I bought a new cable modem a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t particularly need one, but Helaina did and this gave me the excuse of giving her my old one. After shopping around a bit, I ended up buying it from a vendor on eBay. The modem, which had high marks elsewhere, was advertised as “new”, the vendor had a high rating, and the price was right, so I figured, why not?
I placed the order and sure enough, the modem showed up less than a week later. I can’t really ask for better service than that. And it seemed to be new (in that “plain cardboard box that’s been swiped from a new system” kind of way). And most importantly, it works... at least so far.
I wonder how the sellers of things like this get their high ratings? Two out of my three areas of concern were just fine, but the third? Only time will tell. Why would I rate them right now? What if it’s like the used car that quits on me shortly after I drive it off the lot, like when it's fully loaded and I'm heading off for vacation?
I have no reason to expect this to be the case, except that from the moment I clicked the button to complete my transaction, they have peppered me with the “suggestion” that I should purchase the extended warranty. I got my "last chance" reminder today. Is this thing a ticking bomb?
First of all, I’m not big on extended warranties, not when it’s for something like this. This thing should last me a few years and after that, I figure technology will be at a point where I might want to replace it anyway.
But my real problem is, there’s something in their constant prodding that seems to imply, “We just sold you a piece of crap, so you better make sure you're protected.” I wasn’t worried about it when I bought it, but now I feel like they’re telling me I ought to be.
They tout the fact that their extended warranty has “Hundreds of Five- Star Ratings.” Let me get this straight, you're telling me that at least hundreds of people have had to use the extended warranty? You're actually bragging about this? This number doesn’t even count those people that gave the warranty less than five stars. I suspect that number is the substantial one. I know if I was in a position of having to take advantage of a warranty, especially one I had to pay extra for, I would not be in the mindset of writing a glowing, five star review.
This does not exactly instill me with confidence.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Drifting Off
It was a cool night in early spring. The room was dark as he lay in bed. He was alone, and the silence was almost deafening. Gradually, sleep began to wash over him and his thoughts, as they often did, drifted to the past.
He remembered days at the beach with his kids. He remembered weekends running errands and fixing meals. He thinks about the hot, humid summer days- and he can almost feel the dampness of a summer day upon his skin. The smell of cut grass filters through a window that is left open in the hope of catching the faint breeze- the same breeze that brushes against the wind chimes on the front porch. He watches his kids as they play on the living room rug. Their areas are divided into little fiefdoms of Barbies and Legos. Even though the air is warm, he takes comfort that his kids are shielded from the increasingly hot sun outside. The fan that was bought on another hot summer day long ago blows gently over them.
He listens as the breeze outside becomes steadier. It’s almost imperceptible. If he hadn't heard the wind chimes, he might not have noticed it at all. He listens to the steady ding, ding, dinging and walks slowly towards the door; slowly toward the chimes. When he reaches the door, he stops and closes his eyes. “It sounds just like a distant train crossing” he thinks. It surprises him that he’s never noticed it before. With his eyes still closed, he listens harder. He tries to imagine if the train is coming closer or if it going away.
But he can’t tell.
Still, he continues to listen, mesmerized by the steady rhythms that are broken only by the occasional high pitched voices of the kids playing behind him.
As he tries to concentrate, the voices behind him slowly grow louder. He turns to see his kids, now playing in the sand. The rhythm of the chimes have faded into the sound of ocean waves. "How did I get here?", he wonders, "Was I daydreaming?" It takes a minute or two for him to adjust to the surroundings. Not sure, he decides it doesn’t matter. He convinces himself that he must have been daydreaming. At least, he settles for that, only half convinced.
He stands at the water's edge. The heat of the midsummer sun in his face is countered by steady breeze off of the ocean. The sounds of gulls and waves and families surround him all all blend into one. He walks away from the outgoing tide and heads up the beach, closer to the kids that are playing by their towels. Kneeling down, he joins the children who are digging holes- deep holes down to where the sand is wet. The digging leads to building sand castles and the sand castles lead to digging more holes. The children sit in a ring around the edge of the hole and he buries their feet in the cool sand. One by one they pull their feet out with squeals of triumph as this plays out over and over again.
Soon, a small hand reaches for his. Together, they gather buckets and head across the hot sand, down to where pools of cool water are left behind from the receding tide. The child crouches down and watches, finally reaching into the pool for a hermit crab. One after another the crabs are gently placed in the bright colored bucket. From there the crabs are released into the small holes the child has dug just out of reach of the waves. Satisfied that the crabs are are happy in their new home, they go explore the shore. One by one the crabs leave their new home and crawl back to the ocean.
They explore for treasures until they decide to set their buckets down and wade deeper into the cold water. Grasping both of the little hands, he spins the small child from side to side and up and down, making waves with each change in direction. They both laugh. How many more years will they enjoy this, he wonders. The child squeals with delight.
They had been coming to this spot for a few years now, and every year he wonders if it will be their last. Every year he would have a moment of detachment where he would watch the kids and think, “How much longer will they be interested?”
With the child still splashing in the water, he thinks back to the first night they ever spent in the cottage. It had been a long day of driving and unpacking and getting settled- long and filled with excitement. It had been a whole new experience for everyone and now the first day was winding down. The excitement of the day was turning into the kind of excitement that only the night can offer, especially for kids- new surroundings and new shadows cast on the walls of a strange new bedroom. He remembers finally sitting down at the end of the couch as he hears the whispering and giggling coming from the dark of the room over his right shoulder. Before long, his youngest daughter comes prancing out of the dark, into the light of the living room stage. Wearing her little pink sleeper, her head full of curls bobbed side to side as she chattered away. Backstage, still in the darkness of the bedroom, her sister was giggling. He remembers ushering his daughter back to bed, only to have this scene play itself out, over and over again.
What he remembers most though, was the last time she came out of the bedroom and how tired and frustrated he was and how he turned to say something to her. But before he could say anything, the moment seemed gone. Suddenly, he seemed to be an old man, sitting on the couch alone, looking back on a cherished memory from an event that happened many years ago. He clearly remembers feeling the loss, and wishing he could relive that moment again. The sorrow seemed to last for hours. But then, he was back- back to once again usher his daughter into the dark bedroom where her giggling audience awaited her next performance.
Standing in their doorway, the darkness of their bedroom gives way to the darkness of his front porch. There, he sits alone. He listens for sounds in the still night air. "That was a long time ago", he thinks to himself, and he remembers the bedroom from another time. The kids have been gone for a while now. At least he thinks so. They were in college at one point, that much he remembers for sure. But now...? Things seem a little hazy. Some of the kids have moved farther away, this he's pretty sure of. But all of them? Have they started families? He wonders why he can’t remember his grand-kids. He blinks and wonders where in time he is. He tries to figure out what has already happened and what will happen and where he fits into it all.
But the answers don’t come.
He sits alone in the stillness and listens, hoping to hear a sound; hoping to hear anything that will remind him of where he is. When nothing comes, the old man rests his head against his pillow and feels the cool night air against his face. Maybe it doesn't matter, he thinks.
As he drifts off to sleep, a small breeze brushes by and he begins to dream. He dreams he hears the ringing from a train crossing from somewhere far away. And as he dreams, he wonders if the train coming towards him, or if its going away.
He remembered days at the beach with his kids. He remembered weekends running errands and fixing meals. He thinks about the hot, humid summer days- and he can almost feel the dampness of a summer day upon his skin. The smell of cut grass filters through a window that is left open in the hope of catching the faint breeze- the same breeze that brushes against the wind chimes on the front porch. He watches his kids as they play on the living room rug. Their areas are divided into little fiefdoms of Barbies and Legos. Even though the air is warm, he takes comfort that his kids are shielded from the increasingly hot sun outside. The fan that was bought on another hot summer day long ago blows gently over them.
He listens as the breeze outside becomes steadier. It’s almost imperceptible. If he hadn't heard the wind chimes, he might not have noticed it at all. He listens to the steady ding, ding, dinging and walks slowly towards the door; slowly toward the chimes. When he reaches the door, he stops and closes his eyes. “It sounds just like a distant train crossing” he thinks. It surprises him that he’s never noticed it before. With his eyes still closed, he listens harder. He tries to imagine if the train is coming closer or if it going away.
But he can’t tell.
Still, he continues to listen, mesmerized by the steady rhythms that are broken only by the occasional high pitched voices of the kids playing behind him.
As he tries to concentrate, the voices behind him slowly grow louder. He turns to see his kids, now playing in the sand. The rhythm of the chimes have faded into the sound of ocean waves. "How did I get here?", he wonders, "Was I daydreaming?" It takes a minute or two for him to adjust to the surroundings. Not sure, he decides it doesn’t matter. He convinces himself that he must have been daydreaming. At least, he settles for that, only half convinced.
He stands at the water's edge. The heat of the midsummer sun in his face is countered by steady breeze off of the ocean. The sounds of gulls and waves and families surround him all all blend into one. He walks away from the outgoing tide and heads up the beach, closer to the kids that are playing by their towels. Kneeling down, he joins the children who are digging holes- deep holes down to where the sand is wet. The digging leads to building sand castles and the sand castles lead to digging more holes. The children sit in a ring around the edge of the hole and he buries their feet in the cool sand. One by one they pull their feet out with squeals of triumph as this plays out over and over again.
Soon, a small hand reaches for his. Together, they gather buckets and head across the hot sand, down to where pools of cool water are left behind from the receding tide. The child crouches down and watches, finally reaching into the pool for a hermit crab. One after another the crabs are gently placed in the bright colored bucket. From there the crabs are released into the small holes the child has dug just out of reach of the waves. Satisfied that the crabs are are happy in their new home, they go explore the shore. One by one the crabs leave their new home and crawl back to the ocean.
They explore for treasures until they decide to set their buckets down and wade deeper into the cold water. Grasping both of the little hands, he spins the small child from side to side and up and down, making waves with each change in direction. They both laugh. How many more years will they enjoy this, he wonders. The child squeals with delight.
They had been coming to this spot for a few years now, and every year he wonders if it will be their last. Every year he would have a moment of detachment where he would watch the kids and think, “How much longer will they be interested?”
With the child still splashing in the water, he thinks back to the first night they ever spent in the cottage. It had been a long day of driving and unpacking and getting settled- long and filled with excitement. It had been a whole new experience for everyone and now the first day was winding down. The excitement of the day was turning into the kind of excitement that only the night can offer, especially for kids- new surroundings and new shadows cast on the walls of a strange new bedroom. He remembers finally sitting down at the end of the couch as he hears the whispering and giggling coming from the dark of the room over his right shoulder. Before long, his youngest daughter comes prancing out of the dark, into the light of the living room stage. Wearing her little pink sleeper, her head full of curls bobbed side to side as she chattered away. Backstage, still in the darkness of the bedroom, her sister was giggling. He remembers ushering his daughter back to bed, only to have this scene play itself out, over and over again.
What he remembers most though, was the last time she came out of the bedroom and how tired and frustrated he was and how he turned to say something to her. But before he could say anything, the moment seemed gone. Suddenly, he seemed to be an old man, sitting on the couch alone, looking back on a cherished memory from an event that happened many years ago. He clearly remembers feeling the loss, and wishing he could relive that moment again. The sorrow seemed to last for hours. But then, he was back- back to once again usher his daughter into the dark bedroom where her giggling audience awaited her next performance.
Standing in their doorway, the darkness of their bedroom gives way to the darkness of his front porch. There, he sits alone. He listens for sounds in the still night air. "That was a long time ago", he thinks to himself, and he remembers the bedroom from another time. The kids have been gone for a while now. At least he thinks so. They were in college at one point, that much he remembers for sure. But now...? Things seem a little hazy. Some of the kids have moved farther away, this he's pretty sure of. But all of them? Have they started families? He wonders why he can’t remember his grand-kids. He blinks and wonders where in time he is. He tries to figure out what has already happened and what will happen and where he fits into it all.
But the answers don’t come.
He sits alone in the stillness and listens, hoping to hear a sound; hoping to hear anything that will remind him of where he is. When nothing comes, the old man rests his head against his pillow and feels the cool night air against his face. Maybe it doesn't matter, he thinks.
As he drifts off to sleep, a small breeze brushes by and he begins to dream. He dreams he hears the ringing from a train crossing from somewhere far away. And as he dreams, he wonders if the train coming towards him, or if its going away.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
No Cents
I was typing an email to Helaina today and I wanted to use the phrase "2 cents", except I wanted to use the symbol for "cents", instead of the word. Lo and behold, there is no "cent" key on my keyboard. When did this happen? There's still a "$" key. I'm pretty sure old typewriters had a "cent" key on them. Does this have something to do with inflation? Is this related to the Canadians getting rid of the penny?
I feel ripped off.
I feel ripped off.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
A Brief Word
The other day I had nine hits on this blog. That’s nearly an all time high for me (versus my usual daily average of zero). What’s going on? I feel kind of bad. I feel like people are sitting at home searching for something worthwhile but somehow they wind up here. They must sit there dumbfounded as they try to figure out: a) What the hell are they looking at, and b) Why does someone bother to write this stuff.
Unfortunately, I can’t answer either question. All I can do is offer my apologies for you having wasted your time. If it’s any consolation you can rest assured that any attention, however brief, has made me extremely uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, I can’t answer either question. All I can do is offer my apologies for you having wasted your time. If it’s any consolation you can rest assured that any attention, however brief, has made me extremely uncomfortable.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Special Delivery
Well, what do you know. I'm told that I got a package in the mail today. And sure enough, there it is, right over there in that box.
Is it something for the kids?
No.
Something for the garden?
Nope.
...
Well, whatever it is, it's right over there in that box.
It'll be by the door in case I'm looking for it.
...
Is it something for the kids?
No.
Something for the garden?
Nope.
...
Well, whatever it is, it's right over there in that box.
It'll be by the door in case I'm looking for it.
...
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
That's Entertainment
You know what kind of commercials I love? I love those commercials where it is essentially just two people talking, the Informed Consumer and the Complete Idiot. It usually starts with the Complete Idiot taking an interest in something that the Informed Consumer has. The overwhelming desire to GAIN KNOWLEDGE completely takes over Complete Idiot and leads to something like this:
Complete Idiot: "Wow! Where did you get those leather knee pads????"
Informed Consumer: "These? I got these quality knee pads at Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet."
CI: "Where did you get them?"
IC: "Rays! Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet."
CI: " Did you say Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet?"
IC: "Yes, I said Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet."
CI: "Oh! Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet!"
IC: "That's what I said, Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet."
CI: "Well, it looks like I'm heading to Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet!"
This riveting banter eventually leads to either an address or phone number being brought into the conversation, and then the delicate word play is repeated again.
These advertisements could only be produced by THE MOST creative minds in the industry! How else could they be so enjoyable, so entertaining, both on TV as well as over and over again on the radio? They are a special treat to be savored on the ride home after a long, long day at work.
I'm fully aware that, I, as the listener, am fulfilling the role of the Complete Idiot. But I don't resent having the information drilled into my head. Why should I? These people are not only saving me from the embarrassment of having to ask the same stupid question over and over again, they actually serve up the information to me on a silver platter; a silver platter from which I am spoon fed.
Thank-you Madison Avenue for correctly underestimating my intelligence!
Complete Idiot: "Wow! Where did you get those leather knee pads????"
Informed Consumer: "These? I got these quality knee pads at Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet."
CI: "Where did you get them?"
IC: "Rays! Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet."
CI: " Did you say Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet?"
IC: "Yes, I said Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet."
CI: "Oh! Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet!"
IC: "That's what I said, Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet."
CI: "Well, it looks like I'm heading to Ray's Quality Knee Pad Outlet!"
This riveting banter eventually leads to either an address or phone number being brought into the conversation, and then the delicate word play is repeated again.
These advertisements could only be produced by THE MOST creative minds in the industry! How else could they be so enjoyable, so entertaining, both on TV as well as over and over again on the radio? They are a special treat to be savored on the ride home after a long, long day at work.
I'm fully aware that, I, as the listener, am fulfilling the role of the Complete Idiot. But I don't resent having the information drilled into my head. Why should I? These people are not only saving me from the embarrassment of having to ask the same stupid question over and over again, they actually serve up the information to me on a silver platter; a silver platter from which I am spoon fed.
Thank-you Madison Avenue for correctly underestimating my intelligence!
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Better Sit Down for This One
So, I open my refrigerator door and there's no light. "Great", I think to myself, "Now the refrigerator is busted." Then I realized that the light was only blocked because I had so much crap shoved in there.
True Story.
True Story.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Mourning a Loss
Tragedy has struck my household. It appears the mini-DVD player has finally given up the ghost. While "some of us" suspect foul play, I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the nine months of near constant use. Even the most fit among us cannot be expected to run the kind of marathon that this poor little guy did.
Rest in peace champ, you've earned it.
Rest in peace champ, you've earned it.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
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