Civic lessons

Spring 200l. Ben and the Civic
en route to the Senior Prom.

It is said you should never love anything that can’t love you back but I love a 1997 red Honda Civic coupe that isn’t even mine. It belongs to my oldest son, Ben, who will turn – Oh God It Can’t Be – 32 next week.

It was purchased from a used car lot in Danbury, Conn., on a snowy Saturday 15 years ago. For months Ben had been claiming he was the only kid in his junior class who didn’t have his own car. I didn’t buy that story – surely at least one of his 200-plus classmates was equally deprived and had to take the school bus – but I did break down and buy him the car which was three years old and had only 11,000 miles on it. 

Ben immediately accessorized the car with four lighted valve stem covers that made the wheels appear to glow as they turned – perfect for an inner-city pimp but not for a boy in a town like Wilton, Conn. He kept them on the car for, maybe, a week. His second purchase, on which he spent every penny he earned working that summer, was a stereo system so elaborate it took up most of the car’s already limited trunk space.  

One Spring afternoon his senior year he was driving the car home from school. His friend Fred was in the passenger seat and our youngest son, Stuart, was in the back when an enormous buck ran out of the woods and onto the road ten feet in front of them. Realizing he was about to be hit, the buck decided to leap over the car but didn’t make it. He crashed through the windshield, his head landing on the console between Ben and Fred. None of the boys were hurt but the deer, who was still kicking, had to be dragged out of the car and shot by the police. My wife’s knees buckled when we went to see the car that night. The front end was smashed in, the windshield – thank you God for safety glass – had shattered into a million pieces but held, and both the exterior and interior were drenched in deer blood and covered with deer hair. The insurance adjuster said he could either declare the car a total loss and Safeco would write a check for its value, or we could see if the car could be repaired. Ben wanted it repaired. And it was.

Three months later an elderly driver sideswiped the car. Once again, the Civic was nearly totaled. Once again, Ben opted to have it repaired.

Ben started college at the University of Michigan in the fall of 2001. Michigan didn’t allow freshmen to bring cars, so the Civic sat in our driveway for a year until our youngest son got his license. Ben ultimately decided he didn’t need the car at all in Ann Arbor. He said it would be a hassle not to mention expensive to find parking, so Stuart drove it until he went off to a college that also didn’t allow freshmen to bring cars.

In 2005, Ben started law school in Philadelphia. It would have cost a fortune to park the Civic in Philly. He didn’t need it there anyway so it stayed in our driveway.

My wife and I bought a Florida vacation house the same year, so we commandeered the Civic for use as our Florida wheels. The car had lost its hubcaps, so I went to Wal-mart and paid $9.99 for a set of four plastic ones.

One night we met friends for drinks, then followed them to an upscale Naples restaurant that offered valet parking. Attendants rushed to open the doors of our friends’ Jaguar but ignored us. After waiting several minutes for someone to at least acknowledge us, I parked the car myself and saved $5 in tips.

In 2007, we sold our first Florida house and bought a new one in a country club community that required residents and guests to pass through not one but two sets of manned gates. When we showed up behind the moving van, the guards refused to believe that anyone driving a ’97 Civic with Wal-mart hubcaps – two were missing by then – could possibly afford to live there and treated us shabbily. We complained to the management company which instructed the snooty guards to let us in, but for months we were constantly being stopped by the “Privacy Patrol” whose members assumed that anyone driving a car like that didn't belong in the community.

Ben graduated from law school in 2008 and reclaimed the car, taking it with him to Washington, D.C., where he had accepted a job. He got married two years ago and last March, he and his wife, Heidi, became the parents of a baby boy. Ben drove Heidi in the Civic to the hospital, where their son, Teddy, was safely delivered five weeks early.

That night Ben and Stuart, who also lives in D.C., were at Ben’s house smoking celebratory cigars when Ben received a call that Teddy had been rushed cross-town to a children’s hospital with respiratory problems. The doctors weren't sure he was going to make it. Ben jumped in the Civic and headed for the hospital. Not being sure where it was, he got lost along the way – a story that brought a lump to my throat when I thought about my boy driving around a big city at midnight, lost and frantic with worry about his own boy.

Spring 2014: Ben brings
Teddy home from the hospital in the Civic.

Three weeks later Teddy came home from children’s hospital in the Civic.

Today, the Civic spends 99.9999 percent of its time outside Ben and Heidi's Washington townhouse in a parking lot it shares with two Mercedes, a Lexus, three BMWs, two Cadillacs and an Audi.  Only one hubcap remains and it’s pretty much disintegrated.  The “University of Pennsylvania Law School” sticker on the back window has faded. Nobody following the car would believe an Ivy-educated lawyer could possibly be behind the wheel but he or she would be wrong. Ben has always been practical and unconcerned about what anyone thinks. He says says it's perfect for the occasional trip to the supermarket or Home Depot, which is all they need a car for in the city.

Heidi picked my wife and me up at the D.C. airport yesterday in the Civic. Teddy was in his car seat in the back. There’s a “Baby On Board” sticker in the window just like the one we had on our Volvo station wagon when his daddy was a baby.

I drove Ben and Heidi to the airport in the car this morning. They're taking a weekend vacation for the first time since Teddy's arrival. We’re having a wonderful time with our grandson. He especially loves the little red car Santa brought him that lights up and plays songs.

I‘ve told Ben I hope the Civic will someday be Teddy’s and you know what? It just might. At 18, it only has 75,000 miles on the odometer; the body and interior are in decent shape (the upholstery was replaced after the collision with the deer), and the transmission shifts as smoothly as it did the day we drove it home from Danbury.

For 15 years that little red Civic has provided safe passage through the world for the people I love the most and I can't help but love it for that.

If that sounds strange, so be it. 

Teddy behind the wheel of his little red car.

Another day in Spamalot

This morning, as usual, I checked my email. Here are some highlights:

The Executive Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria writes that, “John T. Kehoe of 122 Fitch Way, Sacramento, CA 95864 visited this bank yesterday with a power of attorney given by your good self, granting him the benefit to process and claim your inheritance of $7,000,000.00 (Seven Million United States Dollars) for personal reasons.”

I’m thrilled my Nigerian uncle remembered me in his will – he always promised he would – but write back that I have never trusted that bastard John Kehoe and that any power of attorney he is presenting was obtained by fraudulent means. I send him my bank information -- Swift code, routing number and account number -- and tell him to wire it directly to Wells Fargo.

My local Infiniti dealer writes, “Thomas, don't forget your Infiniti may be due for service!”

I reply, “Actually, it’s past due but I won’t be visiting your dealership again. Last time I took the car in for an oil change I received one of those email surveys asking me to rate the ‘experience.’ I gave you an ‘outstanding’ in every category – even snacks, which was a lie because offering Tostitos at 9 a.m. doesn’t rate as outstanding in my book; I would have preferred a Krispy Kreme or something more time-appropriate. Within an hour of sending the survey I received a vitriolic email from your service manager berating me for not assigning a ‘Truly Exceptional’ rating to every question. So from now on I’ll be taking the car to Valvoline which doesn’t send bogus surveys”.

2@jobhleping.pl writes, "Prosze o mozliwosc przeslania informacji o kredytach dia firm, bez zaswiadczen z ZUS, US, Kredyt wyliczany na podstwaie dochodo, lub przyodua."

How gullible does he think I am? I reply, “請，能夠發送有關貸款業務信”

A message from Ropes & Gray headlined “Court Notification” gets my attention:  “Please take notice that you have to come to the hearing of your case that will be held in the Arkansas court of Appeals on January 23th, 2015. The subject of the hearing – illegal use of software. Your attendance is required. You may download the detailed pretrial notice, you are highly recommended to study it thoroughly in advance.”

I call American and Southwest but there’s no way I can get to Arkansas today – all flights are sold out.  I call my Arkansas counsel, the Rose Law Firm, and learn that my regular attorney, Hillary Rodham, isn’t in. I write back that I plan to petition the court for a continuance. 

Rural King, the big box retailer that sells windmills, tractors and other farm-related stuff, recently and inexplicably opened a store in my suburban tropical neighborhood -- I was the only customer last time I stopped in for free popcorn. They've written to notify me about a "FLASH SALE: Titanium Drill Bits 50% Off Today Only!" 

I reply that I don’t know what a Titanium Drill Bit is but thanks for thinking of me.

Twitter -- I signed up for an account years ago but only used it once or twice because it’s even dumber than Facebook -- keeps trying to get me interested in using its service by sending email about Twitter messages that are “popular in your network” (whatever that means. I don’t have a network). Today’s is from the Rev. Al Sharpton who tweets, “Meeting in NYC with LA Clippers Owner Steve Ballmer (Microsoft confounder) on diversity in sports/tech industries.”

Al, if you tweeted you were meeting with Ballmer to see if he’ll lend you the money to pay the millions you reportedly owe in back taxes … that you are sorry your race-baiting led to the suicide of a white policeman you accused of raping Tawana Brawley who later admitted she made the whole story up … or that you have realized the cable news channel on which you appear every night is America’s version of Pravda … all of those insights might be newsworthy. Until then, you can delete me from your “network.” I would have said all of that and more but couldn’t say it in 140 characters or less which is why I don't use Twitter in the first place.

Larry Edelson of Money & Markets has written an urgent message inviting me to watch his latest video, “When the Dow hits 31,000+ in 2016, How Rich Will You Be?”

I write back that I have no idea how rich I’ll be when the Dow doubles. All I know for sure is that I’m about to be $7,000,000 (United States Dollars) richer thanks to my Nigerian uncle.

Top Secret!!! A Memo from John Kerry to President Obama

To: President Obama

From: John Kerry, Secretary of State

Yesterday was a kick-ass day in the history of American diplomacy – the day I brought James Taylor to Paris to sing “You’ve Got a Friend" as a means of showing the people of France how much we love and support them after that terrorist attack. Rolling Stone called it “Brilliant.” Billboard says it demonstrated “out of the box thinking.”

Anyway, it gave me a great idea. You know how Republicans are always bitching about the budget? Well, here’s a way to save billions. Let’s shutter our embassies worldwide ... fire the employees ... and, while we’re at it, convert the State Department building in D.C. to condos. All we really need to do when we want to communicate with other countries is send an e-song! I’m not kidding. You can send a song as a gift on iTunes for $1.29, which is certainly cheaper than maintaining an embassy and staff.  What a Wonderful World It Would Be (LOL) if EVERY country would follow our lead and take up musical diplomacy!!!!

Here’s a list of songs I had my assistant compile for special occasions. This is just the tip of the iceberg (a phrase that brings to mind the theme song from Titanic, "My Heart Will Go On and On," by Celine Dion). There are thousands of others we can choose on a case-by-case basis. When something happens or is about to happen that requires diplomacy, the one remaining staff member at State can simply email the song!

With or Without You (U-2): This would be a great song to send to a country that refuses to cooperate with us. For instance, we could have sent it to Pakistan when they weren’t helping us search for bin Laden.

I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do) – Hall & Oates: When those stupid Israelis – we really should have a chat about them one of these days -- start shelling the West Bank again (and they will!!!!), this will let them know we are totally FED UP!

Tragedy – Bee Gees: The “go to” song to send to any of our allies that have experienced something bad. (Think South Korea when that ferryboat full of schoolkids sunk.) I actually thought about bringing the Bee Gees to Paris to perform this yesterday but then someone told me that two of them are DEAD!!

The Arms of an Angel – Sarah McLachlan: What a loving way to comfort the people of a country whose leader has died. (“Tracks of My Tears” by Smokey Robinson would be another good choice!) 

We Gotta Get Out of this Place –The Animals: You’ve been wanting to let Afghanistan know we don’t want to keep troops there anymore. Send this song!

Stand By Me – Various Artists: This'll do the trick when we are trying to enlist the help of a country to pass a UN resolution. I like Little Milton’s version best but Maurice White’s is pretty darn good too!!!

All Night Long (All Night) – Lionel Richie: When we are about to bomb ISIS, al Qaeda, Canada, etc.,  we can let them know it’d be easier if they’d simply surrender by sending this song as a clue about how long we plan to bombard their sorry asses!

Disco Duck – Rick Dees: I can’t think of an appropriate occasion for this one but I’m sure I will – it’s Teresa’s and my fave song!!! Maybe we can send it to Kim Jong-un of North Korea next time he conducts a nuclear test???? Whatever!!!!

Please give my love to Michelle My Belle (LOL) … and thanks for reading!!!! 

Kindest regards,

JK

A personal apology to the people of France

Remember the outrage when, in 2003, the French government refused to endorse America’s invasion of Iraq? One on-the-ball member of Congress, Republican Bob Ney of Ohio (who later resigned and spent time in the slammer for corruption) even proposed that French fries, a staple of the American diet, should be renamed “Freedom Fries” in protest.

Well, after today, France has earned the right to put the "French" back into "Fries."

Last week's attack by Islamic terrorists on the Parisian satire magazine Charlie Hebdo resulted in the deaths of 10 staff members and two policemen. On Sunday a group of world leaders converged on Paris to show their solidarity and sympathy. But the US, instead of sending the president,VP or Secretary of State John Kerry, sent only its ambassador, which many French citizens considered a thumb of the nose. 

Today, Kerry came to Paris to make amends and demonstrate that the US stands firmly with the people of France against terrorism. What did he bring with him?  Guns? Tanks? Intelligence?  

No, he brought James Taylor to sing You’ve Got a Friend.

Sweet Baby James got up there on stage and sang his heart out:

When you’re down and troubled, and you need a helping hand.

And nothing, whoa, nothing is going right.

Close your eyes and think of me,

And soon I will be there.

To brighten up even your darkest nights.

I've seen fries and I've seen rain but I never thought I'd see anything this stupid.

People of France, I know I'm speaking for millions -- tens of millions -- of my countrymen when I ask you to please accept my personal apology for the imbeciles representing my country who, apparently, have the judgement and mentality of junior high-aged girls.

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Held hostage by technology

We moved into a new house last month. 

OK, it’s not new but it’s new to us. It was built in 1993 which, in this part of Florida where new homes are being slapped up on every square inch of buildable land, would qualify it for inclusion on the National Registry of Historic Places. But it’s as good as new. The previous owner, a German engineer, maintained the house like Air Force One. The roof is new. So are all the appliances, which are designed for use by people with PhDs in engineering and/or computer science and/or who were born after the first Bush administration.

Take the master thermostat. It supposedly controls the temperature and humidity. I say “supposedly” because the only way it would actually control them is if I could figure out how the hell to program it. It insists I tell it how hot/cold/humid I want the house to be when I wake up, leave for work (I’m home all day but that isn’t an option), return home and go to bed every single day of the week. (Hmm, on Mondays I like to drift off to dreamland at 73 degrees with 65 percent humidity. Tuesdays I prefer 317 degrees with 100 percent humidity. How stupid.)  These features ostensibly save energy and money, but having the ability to turn the damn thermostat on and off when I want would save even more, not to mention save money I have to spend on blood pressure medication when mine soars due to frustration. Here’s an idea for you, Honeywell. How about a thermostat with three settings – Cool, Heat and Off, and a dial I can turn to the temperature I want?

The washer and dryer sing ditties when their doors are opened. (If I wanted to listen to music, I’d turn on the radio.) The washer’s computer decides what type of fabrics have been loaded, how dirty they are and for how long and at what temperature the clothes need to be washed. Once the cycle starts, it locks the door so I can’t throw in socks I found under the bed. The dryer also analyzes the fabric type then determines the temperature and time needed to dry the clothes. Screw you, Maytag. How about a washer that washes clothes in my choice of hot, medium or cold water for the number of minutes I want and that lets me open and close the doors mid-cycle, along with a dryer that lets me decide how long I want the clothes to dry? I believe you last made what I’m describing sometime in the 1970s. Do you have any of those in a warehouse somewhere? I’ll trade you.

The refrigerator’s computer announces, when I use the water dispenser, how many ounces it is pouring into the glass. There is a button that tells me what percentage of the water filter’s life is remaining along with a keypad I’m supposed to use to enter what types of groceries are being placed in various compartments so it will know the precise temperature at which they should be kept. Kiss my ass, KitchenAid. I want a fridge/freezer with two settings – one for the fridge temp, one for the freezer temp. I don’t care how many ounces of water I’m putting in a glass, and don't want expensive water filters that need changing regularly. 

The dishwasher’s computer has more options than Baskin Robbins – steam, power wash, scrub, regular, pre-rinse, rinse, post-rinse, pots, pans, crystal, normal, super normal, abnormal, paranormal, etc. It runs so quietly it can’t be heard yet takes two hours to wash the dishes during which it flashes a laser beam as a warning not to open the door mid-cycle lest one be par-boiled by the steam cycle. Bite me, Bosch. How about a dishwasher that washes the dishes quickly? If you really want to provide useful technology, how about a dishwasher that sucks dirty dishes out of the sink, loads them into the proper slots, washes them, then puts the clean dishes away?

The security system is more complicated than anything they could possibly have at the Louvre. I have a code. My wife has a code. The dachshunds have codes and they can’t even reach the keypads. There is a code to enter if we are being held at gunpoint (as if I can tell my captor, “Excuse me, you'll have to untie me from this chair because I need to get up to enter a code that will let someone at a monitoring station in India know you’re holding me hostage”). There’s probably a code to enter if someone is using a bow and arrow instead of a gun. How about an alarm that has “off” and “on” buttons and that summons help if someone breaks in or if one of these sophisticated appliances shorts out and catches fire?

All of this technology is supposed to make life easier but it doesn’t.  These computer-controlled devices are toys just waiting to break at which point I’ll have to shell out money to repair features I never wanted, needed or understood in the first place.

Digital technology has resulted in better TVs, telephones and many other electronic devices but there is no point of putting it into things that performed just fine without it. Many of the appliances and household gizmos we use every day were easier to operate 40 years ago and worked just as well if not better than the ones they make today.

Don’t you agree?

12 rules for home buyers and sellers

As I have learned, having done it twice within 15 months, buying and selling real estate, and moving from one house to another, is stressful. There are, however, a dozen hard and fast rules you can count on to help take the uncertainty out of the process.

1.     The day you find your dream house and decide to make an offer, your realtor® will announce the market has heated up suddenly and that, if you really want the house, you’d better come in as close to the seller’s asking price as possible or, to be on the safe side, because there are sure to be multiple bids, over it.

2.     The day after your offer has been accepted and you sign the papers to place your current house on the market, the same realtor®, who assured you your home was so desirable it would sell instantly, will inform you the market has suddenly dried up (“This Ebola scare has people panicked”) and you need to list it for substantially less than he or she said you would get for it.

3.     The week you list your current house for less than you had been told it would fetch, three other houses on your block will go on the market, making potential buyers think there is something wrong with the neighborhood and scaring them away.

4.     The expert you hire to inspect the house you are buying will find two or three picayune issues the seller needs to take care of before the contract becomes official such as “loose closet doorknob” or “water spigot on north side of house shows signs of rust.” The seller’s out-of-pocket cost to bring the house up to snuff so you can proceed to closing will be approximately 1/546^th of one-tenth of one percent of the purchase price.

5.     The week before you close on your new house (even though you haven’t even had as much as a nibble on your current one), you will learn that it is customary, according to the Board of Realtors in the jurisdiction in which you are buying, for the buyer to pay the cost of title insurance and you will have to cough up $5,000 you hadn’t expected to spend.

6.     The day you take possession of your new house, at least one major appliance that was working perfectly the previous day during the final walk-though – the A/C compressor, furnace, water heater, fridge, washer, dryer, oven or dishwasher  – will fail. After spending $500 to have a technician tell you it can’t be repaired, you will have to buy a new one.

7.     The week after closing on your new house, you will receive in the mail a notice from the county that your property taxes have gone up 25 percent and, if you live in a planned community, a notice of a special assessment.

8.  When, nine months later, having reduced the asking price of your current house three or four times, you finally receive an offer, the inspector the party buying your house hires will find things like “dangerous levels of cancer-causing radon gas present throughout house” or “sewer line has been compromised by tree roots.” (The beautiful tree in question, that you will learn needs to be removed in order to repair the sewer line, will be one of the primary reasons the buyer cited for buying your house in the first place.) You will have no choice but to agree to lower your price even more in order to proceed with the sale and to mitigate (a word you will hear over and over which basically means spend money) whatever’s wrong with the house. 

9.     After you have signed a contract to sell your current house and agreed to make the costly repairs the buyer’s inspector noted, but before the closing date, at least one major appliance – most likely one that is built-in and matches your kitchen cabinets -- will become inoperable. You will call in a technician who, after charging $500 for labor and parts in an attempt to fix it, will announce it can’t be repaired. You will have to purchase a new one for your buyer and hire a cabinetmaker to replicate the woodwork that covered it. After several days of attempting to match the stain, the cabinet maker will announce it is impossible, so the cabinets need to be sanded and restained -- reducing your take even more.

10.  The week before you officially close the sale of your current house, you will learn that it is customary, according to the Board of Realtors in that jurisdiction, for the seller to pay the cost of title insurance, reducing your take by another $5,000.

11.  There will be rain (and/or snow and/or hail and/or heat and/or cold) of Biblical proportions the day you move.

12.  The movers will gouge the walls and floors of the house you are selling as they move out, and you will have to write a check to the purchasers to pay for repairs. If you had improvements made to the new house before you moved in, such as new flooring or painting, the movers will gouge the floors and walls in that house as well.

The boy who said "Ba"

Until he was three, our son Stuart's vocabulary consisted of one word – “Ba,” short for “bottle.”

We spent thousands on speech therapists and specialists. All said there was nothing wrong and that, like Mr. Ed, he’d speak when he had something to say. But we worried ourselves sick nevertheless.

Shortly before Christmas, 1989, my wife, Judy, sat down and wrote the following story that turned out to be more than a worried mother's gift to her son who, I’m happy to report, grew up talking just fine. It's a gift for all children who are different and to the parents who love them. 

The boy who said “Ba”

There once was a boy who could only say “Ba,”

Much to the dismay of his mother and pa.

He said “Ba” for his supper and “Ba” for his blocks.

He said “Ba” for his spoon and his toothbrush and socks.

If he wanted his wagon or wanted his sled,

The single word “Ba” was he one word he said.

His parents were worried for they’d never heard

Of a vocabulary of only one word.

So they tried all solutions: They took him on trips.

They read him fine books, and they tickled his lips.

They fed him rich custards of ripe ba-na-na.

And he thought it all over, but still just said “Ba.”

They went to the doctor who shrugged as she said,

(After looking him over from toe up to head),

“Don’t worry, don’t scold him. He mustn’t be shushed.

He’ll speak when he’s ready, he cannot be rushed.

This isn’t an illness, no strange mania,

You just have a healthy young boy who says 'Ba.'"

But people would shake their heads, “My what a shame,

There’s the boy who says ‘Ba’ instead of his name.”

And mean kids would snicker, they’d giggle and ha

At the funny young boy who would only say “Ba.”

Which made the boy sad and he sometimes felt blue.

But a boy’s gotta do what a boy’s gotta do.

So all that he witnessed and all that he saw

He only expressed by the single word: "Ba."

And then one December, before Christmas Day,

The boy’s church put on a Nativity play.

Each child had a costume. Each child learned a part.

Each child had a message that came from the heart.

But the boy (yes, you guessed it) was cast as a sheep.

And because of his “problem” was told just to sleep.

“Until,” said the teacher, (who choked her guffaw),

“At the end of the play, Sheep, you have one line: 'Ba.'"

For days they all practiced each child’s special line.

And at last, they were perfect, with polish and shine.

But the boy who said “Ba” never practiced, it’s said.

(After all, why rehearse the one word in your head?)

And there, almost off-stage, beneath all the straw,

Crouched the sheep-costumed creature,

The boy who said “Ba.”

Well no one knows why, on Nativity Day,

But an air of disaster encircled the play.

The angel forgot what had once been foretold.

A wise man unwisely spilled out all his gold.

One shepherd got clumsy and tripped on his staff.

Another got nervous and started to laugh.

The doll in the manger fell out with a thud.

The cow stubbed his toe and it slowly drew blood.

Joseph’s eyes watered, he started to sneeze

Sending Mary’s veil flying, struck broad by the breeze.

The donkey got hiccups and started to hic,

And the innkeeper rushed from the stage, feeling sick,

Somehow catching his robe on the stable’s front door,

That made the whole structure crash down on the floor.

And there in the midst of this massive faux pas

Came a voice loud and clear – one sweet glorious “Ba.”

And slowly it swelled like a thunderous hurrah,

As the young boy stood stage-front and sang out his “Ba.”

And then, if by magic, the sweet “Ba”-ing grew.

It swelled from the rafters and shook every pew.

Each flickering flame on the candelabra

Felt the pulsating note of the little boy’s “Ba.”

And each person present remembers the chills

As the sound bounced through windows,

Across fields and hills.

It’s said they could hear it from Alaba-ma,

Way up to the snowbanks of Minneso-ta.

It jiggled the racecars in India-na.

And startled the lizards in Arizo-na.

It melted an iceberg up in Alas-ka.

And slivered the cornhusks out in Nebras-ka.

And down in the jungles of Argenti-na

To the uppermost province of north Cana-da,

(And even, it’s whispered, down in Austral-ia),

They could hear the faint echoes of one heartfelt “Ba.”

The young boy smiled broadly. Today was his day.

For the first time his “Ba” was the right thing to say.

And imagine the pleasure, just think of the awe,

For the one child who knew his lines:

He who said “Ba.”

A pact with the devil

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I was feeling blessed – extremely blessed – until this afternoon when I called Comcast, the most hated company in America, to arrange for service at the new house to which we’re moving.

Now my head is about to explode.

Every time I write about Comcast, which provides (and I use that word loosely) cable, Internet and phone service to my home  – and I’ve done it often – readers ask why I don’t simply switch to another company.

The answer is: I can’t. We live in a master planned community of 3,500 residences.  When it was laid out in the 1990s, the developers allowed the local cable company to wire it for cable service. That company at some point sold out to Comcast, which now has 3,500 captive customers it can and does treat like shit pond scum. My fellow residents and I complain bitterly but there’s nothing any of us can do about it. For aesthetic reasons, the community doesn’t allow satellite dishes so DISH or Direct TV aren't options. And while CenturyLink offers phone and internet service, it can only deliver snail-speed internet that can’t accommodate streaming media like Netflix or Amazon which many of my neighbors and I watch so we won’t have to pay a penny more to Comcast than we are now paying. In short, Comcast has 3,500 customers by the giblets.

Over the last four years I’ve probably had to call Comcast – I’m guessing – 100 times to complain about slow, intermittent or non-existent service. I’m guessing Comcast technicians have made at least 50 service calls. Despite it all, our service remains iffy. I’ve written letters to Comcast headquarters. I’ve joined Facebook groups like “I Hate Comcast.”  I’ve written blog posts out the ying-yang, one of which was read by a Comcast VP who offered to personally guarantee that my problem would be taken care of –  service was out and the local office said they couldn’t get to it for at least a month. Within a few days it was taken care of. Then it went down again.

Back to my head is about to explode.

Today I called to arrange to have my current service switched over to our new house, which is in the same development.  When I told the automated voice that answered that I wanted to arrange new service, a human picked up almost instantly (as opposed to when I call because of a problem, being placed on hold for a half hour or more and forced to listen to voices telling me how much Comcast values me).

Whenever I talk to a Comcast agent, I remind myself that I'm speaking with someone who isn't personally responsible for his or her company's service and/or my dissatisfaction but I have to admit that I didn't do that today.  I started the conversation by telling the agent that my relationship with Comcast has been the worst, most stressful customer experience of my life and that I wasn’t happy about having to move my service but I had no option other than disconnecting.

She replied that if I did that I’d be charged an early termination fee according to my contract.

“What contract?” I asked.

“The one you agreed to May 18th, ” she said.

"Was this a paper contract?  I have never, and will never, sign a contract with Comcast."

"When you called May 18th you were asked to accept terms of service and you agreed, which constitutes a contract."

"I'm a lawyer," (I lied.) "A verbal agreement over the phone isn't a contract.  I never agreed to anything, much less a contract with Comcast."

“Yes you did, it’s here in my records.”

“Prove it.”

“I'll connect you to my supervisor. She’ll pull up the conversation in which you agreed to a 12-month contract.”

“Fine, you do that.”

Five minutes later she came back on the line. “My supervisor says you refused to authorize the contract we offered so please accept my apologies.”

"So this means I can terminate with no penalty?"

"Yes."

"I wish I could but I can't. I need to move service to my new house, but I'm not about to sign any contract. So what are my options?"

She explained that, because I had no contract, I was entitled to be treated as a new customer and offered a package of 240 cable channels (I have 40 now), 100 gig Internet (I have 20 now) and unlimited long-distance calls for a special low bundle price of $69.99 a month for a year – more than $20 less than I’m now paying.

“That's good!" I said. "And I want to add HBO. How much more for that?”

She said HBO would add $10 but for another $10 more –  $89.99 –  she could offer a bundle including everything in the $69.99 package plus HBO, Starz and Comcast’s version of Netflix. But she cautioned that both packages – the $69.99 and $89.99 – would go up $20 after 12 months.

“I don’t want Starz or Comcast’s version of anything. What if I just buy the same cable package I now have, 100 gig Internet, telephone and add HBO?” I asked.

She said that would be roughly $84 a month.

“Then I want that,” I replied. 

She said that was doable but the phone and Internet would probably each go up $20 per month after 12 months if I chose that option

We continued back and forth for ten minutes or so as she kept suggesting bundle packages that were attractively priced but were sure to go up after a year and I kept asking about a la carte services that were cheaper but sure to go up even more after a year.

I have no clue what I finally agreed to but I think I'll be paying roughly $91 a month for 12 months after which the price goes up to approximately $5,516.20 a month.

I asked her to send an email recapping what I agreed to buy and to acknowledge in the email that I do not have a contract with Comcast and can leave at any time without a termination fee if the service at my new house is as abysmal as it has been at my current house. She said she would send it right after the call to the email address she had on file for me, tomdriven@comcast.net.

“It's Dryden, not driven, and it’s g-mail, not Comcast,” I said.

“Oh, like your last name?”

“Yes.”

“OK, I'm sending it now. Happy Thanksgiving and thank you for calling Comcast.”

That was two hours ago and I haven’t received the email.

Knowing she has to use Comcast, it's likely her Internet is down. 

UPDATE

Three hours after our conversation ended I still hadn't received the email. So I called Comcast again.

The agent I spoke with this time said she couldn't send me an email but would be happy to tell me the terms the original agent and I had agreed upon by looking "in the system." I said I wanted written confirmation. She said only the "Customer Care" department could handle that. (She apparently works in the "Customer Abuse" department).

She connected me to a gentleman in Customer Care who, after I provided him all the information he requested -- phone, last four digits of my Social Security, the address of my current service, the address of the new service, my account number, etc. -- said it was Comcast's policy not to send emails confirming customer orders and prices. I asked if I could find details of what I agreed to online by looking under "My Account" at comcast.com. He said no and -- get this -- that I wouldn't receive written confirmation of what I had ordered until after the service was installed. 

I asked why, if that was Comcast's policy, the agent I spoke with earlier had promised to email me with the information I had requested. He said she was wrong to do that and didn't even have the ability to send email from her work station, but that he would look up my order and read it back to me. He did and it matched what I had written down during my original conversation. But he was firm that it is Comcast's policy not to put in writing what the customer has ordered and how much the customer will pay until the service is installed.

I asked if he would buy a car that way -- order it over the phone and agree to a price but not see a quote in writing until after he had taken delivery of the car. He said I had thirty days after installation to cancel the service if I found it differed from my understanding. I said that wasn't the point; I didn't want to find out something had been installed that wasn't what I ordered or that didn't cost the price I was quoted.

Amazing that this company is allowed to stay in business, isn't it?

Prisoner of Love

This post, from 2002, is reprinted here to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of Charles Manson and his bride-to-be, Afton Elaine Burton (above), whose father, I'm sure, can't wait to give her away. Best wishes to the happy couple. And may all your troubles be little ones!

It is said that men are from Mars and women are from Venus

Bull.

We’re not even from the same solar system.

This was driven home the other night as I watched Barbara Walters on 20/20 as she interviewed Tammi Menendez, the beautiful blonde bride of Erik Menendez.

Erik, as you will recall, is a convicted murderer, the youngest of the two Menendez brothers who mounted one of the most creative defenses in history.

At ages 18 and 20,  Erik and his brother, Lyle, according to their defense attorneys, suddenly realized their wealthy parents were child rapists and threatened to go public with this information. The parents, naturally, announced plans to kill their sons to keep them quiet. Fearing for their lives, the brothers snuck up with a shotgun on their parents as they were eating strawberries and cream in the family room of their Beverly Hills mansion and fired repeatedly. They then went on a shopping spree to forget their grief, buying Rolex watches, Porsches and other goodies with their parents’ millions.

Their first trial ended with a hung jury.

The second time around they got life with no possibility of parole.

Erik’s new bride told Barbara her inspiring story.

She said she was an ordinary Minnesota housewife, married to a man who wasn’t around for her emotionally when she needed him. Fascinated by the Menendez brothers’ trial on Court TV, Tammi began corresponding with Erik in prison.

After the death of her husband (she never said what he died of but I would imagine he died of embarrassment, knowing his wife was writing Erik), she started dating a wealthy doctor, but couldn’t stop thinking about Erik, with whom she was falling head over heels in love.

So, she told the doctor to take a hike and, using the proceeds from her dead husband’s insurance, moved to Sacramento to be near her Prince Charming, where she bought a house with a pool and a Mercedes.

Three years ago she married Erik in the prison visiting room. In lieu of a wedding cake, they shared a vending machine Twinkie.

Tammi now spends her days visiting Erik and, when they’re apart, reading his love letters and chatting with him on the phone about their favorite TV shows which she watches in her swell house and he watches in the Big House. She says she is deliriously happy and that he is her soul mate (not to mention her inmate). Why, he even reads stories to her six-year-old on visiting days!

I ask you, would a man ever do what she did? Specifically, if it had been the Menendez sisters – Erica and Lila – do you think there’s a man on earth who would have married one of them?

No way.

Men know that a woman incarcerated for life can’t make dinner or do laundry, nor can she perform her most important wifely duty – getting out of the car at gas stations and asking attendants for directions when her husband is hopelessly lost.*

A man wouldn’t put up with an imprisoned woman for one minute, much less marry one. But women marry male inmates all the time.

Ladies, I may be betraying my Martian species but here’s a tip. You want a man who will always be there for you? A man who will do whatever you want? Try this:

You: Darling, wanna go to the movies tonight?

Your husband: No thanks, I’m tired from getting up at five and working all day. Can’t we stay home?

You: Fine. Erik Menendez is taken but I’m going to start writing his brother, Lyle. You’ll die of humiliation. With your insurance money I’m going to take the kids and move to California where I’ll buy a Mercedes, so I can drive back and forth to the prison to visit him. Then I’m going on 20/20 and telling Barbara Walters you weren’t there for me when I needed you. What’s more, I’m going to give an interview to the local paper; it’ll appear on the front page along with a picture of Lyle and me eating a Ding-Dong.

Trust me when I say he’ll be your prisoner for life.

* This was written in 2002 before cars and cell phones came equipped with GPS. Women no longer have to ask directions for their husbands. Come to think of it, a lot about this post is out of date. Barbara Walters has retired. Lyle Menendez has now been married twice (most recently to his lawyer). And you'll be happy to know that Erik and Tammi Menendez are still married. 

Why you shouldn't argue about politics on Facebook

I found my wife facedown on the breakfast table, her shoulders heaving. Her laptop was on the table next to her.

"What's wrong?" I asked, fearing she had just learned some dreadful news.

"Read this," she said, raising her head and pointing to a Facebook posting from a political message board she follows. At that point I was relieved to realize she was convulsed with laughter.

This is an actual post, cloned directly from Facebook. Only the participant names are changed. In case you're unfamiliar with Florida politics, you need to know that we just finished a nasty gubernatorial election between former governor Charlie Crist and the current incumbent, Rick Scott, who was re-elected in a close race during which Crist ran TV ads calling Scott a criminal.

Enjoy!

• Debra Evans Lange   I am glad you said you respect our President even though you don't agree. There are so many right wingers who show no respect and have been downright disgusting in how they talk about him and how they portrait (sic) him. If for nothing else, they should respect the office he holds. That the Majority of Americans elected him TWICE...not once but TWICE!

  13 hrs · Like · 3
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• Susan Fortis  Well I'm in Florida where a criminal was elected governor TWICE and the attorney general is a flaming hypocrite!!!

  13 hrs · Like · 2
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• Mark Abrams  Crist is just an ass kisser!! lol.

  13 hrs · Like · 13 hrs ·
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•  Marjorie Lowe Maness  Oh my, this is crazy. Obama may be president but JESUS is the King of Kings & holds the universe in His hands. My faith & trust is in Him. Sad how so many put a man in office above Jesus. And yes, I know I don't have to read this stuff & all that.

  12 hrs · Like
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•  Tom Marshall I think Mark said CRIST, not CHRIST
•    13 hrs · Like ·     76