Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Nothing makes you forget your problems...
I've had a bad week in consumerism. I've had a lot of bad customer service experiences; from movies to meals. It's frustrating to the point of actually writing griping e-mails. The one to AMC theaters, first draft in my mind, reads more like an essay opining on American culture than an actual complaint. I'll probably post it here.
But after a nasty attempt at ordering dinner, I was I was at Rite Aid, buying medicine (Meg's got some sort of whooping cough) and frustrated.
A middle-aged woman, in poor shape physically, was there with her daughter (also in poor shape). This is not a surprise, as the Rite Aid near our house isn't in the most affluent area of our town, which is quaint but by no means terribly affluent.
The woman was telling her daughter that she'd like to buy a heated knee brace, but couldn't until the next day, when her husband's check comes in. Then, the pharmacist told her that the Allegra they needed - that's a prescription I take, for allergies - isn't covered on their insurance. It was, apparently, but her husband's insurance through the Teamsters doesn't cover it anymore. That sucker's $70 a bottle.
So she has to get one pill, for her child, for tomorrow, until the check comes in.
It made me feel like my problems were just a little smaller. Yeah, I'm carrying a very heavy student debt load. But my health insurance covers Allegra, and even if it didn't, I could swing it without having to wait until payday. So I have that going for me, which is nice.
Vonnegut, maybe, said something to the effect of "nothing makes you forget your problems like meeting someone who has worse problems." That's about right.
But, then, in the midst of a shopping trip that was clearly shaped by economic concerns, the woman's daughter notes that "lighters are on sale."
With the right couple of inferences, that does make this woman seem a little bit less sympathetic. If the woman is a smoker, quitting would save money and help (or even eliminate) her daughter's allergies.
So, then, comes the interesting moral dilemma, through which knowledge of self might be gained. How I feel about what I just observed and overheard is fairly complicated, and I won't examine it here (yet). More than anything, though, I just wish that kid didn't have to worry about getting her medicine.
But after a nasty attempt at ordering dinner, I was I was at Rite Aid, buying medicine (Meg's got some sort of whooping cough) and frustrated.
A middle-aged woman, in poor shape physically, was there with her daughter (also in poor shape). This is not a surprise, as the Rite Aid near our house isn't in the most affluent area of our town, which is quaint but by no means terribly affluent.
The woman was telling her daughter that she'd like to buy a heated knee brace, but couldn't until the next day, when her husband's check comes in. Then, the pharmacist told her that the Allegra they needed - that's a prescription I take, for allergies - isn't covered on their insurance. It was, apparently, but her husband's insurance through the Teamsters doesn't cover it anymore. That sucker's $70 a bottle.
So she has to get one pill, for her child, for tomorrow, until the check comes in.
It made me feel like my problems were just a little smaller. Yeah, I'm carrying a very heavy student debt load. But my health insurance covers Allegra, and even if it didn't, I could swing it without having to wait until payday. So I have that going for me, which is nice.
Vonnegut, maybe, said something to the effect of "nothing makes you forget your problems like meeting someone who has worse problems." That's about right.
But, then, in the midst of a shopping trip that was clearly shaped by economic concerns, the woman's daughter notes that "lighters are on sale."
With the right couple of inferences, that does make this woman seem a little bit less sympathetic. If the woman is a smoker, quitting would save money and help (or even eliminate) her daughter's allergies.
So, then, comes the interesting moral dilemma, through which knowledge of self might be gained. How I feel about what I just observed and overheard is fairly complicated, and I won't examine it here (yet). More than anything, though, I just wish that kid didn't have to worry about getting her medicine.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I'm Not On The Train
I moved to a city that has a light rail system, albeit an expensive and not necessarily reliable (hey, even dangerous!) one. Having moved from a city that doesn't have such a system, or any system, really, I am mostly positive about it. With the notable exception that I've caught like 4 colds since the start of the year, almost certainly traceable to the shared breathing situation I'm in for an hour per day, it's been great. Reading on the train, no matter how bumpy, beats stuck in traffic all day every day.
But that's not to say that it isn't a challenge. For one thing, most of my fellow train riders have a less-than-sunny outlook on riding the train. Or going to work. Or something like that. The sighs and long faces I see trundling down the aisle towards me make me self-conscious about my hair, and worried about our national psyche.
I can't make people like their jobs, or like their mornings, or like their lives. I can only hope.
To be honest, though, I don't really hope for them to be happy. That's their choice. I just wish they'd take more showers, not smoke so much, and talk on the phone less. I mean all these things in the least altrusitic way. I'd prefer for them to be clean, healthy, and more desirous of face-to-face communication in their daily lives, but I care more about how these nasty lifestyle traits of theirs affect my train-riding experience. Unfortunately, the average commuter sitting next to, in front of, or behind me on the train has either walked out of a sewer, recently smoked his clothing so as to better preserve it, and/or is loudly talking on his cell phone. Bonus points for the guys with the walkie-talkie feature, the inventor of which I would like to punch in the groin.
But the interesting observation of the day - and please confirm, any of you who ride trains on a daily basis - is that there's a good chance (maybe 90%) that a person who starts a cell phone call while on the train will, in the call's first 10-20 seconds, announce to the party on the other end, loudly, that he or she is on the train. People who ride trains: watch for this. Yeah, it's a function of the mobile phone society; we have no idea where the other person is when we call, and often we're calling to find out exactly that. Or we just want to know. But still, it's fairly obnoxious for a person to announce to a room full of people, on a train, that he is on the train. It does confirm to the party on the other end that he has completed rolling himself in the mud and leaving stale cigars in his coat pockets, I suppose.
That said, I enjoy the train and look forward to riding it to work in the morning. It's overpriced, and it's often late, but it beats driving.
That I haven't adjusted to, sadly. I have a theory that, once one learns to drive in one region of the country, one cannot move to another region without thinking that the drivers in the new region drive like rabid crazed idiots. My adjustment to the driving style of the atlantic states has been rocky at best (New Jersey, I'm looking at you, here).
So, I like the train. A Philly SEPTA commuter on his cell phone is annoying; a Philly car commuter on his cell phone is just plain dangerous.
But that's not to say that it isn't a challenge. For one thing, most of my fellow train riders have a less-than-sunny outlook on riding the train. Or going to work. Or something like that. The sighs and long faces I see trundling down the aisle towards me make me self-conscious about my hair, and worried about our national psyche.
I can't make people like their jobs, or like their mornings, or like their lives. I can only hope.
To be honest, though, I don't really hope for them to be happy. That's their choice. I just wish they'd take more showers, not smoke so much, and talk on the phone less. I mean all these things in the least altrusitic way. I'd prefer for them to be clean, healthy, and more desirous of face-to-face communication in their daily lives, but I care more about how these nasty lifestyle traits of theirs affect my train-riding experience. Unfortunately, the average commuter sitting next to, in front of, or behind me on the train has either walked out of a sewer, recently smoked his clothing so as to better preserve it, and/or is loudly talking on his cell phone. Bonus points for the guys with the walkie-talkie feature, the inventor of which I would like to punch in the groin.
But the interesting observation of the day - and please confirm, any of you who ride trains on a daily basis - is that there's a good chance (maybe 90%) that a person who starts a cell phone call while on the train will, in the call's first 10-20 seconds, announce to the party on the other end, loudly, that he or she is on the train. People who ride trains: watch for this. Yeah, it's a function of the mobile phone society; we have no idea where the other person is when we call, and often we're calling to find out exactly that. Or we just want to know. But still, it's fairly obnoxious for a person to announce to a room full of people, on a train, that he is on the train. It does confirm to the party on the other end that he has completed rolling himself in the mud and leaving stale cigars in his coat pockets, I suppose.
That said, I enjoy the train and look forward to riding it to work in the morning. It's overpriced, and it's often late, but it beats driving.
That I haven't adjusted to, sadly. I have a theory that, once one learns to drive in one region of the country, one cannot move to another region without thinking that the drivers in the new region drive like rabid crazed idiots. My adjustment to the driving style of the atlantic states has been rocky at best (New Jersey, I'm looking at you, here).
So, I like the train. A Philly SEPTA commuter on his cell phone is annoying; a Philly car commuter on his cell phone is just plain dangerous.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
So, yeah.
I don't consider myself to be particularly diva-esque, but I was gently persuaded to pick this back up. I had realized, after long moments of reflection and laziness, that nobody really cared to hear me pontificate, muse and otherwise babble about the goings on of the world, or my part in it.
So, there.
But, for the few of you who still drift back here and whomever you might forward this along to, here we are. Nah, that's crap. For me, here I am.
I'll probably just put on a song - today it's _ by Tv on the Radio - and give it the old one draft, no re-write try.
Here's the latest:
Moving to the downtown part of Philadelphia (they call it "Center City") in August or something.
Still living in a small town on the Delaware River. Nothing is open late; there's one excellent restaurant. It remains a 10-minute drive from any store, movie theater, or other trapping of suburban life. But it sure is quaint.
Kind of.
I live on a fairly urban street - rowhouses, close yards, and the like. And I've noticed that annoying neighbors only get more annoying over time. My next door neighbors, who run a local trash collection business - more Clampett than Soprano - have gone through varying degrees of bothersomeness. I keep meaning to have them investigated by the EPA, given the oxygen tanks in their yard - at least I hope they're oxygen tanks - and doubtless other nasty, nasty stuff that they probably should leave lying around their property like some sort of garage sale.
The warm weather has brought back the People Across the Street Who Stand Outside Talking Loudly and Smoking Newports. We know what brand they smoke because, well, when one goes in the house, another yells, "BRING ME SOME NEWPORTS!" loud enough for us to hear in our house. Which is on the second floor.
And I may very well take out the little rat dog across the street that sits in a third-story window and barks at my dog every. single. them. my dog goes outside to Do His Business(tm). My dog has a fairly severe case of social anxiety disorder, thank you very much, and he's made quite nervous by angry barking. The space outside my foyer is my space, Rat Dog, and if you don't like it, I feel for you. I am now walking my dog past Rat Dog's yard often, with the hopes that he'll start peeing on the trees and light poles on sidewalks near their property. So far, so good. I want Rat Dog smelling my dog's urine in his dreams.
But these are minor annoyances. My place is large, inexpensive and rather quiet, considering. But because "everything's going pretty well" is both a jinx of a statement and a boring post, I thought I'd share the neighbor stores.
I do, also, have a newer bag:
repliedtoall.blogspot.com
There. Until next time.
So, there.
But, for the few of you who still drift back here and whomever you might forward this along to, here we are. Nah, that's crap. For me, here I am.
I'll probably just put on a song - today it's _ by Tv on the Radio - and give it the old one draft, no re-write try.
Here's the latest:
Moving to the downtown part of Philadelphia (they call it "Center City") in August or something.
Still living in a small town on the Delaware River. Nothing is open late; there's one excellent restaurant. It remains a 10-minute drive from any store, movie theater, or other trapping of suburban life. But it sure is quaint.
Kind of.
I live on a fairly urban street - rowhouses, close yards, and the like. And I've noticed that annoying neighbors only get more annoying over time. My next door neighbors, who run a local trash collection business - more Clampett than Soprano - have gone through varying degrees of bothersomeness. I keep meaning to have them investigated by the EPA, given the oxygen tanks in their yard - at least I hope they're oxygen tanks - and doubtless other nasty, nasty stuff that they probably should leave lying around their property like some sort of garage sale.
The warm weather has brought back the People Across the Street Who Stand Outside Talking Loudly and Smoking Newports. We know what brand they smoke because, well, when one goes in the house, another yells, "BRING ME SOME NEWPORTS!" loud enough for us to hear in our house. Which is on the second floor.
And I may very well take out the little rat dog across the street that sits in a third-story window and barks at my dog every. single. them. my dog goes outside to Do His Business(tm). My dog has a fairly severe case of social anxiety disorder, thank you very much, and he's made quite nervous by angry barking. The space outside my foyer is my space, Rat Dog, and if you don't like it, I feel for you. I am now walking my dog past Rat Dog's yard often, with the hopes that he'll start peeing on the trees and light poles on sidewalks near their property. So far, so good. I want Rat Dog smelling my dog's urine in his dreams.
But these are minor annoyances. My place is large, inexpensive and rather quiet, considering. But because "everything's going pretty well" is both a jinx of a statement and a boring post, I thought I'd share the neighbor stores.
I do, also, have a newer bag:
repliedtoall.blogspot.com
There. Until next time.
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