Yearly Archives: 2009

A Belated Thanks to H-P

Last Monday night, while watching “24,” I received a call from a guy, speaking with an Indian accent, who claimed to work for Hewlett-Packard. He said they were checking on a computer purchased in my name. He asked me if I had a credit card ending in a certain four digits, and I told him I did. He read my billing address. It was correct.

But I was really really suspicious. Would he just continue asking me to verify information? 

I told him I needed to check on some information, and would call him back. Could he give me his number? He did. As our conversation concluded, I sensed some frustration in his voice. 

Then I called Discover and reported the matter. They looked up our charges, and the last five charges were not ours. About $2000 worth. Two were for computers, probably laptops (since they were under $1000)–one from HP, one from Toshiba. Someone opened a Yahoo! Wallet account (which a Discover security woman said was probably a test to see if the card number worked). There were two other purchases–five, altogether.

Discover shut down our account, transferred all account activity (minus the five fraudulent charges) to a new account, and sent us new cards, which arrived Saturday. So we’re back in business. 

As for that HP guy who called? I know why he sounded frustrated. He thought I didn’t believe him. And I didn’t. But if he hadn’t called, we wouldn’t have caught the fraud that early, and many more charges would undoubtedly have been made. Because whoever had our credit card info (and we have no idea how they got it), they were in a spending spree.

Note to HP: for jobs like that, don’t use someone with a foreign accent.

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Books: Three by Robert Parker

parker_3books.jpgDuring the past week I finished three Robert Parker novels. I can make pretty quick work of his books. They’re short, fast-paced, and interesting.

I started with the first Jesse Stone novel. Parker started this series in 1997 about a former LA homicide cop who becomes police chief of Paradise, Mass. I’d read all of them–except for the very first one, Night Passage. Not sure how that happened. Anyway, I finally got caught up (though a new Jesse Stone novel just emerged in paperback). Unlike his other series, Parker writes the Jesse Stone novels in third person. 

Next came Spare Change, about private investigator Sunny Randall. Parker started this series in 1999, and there are six books so far. I’ve read them all. 

Finally, I read Now and Then, the latest Spenser novel. It did a lot of harking back to a book from 20 years ago, when gal-pal Susan married a baddy and required rescuing.

The three series share a number of characters–good, standup cops and noble cons–who started out in Spenser stories. Stone’s captain in LA was Cronjager, whom I’m sure surfaces in several Spenser books. State cop Healy and shooter Vinnie Morris make appearances. In Spare Change, we encounter Martin Quirk, Belson, Healy, and a few other persons we Parker fans already know well. 

Jesse Stone played a big role in Back Story, a Spenser novel from 2003. And the previous Sunny Randall book featured she and Stone solving a crime together, when they aren’t, uh, getting it on. So there’s plenty of cross-pollination, and it makes the books more interesting. Parker has created a lot of fascinating characters. Might as well get more mileage out of them.

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Of Comfort Denied

I’m developing a tradition for my work-free Friday morning: going to a coffeeshop and reading. Nothing revolutionary. And yet, satisfying. I must avoid caffeine, but one large carmel macchiotto or chai a week, supplemented with a cream cheese Danish (which Starbucks returned to its menu, after being exiled during several years of organic elitism), is okay. 

But you also need a soft, thickly-padded chair. Something to sink into while you read. Starbucks has just two such chairs, both clustered together, and they’re always occupied. Last week, two ladies spent the morning chatting meaninglessly in those chairs. I sat on a hard chair at a table, waiting for them to leave, but they refused my persistent ESP signals. Today, two men did the same thing. I ate and drank and read “Crowdsourcing” on a hardwood chair which, I’m sure, violates the Geneva Conventions of coffeeshops.

Several weeks ago, seeing those chairs occupied, I simply moved down the street to a different coffeeshop. Shoulda done that today. Will do it next week. I must, must have a nicely padded chair. It’s a requisite part of the total Friday morning experience I seek, but which has been denied me yeah these past several weeks.

And thus continues the saga of my hardscrabble life infested with deprivation and injustice.

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Good for Mitt Romney

romney.jpgPeople like Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh, Laura Ingraham, and Ann Coulter have no credibility with me, because you’ll never hear them say anything positive about Democrats. No matter what Democrats do, it’s wrong. And if something does go right, it did so in spite of them.

That’s just not how the world works. Democrats do good things, and Republicans do good things. And both do stupid things. There are good motives, and bad motives, on both sides. When someone can acknowledge that, they have credibility in my eyes. (That would be you, Joe Scarborough, Pat Buchanan, David Gregory, Bill Bennett, David Gergen, and even James Carville and–this pains me–Karl Rove.) When they can’t admit anything positive about The Evil Opposition, I write them off as hopelessly partisan. As cemented in a Cowboys and Indians mentality, Good Guys and Bad Guys. As seeing the world in black and white, and unable to recognize grays.

So I appreciate what Mitt Romney said the other night at a GOP fundraiser. After criticizing Obama’s budget, he said, “”I also think it’s important for us to nod to the president when he’s right. He will not always be wrong, and he’s done some things I agree with.”

He will not always be wrong. Did you hear that, Sean and Rush?

For standing up to the auto industry, Romney said, “I hope he continues to be tough and shows some backbone, because that industry is not going to make it unless we have real backbone and get those guys to fundamentally restructure all of their obligations.”

And of Geithner, “I think he’s finally getting close to the right answer.”

Hearing stuff like this, I really don’t think Romney would say, “I hope the President fails.”

Different subject: Notre Dame came under fire recently for inviting Obama to speak at Commencement, since it’s a Catholic school and Obama is pro-choice. I voted for Obama, knowing this was an area in which I disagreed with him. I’m glad the pro-life crowd is creating a ruckus here, just as a good reminder to Obama.

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Twitter Rejuvenated

LoungScreenshot.pngTwitter has been getting lots of press lately.

I opened a Twitter account in October 2007, and put it on my blog, so that my tweets would appear in the sidebar, and so that I could feel with-it. It’s still there, and I am marginally with-it. 

But I was rapidly losing interest in Twitter, with my tweets fewer and farther between. I used a widget to post, so I didn’t need to go to the actual Twitter site. But it still felt like too much effort.

Then, last December, I discovered Ping.fm, which enabled me to post directly from my iChat window, which is always open anyway. And not only post to Twitter, but to Facebook, LinkedIn, Plaxo, and elsewhere at the same time. Very, very simple. 

But even then, I felt alone. I wasn’t following anybody, like a real Twitterer should. It was just me, uttering 140-character proclamations into cyberspace. But during the past week, two things happened that rejuvenated my interest in Twitter.

  • I began experimenting with some other Twitter clients. One of them, Lounge, is wonderful. 
  • I began discovering friends and acquaintances who Twitter, and began actually following people’s Tweets. 26 people so far (and looking for more). 

Lounge is a great way to follow people. I keep the window open all the time, next to my iChat window, and new tweets appear as people submit them. 

So now, I’m using Twitter the way it’s supposed to be used–as a highly efficient time-waster with a user-friendly interface perfectly designed to continually distract me from what I should be doing.

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Sometimes, It’s Hard to Look Macho

PutinBush.jpgWith the G20 meeting going on, I find it suitable to resurrect this precious photo from a previous gathering of world leaders. It always cracks me up. This was from the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation Forum which met in Hanoi in 2006. They take a group photo, and everyone wears attire from the host country. So here we have two macho men, leaders of very powerful countries, trying real hard to cling to any semblance of manhood. The Vietnamese obviously have a sense of humor.

Obama_Lederhosen200.jpgI think the G20 needs a similar tradition. I would like to see them meet in Switzerland or Austria, so that for the group photo, everyone could don lederhosen. I think that would be great. And…isn’t Photoshop a wonderful thing?

They’re actually meeting in England. I don’t know what that means in terms of attire. Will they all insert Austin Power-style teeth? A red jacket? A white barrister wig? Maybe go for the Amy Winehouse look?

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Robo-Pong Woes

Okay, I’m ready to talk about it.

I skipped church Sunday to play in the Newgy Robo-Pong St. Joseph Valley Table Tennis Tournament in South Bend, Ind., and I feel like I got swallowed by a whale for my transgression.

My goal was to knock off one or two players who were higher rated, and thereby improve my rating with the US Table Tennis Association. This was my seventh sanctioned tournament, and my third time at St. Joseph Valley. I got my first rating–995–here in 2007, and won my table in both categories I entered (they put you in a group of four persons, and you play a round-robin, with the winner advancing to the next round). Last year I jumped nearly 200 points, playing probably my best ever in a tournament. My rating jumped from 1107 to 1298.

Then came the Highland tournament last fall. I had been suffering a lot of vertigo, wasn’t practiced up, and stunk up the athletic center. I lost about 50 points.

So this past weekend, I wanted to gain back some of those points. I wanted to at least break past the 1300 mark. I entered three categories, which occurred in this order: under 1625 (at 9 am), under 1500 (noon), and under 1750 (2 pm).

I started out playing a 1500+ player, an Indian fellow named Ruup. He tore me apart the first game, but in the next two games (we play the best of 5) I had a game point in both games. But couldn’t pull it off. Lost 3-0. I missed a lot of shots I normally make.

Then I played a 1434 player, almost 200 points above me. And I WON, 3-1. So that’ll help. Next I played a lesser rated player, around 1170 I believe, and beat him 3-1. So I was pleased. I would gain quite a few points.

In the under 1500, my table included just two other guys, both higher rated. I played badly, and lost to both of them 3-0. I should have at least made it competitive.

Then came the under 1750 category, where I expected to be blown away. All three guys were rated at least 200 points better than me. One guy had beaten me easily in a previous tournament, and he did that again. The other two–I could have beat them. I’ve beaten much better. But they played well, and I didn’t. 

Those last five losses won’t cost me any points, since they were all to high-ranked players. I beat the only lower-ranked player I played in the tournament, and knocked off one high-ranked guy, so I could jump past 300 when ratings are posted in a couple weeks. But I had prime opportunities to do even better, and I blew it.

So, though my rating will improve, I still went away disappointed. I’ve been trying to change some things in my game, and it has left me a bit confused. For now. And it showed. But I know what to work on, and I’ve got plenty of time before the next tournament (probably in September).

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Visit from Kingdom Hall

JWFlyer_front0900.jpgJWFlyer_back900.jpg

Two young men rang my doorball this Saturday morning, scaring Molly into the bedroom. Both were clean cut. The one doing the speaking wore a nice sweater. The other, who didn’t say anything but seemed a bit older, wore a jacket and tie, with a fedora, with the contemporary look that young people manage. 

Sweaterguy said they were ministers in the community, and were inviting people to a special service to commemorate the most important event of the year, Easter. He handed me a full-color flyer. I turned it over and immediately saw the words “Kingdom Hall,” which is what I expected. I took the flyer graciously and thanked them, and they went on. I don’t know if my apparent interest prompted them to put a checkmark beside my address for a follow-up visit. 

Fedoraguy was, I’m sure, the “trainer,” the experienced one of the twosome, while Sweaterguy was the trainee. That’s what my Evangelism Explosion paradigm told me, anyway.

The service is on Maundy Thursday, April 9, at a UAW union hall in Roanoke, 10 miles away. So they’re beating the bushes far and wide. Good for them. Admire the ambition and zeal. I was spending my Saturday morning reading a Sunny Randall mystery.

The flyer notes that there will also be a “special Bible talk” entitled, “Is there a true religion from God’s standpoint?” Wanna guess the answer?

I’m actually quite interested in going, except that we’ll probably have music practice. But I’d like to see their approach. Their outreach tactics. It would be instructional, and blog-worthy.

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The Water Bottle

waterbottle.jpgIn 1981, I watched the first round of the NCAA tournament in the hospital. Which reminds me of my evil nemesis, now vanquished. The Water Bottle.

I’ve always been mechanically inept. For the most part. There are things I can do, including some basic computer hardware stuff, and I’m great at putting up shelving. But for most other things–not so much. 

The premier demonstration of my ineptitude was that infernal water bottle I tried to install on my ten-speed back in high school. It was a white plastic water bottle, with a few pieces of hardware to attach it to the bike. Installation didn’t require an engineering degree. The instructions were clear, or as clear as they can be when written by someone in Japan with minimal English skills. It should have been a simple task. My brother Stu could have done it in three minutes, blindfolded. Upside down. While being kicked by wild horses.

And yet….

And yet….

I couldn’t figure it out. I struggled mightily with that belligerant water bottle, trying to figure out how to attach it to the bicycle bar. I’m sure that, in my frustration, I kicked some things around and perhaps flung the bottle once or twice at the garage wall. My tribulation worked absolute no patience, such was the insidious evil of that bottle.

Finally, I gave up in frustration. The thing simply didn’t work. What other conclusion could I draw? I could not, with even my best effort, conquer the water bottle. It was most assuredly demon-possessed.

For some reason, I kept the bottle around. And there it was, six years later, now a college graduate, when I woke up with back spasms. The pain was intense. I couldn’t make it to the phone to call work, nor to answer it when my coworkers called to see where I was. So I lay there on the floor (I did make it to the floor) for three or four hours before my fellow workers came to check on me and the landlord let them in.

During that time, nature saw fit to call. I could see the toilet, just 10 feet away, but I couldn’t get there. What to do? Well…hold it. But that only works for so long, because nature is relentless, and God designed the human body without an internal evaporation system. So I had to think of something, and as it turned out, I thought of several options, none of them dignified.

Then I noticed the water bottle. Right there beside the bed. Probably never used. Certainly never used for its intended purpose, attached to a bike. Waiting, for such a time as this. My  ill fortunes now created an urgent purpose for that despised container which had so vexed my teenage soul years earlier. Why did I even keep this object of past torment? I don’t know. But now, it provided an answer to a pressing–and let me assure you, it was pressing–need. 

My only concern was–would it overflow? It didn’t. 

An ambulance came and took me to the hospital, where I remained for six days. People went back and forth to my apartment, retrieving my bathrobe and clothes and other stuff. Then I finally came home.

And there, sitting on the bedroom floor, was the white water bottle, cap firmly in place. And that was not Mountain Dew inside, fermenting for the past week.

I emptied it into the toilet, and decided I probably didn’t want to ever ever EVER use that water bottle. So I threw it in the trash.

And so ended the sad, purposeless, unfulfilled, but ultimately critically useful life of The Water Bottle from Hell.

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In Support of Hunters

I’m concerned about America’s hunters. As the National Rifle Association has argued over the years, hunters need assault rifles for their dogged pursuit of Bambi & Friends. But now, we’re told, Mexico’s drug cartels are attending our gun show, buying up all the AK-47s, and taking them back to Mexico. In accordance with supply and demand, the cost of assault rifles is undoubtedly skyrocketing. And America’s innocent hunters are being left in the lurch. I’m not sure exactly where the lurch is, but I’m told it’s none too pleasant.

This jeopardizes an American coming-of-age tradition. When little Johnny becomes old enough to buy his first hunting license and strike out into the woods in pursuit of deer, ducks, or the occasional squirrel, he first must acquire a gun. For that, Dad takes him to a gun shop, or perhaps a gun show. And as we all know, every hunter’s rifle of choice is the AK-47, which liberals want to deprive us of. But now, with the cost so high because of the high demand, Johnny can’t able to afford an AK-47 on his meager newspaper route savings. And he goes away disappointed, crying.

It’s a sad story no doubt being played out across the country. Please, Mr. Obama, stop the drug cartels, so that AK-47s can remain in the hands of Americans.

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