. I'm pretty technologically-saavy. Maybe I was having a bad time before and it will be easy. In that case, I'll withdraw my scathing comments about the culpability of certain usability professionals. Otherwise, I'll continue to gloat that the association didn't select my company for management, a sure sign of ineptitude!
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Schizophrenic
The word for this condition is schizophrenic, that is, a state characterized by the coexistence of contradictory or incompatible elements. That describes my on-again, off-again decision about my car, AKA The Bastard. Having just spent $300 to repair motor mounts, I was almost ready to say I will keep it. But, then, the odor of burnt rubber gave me serious concerns and I decided, with certainty, that I would replace the beast with an as-yet-unknown new or near-new vehicle.
Today, though, at my wife's suggestion (because the odor was so strong as to make us fear the car might begin to burn any moment), I stopped in at the Toyota dealer. Without doing anything more than sniffing, the shop advisor said he was relatively sure it was simply a plastic bag that had gotten entwined on my muffler and that it would, eventually, burn off. "We get this all the time, and this smell is definitely a plastic bag." Now, his assessment may be worth what I paid for it, i.e., nothing, but if he's right, I'm now confronted with the decision again.
Does it make any sense to get rid of the car now, just because it has what I have been told will be a temporary bad odor? Considering the fact that I'm going to have to spent many hundreds of dollars on new frames and a new prescription for my glasses, I'm thinking not.
But I do so like new leather. I like nice, quiet interiors. Last night, two other couples and my wife and I went to dinner...we all went in the Continental Town Car one of the guys had rented while his car is being repaired. The car was quiet, luxurious, smooth...it was like gliding on a quiet ocean in a lushly appointed cabin. Could I like that? Maybe. Probably. But it's too big and expensive and ostentatious for me. I like The Bastard. Sometimes.
Today, though, at my wife's suggestion (because the odor was so strong as to make us fear the car might begin to burn any moment), I stopped in at the Toyota dealer. Without doing anything more than sniffing, the shop advisor said he was relatively sure it was simply a plastic bag that had gotten entwined on my muffler and that it would, eventually, burn off. "We get this all the time, and this smell is definitely a plastic bag." Now, his assessment may be worth what I paid for it, i.e., nothing, but if he's right, I'm now confronted with the decision again.
Does it make any sense to get rid of the car now, just because it has what I have been told will be a temporary bad odor? Considering the fact that I'm going to have to spent many hundreds of dollars on new frames and a new prescription for my glasses, I'm thinking not.
But I do so like new leather. I like nice, quiet interiors. Last night, two other couples and my wife and I went to dinner...we all went in the Continental Town Car one of the guys had rented while his car is being repaired. The car was quiet, luxurious, smooth...it was like gliding on a quiet ocean in a lushly appointed cabin. Could I like that? Maybe. Probably. But it's too big and expensive and ostentatious for me. I like The Bastard. Sometimes.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Beachcomber Vacations
I had an eye exam today, late in the day. Instead of going back to the office, I came home, arriving here about 4:00 pm. Shortly after getting here, I got a call, telling me I'd been selected for a free vacation to one of several destinations of my choice. The call came from Beachcomber Vacations, located in Dallas. I decided to have some fun.
I dutifully answered all the questions, but made a point of acting a bit stupid...and behaving as if I were suspicious, but intrigued by the offer. I was successfully turned over to a closer, who spent a good 30 minutes with me, trying to overcome objections and giving me their load of crap about how all I had to do to get the vacation package was to come to a 90-minute presentation which "absolutely will not be a hard-sales pitch." The woman with whom I spoke finally acknowledged that they would try to sell me membership in their vacation club, but it would be no pressure.
I bit at the bait and said I'd be there. She asked me whether I could be there tomorrow and I said yes. Then she slipped up, continuing on with her abysmally badly written script, saying she would send me a letter with my confirmation number. I said, "hold on, I won't get a letter before I leave to go to the presentation tomorrow!" She stumbled, but recovered nicely by saying she would email or fax it. I gave her my office fax number. Finally, she wanted to verify that my household income was over $40,000. "Finally, there it is," I thought, "the little bit of information they will use to back out if I answer wrong." No, I said, my household income is less than $40,000. Surely it's over $40,000 if you throw in bonuses, stock dividends, savings account interest, etc. No, I replied, it's far below $40,000.
The conversation came to an abrupt end. She quickly said I had to be absolutely sure to bring my confirmation number with me because, without it, I would not be able to claim my vacation. "Please be sure to check your fax to make sure you get it," she said, and if it's not there soon, my colleague will call you to verify." (What?? This person is not doing well trying to get out of this deal.)
I felt good. I had wasted a good 30 minutes of their time and then some. I'm tempted to go to see if they really did fax something to my office...and then actually show up at their sales drill. I'm actually very good at telling hard-sell types that the only reason I'm present is to take their free gift. I'm also good at lying that I taped the entire conversation...and I can quote chapter and verse of the Texas statutes that permit such taping with just one party being aware of it.
I could have some real fun tomorrow!
Before I forget...if Beachcomber calls you, please try to waste their time, if you can!
I dutifully answered all the questions, but made a point of acting a bit stupid...and behaving as if I were suspicious, but intrigued by the offer. I was successfully turned over to a closer, who spent a good 30 minutes with me, trying to overcome objections and giving me their load of crap about how all I had to do to get the vacation package was to come to a 90-minute presentation which "absolutely will not be a hard-sales pitch." The woman with whom I spoke finally acknowledged that they would try to sell me membership in their vacation club, but it would be no pressure.
I bit at the bait and said I'd be there. She asked me whether I could be there tomorrow and I said yes. Then she slipped up, continuing on with her abysmally badly written script, saying she would send me a letter with my confirmation number. I said, "hold on, I won't get a letter before I leave to go to the presentation tomorrow!" She stumbled, but recovered nicely by saying she would email or fax it. I gave her my office fax number. Finally, she wanted to verify that my household income was over $40,000. "Finally, there it is," I thought, "the little bit of information they will use to back out if I answer wrong." No, I said, my household income is less than $40,000. Surely it's over $40,000 if you throw in bonuses, stock dividends, savings account interest, etc. No, I replied, it's far below $40,000.
The conversation came to an abrupt end. She quickly said I had to be absolutely sure to bring my confirmation number with me because, without it, I would not be able to claim my vacation. "Please be sure to check your fax to make sure you get it," she said, and if it's not there soon, my colleague will call you to verify." (What?? This person is not doing well trying to get out of this deal.)
I felt good. I had wasted a good 30 minutes of their time and then some. I'm tempted to go to see if they really did fax something to my office...and then actually show up at their sales drill. I'm actually very good at telling hard-sell types that the only reason I'm present is to take their free gift. I'm also good at lying that I taped the entire conversation...and I can quote chapter and verse of the Texas statutes that permit such taping with just one party being aware of it.
I could have some real fun tomorrow!
Before I forget...if Beachcomber calls you, please try to waste their time, if you can!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Vehicular Veerings
My mechanic smokes pot in his garage. Seriously. I almost asked him to partake in his habit when I went to pick up my car this afternoon.
I'm $300 poorer, but the horrendous shudder and rattle and shake I've been experiencing in my car...gone! The mechanic and his son are honest, inexpensive, and unwilling to bend their personal rules so far as to get in the way of having fun. Hence the pot, I guess. And the photos on the shop walls, people smiling next to huge redfish, tuna, sharks, etc., etc. hanging from hooks next to them. My mechanic is, as his son says, "a fiend about fishing." His father calls himself an addict to fishing. Whatever, they fixed my car, at least a little bit. Their $300 repair would have set me back $1100+ at the dealer.
The shudder is gone, but the odor of burnt tires is not. And so, despite serious, serious misgivings, I am going to get rid of the Bastard. I will replace it with another vehicle, but I'm not sure what just yet. I'm drifting all over the place: small SUV that gets good mileage; pickup truck; luxury sedan; sports convertible; motorcycle; minivan; station wagon; bicycle. For years, I've argued that I should be buying used. I'm still arguing, but I'm arguing with myself. Maybe not. Maybe a full warranty means alot.
I hate, truly hate, taking on a new car with its horrendous payment. I hate equally, though, wondering whether the burnt rubber odor will turn into a broken hose, a broken belt, an under-the-hood-fire. I want my old car, but with assurances. I want guarantees. I've assumed the Bastard would last and last. It's still only 10 years old. It should not do this to me! I feel like setting the motherfucker on fire and breaking its glass with a sledge hammer for being unfaithful to me! I cannot do that, though. I should simply get new tires, say a few words to the beast, and then deal with its infirmities. It's old, after all. I should not throw it out. Mixed, mixed feellings!
So...if I next write about drivin a Mercedes-Benz that has 17" tires and windows all the way around, you'll know what happened.
I'm $300 poorer, but the horrendous shudder and rattle and shake I've been experiencing in my car...gone! The mechanic and his son are honest, inexpensive, and unwilling to bend their personal rules so far as to get in the way of having fun. Hence the pot, I guess. And the photos on the shop walls, people smiling next to huge redfish, tuna, sharks, etc., etc. hanging from hooks next to them. My mechanic is, as his son says, "a fiend about fishing." His father calls himself an addict to fishing. Whatever, they fixed my car, at least a little bit. Their $300 repair would have set me back $1100+ at the dealer.
The shudder is gone, but the odor of burnt tires is not. And so, despite serious, serious misgivings, I am going to get rid of the Bastard. I will replace it with another vehicle, but I'm not sure what just yet. I'm drifting all over the place: small SUV that gets good mileage; pickup truck; luxury sedan; sports convertible; motorcycle; minivan; station wagon; bicycle. For years, I've argued that I should be buying used. I'm still arguing, but I'm arguing with myself. Maybe not. Maybe a full warranty means alot.
I hate, truly hate, taking on a new car with its horrendous payment. I hate equally, though, wondering whether the burnt rubber odor will turn into a broken hose, a broken belt, an under-the-hood-fire. I want my old car, but with assurances. I want guarantees. I've assumed the Bastard would last and last. It's still only 10 years old. It should not do this to me! I feel like setting the motherfucker on fire and breaking its glass with a sledge hammer for being unfaithful to me! I cannot do that, though. I should simply get new tires, say a few words to the beast, and then deal with its infirmities. It's old, after all. I should not throw it out. Mixed, mixed feellings!
So...if I next write about drivin a Mercedes-Benz that has 17" tires and windows all the way around, you'll know what happened.