Live in the sunshine

One of my favorite pop albums is Trio, with Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris and Linda Ronstadt. Their harmonizing is just fantastic and it lends depth to each track.

Trio was one of ten tapes I had with me to augment FM radio when I drove across country twice back in the 80s. Let me just say that ten cassettes is not enough to get you through either Texas or Montana.

That to the contrary notwithstanding, here’s one of my favourite songs from this album. I believe it’s applicable to our current situation, and I offer it in honor of the three powerhouse women. And, especially today, Dolly.

Humanitarian aid

News broke this week that millions of people around the world should thank Dolly Parton for funding early research on one of the apparently COVID-19 vaccines to the tune of $1M. The money went to researchers at Vanderbilt University, on whose work Moderna has developed its vaccine, which the company says is about 95% effective at protecting against the virus.

Let me first say that this is one of the many things I despise about big pharma—the fact that so much of their “research” is basically just topping off masses of work done by academic scientists and then marketing the living daylights out of it. When they tell you that their therapeutic for [diabetes, asthma, Multiple Sclerosis, whatever] costs the patients $3,000 per month because they’ve spent all this money on research, that’s largely a crock of moose milk. They pick up exploratory work that was frequently funded by public and private grants and soak everyone for those ads that fill up the magazines and air waves, instructing you to “ask your doctor if [whatever] is right for you.”

That aside, Dolly Parton is a goddam humanitarian treasure, and I love the dickens out of her.

 

Home improvement

Oh, I think it’s time for a customer experience story; I’ve not done one of those in a while, I think.

Actually—let’s have a couple.

I have two bathrooms and a powder room in my house. The toilet in the master bath started running maybe a couple of years ago. Since I haven’t used it since the first night I was here, I just shut off the water. Then, the pull rod in the froofy top-mount flush device in the powder room broke, and I jury-rigged a kludge. That was in March But around April, the flapper started intermittently running, and I thought maybe I should not try to make it through the pandemic with only one toilet working, so I called a company a friend had recommended, Marines Plumbing.

Now, I knew they’d not be cheap—I had them out to give an estimate on installing new faucets in the kitchens and two of the bathrooms (along with a shower head in one of them) in 2018; their quote was ludicrously over the top and I got someone else to do the work.

Also, pro tip: any company with their name and red-white-&-blue artwork painted all over their vans has a lot of overhead. And their customers are footing that bill.

But I wanted to get the work done, so I arranged for them to come out; they gave me a window of two hours. When they blew past the deadline, I called to find out what was up. The chick who answers phones had no idea, but she thought the plumber would be here shortly. And she stopped with that. I had to ask, “Please call him to find out.” She rang back a few minutes later to say that his previous job had run over, and he’d be at my place in [some period of time; I don’t remember].

The kid did eventually show up, and he fixed the toilets competently, for which I was charged $346.67. (I told you they were not cheap.) It was high, but I knew it would be. What pissed me off was that for $350 they should have done a hell of a better job at communicating.

They’ve churned out the follow-up emails, including one wanting me to tell them how [name] did as a plumber. Marines: consider this my answer to your survey.

When I posted this on Facebook, an acquaintance said that the company is usually much better than that, and he could have a word. I replied that he could tell them why they lost my business, but I was not interested in speaking with them. I am done.

Well, currently I’m getting estimates from electricians for adding outlets and another circuit to my kitchen. I spent a week trying to get sense out of Autumn Electric, who have previously done work for me. I liked the guys who came out that time, so I was pretty much ready to just get an estimate and give them the job. But the guy who answers their phones asked a few questions, guessed the number of hours it would take and told me it would be about $650. Well, I’m not comfortable with verbal estimates, especially when someone’s not seen the physical layout, so I asked for someone to come out.

“We don’t send anyone out for a job that’ll cost less than $1000.”

Really?

Eventually, I emailed him photos of the circuit panel, the powder room and the entry hall (which are between the box and the kitchen). And, dear Lord, what a palaver; the company email address he gave me (nothing on their site) bounced, and eventually he gave me his personal/company address. That did not bounce, but neither did I hear anything back from for the next four days.

So I rang him again, early last week. He at first claimed he’d not received the email, so I resent it as we were speaking. Then, oh, yes—he had indeed got the email and tried “several times” to call me. (Rest assured, I have Caller ID and there was no call from Autumn Electric.) Yes, he would send out “Dave” to give an estimate. The earliest Dave could get here is the week commencing 23 November.

I bit my tongue and made the appointment. Then I reached out on Facebook for recos. I got two—a one-man shop and a company recommended by Mr. Marines.

Well, the one-man shop showed up yesterday, made a through inspection, asked me what I want to do (this is an extremely important question to ask; not what do I want, but what am I trying to do) and has gone off to work up a quote.

The other one, Beacon Electric, told me they’d be happy to come out to give an estimate, for $59. So, with one phone call they not only lost my business this time (possibly negligible to them), but forever. Yes, they apply the $59 to the eventual bill; I don't like ransomware of any stripe.) 

And—as with Marines Plumbing—Beacon have also earned my low, low Net Promoter Score, in that I will always tell anyone who asks for a recommendation whom not to call. (Autumn is on the cusp, too.) They may be great technically, but even in “these challenging times” I do not have to reward people who don’t understand the concept of customer service.

 

High flighers

Here are a couple of artifacts from my collection of vanity license plates.

I’m not sure, but I think this Tea Bagger is sweet on a football player? (Tom Brady plays football, right? He doesn’t own the team?)

I shot this one a while ago. I assume the car is registered to a United Airlines pilot. Now I wonder if s/he still has a job?

 

 

Gratitude Monday: Light the way

Ever since I first heard about Diwali from my physical therapist in the Valley They Call Silicon, I’ve celebrated it. I am so grateful for all commemorations of the victory of light over dark. Almost every culture has some sort of festival of lights, of clearing away the debris of evil and turning toward a more perfect future. Humans need these reminders of what we might be if we turn our will to it.

Especially in this age of nihilistic destruction, we need to mark the defeat of darkness. We need to shine light into the abyss and be beacons of kindness, strength and true righteousness.

So here’s my contribution over the weekend.

 

The friendly day shines forth

Here’s what’s been running through my head ever since the election was called for Biden/Harris: “Exsultate, jubilate”, the motet by Mozart. If you don’t know why, here’s a translation of the lyrics:

Rejoice, resound with joy,
o you blessed souls,
singing sweet songs,
In response to your singing
let the heavens sing forth with me.

The friendly day shines forth,
both clouds and storms have fled now;
for the righteous there has arisen
an unexpected calm.
Dark night reigned everywhere [before];
arise, happy at last,
you who feared till now,
and joyful for this lucky dawn,
give garlands and lilies with full right hand.

You, o crown of virgins,
grant us peace,
Console our feelings,
from which our hearts sigh

Alleluja, alleluja

Mozart wrote the piece for a castrato, but these days it’s mostly sung by women. One of my favorites is Cecilia Bartoli, so here she is.

Colors wet and dry

Today I’m honoring the current season with photos of leaves and berries. That’s it; leaves and berries. 

 

 

Homecomings

As I always do around now, I'm thinking of the men and women who serve/have served in our armed forces. And more than in other years, the words "brothers and sisters" come to my mind.  

In this tumultuous time, I’m steering clear of any political slant for my Veterans/Remembrance Day post. I’m instead giving you a video of a colleague of mine as he arrived home from a tour of Afghanistan, and a poem.

First, the colleague; you’ve probably seen this before, but I am so proud to be working with him and all the other vets in my company:

I dare you to watch this without a huge grin on your lips and tears in your eyes.

I normally save poems for National Poetry Month, but Walt Whitman’s “Dirge for Two Veterans” seems right. My other poem today is Walt Whitman’s “Dirge for Two Veterans”. Whitman had an up-close-and-personal view of the War Between the States; he volunteered as a nurse and witnessed some of the worst that could be seen, considering the carnage of that war and the state of medicine at that time.

The grave he describes is a double one: father and son, not an unheard-of event in that particular war.

“Dirge for Two Veterans”

THE last sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,
On the pavement here--and there beyond, it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.

Lo! the moon ascending!
Up from the east, the silvery round moon;
Beautiful over the house tops, ghastly phantom moon;
Immense and silent moon.

I see a sad procession,
And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles;
All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,
As with voices and with tears.

I hear the great drums pounding,
And the small drums steady whirring;
And every blow of the great convulsive drums,
Strikes me through and through.

For the son is brought with the father;
In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell;
Two veterans, son and father, dropt together,
And the double grave awaits them.

Now nearer blow the bugles,
And the drums strike more convulsive;
And the day-light o'er the pavement quite has faded,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.

In the eastern sky up-buoying,
The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd;
('Tis some mother's large, transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)

O strong dead-march, you please me!
O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music;
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.

Global commerce

Twenty years ago when I lived in the UK, there was a whole thing called “Rip-off Britain”. It was all about how Brits are charged over the odds for, well, everything, both goods and services. One of my colleagues told me that the rationale for the stupid prices was that the island is so small and real estate is consequently expensive, so that has to be factored into everything.

Well, maybe, but I was reminded of that this weekend, in a big way.

My friend MLD is a bell ringer in England; she also rings peals on handbells. Both these activities have been curtailed by COVID—there was first the absolute lockdown, and then gatherings were restricted to six people or fewer, with appropriate social distancing. So, for example, her church tower could only ring six of the ten bells, and any handbell socials had to be held outdoors. (In England’s climate, this pretty well restricts things to about seven weeks total.)

Well, now that even those opportunities have been squelched (thanks, never-maskers!), the church towers are silent again and the handbell ringers are attempting remote practices.

Well, MLD does not have a headset, and she’s a little unsure about how to get one, especially since shopping is a mare’s nest these days, so—since I totally screwed the pooch on her birthday in June—I thought this would be something I could easily take care of as I was waiting for my pizza stone to heat on Friday evening.

Naturally, I read some reviews, went on Amazon and found something suitable. Wired, since she doesn’t have Bluetooth.

(Here follows really tacky monetary revelations on my part, so MLD, feel free not to read further.)

AmazonUS told me that the headset costs $30.99 and I could get free delivery to my home by Saturday via Amazon Prime.

Uh—but when I shifted to Amazon.uk, it all changed. The price of the very same headset went from $30.99 to £33.32 ($43.82), it came from some third party and would cost me £3.74, plus VAT on both the merchandise and the shipping. Total: £44.48 ($58.50). Also—it won’t be delivered until Thursday, 12 November.

Look, I am happy to be able to help MLD out with this tech, and in the global scheme of things, the cost is a bagatelle. But to pay just about double for something just because of the UK surcharge is really annoying. If I lived there again, I’d be pissed off about it all the time.

But I’m looking forward to hearing about the handbells-via-Zoom sessions. That’s a good thing.

 

 

 

 

Gratitude Monday: all the things

On this Gratitude Monday…do you even have to ask? 

But if you do, here we go:

I’m grateful that the people’s voices have been recorded and reported, and that Cadet Bonespurs and his kleptocratic, nihilistic administration are getting booted. In their place we have Joe Biden—not my first choice, but really looking like he’s the right person for the times—and Kamala Harris—who was my first choice, and now she’s got four years to learn this side of the government.

I’m grateful that Biden and Harris are already working on plans for dealing with the pandemic, both from a health and an economic perspective. We were never going to get anything out of Bonespurs.

I’m grateful for every person who voted—standing in lines for hours, masked and loaded with water and snacks. And for those who marked their ballots and sent them in via drop boxes and mail boxes in accordance with the law. You people are heroes, one and all.

I’m grateful for the judges who laughed in R lawyers’ faces when they tried to block the lawful operations of the elections.

I’m grateful for one of my colleagues in Vancouver, B.C., who offered to be our Emotional Support Canadian over the past week. I confess I was rather hoping for Paul Gross, but it’s so good to know that our neighbors to the North do not hold the past four years of monumentally bad behavior against us.

I’m grateful to my friend CN and thousands more like her, who phonebanked her heart out right up until Tuesday. This is not something I can do, but I’m deeply thankful for those who performed that critical outreach in a respectful way all through this cycle.

I’m grateful for folks on Twitter who have inspired and consoled their followers for months. I confess that I’m getting a kick out of all the gnashing of Repug teeth over the outcome, being unsurprised at their lawandorder resorting to mob action in ludicrous (though dangerous and scary) attempts to subvert the counting of ballots. It’s really sad how ignorant and selfish millions of my countryfolk are. But right now, I’m just laughing and laughing at the pundits telling 75+ million people that we should give 45 and his followers a few days to “absorb the reality”, and then he/they will concede.

As bloody if.

I’m grateful to world leaders whose congratulations to Biden and Harris started pouring in about 37 seconds after Pennsylvania was called. They clearly had these messages prepped for days, if not weeks, and there’s genuine pleasure behind them. Even Bibi—that’s gotta bite, no? What relief they must be feeling, even though they’ll never be able to fully trust us in the future, not after the past few years. They know how tenuous our grip on democracy and responsibility and accountability is.

I’m grateful for Pennsylvania and especially to Philadelphia, which has been a flippin’ (ha!) dance party since about Wednesday. God bless each and every one of you, your DJs, your masks, your signs and your moves. I had a few dances around my house with you.

I’m grateful for Philadelphia’s mayor, who said on camera that Bonespurs needs to pull up his big-boy pants and move on. He won’t, of course, but hearing about it will send him into a carpet-eating rage.

I’m grateful for the incredible ineptitude of Rudy Giuliani, all the way through the election, clean up to his news conference Saturday at the Four Seasons Total Landscaping Company in Philly—nestled among an adult book store and a crematorium. You just can’t make this shit up, folks; it takes Republicans to do that. (The presser was about the Klepto campaign’s intention to continue fighting vote counts; evidently Rudy Colludi found out that Pennsylvania had been called while he was spewing his rant. Again—can’t make it up.)

I’m grateful that we still have a shot at the Senate. God. Bless. Georgia. I’m disappointed that Collins, Ernst and Tillis have been re-elected, because they’re useless, disgusting excuses for humanoids; you don’t even have to imagine my feelings about Moscow Mitch and Lady G. But Georgia is a gift and I say we focus on that.

While I’m at it, God bless Stacey Abrams.

I’m grateful to the hundreds of people who punked the R’s “voter fraud reporting hotline”, calling up to laugh, mock and just take up their time. (Sorry for the interns and minimum-wage drones who had to take the calls or listen to the voicemails.)

I’m grateful for CNN contributor Van Jones, who summarized the meaning of this presidential election in less than two minutes. Character matters. Decency matters.

This election exposed a lot—we ripped up some floorboards and a bazillion nasty, scuttling and slithering things flowed up into the sunshine. The problems of systemic economic inequity, racism, hypocrisy, sexism and all the other things run so deep. And uprooting them will take so long. But at least we can see those creepy crawlies. They’ve come out and clicked their arthropod claws. We’ve got to fumigate before we can rebuild; disinfect the wound before we can heal; amend the soil before we can grow anything worthwhile in it.

I’m choosing to be grateful for this warning and for the opportunity to keep us moving forward.

That’s a lot of gratitude. And I didn’t think this would be a long post. Huh.