Do Not Not Call

We can switch you for FREE. There aren't many things you can get for free today.

By Don Haring, Jr.

The Federal Trade Commission and Congress think that you should be able to eat your family dinner in peace. Apparently some 50 million plus Americans agree and have registered with the national Do Not Call list. Hogwash. You don't even eat family dinner anymore.

I love getting phone calls from telemarketers. I don't find these calls annoying. I see them as a creative diversion, perhaps because I worked as a telemarketer for three weeks one summer -- the only job I quit in a big ball of flaming wreckage glory, telling the boss, from across the room, that people didn't like us much. He neither agreed nor found it amusing. I think that marketers have every right to call your phone, and you, of course, have the right to greet this call with a big "Fuck off!" should you decide that conversation with your children is more important. (It isn't. They are confused and resentful of you. Especially the second one, who knows he was a mistake.)

Each day for the past few weeks, I have been getting calls from AT&T. Those cats are persistent. Yesterday, I told the woman that I was glad she called because I was so lonely and that I had no friends. She became understandibly uncomfortable. But today I may have set a record; at least a personal record.

Instead of getting off the phone as soon as possible, I tried to keep the caller, Brandon, on as long as I could, regaling him with eccentric behavior and wild talk.

I told Brandon that I wasn't in charge of the phone here (a sure-fire way to get them off your back if you just want to end the conversation there). When he countered with the standard request for the person who WAS I told him that I was that very person. This went back and forth a few times until he just avoided the question all together and got down to business. I admire the tenacity to plow through the confusing roadblocks to blindly stagger forward with the script.

I lamented to Brandon that I had no idea what I paid in phone costs each month, and for all I know it was $800 a month. When asked if this was a business, I told him, "sometimes," and asked that he keep that on the QT since it was all a bit hush-hush. I told him that I make dough, and I enumerated that many things that can be made with dough, namely bread and pizza.

Brandon told me that AT&T owned 90% of the phone lines and I shouted, "90%! How did they get away with THAT?" It sounded like a monopoly to me. I told him that I have a pool boy named Roberto, and that Roberto gets off pretty easy considering I pay him a flat fee and we only have about 6 days of good pool weather here in PA. I asked him about the computer he was using, and what operating system he was using -- followed closely by, "I don't even now what the hell that means! Operating system. I just say that because someone mentioned it at the store." The same was true for chat rooms, which I didn't fully understand but suspected they were a little like the 3-way party line we had on which the lady down the street was always yammerin' away, tying up the line. I asked if he was using a headset and commented that I had the phone tucked between my head and shoulder and that I was already sore. I suggested that he should get a wireless headset, allowing him to walk around the office to discreetly visit the water cooler while still talking to me. I told him about the 150-gallon water tank that I had installed to support my 50-gallon-a-day drinking habit.

I suggested that all participants in their plans should receive a "long-distance caller enthusiasts" magazine, perhaps with lots of pictures of phones. I played some blues music on the slide guitar for him. He said it sounded good. I asked if he wanted to buy some dough. He couldn't. He was at work and could get in trouble for such things.

I asked about all the plans they had, and he detailed them for me while I critiqued each ("25 cents a minute? What people are using THAT plan?"). When asked if I make long distance calls, I said that I make two calls; one to the trucking terminal down the street (to pick up dough and deliver fresh water), and the other to a dear old friend in Juno, Alaska. There was some question as to whether the plan would cover this call. He suggested picking up a few calling cards from 7-11 to cover the cost. I gave him the analogy of paying the milkman $29.95 a month to deliver milk each day and then going out to the 7-11 to also buy milk. He conceded that didn't sound like much of a plan. He didn't ask about the friend in Juno. Smart move.

I told him that I needed about two hours to do some research, that I was going to go down to town hall to ask my state representative about these so-called "AT&T plans". Brandon is going to call back around noon. I told him he'd talk more over lunch.

We talked for 18 minutes.

Rating: Good
http://review.fedora.net/2003/10/do_not_not_call

Overcast Days Destroy My Will To Live

I have a hard time moving quickly when the sun don't shine

By Don Haring, Jr.

My next-door neighbor has a fluorescent light attached to the back wall of his garage. I can see the light from my first floor mudroom, where I am currently forced to sleep because of ongoing renovation in the rest of the house, and my second floor bedroom-converted-to-office/studio. The lamp is light-sensitive and triggers on when the sun goes down.

Window on the world. I've accepted that the harsh blue light from this fixture fills my tired eyes as I try to pass into Sleepworld each night, but I have never seen it illuminated during the day before. Until today.

A light misting rain is currently falling and helping to melt the residuals from a heavy snowfall just under one week ago. I like fallen snow and think that it helps set the stage for winter. If it's going to be cold, there may as well be snow on the ground. I find the rain moderately annoying. I was out in it earlier, using the dog's morning walk as an excuse to buy milk from the only corner store that is open at 8 a.m. Winter rain is no fun at all. My dog doesn't much like it either as evidenced by her hesitation to step out the door.

Under such rain, the sky is uniformly white with no discernable features, like a giant seamless soundstage for my neighborhood. I know the sun is up there somewhere, but the even blanket of low clouds doesn't allow for any clue to its whereabouts. I respond much better when I can see the sun.

In junior high, I worked as a caddy at a country club. I never held any resentment for the people who paid money to belong to the club, but I didn't really understand the desire to make someone carry your own golf clubs. I didn't offer up much in the way of club selection or helpful tactics. I just carried the bag and tended to course etiquette. It was also my job to help golfers retrieve their bags from the trunks of their cars. I did so one afternoon and was met with this question, "I suppose you want a tip."

"That's not necessary, sir."

"Well, I think I've got a tip for you. Never look directly into the sun."

He thought it was funny and I later slept with his wife.*

It was a good tip, though. And I think of it often, especially on overcast days. I like to have the option of looking directly into the sun, even if it's a terrible idea.

* Not true.

Rating: Bad
http://review.fedora.net/2002/12/overcast_days_destroy_my_will_to_live

Overcast Days Destroy My Will To Live

I have a hard time moving quickly when the sun don't shine

By John Gruber

My next-door neighbor has a fluorescent light attached to the back wall of his garage. I can see the light from my first floor mudroom, where I am currently forced to sleep because of ongoing renovation in the rest of the house, and my second floor bedroom-converted-to-office/studio. The lamp is light-sensitive and triggers on when the sun goes down.

Window on the world. I've accepted that the harsh blue light from this fixture fills my tired eyes as I try to pass into Sleepworld each night, but I have never seen it illuminated during the day before. Until today.

A light misting rain is currently falling and helping to melt the residuals from a heavy snowfall just under one week ago. I like fallen snow and think that it helps set the stage for winter. If it's going to be cold, there may as well be snow on the ground. I find the rain moderately annoying. I was out in it earlier, using the dog's morning walk as an excuse to buy milk from the only corner store that is open at 8 a.m. Winter rain is no fun at all. My dog doesn't much like it either as evidenced by her hesitation to step out the door.

Under such rain, the sky is uniformly white with no discernable features, like a giant seamless soundstage for my neighborhood. I know the sun is up there somewhere, but the even blanket of low clouds doesn't allow for any clue to its whereabouts. I respond much better when I can see the sun.

In junior high, I worked as a caddy at a country club. I never held any resentment for the people who paid money to belong to the club, but I didn't really understand the desire to make someone carry your own golf clubs. I didn't offer up much in the way of club selection or helpful tactics. I just carried the bag and tended to course etiquette. It was also my job to help golfers retrieve their bags from the trunks of their cars. I did so one afternoon and was met with this question, "I suppose you want a tip."

"That's not necessary, sir."

"Well, I think I've got a tip for you. Never look directly into the sun."

He thought it was funny and I later slept with his wife.*

It was a good tip, though. And I think of it often, especially on overcast days. I like to have the option of looking directly into the sun, even if it's a terrible idea.

* Not true.

Rating: Bad
http://review.fedora.net/2002/12/overcast_days_destroy_my_will_to_live

The Bagel Tongs at Stop & Shop

A Conspiracy of Depravity

By John Gruber

Our supermarket sells two kinds of bagels. They’ve got ones they bake themselves, which taste like they’re made from the same dough they use for hamburger rolls, and they’ve got ones from Au Bon Pain, set apart in a little Au-Bon-Pain-branded kiosk across the aisle from the aforementioned store-baked bagels.

(Let’s be clear up front that I am not claiming that these Au Bon Pain bagels are any good either, or that they should even qualify as bona fide bagels in the first place. Real bagels are small and chewy and taste like bagels, whereas these ABP bagels are huge, puffy, soft, and taste like toasted bread. But they’re better than the store-made jobbies, and they’re all we’ve got.)

There are nearly a dozen varieties, each species in its own clear acrylic bin, and the lid on each bin is clearly and prominently labeled “Please Use Tongs”. Beneath the matrix of bins is another, larger sign, admonishing us once again to use the tongs, along with a threatening reminder: “State law prohibits the use of hands.”

This all makes sense, you might be thinking. You don’t have to be a germophobe to oppose bare-handed bagel-bin rustling. But these tongs at the Stop & Shop are disgustingly filthy. Filthy, I say.

The tips of the tong-arms are covered with some sort of moist, brown sediment. My best guess is that it’s residue from some of the “fruitier” varieties of bagel, like Cranberry Walnut. Who the fuck is eating Dutch Apple with Streusel bagels, anyway?

Whatever this crud is, it would hardly be more revolting if the tongs were covered with ants. And trust me, you do not want to peep inside the cubby hole where the tongs are stored. Trust me.

I would sooner use a pair of dirty socks to touch my food than use these tongs. And indeed, despite all the “Use the Tongs” propaganda at the Stop & Shop Au Bon Pain bagel kiosk, there is a tissue paper dispenser under the tongs. I, of course, use the tissue paper. But every time I pick up a bagel, I wonder if it has been touched by those tongs. This dictates how I choose my bagels -- I pick from the back, looking for the bagels which appear least likely to have been contaminated.

For the love of cream cheese, someone ought to report these tongs to the FDA or EPA. Or at the very least, the store manager. Not me, of course. I’m not a complain-to-the-manager sort of guy.

Rating: Bad
http://review.fedora.net/2002/07/the_bagel_tongs_at_stop_shop