When I was growing up, I was taught a proper lady does not call boys.
I always thought it was to keep the phone bills low, which worked in everyone's favor. (After all, I used to have to pay my mother 10 cents every time I left the light on after I left a room. A kid learns real quick that way.)
But little did I know my mother knew best. She knew that men are biologically and genetically programmed to pursue women. It's their job. Since the dawn of time, since the first caveman saw a fur-clad cavewoman and clubbed her over the head and claimed her as his own, since women have been women and men have been men. It's how the Y chromosome works, I guess.
I don't remember this per se, but I'm pretty sure a time happened in which it was considered improper for a woman to approach a man with romantic affection, and definitely scandalous and unacceptable for her to offer herself to him. If a man wanted to see a lady, he would tell her that he fancied her, she would put on her gloves, open up her parasol, and they would go for a walk through a meadow. Perhaps he would recite some verses he had penned for her.
In the days of women's lib and burning bras, female CEOs, jet pilots and firefighters, and sperm banks, women can't be stopped. We've come a long, long way from parasols and walking in meadows. Thanks to all those brave women who paved a very smooth road for me. But while I have no problem picking a career path and elbowing men who compete against me, male-female relationships are a constant fascination that really haven't changed that much.
However, in recent generations (not that I was a part of any of those), I think we women have allowed men to become lazy and have allowed them to shirk their responsibilities as the pursuers. In my experience it is a rare, rare thing for a man to initiate much, much less pursue. Here are some examples that I have heard a lot from boyfriends, guy friends, casual acquaintances and male co-workers through the years. Ok girls, don't tell me some of these haven't worked on you. There's no shame.
Category 1: I'm trying to exert the least amount of effort possible.
"Call me sometime."
"I'm open to whatever."
"Text me sometime."
"Call me if you want to do something."
"It's fine if you want to come over."
"Call me if you get bored."
Category 2: I'm pretending to give you control of the situation, but I really just want to use as little brain power as possible.
"We can eat wherever you want."
"I like all the movies playing. You pick."
"You should choose my shirt because I don't know what to wear to that restaurant."
"Just turn the TV to whatever; I watch everything."
Category 3: You're hot enough for me make a 30 percent effort, but you have to come the rest of the way.
"Do you want to go out sometime? Yeah? Great, call me this weekend sometime and let me know what you want to do."
"Would you like to go to do something on Saturday? Yeah? Cool, can you call me Saturday and wake me up? If I don't pick up, can you come over and knock on the door real loud?"
"Hey, come over and we'll catch a movie. Actually, I'll just rent a movie. Actually, I had a free rental from Redbox, so the movie's on me - my treat. Oh, but can you pick up some takeout on your way over?"
Category 4: I pretend I'm doing you a favor, but I really just don't care that much.
"I don't want to pressure a girl, so I let her come to me."
"Girls don't like when guys approach them; they think it's creepy."
"I'm working a lot of things out right now. I don't want to involve her."
"It wouldn't work out; she's better off. She deserves better."
"She's not my type. Why lead her on?"
"I bet she has a boyfriend. They're probably in love. Why cause her pain by trying to break them up?"
I would venture a guess that most men would not perceive too much of this as negative. After all, a guy who lets a girl pick the restaurant, the movie, the TV channel AND his clothes seems ideal to many girls. But not me. My idea of a worthwhile date is when a guy sees me, approaches me, pursues me, and wants to show me a good time. That's his goal and he puts a plan into action. None of this "whatever you wanna do" nonsense. Shift brain into gear, please. What restaurant do you think I would like? Pick a movie you think would make me laugh. That time you cut your finger and I nearly passed out should be a clue not to pick "Saw IV" as our first movie date. That time I said I really like ice cream should be a clue to take me to get ice cream. If I have to hear "So now what do you want to do?" one more time, I am punching someone.
Am I asking too much?
No way.
It takes no effort for a dude to look at a woman, think about her naked, decide he wants to see her naked, and then have her make all the decisions about how fast he can get her naked. Sure, he's "down for whatever." Sure, he's fine with her coming over. He is only required to be conscious to be able to open the door, while she has to get ready, get in the car and drive over. He may or may not be wearing all of his clothes, or be concerned with personal hygiene, but who cares. No effort is required to get her over there. Sure, he likes all the movies playing. That's only two more hours he has to wait until he's closer to the possibility of getting her naked. Want to blow his mind? Don't let him.
I propose a relationship renaissance. Throwback to those times when women walked around with their ankles covered and batted their eyelashes at men. I definitely am not a fan of the layers of petticoats, whale-bone corsets, or arranged marriages, but a little bit of propriety and mystery went a long way once upon a time. Men are programmed to pursue, so let them. It's their job. Don't let them get away with partial effort. You're worth a phone call and a $10 movie ticket. It took me a long time to realize that being pursued is much more gratifying than calling guys, meeting up, having a great time, but then wondering why they weren't calling me. Then finally it dawned on me -- I was doing all the work for them.
I have seen this with tons of friends as well. So many of them are baffled.
I think this is a mistake a lot of women make. They pursue a man -- because they can. Sure, you can. Sure, you have a cell phone. Sure, you have a free Friday night. Hey, it's 2010, right? All of that walking-in-meadow crap is long gone.
No matter what the year is, men are still men, and women are still women. Styles, landscapes, seasons change -- biology doesn't. Emotions don't change. Women still want to be loved, and men still want, uhhh, whatever men want. I am confident men have always wanted -- and still want -- to pursue women, but they feel they don't need to. So they don't.
Guys, I hate to break it to you. I am not your last-minute entertainment. I am not your plans if you have nothing better to do. And I am not your alarm clock. I am not your day planner.
I want to see a little bit of effort. I'm worth it. And I promise it won't go unnoticed.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Let's talk for a moment about courtesy.
Our mothers all taught us the basics about courtesy -- to say please and thank you, to not talk with our mouths full and to not stare at people who look different.
The average person can pull off some semblance of courtesy for the most part. It's a rare person who is just horridly rude, spitting food everywhere and yelling at a waiter for more lemons for his water. We don't encounter too many of those people.
Most people can say please, or at least have a polite tone, when they want something. At the very least, they don't sneer or roll their eyes.
But when a cell phone rings, all rules of courtesy are completely null and void.
I am continuously amazed at how typically polite people go completely into jerk mode as soon as a cell phone vibrates.
I know this has happened to everyone. You are with a friend or colleague, walking along, and his cell phone rings. One second he is semi-engaged in conversation with you. The next second he has completely forgotten you are standing there. After digging in his pants pocket for his phone that is playing an obnoxious song (unbelieveably loudly for no apparent reason), he fumbles and nearly drops it, but finally he flips it open, silences the music and out of breath answers, "Hello? hello? HEYYYY! How's it going! Yeah I can talk. Go ahead. Hello? Can you hear me? Really? You did that? And she said that? That's hilarious! HAHAHAHA!"
At this point, there is no reason for you to continue to stand beside him. You could suddenly start to do a monkey polka dance wearing clown shoes and a mermaid tail and he would have no idea. He has entered Cell Phone Land.
He also has no memory of the previous five minutes you were speaking to him prior to his cell phone ringing. Nevermind that you had just been talking about work he should do to get that promotion, or that he had just promised to bake two dozen cookies for the company party.
Bad cell phone behavior comes in many forms.
I am always amused when a person holds up that one finger to silence me when I attempt to sneak in a few words myself while he or she is on the phone. I'm trying to tell you that you are about to step into a giant puddle of hydrochloric acid, but it is rude to interrupt you while you are on the phone. Sorry about that.
Another aspect of Cell Phone Land is the undeniable volume level of cell phones. Most people I know always have their phones in close proximity -- in their hands, on their ears, in their pockets or purses. Ready to answer lightning-quick as soon as it rings. If that is the case, why turn up the volume so loud? Does your ringtone double as your entertainment? Do you only get to hear the Black Eyed Peas' "Imma Be" when your buddies call you? If I am your involuntary audience, at least let me hear an entire verse of a song five times, instead of "Imma be...im..." each time a text message comes in. This is a plea from a person who values quiet and peace as much as courtesy: If you anticipate several texts in a row, please turn down your ringer.
What is also interesting about Cell Phone Land inhabitants is how they disregard how much the person on the other end of the call can hear. Most current cell phones have excellent sound pickup, and this is great -- and horrifying. Think about the most private times of your day -- showering? Using the bathroom? Singing loudly in the car to the Spice Girls? Your callers could potentially be sharing all of that with you. Most of my friends, at least, are either unusually tolerant or polite to address it with me if I have ever put one of them in that position. But I have been in that position many times. In my time on the phone with friends, I have heard a few toilets flush, which is a zero-tolerance situation for me.
At work I am consistently amazed and simultaneously annoyed when a customer calls and seems to have no regard (or no knowledge) of what comes through the phone line. More than once I have had to ask a person to turn down music so I can hear what he or she is telling me. More than once I have answered a call from a person calling on a landline, and I had to ask the person to silence her cell phone ringing so I could listen to what she was asking for. She seemed genuinely baffled that I was bothered by her obnoxious "feelin' groovy" ringtone playing incessantly.
Just today I picked up the phone and had this conversation:
Caller: Hi, I was "plink" wondering if you could "plink" tell me how I could "plink plink" get a press release "plink" published in your "plink" newspaper.
Me: Sure, let me give you an "plink plink" email address where you can "plink" send that.
Caller: Ok, let me get a "plink" pen.
Me: Ma'am, what is that sound "plink" in the background?
Caller: Oh, that's a piano "plink" being tuned.
For her, that was probably the most natural sound. Maybe she is a music teacher, or a mother of a piano student, or maybe she works for a piano manufacturer. Who knows? I, on the other hand, am none of those things. I was completely distracted by the sound, and when I couldn't figure out what it was, I had to ask. Her tone when she told me a piano was being tuned was matter-of-fact bordering on "duh" with a touch of "you're rude to ask me."
I'M the rude one here? Classic Bon Qui Qui.
And I can't say I've never been guilty of committing any of these. I absolutely have. But realizing how completely bonkers it makes me, I try really hard to be courteous. I turn down my ringtone, especially in public. If I am in conversation with someone and my phone rings, I try to not answer calls unless it is really important. Voicemail was invented for a reason. There is such a thing as face-to-face conversation still.
Nearly everyone has cell phones, and while they are fantastic for so many things, they can also be nuisances. Let's try to be courteous of each other.
Not everyone thinks your Lady Gaga ringtone is nearly as awesome as you do.
Our mothers all taught us the basics about courtesy -- to say please and thank you, to not talk with our mouths full and to not stare at people who look different.
The average person can pull off some semblance of courtesy for the most part. It's a rare person who is just horridly rude, spitting food everywhere and yelling at a waiter for more lemons for his water. We don't encounter too many of those people.
Most people can say please, or at least have a polite tone, when they want something. At the very least, they don't sneer or roll their eyes.
But when a cell phone rings, all rules of courtesy are completely null and void.
I am continuously amazed at how typically polite people go completely into jerk mode as soon as a cell phone vibrates.
I know this has happened to everyone. You are with a friend or colleague, walking along, and his cell phone rings. One second he is semi-engaged in conversation with you. The next second he has completely forgotten you are standing there. After digging in his pants pocket for his phone that is playing an obnoxious song (unbelieveably loudly for no apparent reason), he fumbles and nearly drops it, but finally he flips it open, silences the music and out of breath answers, "Hello? hello? HEYYYY! How's it going! Yeah I can talk. Go ahead. Hello? Can you hear me? Really? You did that? And she said that? That's hilarious! HAHAHAHA!"
At this point, there is no reason for you to continue to stand beside him. You could suddenly start to do a monkey polka dance wearing clown shoes and a mermaid tail and he would have no idea. He has entered Cell Phone Land.
He also has no memory of the previous five minutes you were speaking to him prior to his cell phone ringing. Nevermind that you had just been talking about work he should do to get that promotion, or that he had just promised to bake two dozen cookies for the company party.
Bad cell phone behavior comes in many forms.
I am always amused when a person holds up that one finger to silence me when I attempt to sneak in a few words myself while he or she is on the phone. I'm trying to tell you that you are about to step into a giant puddle of hydrochloric acid, but it is rude to interrupt you while you are on the phone. Sorry about that.
Another aspect of Cell Phone Land is the undeniable volume level of cell phones. Most people I know always have their phones in close proximity -- in their hands, on their ears, in their pockets or purses. Ready to answer lightning-quick as soon as it rings. If that is the case, why turn up the volume so loud? Does your ringtone double as your entertainment? Do you only get to hear the Black Eyed Peas' "Imma Be" when your buddies call you? If I am your involuntary audience, at least let me hear an entire verse of a song five times, instead of "Imma be...im..." each time a text message comes in. This is a plea from a person who values quiet and peace as much as courtesy: If you anticipate several texts in a row, please turn down your ringer.
What is also interesting about Cell Phone Land inhabitants is how they disregard how much the person on the other end of the call can hear. Most current cell phones have excellent sound pickup, and this is great -- and horrifying. Think about the most private times of your day -- showering? Using the bathroom? Singing loudly in the car to the Spice Girls? Your callers could potentially be sharing all of that with you. Most of my friends, at least, are either unusually tolerant or polite to address it with me if I have ever put one of them in that position. But I have been in that position many times. In my time on the phone with friends, I have heard a few toilets flush, which is a zero-tolerance situation for me.
At work I am consistently amazed and simultaneously annoyed when a customer calls and seems to have no regard (or no knowledge) of what comes through the phone line. More than once I have had to ask a person to turn down music so I can hear what he or she is telling me. More than once I have answered a call from a person calling on a landline, and I had to ask the person to silence her cell phone ringing so I could listen to what she was asking for. She seemed genuinely baffled that I was bothered by her obnoxious "feelin' groovy" ringtone playing incessantly.
Just today I picked up the phone and had this conversation:
Caller: Hi, I was "plink" wondering if you could "plink" tell me how I could "plink plink" get a press release "plink" published in your "plink" newspaper.
Me: Sure, let me give you an "plink plink" email address where you can "plink" send that.
Caller: Ok, let me get a "plink" pen.
Me: Ma'am, what is that sound "plink" in the background?
Caller: Oh, that's a piano "plink" being tuned.
For her, that was probably the most natural sound. Maybe she is a music teacher, or a mother of a piano student, or maybe she works for a piano manufacturer. Who knows? I, on the other hand, am none of those things. I was completely distracted by the sound, and when I couldn't figure out what it was, I had to ask. Her tone when she told me a piano was being tuned was matter-of-fact bordering on "duh" with a touch of "you're rude to ask me."
I'M the rude one here? Classic Bon Qui Qui.
And I can't say I've never been guilty of committing any of these. I absolutely have. But realizing how completely bonkers it makes me, I try really hard to be courteous. I turn down my ringtone, especially in public. If I am in conversation with someone and my phone rings, I try to not answer calls unless it is really important. Voicemail was invented for a reason. There is such a thing as face-to-face conversation still.
Nearly everyone has cell phones, and while they are fantastic for so many things, they can also be nuisances. Let's try to be courteous of each other.
Not everyone thinks your Lady Gaga ringtone is nearly as awesome as you do.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Three sets of 10 reps each, and -- what's that guy doing?
A favorite childhood book, and mantra, of mine was "The Little Engine That Could." I appreciated, even at a young age, how the train engine had a goal, and despite obstacles, did everything it could to meet that goal, encouraged by his friends. Albeit the pictures of dolls and clowns and toy soldiers were a bit outdated (who even has toy soldiers anymore?), but the concept remained universally true.
Unfortunately my efforts to apply this concept to my physical exercise routine have fallen short. My spirit is willing but my resolve is so weak. For me, the hardest part of working out is getting in the car and driving the four miles up the road to the local YMCA, which is a great facility, and at which I have a free membership. (Yes, free, but that's another story.) As I drive those four measly miles in the air-conditioned car, flipping through the stations for a song from an artist who at least has a driver's license, I think how lame it is that I'm driving at all, and how I should be able to jog those four miles to the gym. Tons of people have walked or run four miles before I'm even out of REM sleep in the early morning hours. My grandmother has walked miles and miles every morning for as long as I can remember. And I complain about lacing up my sneakers (which, I should add, I just bought as motivation for me to go to the gym more)?
Last night as watched nothing in particular on TV, I whipped up a batch of cookie dough. At my house, cookie dough rarely makes it to the oven. Most of the time I don't bother to turn the oven on. This is a reality I am not ashamed to admit. So, as I absentmindedly ate dough from the bowl with a spoon, I resolved to hit the gym today.
Seriously.
I have to get to the gym.
I feel like a beached whale on this couch.
It's gross.
(But this cookie dough is awesome.)
I am proud to say I did make it to the gym today. I reacquainted myself with the elliptical and the treadmill and did a few miles on each. I figured one big spoonful was equal to one mile, and another half-mile covers the chocolate chips I ate right out of the bag that had no chance of making it into the dough. I looked for a dessert-guilt-lessening gauge between heart rate and distance, but couldn't find one.
As I huff and I puff (note the appropriate pig reference) and burn calories, I like to people-watch. I love to see that all kinds of people come to the YMCA. It really is a family-friendly place, so I see all demographics there. Little kids run around in Dora the Explorer swimsuits, and elderly people have coffee and talk about the good ol' days that included plowing fields as a form of exercise.
I also notice a gym brings out some interesting behavior.
I, like a lot of people, was insecure and self-conscious at first about working out in public. I didn't want everyone looking at me. Are they judging me? What if I do something weird, or wrong, or everyone laughs because I can only do three girly push-ups?
Well I got over that soon enough, but I think for a lot of people, insecurities still plague them.
Take, for example, a man who walks in in a tight t-shirt, sneakers, athletic shorts, and weightlifting gloves. Major swagger. His head is held high. He knows he is yoked. I gotta respect him for the work he has already put into his body, and I sort of want to ask him how much he can lift. I watch him (hoping he doesn't see me, trying not to be creepy or look like I am bucking for a dinner invitation).
He surveys the room, checking out the free-weights and the machines, and he makes a decision.
He stretches. He flexes. He sets the weight.
One rep, two reps, three reps, four.
Stop. Flex. Stretch.
Take a lap around the room.
Get a drink of water.
Check out the girl on the Stairmaster.
Exit through the double doors.
Huh? Just like that, he left. I'm baffled. Surely he's coming back. But he doesn't, at least not in the rest of the time I'm there. Is that really his workout?
I've noticed several people do this sort of thing -- they come in, do maybe 15 minutes worth of work, and leave. I must be missing the chromosome that allows for serious muscle definition with such little work.
Take also the perky blonde in the yellow Victoria' Secret PINK pants who comes in to work out while chatting on her cell phone. I don't know about her friends, but my friends are not interested in hearing me out of breath, jogging on the treadmill, trying to explain EXACTLY what he said and what I thought he meant when he said that and how I feel about what I think he meant when he said it.
Just today I also watched an elderly man shuffle into the workout room, in camouflage-print slippers, survey the equipment (similar to muscular-short-workout guy, but with less swagger), and decide on a stationary bike. He gingerly climbed on, cycled a few times, and reached in his shirt pocket to pull out a cell phone to take a call. He chatted for a few minutes, and continued to cycle.
A few minutes later, I see him again on another machine. On the cell phone.
Who are all these people who can work out and carry on conversations simultaneously? I must not be at that level of physical fitness. It's hard for me to even watch tv without losing my balance, and when the ground is moving underneath me, I need to focus as much as possible.
I also see a lot of teenagers at the gym; I presume a lot of them are student athletes. They mostly just look like they'd rather be somewhere else. As teenagers tend to be insecure and self-conscious as a general rule, I'm not surprised, but I wonder how this environment (a non-threatening YMCA with mostly strangers) compares to a high-school athletic center, filled with spirited competition, raging testosterone and towel-popping.
In addition to these interesting characters, I see many people, young and old, who I respect for seeking active, healthy lifestyles. I strive to be one of them. It takes motivation and hard work for anyone to lose weight, if that is a goal, or just try to be fit, which is mine.
Maybe this year I'll be able to jog that four miles to the YMCA, and four miles back.
And I try to eat cookie dough in moderation; I've switched to a smaller spoon.
Unfortunately my efforts to apply this concept to my physical exercise routine have fallen short. My spirit is willing but my resolve is so weak. For me, the hardest part of working out is getting in the car and driving the four miles up the road to the local YMCA, which is a great facility, and at which I have a free membership. (Yes, free, but that's another story.) As I drive those four measly miles in the air-conditioned car, flipping through the stations for a song from an artist who at least has a driver's license, I think how lame it is that I'm driving at all, and how I should be able to jog those four miles to the gym. Tons of people have walked or run four miles before I'm even out of REM sleep in the early morning hours. My grandmother has walked miles and miles every morning for as long as I can remember. And I complain about lacing up my sneakers (which, I should add, I just bought as motivation for me to go to the gym more)?
Last night as watched nothing in particular on TV, I whipped up a batch of cookie dough. At my house, cookie dough rarely makes it to the oven. Most of the time I don't bother to turn the oven on. This is a reality I am not ashamed to admit. So, as I absentmindedly ate dough from the bowl with a spoon, I resolved to hit the gym today.
Seriously.
I have to get to the gym.
I feel like a beached whale on this couch.
It's gross.
(But this cookie dough is awesome.)
I am proud to say I did make it to the gym today. I reacquainted myself with the elliptical and the treadmill and did a few miles on each. I figured one big spoonful was equal to one mile, and another half-mile covers the chocolate chips I ate right out of the bag that had no chance of making it into the dough. I looked for a dessert-guilt-lessening gauge between heart rate and distance, but couldn't find one.
As I huff and I puff (note the appropriate pig reference) and burn calories, I like to people-watch. I love to see that all kinds of people come to the YMCA. It really is a family-friendly place, so I see all demographics there. Little kids run around in Dora the Explorer swimsuits, and elderly people have coffee and talk about the good ol' days that included plowing fields as a form of exercise.
I also notice a gym brings out some interesting behavior.
I, like a lot of people, was insecure and self-conscious at first about working out in public. I didn't want everyone looking at me. Are they judging me? What if I do something weird, or wrong, or everyone laughs because I can only do three girly push-ups?
Well I got over that soon enough, but I think for a lot of people, insecurities still plague them.
Take, for example, a man who walks in in a tight t-shirt, sneakers, athletic shorts, and weightlifting gloves. Major swagger. His head is held high. He knows he is yoked. I gotta respect him for the work he has already put into his body, and I sort of want to ask him how much he can lift. I watch him (hoping he doesn't see me, trying not to be creepy or look like I am bucking for a dinner invitation).
He surveys the room, checking out the free-weights and the machines, and he makes a decision.
He stretches. He flexes. He sets the weight.
One rep, two reps, three reps, four.
Stop. Flex. Stretch.
Take a lap around the room.
Get a drink of water.
Check out the girl on the Stairmaster.
Exit through the double doors.
Huh? Just like that, he left. I'm baffled. Surely he's coming back. But he doesn't, at least not in the rest of the time I'm there. Is that really his workout?
I've noticed several people do this sort of thing -- they come in, do maybe 15 minutes worth of work, and leave. I must be missing the chromosome that allows for serious muscle definition with such little work.
Take also the perky blonde in the yellow Victoria' Secret PINK pants who comes in to work out while chatting on her cell phone. I don't know about her friends, but my friends are not interested in hearing me out of breath, jogging on the treadmill, trying to explain EXACTLY what he said and what I thought he meant when he said that and how I feel about what I think he meant when he said it.
Just today I also watched an elderly man shuffle into the workout room, in camouflage-print slippers, survey the equipment (similar to muscular-short-workout guy, but with less swagger), and decide on a stationary bike. He gingerly climbed on, cycled a few times, and reached in his shirt pocket to pull out a cell phone to take a call. He chatted for a few minutes, and continued to cycle.
A few minutes later, I see him again on another machine. On the cell phone.
Who are all these people who can work out and carry on conversations simultaneously? I must not be at that level of physical fitness. It's hard for me to even watch tv without losing my balance, and when the ground is moving underneath me, I need to focus as much as possible.
I also see a lot of teenagers at the gym; I presume a lot of them are student athletes. They mostly just look like they'd rather be somewhere else. As teenagers tend to be insecure and self-conscious as a general rule, I'm not surprised, but I wonder how this environment (a non-threatening YMCA with mostly strangers) compares to a high-school athletic center, filled with spirited competition, raging testosterone and towel-popping.
In addition to these interesting characters, I see many people, young and old, who I respect for seeking active, healthy lifestyles. I strive to be one of them. It takes motivation and hard work for anyone to lose weight, if that is a goal, or just try to be fit, which is mine.
Maybe this year I'll be able to jog that four miles to the YMCA, and four miles back.
And I try to eat cookie dough in moderation; I've switched to a smaller spoon.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Satellites and sexy summer braids
Dish Network up and running now. So far I definitely dig it. I think the DVR system is a little more complicated than it should be, though, but I'll get used to it. Thanks to nice technician Randy who set me up, and who wasn't late for the appointment. I feel very triumphant that I have satellite when my association president said I wouldn't be able to get a signal. Booyah, Perky.
In other news, who wasted 100 men's time with this asinine study? I wonder how many men they had to ask before they got more than confused looks and responses of "who cares?"
I'm pretty sure all the men I've ever met have better opinions on more interesting things.
On a related note, I'm thinking of getting a new haircut. So - a question for all my male readers -- what do you think? Shoot me some links and twitpix!
[Crickets...]
Yeah, that's what I thought.
Were you ever so bright and sweet? Did you ever look so nice? --Semisonic
In other news, who wasted 100 men's time with this asinine study? I wonder how many men they had to ask before they got more than confused looks and responses of "who cares?"
I'm pretty sure all the men I've ever met have better opinions on more interesting things.
On a related note, I'm thinking of getting a new haircut. So - a question for all my male readers -- what do you think? Shoot me some links and twitpix!
[Crickets...]
Yeah, that's what I thought.
Were you ever so bright and sweet? Did you ever look so nice? --Semisonic
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Dish and spoons, part 2. Oh, and speaking of spoons.
So, as you all know, I've canceled my Comcast. That was Wednesday. A few interesting things have yet transpired since that fateful day called Wednesday.
Because I am now without cable access, I wonder what I will watch between now and Dish Network-time. But, I still have my DVR box plugged in. So it occurs to me. What has become of all the shows I recorded?
Alas, they are still stored on my DVR. And I can watch them.
Awesome.
But here comes the interesting part.
I had a ton of old episodes of Sex and the City recorded, and I had deleted them all, because I'd seen them a million times. So, imagine my surprise when I next accessed my DVR, and new episodes of Sex and the City had been recorded. How is this happening? In fact, other series recordings I have set up still are recording episodes.
This is both awesome and not awesome. Awesome in the fact that even with my channels inaccessible, I still have crap to watch.
Not awesome in the fact that my cable may not in fact be really, completely shut off, and I'm possibly still being charged.
Fast forward to the next day. I turn the TV on to watch something I've saved. Imagine my surprise (again) when I'm now watching the Fresh Prince of Bel Air on TBS (very funny).
Huh?
Now something is whack. I check to see if other channels work -- they don't. So, what guy in Comcast land thinks it would be funny to mess with me -- to keep recording shows and tease with me with only TBS.
Not sure what I'm going to do about that. the Dish guy comes tomorrow.
So begins another workweek. I had an awesome weekend with friends and movies, at the Belcourt getting pegged by flying plastic spoons during delightfully wretched "The Room" (I totally recommend this) and then at the Nashville Film Festival seeing the complete works of Jamie Travis and then "Hipsters" (also way recommended). I also enjoyed an evening of hilarity at Dave and Buster's, which is a fascinating place in terms of demographics.
Hope everybody has a largely banana-free day. That's what I'm asking for.
Could you lie and say you love me just a little? -- Alison Krauss
Because I am now without cable access, I wonder what I will watch between now and Dish Network-time. But, I still have my DVR box plugged in. So it occurs to me. What has become of all the shows I recorded?
Alas, they are still stored on my DVR. And I can watch them.
Awesome.
But here comes the interesting part.
I had a ton of old episodes of Sex and the City recorded, and I had deleted them all, because I'd seen them a million times. So, imagine my surprise when I next accessed my DVR, and new episodes of Sex and the City had been recorded. How is this happening? In fact, other series recordings I have set up still are recording episodes.
This is both awesome and not awesome. Awesome in the fact that even with my channels inaccessible, I still have crap to watch.
Not awesome in the fact that my cable may not in fact be really, completely shut off, and I'm possibly still being charged.
Fast forward to the next day. I turn the TV on to watch something I've saved. Imagine my surprise (again) when I'm now watching the Fresh Prince of Bel Air on TBS (very funny).
Huh?
Now something is whack. I check to see if other channels work -- they don't. So, what guy in Comcast land thinks it would be funny to mess with me -- to keep recording shows and tease with me with only TBS.
Not sure what I'm going to do about that. the Dish guy comes tomorrow.
So begins another workweek. I had an awesome weekend with friends and movies, at the Belcourt getting pegged by flying plastic spoons during delightfully wretched "The Room" (I totally recommend this) and then at the Nashville Film Festival seeing the complete works of Jamie Travis and then "Hipsters" (also way recommended). I also enjoyed an evening of hilarity at Dave and Buster's, which is a fascinating place in terms of demographics.
Hope everybody has a largely banana-free day. That's what I'm asking for.
Could you lie and say you love me just a little? -- Alison Krauss
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The dish ran away with the cable
So as of Wednesday, April 14, I had finally had enough of Comcast Internet and cable service.
In the weeks and months prior that I weighed my options and pondered my decision to cancel my service, I had engaged a fellow Comcasters to get their feedback about their Comcast experiences, just for some man-on-the-street input. Most of those conversations quickly ended after they said agreed they were paying "outrageous" prices as well, which were often half of what I was being charged. I was always to embarrassed to say "I'm a way bigger schmuck than you!"
Mind you, during this time I had called Comcast to give them a piece of my mind. For a split second, I forgot where I was and expected the customer service rep would have a microscopic shred of concern that I may cancel and thus Comcast would lose me forever as a loyal customer. I even threatened to switch to another provider.
But I was quickly again brought back down to Earth. My concerns for my overpriced services were met with indifference. My options were to downgrade my services or to cancel. The guy was borderline rude, although I tend to have a pretty high tolerance for that in the service industries. After all, I work at a newspaper.
Anyway, as I continued to explore my options for Internet services and the most economic way to how to have way too many channels to watch in a lifetime (who watches the Pentagon Channel?), I decided my best option financially was Dish Network. So, I do a little online research and finally order it and book an installation date for April 15 from 8 a.m. to noon. I'm feelin' pretty good. I'm hoping to have it installed to watch The Office at 8 p.m.
The average consumer -- judging from previous cable-type experiences -- would expect a technician to swing by 10:30 a.m., maybe sippin' a Starbucks latte, in his big van with a ladder on top (has anyone ever seen a cable or dish tech use a ladder?). And I'd say 10:30 is being generous.
At 7:30 a.m., my phone is vibrating. Am I dreaming?
"Hullo?"
"Miss McDonald, this is Travis from Dish Network. What time would you like me to get started?"
"Well, what time can you be here?"
"Oh, I'm sitting outside right now."
So, big-van-with-ladder Travis is parked outside my condo. I'm in my pajamas. What day is this?
So, I tell him to go ahead and get started. What else could I do? I'm not sending the guy away. Somebody is paying him to park outside my place for half an hour -- oh did I mention he is not allowed to start working until 8 a.m.? I hope he brought a Gameboy.
Well Travis just can't win. Turns out, there was an issue with placement of the Dish per my homeowners' association rules, so I ended up sending him away, pending a callback from the association prez, who is awesomely named Perky.
Post-Perky callback later that day, Travis returns to scope out the dish-placement situation. We find a place that would work. So Travis sets up an 8-1-1, which I eventually conclude sets the ball rolling to get a green light from the local utility company for him to dig in the ground (punctured underground gas lines are never much fun). He will have to place a pole about three feet down into my flower bed and attach the dish atop. (Although I used the term "flower bed" very loosely.)
I never dreamed it would be this much trouble to be able to watch Sex and the City reruns more cheaply.
So props to Travis from Dish Network, for his mega-patience today, and for tackling the task of calling customers at 7:30 a.m. It was unexpected for me, definitely, but I think I took it pretty well. Sometime I want to ask him about the awesome reactions he must get from calling lots of people that early. I can only imagine the sheer onslaught of profanity he has no doubt encountered for waking up some exhausted guy with huge tattooed biceps who works third shift at an industrial plant. If I were he, I would probably park the van a little ways away from the guy's house when I made the call.
Next Dish experience is Tuesday. We'll see.
Oh, in other news, I opted to go with Clearwire Internet. The girl brought me the modem. Setup took like 8 seconds. Twelve hours into it, I would recommend it to a friend.
Overall, I am pleased with my decisions thus far. I tend to solicit input from friends when making bigger decisions, especially where I would be entering into a contract. But sometimes I hesitate to offer a blanket "tell me your experience with X company," because I often regret the data I collect. There's always the one person who had a completely harrowing experience with X company, and tells EVERYONE. Personally I think most people's bad experiences are exaggerated. People love to tell me about their worst experiences -- I'd like to hear someone say, "Oh I LOVE X company's services. My sales rep just came over for eggnog last night, actually." I want to hear some really positive things about a company -- reasonable cost, good customer service, fast response time to problems, etc. Something. Anything. Just because your experience resulted in years of therapy doesn't mean mine will. I'm looking for constructive, practical advice, such as "I really like Panera Bread, but their tomato soup is a little bland." Instead of something moronic, overly-dramatic and unhelpful like "Panera Bread stole my youth."
Oh, and thanks, but advising me of the situation three weeks after I've, say, entered into a contract with X company is not going to help me a lot. I can't believe how many times I've told a friend about a recent purchase and I get a "You shouldn't have done that" face. (For you SATC fans, I fondly call that a Nina Katz "the face girl" experience.)
Although -- to be fair, I did get plenty of responses that were useful. So thanks for those.
So, in closing, I am considering a purchase of a new (or used) car or small SUV within the next year. If anyone has bought a Nissan Altima, Honda Accord or a Chevy Trailblazer recently, let me know. If I buy car and then a week later you call and tell me "oh by the way" that one fateful day,while driving your own X car, all the seats unexpectedly came unbolted from the floor, your grandmother was ejected from the vehicle into a nearby haybale, and consequently you rear-ended a school bus of full of children on their way to the state capitol, I won't appreciate it. No more "what a horrible decision you just made!" looks.
You guessed it -- They drive me a little bit bananas.
P.S. Does it sound like I totally want Comcast to be eradicated from the planet? I really don't. Really my only complaint was the price. The actual services weren't bad. If you ask me, I promise I won't tell you Comcast represents secret cells of terrorists and your payments fund euthanasia of Boston terriers. It really is an ok company. No hard feelings here.
In the weeks and months prior that I weighed my options and pondered my decision to cancel my service, I had engaged a fellow Comcasters to get their feedback about their Comcast experiences, just for some man-on-the-street input. Most of those conversations quickly ended after they said agreed they were paying "outrageous" prices as well, which were often half of what I was being charged. I was always to embarrassed to say "I'm a way bigger schmuck than you!"
Mind you, during this time I had called Comcast to give them a piece of my mind. For a split second, I forgot where I was and expected the customer service rep would have a microscopic shred of concern that I may cancel and thus Comcast would lose me forever as a loyal customer. I even threatened to switch to another provider.
But I was quickly again brought back down to Earth. My concerns for my overpriced services were met with indifference. My options were to downgrade my services or to cancel. The guy was borderline rude, although I tend to have a pretty high tolerance for that in the service industries. After all, I work at a newspaper.
Anyway, as I continued to explore my options for Internet services and the most economic way to how to have way too many channels to watch in a lifetime (who watches the Pentagon Channel?), I decided my best option financially was Dish Network. So, I do a little online research and finally order it and book an installation date for April 15 from 8 a.m. to noon. I'm feelin' pretty good. I'm hoping to have it installed to watch The Office at 8 p.m.
The average consumer -- judging from previous cable-type experiences -- would expect a technician to swing by 10:30 a.m., maybe sippin' a Starbucks latte, in his big van with a ladder on top (has anyone ever seen a cable or dish tech use a ladder?). And I'd say 10:30 is being generous.
At 7:30 a.m., my phone is vibrating. Am I dreaming?
"Hullo?"
"Miss McDonald, this is Travis from Dish Network. What time would you like me to get started?"
"Well, what time can you be here?"
"Oh, I'm sitting outside right now."
So, big-van-with-ladder Travis is parked outside my condo. I'm in my pajamas. What day is this?
So, I tell him to go ahead and get started. What else could I do? I'm not sending the guy away. Somebody is paying him to park outside my place for half an hour -- oh did I mention he is not allowed to start working until 8 a.m.? I hope he brought a Gameboy.
Well Travis just can't win. Turns out, there was an issue with placement of the Dish per my homeowners' association rules, so I ended up sending him away, pending a callback from the association prez, who is awesomely named Perky.
Post-Perky callback later that day, Travis returns to scope out the dish-placement situation. We find a place that would work. So Travis sets up an 8-1-1, which I eventually conclude sets the ball rolling to get a green light from the local utility company for him to dig in the ground (punctured underground gas lines are never much fun). He will have to place a pole about three feet down into my flower bed and attach the dish atop. (Although I used the term "flower bed" very loosely.)
I never dreamed it would be this much trouble to be able to watch Sex and the City reruns more cheaply.
So props to Travis from Dish Network, for his mega-patience today, and for tackling the task of calling customers at 7:30 a.m. It was unexpected for me, definitely, but I think I took it pretty well. Sometime I want to ask him about the awesome reactions he must get from calling lots of people that early. I can only imagine the sheer onslaught of profanity he has no doubt encountered for waking up some exhausted guy with huge tattooed biceps who works third shift at an industrial plant. If I were he, I would probably park the van a little ways away from the guy's house when I made the call.
Next Dish experience is Tuesday. We'll see.
Oh, in other news, I opted to go with Clearwire Internet. The girl brought me the modem. Setup took like 8 seconds. Twelve hours into it, I would recommend it to a friend.
Overall, I am pleased with my decisions thus far. I tend to solicit input from friends when making bigger decisions, especially where I would be entering into a contract. But sometimes I hesitate to offer a blanket "tell me your experience with X company," because I often regret the data I collect. There's always the one person who had a completely harrowing experience with X company, and tells EVERYONE. Personally I think most people's bad experiences are exaggerated. People love to tell me about their worst experiences -- I'd like to hear someone say, "Oh I LOVE X company's services. My sales rep just came over for eggnog last night, actually." I want to hear some really positive things about a company -- reasonable cost, good customer service, fast response time to problems, etc. Something. Anything. Just because your experience resulted in years of therapy doesn't mean mine will. I'm looking for constructive, practical advice, such as "I really like Panera Bread, but their tomato soup is a little bland." Instead of something moronic, overly-dramatic and unhelpful like "Panera Bread stole my youth."
Oh, and thanks, but advising me of the situation three weeks after I've, say, entered into a contract with X company is not going to help me a lot. I can't believe how many times I've told a friend about a recent purchase and I get a "You shouldn't have done that" face. (For you SATC fans, I fondly call that a Nina Katz "the face girl" experience.)
Although -- to be fair, I did get plenty of responses that were useful. So thanks for those.
So, in closing, I am considering a purchase of a new (or used) car or small SUV within the next year. If anyone has bought a Nissan Altima, Honda Accord or a Chevy Trailblazer recently, let me know. If I buy car and then a week later you call and tell me "oh by the way" that one fateful day,while driving your own X car, all the seats unexpectedly came unbolted from the floor, your grandmother was ejected from the vehicle into a nearby haybale, and consequently you rear-ended a school bus of full of children on their way to the state capitol, I won't appreciate it. No more "what a horrible decision you just made!" looks.
You guessed it -- They drive me a little bit bananas.
P.S. Does it sound like I totally want Comcast to be eradicated from the planet? I really don't. Really my only complaint was the price. The actual services weren't bad. If you ask me, I promise I won't tell you Comcast represents secret cells of terrorists and your payments fund euthanasia of Boston terriers. It really is an ok company. No hard feelings here.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
It's amazing to me how much people will read blogs about nothing in particular. People blog about the weather. Sometimes people talk about what they did that day, or that they enjoyed a nice spring breeze. Or how the pollen makes them sneeze. Or, maybe a cell phone battery died, or they got a good deal on ground beef. Big freakin' deal.
What I can't understand is why people keep reading. Are you expecting something captivating to stem from a sentence about dandelions in the front yard?
I admit, I sometimes don't have anything really exciting to say. I sometimes blog about my day, like for example, my previous post was about wasps, for pete's sake. I'm not the only person to encounter wasps. Heck, I'm sure a lot of my neighbors have wasps, or other stinging, buzzing insects.
So anyway today was just like any other day. Answered a few calls at work. I suggested a drinking game in which we take shots every time I had to give out the news e-mail address. I guess we publish the e-mail address in the paper 200 times for no reason -- people still call and ask. I'm thinking about doing shots just as I'm typing this. But don't worry. I don't drink and type. I'm a designated typist. I won't get convicted of a TUI or TWI. My typing alcohol level is well below the legal limit. I won't be caught with an open keyboard.
Props to you, reader, for reading thus far. This post has been pretty much about nothing, and it totally proves my point. And yes, I wrote about nothing on purpose. But here's an actual thought:
I learned this week that an friend of mine from way back is engaged, and I had no idea. So, thanks for the update, yo. Although to be fair, I haven't seen him in more than a year. I just randomly came across a photo of them together. Also, he told me about this girl a long time ago, and at the time, he was thinking about dumping her and wanted my advice. So, I guess he decided not to after all. (I really can't recall what I advised, although I can guess...)
I wish them the very best. :-)
But really, people shouldn't ask for my advice nearly as much as they do.
It's total bananas that people listen to me.
What I can't understand is why people keep reading. Are you expecting something captivating to stem from a sentence about dandelions in the front yard?
I admit, I sometimes don't have anything really exciting to say. I sometimes blog about my day, like for example, my previous post was about wasps, for pete's sake. I'm not the only person to encounter wasps. Heck, I'm sure a lot of my neighbors have wasps, or other stinging, buzzing insects.
So anyway today was just like any other day. Answered a few calls at work. I suggested a drinking game in which we take shots every time I had to give out the news e-mail address. I guess we publish the e-mail address in the paper 200 times for no reason -- people still call and ask. I'm thinking about doing shots just as I'm typing this. But don't worry. I don't drink and type. I'm a designated typist. I won't get convicted of a TUI or TWI. My typing alcohol level is well below the legal limit. I won't be caught with an open keyboard.
Props to you, reader, for reading thus far. This post has been pretty much about nothing, and it totally proves my point. And yes, I wrote about nothing on purpose. But here's an actual thought:
I learned this week that an friend of mine from way back is engaged, and I had no idea. So, thanks for the update, yo. Although to be fair, I haven't seen him in more than a year. I just randomly came across a photo of them together. Also, he told me about this girl a long time ago, and at the time, he was thinking about dumping her and wanted my advice. So, I guess he decided not to after all. (I really can't recall what I advised, although I can guess...)
I wish them the very best. :-)
But really, people shouldn't ask for my advice nearly as much as they do.
It's total bananas that people listen to me.
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