Last Thing I Want To Do Is Hurt You

An Open Letter to AT&T

I'm supposed to be on my third day of enjoying a new iPhone 4S.  Yes, I know, in the grand scheme of things, this is not something to be upset about, the late arrival of a new cell phone.  But it's not about that.  It's about the service I've gotten, which has been uninspired and apologetic.

Better than abusive and counterproductive, I suppose.

The point is this: you're ordering system is broken and your phone support is unable or unwilling to do the job that needs to be done.

Let me break it down on a timeline, so we have our facts straight.

On Friday, October 7, I ordered a pair of iPhones through your website, to ensure that I would get my iPhones on release day.  Seeing as how over 4 million were sold in the first weekend, it seems that I was doing the right thing.  I noticed, however, that the shipping location was set to my old home address.  I have recently moved, and since I get online statements, the address didn't seem important.  I promptly changed the address (evidently called the primary usage location, or some such) with your online system.

I tried to confirm the change a number of times online, but the order system you have doesn't process orders very fast.  Indeed, it told me to wait 24 hours before attemting to contact anyone.

So, I waited.  At the appointed time on Saturday, October 8, I called your order help line, and spoke with a young lady who's name escapes me.  Sharlene perhaps?  Doesn't really matter.  She gave me adequate service, but incorrect information, as it later turned out.  I told her my issue, and asked her to confirm the shipping address for the iPhones.  I was told it was to be my new home address, and I was satisfied.

Well, mostly satisfied anyway.  I still had nagging doubts, because, you see, I've been a customer of yours since 2006 when I was acquired as part of the Cingular buyout.  And so far, I've yet to see an instance where your help line was able to provide me with accurate information about anything.

However, I was set to travel the next day, and my week was pretty hectic, so I trusted the information I had, against my better judgement, mostly because I didn't have the time to follow up a second time.  I guess that makes this whole situation my fault.

I arrived home on Thursday night, October 13, and, attempting to think ahead, I decided to swing by the old house, clean up any mail in the mail box (it's still for sale, you see), and collect any menus, so that the place looked, if not lived in, then at least maintained.  In retrospect, maybe I should have cleared up the dead pigeon and the weeds that night, but I was exhausted, and, anyway, still sort of trusting that you'd actually ship to my new house, again, as your service desk had assured me some 5 days previous.  But not completely trusting, because, to be sure, the only reason I bothered was because I still had a nagging doubt that you'd be shipping to the wrong address.  A suspicion helped along by the fact that the UPS tracking notice said Phoenix, and not Scottsdale.  But, well, Phoenix is Phoenix, and technically my new zip code is in some grey area, so maybe I was jumping at shadows.

Nope.

I watched helpless  on Friday, October 14, as the delivery notification on the UPS tracker flipped over to "attempted to deliver, will attempt again Monday".  What?  Why?  The tracker didn't say I needed a signature, I figured the driver would just leave the packages, and I could just grab them, if indeed the location of the delivery was incorrect.  Which it was.

OK.  What to do next?

I collected my little sticky note from UPS, and brought up the tracker again.  Ah!  I can change the delivery address right here, if the address is incorrect.  No dice, though.  The website says my only option is to Return to Sender.  At no cost, thankfully, but not very helpful.

I called UPS directly.  Guess what?  Apparently, you, AT&T, put a lock on this, so that was my only option.  I can't request they pull it off the truck so I can pick it up the next day, or change the address it will be shipped to the following Monday, because AT&T says so (I'll get to why later*).  Perhaps I should call the shipper and see if I can get that changed, was the only suggestion.  (While this is directed mostly at AT&T, maybe UPS can learn something here, too.)

I called AT&T and spoke to Kenny.  I remember his name because he was exceedingly helpful and pleasant, but ultimately, and through no fault of his own, useless.  Well, except that he changed my primary usage address to the correct one (which I thought I had managed the previous Friday - guess your system isn't working there either). He conferenced me in, and we both called UPS together, to see if we could change the delivery address.  He burned down his call response time for the day waiting on hold with me for UPS to answer.  I know the level of sacrifice this must be, and I thank him for that.  However, nope, the revised story from UPS is now that the shipping department at AT&T has to go through their system directly.  Strikeout.  Kenny puts me on hold to discover that his options to help me are miserable: ship the phones back and then re-order them from an AT&T store is the only way to fix this.  I thanked him for his time.

Remember, all I want to do is change a shipping address on some packages here, so that I can get my phones without having to burn a day sitting at an empty house hoping for the UPS truck to come by.  At this point, I don't even care if it's Monday, or if I have to go to a UPS location for pickup, so long as I can have some control over the delivery.

That avenue having failed, I thought about the next best thing: go to an AT&T store, get some other new phones, and ship these back.  I called the local store.  They cannot help me, because my AT&T account already has my new phones on it, I have to wait for the phones to be returned.

I called customer service back, and explained to Joseph (I think, I stopped bothering with the names of powerless front line call center workers when it became clear that no matter what they try, they can't help) that I was trying to work out a novel solution to a problem that was entirely the fault of AT&T (recall that I had tried to confirm a new shipping address almost a week before this issue).  He said, go down to the store, ask for the manager, and see if the manager can work with you, because what you're trying to do seems perfectly logical, and is really just what we're asking you to do, only on a shorter timeline.  So, I tried that, and was rebuffed.  Kindly, but firmly, rebuffed, in the face of AT&T policies.  Wait for the phones to return to sender, then reorder them.  Of course, the point of my ordering early was so that I could have them on day 1, and not wait as the shipping times go up and up and up, but, hey, whatever.  You don't care.  I get it.

I went home, called UPS again to see if there was anything I could do.  Sign up for MyChoice, was the answer.  Will that help?  That is to say, if I sign up for that, and then I say, ship it here instead, can I do that?  No, UPS will still defer to the sender.  Well, I signed up, and at least I'm getting a shipping window, so instead of burning a day at an empty house, I'll only have to burn most of an afternoon.  But UPS also empowers their drivers to not leave packages where they think they won't be safe.  Which is really working against me here, particularly if the window is wrong, and the driver gets there before me.  And yet, when I try to make the argument that the safe place is my current residence, no dice.  So, I left the sticky note back on the house, with an imploration to the driver to leave the phones anyway, because I'm watching the tracker like a hawk and will be there within 15 minutes of the packages posting as delivered.  And I plan on going down there for the window of time that MyChoice gave me.  But I still don't have much hope, do I?

Let me tell you this, AT&T.  If I don't have my iPhones in my hand by the end of the day today, I will be returning them to sender.  And cancelling my account.  And getting a Sprint or Verizon iPhone, even though the CDMA network is technologically inferior.  And all because you've made your frontline guys completely powerless and tied the hands of your shipper.

 

* One thing I've learned from all of this is that AT&T's policies are there to protect one entity: AT&T.  There is no other reason for the enraging snafu you've left me in, no matter what you may claim to the contrary.  I was fairly certain that was the case beforehand, of course, because putting the onus on me to collect my phones from an inconvenient place at an inconvenient time certainly isn't there to help me.  It's there to prevent fraud that would ultimately come back to AT&T losing money.  Oh, sure, I could be a scam artist trying to collect an extra two phones for nothing, claiming I had phones on the way that went to the wrong place.  Absolutely, someone could hack into my e-mail account and change the delivery address on the phones through the UPS website, or it could just have easily been another scam.  All these things are possibilities.  But the limits and policies you have in place now are so inflexible, and your employees so powerless to assist, that I, a long time customer, am being made to suffer.  I dislike your corporate ethos intensely.  But I guess not that much more than I dislike any other company** any more, because you all do it.  And when you look out of your towers and see citizens demanding your heads because of the way you've done business, remember that this is why: your policies protect no one but your bottom line, and your legitimate customers are treated like dirt.  Whatever loyalty I had left is pretty much gone now.  If you're going to try to rebuild it, better get cracking.

 

** With the exception of Apple, mostly because on every occasion, I have gotten nothing except stellar service, often with novel solutions to issues.  Which is why I'm so hungry for an iPhone, but no longer care what network it's on.

Airline Weasels

Well, it's sort of current affairs, in as much as I got another grope from the TSA. Hooray!

Moving on.

Just had to relay what I consider to be the most impressive weasel maneuver yet perpetrated by the airline industry.

I was all set to fly in to RDU last night, with a stop in St. Louis. I arrive early for my layover, and the first thing I noticed was that my flight out was delayed. A quick check on FlightView confirmed the delay, but that the arrival at RDU would not be affected. We were still expected on time. I pinged the person I was meeting (who was winging his way in from Minneapolis via Atlanta), and let him know the situation. Then I went for a beer, since I had time to spare.

Here's where it gets weaselly.

The flight we were waiting on arrives on time. So, we have our aircraft. What could the delay possibly be? Mechanical issue? No, there's no mechanics swarming around. Weather? No, looks like mostly clear skies in both ends.

Turns out, we are waiting for another connecting flight, so those passengers can make it on this flight.

That's so brilliantly weaselly, I can't even begin to imagine.

Here's why: I can't complain, because if I do, I look petty and selfish. Screw the connecting flight, I need to get to RDU.

On another level, that's not the real reason. If airlines gave two shits about connecting flights, they'd never connect anyone through Atlanta or Chicago or JFK, because those flights are constantly delayed. So the real reason has to be that delaying a flight of 250 passengers for the sake of about a dozen late arrivals (if that) is that the airline doesn't want to deal with 12 people stuck in St. Louis for the night, when they can just delay the last plane into RDU, which has no connections that the airline cares about (e.g. their own connections) and make those 250 other passengers look like whiners if they complain! Sure, the ground crew at RDU gets a little overtime, but that's cheap compared to •appearing• compassionate and not stranding 12 people.

Well, the first deadline comes and goes, and then the second. We finally board, and I watch carefully for the stragglers. How many were there?

5. 6 at best.

6 passengers which, if there was any kind of connection past RDU, would have been left to rot in St. Louis without so much as a by-your-leave.

But because there were none, the airline was more than happy to let 250 other people be late. Not a lot late, oh no. Maybe 45 minutes. Of course, the person I was meeting was inconvenienced. Had to sit around RDU waiting for me. But who cares, right? I got there eventually.

Who am I to complain?

Just Plain Tired

It's not that I don't get enough sleep. Or that I don't get enough exercise. I've just been do stressed the last few weeks that my brain is doing it's usual: telling me to offline so it can parallel process some of the junk out of it's system.

Prague Lost

In Prague this weekend. The thing I love most about the city is it's accessibility. I walked around the city a couple of times, sans map.

Did I get lost? Yes.

But here's the thing: I've never been so fantastically lost before. I live in a world of GPS, of iPhones, of easy access to directions and live searches and always knowing where I am.

Here, my iPhone is offline. I don't have easy access to GPS. I can't use Google Maps to find my way back.

I have been gifted with an exceptional spacial memory, and an excellent sense of direction. That's what I used to find my way back.

On the way, I found the Kepler museum, one room. That's a picture of the fountain in the little atrium outside. I lucked into some amazing scenes on the Charles Bridge around sunrise. I stumbled upon so many memories, I can't remember them all. And I really didn't know where I was anyway. "Walking distance from the Charles Bridge," is about the best estimate I can give you.

In Prague, that could be anywhere.

In Prague, I rediscovered the joy of being lost.

Boredom and Air Traffic Control Delays

I hate ATL. I can never get through there without some delay. Often it's weather. But the last time I was there, the lion's share of the delay was due to Delta giving our plane away to another flight. Thanks, Delta.

And putting one set of flight info kiosks in the middle of a half mile long terminal is, basically, criminal.

So, I avoid it whenever I can. I'm taking Delta to Prague next month. Three separate flights. All have connections. None of them touch Atlanta. Yes, even on Delta.

But I can't avoid it today. Because I actually have to go to Atlanta. No choice. Well, maybe I'll be OK, I thought. After all, I'm usually fine getting to Atlanta. It's getting out that has been my perennial problem. But no, Atlanta is kind enough to give me rain delays.

For comparison, Charlotte, NC, is also having showers. But their flight just left, without delay. Those two airports aren't exactly in different weather zones.

Charles Lindbergh would be rolling in his grave, if he knew that flights were being delayed for a little rain. Weather Channel says light showers. Bit of a mist. A little drizzle. And Atlanta airport comes to a screeching halt.

OK, it's only a 35 minute delay. At the moment, of course. So it could be worse. And I'm sure, in the end, it will be.

I hate ATL.

Dreamscapes

A grassy field, sunken, lined with trees and buildings. A college? Somewhere in California? New England? South Wales? I have no idea why I am there.

I turn, and there, coming towards me, Aleta. I'm confused. When is this? In this alternate reality, I seem to be still involved with her. Married? It seems likely.

No! I scream, in my own head, to no one else. I am not married to her. I am married to my wife.

Aleta advances on me, all smiles, all hugs. Not at all how our last encounter was, back over there in real life. She's happy to see me again. What have I been up to? She's been modelling. "Wait here," I say to her. "I want someone to hear this. Hear what I have to say."

"OK," she says, "I can play the dull and stoic Brit." Whatever that means. We did share a love of British comedy. And we spent our last year together in England. Maybe that's why she said it. Maybe that's where I am. Who cares? It's not where I am, in reality.

Running.

More running, and searching.

There she is, my wife, as she is today, carrying our second child. "It's Aleta," I tell her. "She's here, she says we're still married."

My wife looks at me, expectantly, waiting for me to do something about this mess that I have apparently made for myself. I ask her to come with me, and she does, reluctantly, or mabye just slowly since, well, she's carrying my child.

We make our way back to the grassy bowl. Aleta is still there. I approach her. "This is my wife. She's carrying my second child." Aleta just stares at me. "This is my life now, you and I are over." More stares.

Finally, she starts to rant at me, telling me all the wonderful things she's done since we parted ways, some 12 years ago now. Modelling. Travelling. I stand there and listen. She asks why I would get married again (which is true, this is my second, though Aleta was not my first), knowing how it ended. Makes some strange comparisons, about doing things you know are bad, but doing them anyway. Something about pimples and water. I somehow understand her comparison, but I don't care. I've made my choice and I'm happy.

At this point, I wake up.

Why the hell would I tell anyone such a messed up dream? Because it's the first time, in my dreams, that I told Aleta we were over. I've had dreams about her before, but we were still together. 12 years, two marriages and a kid and a half, and I can finnally tell my treacherous subconscious that it's over. That this, here, what I have when I am awake is truly what I want. I don't want to be back together with Aleta, even in my dreams. Our ending hurt. A lot. For a long time. Trying to fix that hurt as fast as I could probably contributed to the stupidity I exhibited in my first marriage. What Aleta and I had, that was great. The emphasis is on was. And now, my subconscious has caught up, and gotten with the program.

Time heals all wounds. About time, too.  Mostly.

Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood?

Hi there!

Over the last couple of days, I've gotten some new neighbors, and that's fantastic!  I'd love to know why you felt me to be interesting enough to invite me into your inner circle of people . . . leave me a comment!  Or send me a private message!

The Last 48

Let me break down the last 48 hours for you.  It's a rather long tale of just about everything.  You probably don't want to read it.  I'm only writing it here because I need to get it out of my head somehow, and this is as good a place as any.

Wednesday morning started out pretty much like any other.  Well, except that it's Halloween.  I didn't dress up for work.  I didn't know there was any dressing up to do.  Besides, as it turns out, I had work to do.  I got to work to find a defect in our code waiting for me.  It's not a severe one.  Just that the system isn't actually delivering e-mails like it's supposed to.  That was sarcastic.  Delivering e-mails is what my entire life has consisted of for the last 4 weeks.  It's the reason I've been coding, and been totally frustrated by the untested code I've been getting from our other development teams, and by the total lack of proper test data.  Not even data from the parts of the system that are supposed to set up the data has been available until just last week.  The testing so far has been a joke.

Moving on, the e-mail isn't getting sent.  So, we're not actually delivering.  All of a sudden, though, it has been determined by "management" that actually completing a delivery will be a major morale boost to the team, something to get us stoked for the last push to mid-December when we're supposed to be done with all of this.  Well, a morale boost for everyone except the person who has to fix the issue.  Namely me.  You know what would also be a morale boost?  Better test data so we can get our job done before it's an emergency.  Listening to the suggestions of your team members.  Holding the offshore team to the same coding standards that the onshore team is held to.  One of my coworkers lamented the other day that if we delivered code like we're getting from offshore, we'd all have been fired long ago.  Having to do other people's work for them because they're incompetent does wonders for morale.  Negative wonders.  So, naturally, I'm more than a little ticked off that now, all of a sudden, getting the delivery to work is a major priority.  I have tons of other things to do right now, new development deadlines to meet, I am not really interested in boosting the team's morale single-handedly.

I try to get as much done as I can, but, as usual, I have to leave at 4 PM.  It's the kids, and they're still more important than anything this project can give me.  I walk out to find a missing chunk of rubber in the sidewall of my back tire.  I had the front tires replaced last Friday, but I skipped the back tires because they had plenty of tread left on them.  The missing chunk, however, isn't too bad of an issue.  The tire is still inflated, though I can see the "tube" inside.  I decide to take the surface streets home.  This is logical, right?  Anyone who's driven a car for a few years knows that the last place you want to blow a tire is on a freeway, since there's no good place to pull off.  Plus, spinning said tire at 70 MPH or whatever is likely to cause the tire to shred itself rather handily.  I tell carpool buddy of my plan.  We go to leave, and the only road out of the office is packed.  It's a parking lot.  I have no idea why, but it's just motionless in both directions.  Great.  It starts moving slowly, so we join in traffic.  Here's the conversation that ensued in the car:

"Why didn't you turn there?"

"That's the entrance to a freeway.  I'm not getting on a freeway."

"Then how are we going to get over to the 10?"

"We're not.  That's a freeway.  I'm not getting on a freeway."

"But the 10 is how we get to the 51."

"You're right, but we're not getting on the 51, because that's a freeway, and I'm not getting on a freeway.  The tire is damaged.  If I drive at freeway speeds, it will blow out.  I am not getting on a freeway.  Not.  Getting.  On.  A.  Freeway."

"Oh.  But how are we going to get home?"

"Surface streets.  Didn't I explain this to you?  We're not getting on a freeway because of the tire, so we need to take surface streets."  

This is where I entertained thoughts of just strangling her and leaving her in the desert somewhere.

It took me 90 minutes to get home.  90 minutes of listening to carpool buddy complain that it's taking so long.  I don't think I've ever wanted so much to just give up, hand over the keys, and let a backseat driver do whatever the hell she wants and then laugh when she dies in a fiery car wreck.  She doesn't even have a driver's license.  I mean, seriously, I know what the fuck I am doing.  You're welcome to get the fuck out and find a cab if you don't like it.  Once she gets her license, I think I'll just let her take herself to work, and I'll take myself to work, because (a) I don't trust her driving skills at all at this point and (b) I sure as hell don't trust her not to screw me over one day when she's driving me after she gets her license and leave work 45 minutes late causing me to pick up my kids late.  Hell, I don't trust her to understand what I'm telling her 95% of the time now.  I drop her off and tell her I won't be coming in to work tomorrow because of the tire.  Gotta get it fixed, so I may as well stay home, given the time that will take.  I envision dropping the car off, leaving it, coming back a couple hours later to get it, and by then, it's lunch time.  I can easily work from home, so why not?

I get home, and my parents are there with dinner.  They offered to come over and hand out candy so we can take the kids to the mall for trick or treating.  The mall is nice, it's well-lit, and I don't have to worry about cars.  When Lotus gets a little older, we'll do the whole neighborhood thing.  Anyway, I get home and have dinner.  Over dinner, I try to relate the plan for tomorrow morning.  The plan, which I had been formulating for 90 minutes to drown out the images of carpool-buddy-cide, is this: Ladybug takes the kids to daycare as usual in the morning.  It's the first of the month, so I know she needs to stay late, and will need her car.  I'll take the car to my mechanic, and ride my bike home.  Easy to do, because the mechanic is about 2 miles away, and my bike does fine in the trunk.  A brisk ride for me.  When the car is done, I'll ride back, then I'll get the kids.  If the dealership for the Magnum calls with the repair parts (to deal with the accident from before Disneyland), I will drive over to Ladybug's office, swap cars out, take her car to the dealer, get the rental, and then get the kids.  Easy, and very low impact for Ladybug, which I know she needs because the first of the month is always stressful for her.

Here's how far I got in explaining this:

"OK, so, tomorrow, you take the kids to daycare as usual . . ."

"Well, there's nothing else I can really do.  I mean, I have to do that.  I can't help you take your car to the mechanic, because it's the first of the month and I need the car at work, so I really need to just drop the kids off, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah . . ."

Silence from me.  I'm thinking, now, let me get this straight, you interrupted me to tell me you agree with my plan?  I'm already pissed off from dealing with deaf management for the last month and a 90 minute drive with someone who won't listen to me.  I have to deal with taking the car back to the mechanic a scant 5 days since I was last there.  I will have to shell out more cash to deal with this.  I'm frustrated, I'm tired, and I'm taking the kids to the mall without you because you're "not feeling well."  Do you really think this is the best way to handle this?  My temper is about at breaking point, and you've just hit it with a hammer.

I gave up.  I didn't say anything else.  I couldn't.  The next thing out of my mouth would have been, "Well, if you'd just shut the fuck up for 5 minutes and listen to my god damned fucking plan, maybe you'd see that I already took all that crap into account and tried to make a plan that is actually best for you even though it's not ideal for me," so it's probably for the best that I didn't say anything.

She trails off eventually, noticing that I've said nothing.  She asks if I have any other plans.  "Nope.  That's fine.  Whatever."

I take the kids to the mall with my Mom.  We do the whole mall, end to end.  Lotus gets lots of candy and whatnot.  Mom, of course, knows that I'm upset about something.  Moms know these things.  She asks if she can bring over Dad's truck again (like last week).  No, thanks Mom.  I have a plan.  OK, she says, and leaves it at that.  I guess 40 years of dealing with my Dad, who does essentially the same thing when upset, frustrated and tired, has taught her, sort of, when not to press it.

We get home, get the kids to bed, and watch the Heroes we recorded on Monday (we're now caught up with the broadcast run).  I go to my office to sort out some things, and Ladybug follows me in, still spewing ideas about how to manage the car thing.  Maybe she can manage a ride with someone.  In order to get her to just stop, I tell her, "You take the kids and your car.  I take my car with my bike.  I ride home, work, ride back when it's ready, get kids in the evening.  It will have no impact on your day whatsoever.  That's an end to it, I don't want to hear anything else about it."  She gets the picture, and I manage to keep my temper.

Bed.  Sleep.

I clutch the pillow to my chest, covering my mouth, breathing through my nose.  Slowly.

Tesla coughs, whimpers a bit.  I try to leave it alone.  She's done this before, she'll go right back to sleep.

Can't.

Get up, listen at her door, confirm breathing.

Back to bed.  Pillow.  Nose.  Breathe.  

Sleep.

Dreamless, or just unremembered, I don't know which.

Alarm goes off, and I get up, shower, dress in jeans because I'll be riding my bike.  Load up car, take to mechanic.  Turns out he has the tires in the size I need, so he can do the repair in about 20 minutes.  I decide to wait, and then go in to the office instead, since it'll be done fast.  While he's dealing with the tires, he notices the rear brakes are leaking a bit.  He shows me, it's indeed leaking, and not at all a good thing to be leaking.  So, since he has the parts there, I agree to another 30 minutes while he fixes that as well.  All together, about $400.  While he's taking the car off the lift, he notices another leak.  He shows me.  It's just the shock absorber behind the front bumper.  Nothing serious.  He could replace it, but what's the point?  If I hit anything badly enough to make a difference about the absorber, the car isn't worth repairing anyway.  He tells me to just let it leak out.  It'll take a day or two.  I get home, and change shirts, leaving the jeans on, even though it's against dress code.  Given the last day or so, trust me, I don't care if the company raises a stink about my jeans today.

I get in, and there's an issue with the code.  Merging didn't work.  So, we have to merge manually.  I wouldn't care so much, except that the system we have for code versioning is so bad I can never tell when a change I make will trigger a manual merge.  And since they do the merge after 4 PM, there's no way I can be around to help with that.  It's highly de-motivating to me, because I don't want to be the guy who causes these sorts of problems.  The solution is, probably, to simply not make any code changes, which is a very enticing prospect this week.

Also, my code changes didn't fix the problem, even though it worked on my local system.  I have no idea why, and can't determine from the logs where the issue is, so I have to take a shot in the dark.  Meanwhile, Ladybug calls.  Tesla is crying at daycare and won't stop.  No fever, but she's just grumpier than usual.  I agree to leave early (heck, I got in late, why not leave early) to get her.  Ladybug makes an appointment with the doctor for Tesla.  I'll have to take her today.  Means leaving early again.  I don't really care, though.  I can't fix the code problem yet, I'm now days behind in my new code, Ladybug is working late so I am single parenting in the evenings, and every weekend from now to the end of the year is packed with stuff to do.  

I need to get the hell out of this week in one piece.  

There, it's out of my head.

Phew!

Glad that's over with.  Passed the bailout.  The market's back on track, right?  What's that you say?  The Dow dropped below 10,000 for the first time since when?  October 2004?  After opening a full 300 points lower than it was on Friday?  That's fantastic news for all those retirees you told me we had to save with this bailout.  Oh, we have to wait until the Paulson-Bernanke hive-mind figures out what to do with all that money we gave him?  Didn't he already have a plan?  That's why we had to pass it in a panic in less than a week, right?  Because he had to have the money so he could do something!

Fuck you, Congress.

You've fixed nothing.

Here's a little reading for you.

Learning Experience

So, as I mentioned, Lotus heard something and repeated it around the campfire. 

In my defense, our group sounds pretty much like a bunch of drunken sailors by 10 at night.  It wasn't 10, but we were camping, and being rude, and generally acting like, well, a bunch of boys around a campfire.  However, don't ask me how, I forgot that Lotus was sitting on my lap.  She was being very quiet, and, I think, observing her father in a new setting that she hadn't really been exposed to before.  We'd been avoiding the f-bomb, but there were plenty of asses and damns and hells and so on.  She was about to learn a new word though.

Well, the rudeness had just been growing and growing until, frankly, it just exploded.  Someone said I've got a something in my something (I don't remember what), and I rejoined that with the improvised, "Oh yeah?  Well, I've got a cock in my pants."

Deathly silence.  My friend who was chopping onions stops in mid-chop.

Lotus says, loud and clear, in that cute little sing-song voice that she has, "You've got a cock in your pants?"

Explosion of laughter.  Even Ladybug, so I'm not in too much trouble.  Except with myself for letting something like that slip out with my daughter on my lap!

I explained it to her as a, you know, boy chicken.  A rooster.  They're sometimes called cocks, but that it's also a rude way to refer to such a chicken, and she shouldn't use that word unless we're camping.  Hopefully, she won't repeat it.  Hopefully, they won't sing any songs about chickens at school this week. 

Yeah, I'm going to hell.