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Christmas, Season of Lies 2008; My Boy Beowulf; Right at Your Door
Christmas shopping so far this year is turning into quite the nightmare.
First I looked over my sister Nancy's Amazon wishlist, full of lots of $40-$50 sewing items, and a $300 Amazon Kindle. Yeah, that's not happening. So I thought I'd surprise her with something not on her list, that I was sure she'd love anyway -- Wall-E on DVD. My sister is a child at heart like me, has even been known to buy Happy Meals for the sake of movie tie-ins. I emailed my mother in advance asking if she knew Nancy's feelings on the movie. "I'm sure she'll love it" she responded.
I ordered it straightaway. The next morning I opened an email from my mother saying that Nancy had walked through the door last night and announced that she had just bought Wall-E. Grrrrr. She evidently is not living under the same self-buying moratorium Tery and I have imposed in our house. I asked my mom, "Would you like a copy of Wall-E?" She said yes. I said, "Great. Try to act surprised."
However, she will be surprised since I'm returning it to Amazon. For the past three years my mother's wishlist has contained the same two lonely, and currently unavailable, items, a set of mixing bowls and a solar-powered car window fan. This year I decided to make half of her dreams come true and found an equivalent car fan on eBay. "She'll never expect this!" I thought gleefully. True dat, as I discovered yesterday either my mother creates new wishlists and then forgets about them every few years, or there really are five different Marjorie Adamcewiczs on Amazon. Her CURRENT list is made up of almost every Cesar "The Dog Whisperer" Millan product known to man, not a bowl or car fan to be seen. Thus Wall-E is going back for a refund, cuz my paychecks aren't getting any bigger (see previous post), and it's not the 3-disc edition I yearn for.
But all this is nothing to the horror show that is one of Tery's gifts. She asked for a new iron, an iron that must be damn special because Amazon was selling it for close to 80 bucks. Always cutting corners trying to save a few dollars, I went to eBay instead. I got in on a "new" one starting at $9.99. My maximum bid matched what I would have paid at Amazon, thinking winning it for anything less would be a coup.
Sadly, there was no coup, I got into a bidding war, and ended up paying almost my maximum. Fine, still $10 less than Amazon.
The item arrived via DHL, a company I hate so much I had actually rejoiced when I heard about their demise. You can imagine my dismay at this evidence that those rumors were unfounded. It was shipped in a beat-up old shoe box. The manufacturer's box had obviously been opened, but worst of all the entire thing, inside and out, reeked of a foul, pervasive, clinging perfume worn by a ten-dollar whore about 20 years past her prime. Oh my GOD what a stench.
Of course I emailed the seller immediately with my complaint. They responded the box had "only been opened to check the contents" (why would you need to check the contents on a manufacturer's sealed box??) and they didn't remember any smell. Well then, I guess it must have been dunked in the perfume vat at DHL's warehouse, the one they'll never admit to having. However, the seller "regretted my inconvenience" and what could they do to make me happy?
Meanwhile, back at Amazon the price had dropped 20 bucks overnight. GodDAMMMIT. So I came back to the seller with a link to Amazon, not specifying a refund amount but implying a partial one would be a good start. But apparently their offer to make it up to me didn't extend as far as actual monetary compensation. Though I don't know of any dissatisfied customer being appeased with only kind words and feigned concern.
Yep, they stopped answering my emails, obviously hoping to walk away from this with just a negative feedback. I'm filing a dispute with PayPal for intentionally misrepresenting the condition of the item. I'm only asking for $10, because it's really more about the principle than the actual money for me (plus I noticed a negative feedback rating buried back in his shady past complaining they had returned the item and received no refund. THAT would be even worse than dealing with the stink). I don't think $10 is unreasonable, and I just want to prevent this guy from getting off scot-free.
Just in case nothing comes of it, I've removed the iron from the box (saving the box for evidence. If nothing else, it will serve as an amusing illustration when I tell Tery this tale on Christmas Day. Of course, if I ever try to sell my car I might be accused of stuffing a dead hooker in the trunk). I tried powering it on and ironing something to see if there are any odor-related consequences. Doesn't seem to be, knock on wood. MyFriendDeb has generously offered the use of her balcony for a full airing as a last resort.
Don't ask when I'm going to learn my lesson and stop trying to save a few bucks. 'Ain't never going to happen.
My little sister is having still worse luck. She ordered a gift for her new boyfriend, again from eBay, and wondered why the heck it hadn't come yet. Then she was walking with him down the street when five doors down, purely by chance, she noticed an empty box with her address on it among the garbage bags. Either the post office had delivered it to the wrong address, or someone stole it off her porch. Either way, the scumbag opened it and kept the gift. Without knowing who took it, she's left to stew impotently, furiously wishing the worst possible karma on the asswipe responsible -- which isn't terribly satisfying, as I can attest to. She promised me she'd go to the post office today and raise some hell, because I think they bear a large portion of the blame.
Heads up, people. Christmas this year has been cursed. I blame Twilight.
UPDATE!: She went to the post office, and as expected got a whole lot of "What do you want us to do about it?" She was on the verge of filing her own PayPal dispute against the seller, a decision she wasn't at all happy with since she knew he had delivered faithfully, when she called me for advice. Since the seller has a second auction listed for the same item, I suggested she tell him what happened and try to negotiate a bargain on the second one. She'd get her gift without spending twice as much, he'd unload the item (sometimes a reduced price is better than nothing), win-win. She loved this idea. Why can't my own problems be so easily solved?
~*~
This past weekend I had a full house, as to be expected on a holiday weekend. People love their pets, until they have a house full of guests. Among them was my boy Beowulf, who if you'll remember had a grand old time on his last stay the night I decided to let him run around the place. He recognized me when I walked in, and I think remembered what I did, because the whole time I was walking everyone else he was just bouncing up and down, chomping at the bit to get out. He had to wait even longer because I was asked to give another dog a bath in preparation to go home the next day (went better than expected. As Tery assured me, the dog was so terrified at the strangeness of standing in a tub being sprayed down that she didn't move a muscle. It was kind of fun).
I finished with her and out Beowulf came. He immediately ran upstairs, the majority of his territory he claims, which is just fine by me; an intruder would probably have to get in up there. I would just like to see the look on their face when they spotted Beowulf galloping down the hallway at full speed towards them.
I also had Honus the Asshole Beagle of Death, who has settled down amazingly well since the family adopted Travis. But Honus didn't care for Beowulf's preferential treatment, oh, not one little bit. He howled and barked and yapped up a storm. Sorry, Honus. Beowulf is my favorite. Maybe if you were my favorite....but no. If there was some bizarre cataclysmic event that wiped out every other dog on the planet except you, Honus, you STILL wouldn't be my favorite. And even if I had an inoperable brain tumor and decided you were, I hopefully wouldn't forget the last time I gave you free run as a desperate attempt to get you to stop barking THE ENTIRE NIGHT, and you completely trashed the place. No, Honus, sorry. Not again in this lifetime.
Beowulf spent a few happy hours walking his perimeter -- around the top floor, sit by the front door for awhile, then back down to check on me. It was all well and good until I finished my work and lay down for a quick nap. Then his circuit included trotting over to my cot and thoroughly washing my face. On every single pass. Ewww. Meant no open-mouth sleeping, but I tolerated it because it was the most affection he'd ever shown me, and I don't much fancy the idea of saying no when such a large beast has his jaws exactly at face level.
By morning he was literally yawning, could hardly keep his eyes open (I exhorted him multiple times to relax and sleep next to me, but he would have none of it. Not while there was a building to be guarded. Tery's employees should have half the dedication). Tery says the day shift who came in after me remarked about how calm and well behaved he was. Yep, just have me be Beowulf's personal handler. That would be great.
My happy boy
Some more pictures: I found this symbol drawn on every available surface last weekend. I deduced it was Twilight-related.
Where are the fundamentalists who thought Harry Potter was satanic? Too busy getting gay marriage banned, I guess
My Navi Navi, licking her lips and Lomo-fied:
Unrelated, here's another gay ferret boy pic, because I can't get enough of them:
~*~
Finally a movie rec: Right at your Door. A terrorist attack hits LA, and we're trapped in a house with a guy who knows less than us, cuz he didn't read the EW review.
The movie is actually kind of brilliant in its simplicity. We meet a young married couple who just moved to a house on the outskirts of LA. He's some kind of stay-at-home do-nothing rock musician. He makes her coffee in bed and sends her on her way to work in the city.
It's not long, however, before bombs are set off downtown. He's listening to the radio at the time, which becomes his only contact with events because their cable isn't hooked up yet. Clever. Naturally his first (and only) thought is for his wife. Having no luck reaching her cell phone, he jumps in the car to retrieve her himself.
He doesn't get far as police are already scurrying to cut off roadways into the city. He stops at a hardware store where people are emptying the shelves of duct tape and plastic tarps. He joins them.
He gets back home and stands paralyzed by indecision, waiting to hear from his wife. A man bursts through his front door, an immigrant handyman working next door who needs shelter. He begrudgingly lets him stay. The radio instructs everyone to get inside and seal up their house as best they can. It was dirty bombs, and the fallout is slowly expanding out over the entire area.
Still he doesn't move. The handyman begs him to start sealing the windows, but he refuses to do anything until he knows where his wife is. Finally, at the last possible moment, they get started and cover every door and window with plastic.
It's not long, however, before his wife finally appears, stumbling out of the drifting ash and coughing up blood. The California foliage looks like New England in winter, there's so much toxic residue out there. And this was the hardest part of the movie for me. He has to tell his wife she can't come inside because she's contaminated.
I thought about it. If it happened here, if it were Tery stuck outside, could I tell her, "No, you can't come in, I'm sorry"? I really don't think I could. Could you? (obviously substituting Tery with someone you care about. Or no. Would you turn Tery away if she came to your door? The movie asks these difficult questions)
She predictably doesn't take it very well, especially after learning a complete stranger is enjoying sanctuary in her home and she can't. She screams irrationally, curses her husband out, then seems to calm down and accept it. But then, in a fit of pique, she uses her cell phone to smash a window on the French door. He stops her, quickly reseals the window, but the cell phone is still inside, along with bits of ash. He sees it there, and what does he do? This man, who in all other ways appears perfectly intelligent and appropriately cautious, tosses a dish towel over it and forgets about it. There. Threat nullified. Because he's just too busy crouching in the corner and weeping to do anything else? Well, you know that's going to come back to bite him in the ass later. And it does.
The majority of the movie is spent watching him reassure his wife and try to figure out what to do. Part of the beauty of the setup is it's all from his perspective. There's no cutting away to show us what's going on elsewhere. If he doesn't know what's going on, we don't know what's going on. We get our information the same way he does, from unsubtantiated rumors spread by the media. Also the phone rings a lot, and we learn early on it's his wife's family calling (presumably from out of state) to check on them. They both answer reluctantly, because here's another difficult question the movie poses: If all you have is bad news (or no news at all), is it better to placate your family with lies or just not talk to them at all? I vote for not at all, particularly if my mother is going to snipe at me about lifelong behavioral foibles while I'm coughing up a lung.
The handyman decides to risk it and head home, since he can't reach his wife by phone. His wife's ex shows up (the guy's wife's, not the handyman's), also vomiting and contaminated, and convinces her to join him in a mad effort to get to a hospital. There's about three minutes of tension in an attempt to inject this sudden backstory uninvited into the plot. While they're gone, the military shows up and grills the man on his situation and possible exposure risk. He admits to the cell phone on the floor and they make him collect a sample for them. The soldiers are more frightening than terrorists -- suspicious and shadowy in their biohazard suits, blinding him with a flashlight while interrogating him towards an unknown end.
They disappear. His wife returns, looking worse off than ever, but at least the ex isn't with her. They linger on a few more hours. She calls home and shares one last tear-filled conversation with her brother. All signs point to her dying slowly and horribly.
But wait! Here's the twist (look away now if you don't want to be spoiled....more, that is): The military come back, drag her away from the house kicking and screaming. Inside he's threatening them to leave her alone, until he's given the news that the tiny bit of toxic dust on the phone it turns out was NOT contained by the carelessly draped dish towel as he had assumed. No, it had instead incubated and mutated into a deadlier airborne form. And and and he was now a lethal carrier AND the condition was irreversible. Nothing to be done but seal the house in a giant carnival tent and pipe in a neurotoxin that kills him in minutes. His wife? She'll be fine now with medical attention. The end.
Scary? Oh yeah, it plays just right on all the new fears of the 21st century. Terrorist attack, government figures who are even scarier than Muslims, biological warfare on American soil, the media lying to the public -- this movie has it all. Kind of a downer of an ending, which is what I liked most about it. Rent it now.
First I looked over my sister Nancy's Amazon wishlist, full of lots of $40-$50 sewing items, and a $300 Amazon Kindle. Yeah, that's not happening. So I thought I'd surprise her with something not on her list, that I was sure she'd love anyway -- Wall-E on DVD. My sister is a child at heart like me, has even been known to buy Happy Meals for the sake of movie tie-ins. I emailed my mother in advance asking if she knew Nancy's feelings on the movie. "I'm sure she'll love it" she responded.
I ordered it straightaway. The next morning I opened an email from my mother saying that Nancy had walked through the door last night and announced that she had just bought Wall-E. Grrrrr. She evidently is not living under the same self-buying moratorium Tery and I have imposed in our house. I asked my mom, "Would you like a copy of Wall-E?" She said yes. I said, "Great. Try to act surprised."
However, she will be surprised since I'm returning it to Amazon. For the past three years my mother's wishlist has contained the same two lonely, and currently unavailable, items, a set of mixing bowls and a solar-powered car window fan. This year I decided to make half of her dreams come true and found an equivalent car fan on eBay. "She'll never expect this!" I thought gleefully. True dat, as I discovered yesterday either my mother creates new wishlists and then forgets about them every few years, or there really are five different Marjorie Adamcewiczs on Amazon. Her CURRENT list is made up of almost every Cesar "The Dog Whisperer" Millan product known to man, not a bowl or car fan to be seen. Thus Wall-E is going back for a refund, cuz my paychecks aren't getting any bigger (see previous post), and it's not the 3-disc edition I yearn for.
But all this is nothing to the horror show that is one of Tery's gifts. She asked for a new iron, an iron that must be damn special because Amazon was selling it for close to 80 bucks. Always cutting corners trying to save a few dollars, I went to eBay instead. I got in on a "new" one starting at $9.99. My maximum bid matched what I would have paid at Amazon, thinking winning it for anything less would be a coup.
Sadly, there was no coup, I got into a bidding war, and ended up paying almost my maximum. Fine, still $10 less than Amazon.
The item arrived via DHL, a company I hate so much I had actually rejoiced when I heard about their demise. You can imagine my dismay at this evidence that those rumors were unfounded. It was shipped in a beat-up old shoe box. The manufacturer's box had obviously been opened, but worst of all the entire thing, inside and out, reeked of a foul, pervasive, clinging perfume worn by a ten-dollar whore about 20 years past her prime. Oh my GOD what a stench.
Of course I emailed the seller immediately with my complaint. They responded the box had "only been opened to check the contents" (why would you need to check the contents on a manufacturer's sealed box??) and they didn't remember any smell. Well then, I guess it must have been dunked in the perfume vat at DHL's warehouse, the one they'll never admit to having. However, the seller "regretted my inconvenience" and what could they do to make me happy?
Meanwhile, back at Amazon the price had dropped 20 bucks overnight. GodDAMMMIT. So I came back to the seller with a link to Amazon, not specifying a refund amount but implying a partial one would be a good start. But apparently their offer to make it up to me didn't extend as far as actual monetary compensation. Though I don't know of any dissatisfied customer being appeased with only kind words and feigned concern.
Yep, they stopped answering my emails, obviously hoping to walk away from this with just a negative feedback. I'm filing a dispute with PayPal for intentionally misrepresenting the condition of the item. I'm only asking for $10, because it's really more about the principle than the actual money for me (plus I noticed a negative feedback rating buried back in his shady past complaining they had returned the item and received no refund. THAT would be even worse than dealing with the stink). I don't think $10 is unreasonable, and I just want to prevent this guy from getting off scot-free.
Just in case nothing comes of it, I've removed the iron from the box (saving the box for evidence. If nothing else, it will serve as an amusing illustration when I tell Tery this tale on Christmas Day. Of course, if I ever try to sell my car I might be accused of stuffing a dead hooker in the trunk). I tried powering it on and ironing something to see if there are any odor-related consequences. Doesn't seem to be, knock on wood. MyFriendDeb has generously offered the use of her balcony for a full airing as a last resort.
Don't ask when I'm going to learn my lesson and stop trying to save a few bucks. 'Ain't never going to happen.
My little sister is having still worse luck. She ordered a gift for her new boyfriend, again from eBay, and wondered why the heck it hadn't come yet. Then she was walking with him down the street when five doors down, purely by chance, she noticed an empty box with her address on it among the garbage bags. Either the post office had delivered it to the wrong address, or someone stole it off her porch. Either way, the scumbag opened it and kept the gift. Without knowing who took it, she's left to stew impotently, furiously wishing the worst possible karma on the asswipe responsible -- which isn't terribly satisfying, as I can attest to. She promised me she'd go to the post office today and raise some hell, because I think they bear a large portion of the blame.
Heads up, people. Christmas this year has been cursed. I blame Twilight.
UPDATE!: She went to the post office, and as expected got a whole lot of "What do you want us to do about it?" She was on the verge of filing her own PayPal dispute against the seller, a decision she wasn't at all happy with since she knew he had delivered faithfully, when she called me for advice. Since the seller has a second auction listed for the same item, I suggested she tell him what happened and try to negotiate a bargain on the second one. She'd get her gift without spending twice as much, he'd unload the item (sometimes a reduced price is better than nothing), win-win. She loved this idea. Why can't my own problems be so easily solved?
~*~
This past weekend I had a full house, as to be expected on a holiday weekend. People love their pets, until they have a house full of guests. Among them was my boy Beowulf, who if you'll remember had a grand old time on his last stay the night I decided to let him run around the place. He recognized me when I walked in, and I think remembered what I did, because the whole time I was walking everyone else he was just bouncing up and down, chomping at the bit to get out. He had to wait even longer because I was asked to give another dog a bath in preparation to go home the next day (went better than expected. As Tery assured me, the dog was so terrified at the strangeness of standing in a tub being sprayed down that she didn't move a muscle. It was kind of fun).
I finished with her and out Beowulf came. He immediately ran upstairs, the majority of his territory he claims, which is just fine by me; an intruder would probably have to get in up there. I would just like to see the look on their face when they spotted Beowulf galloping down the hallway at full speed towards them.
I also had Honus the Asshole Beagle of Death, who has settled down amazingly well since the family adopted Travis. But Honus didn't care for Beowulf's preferential treatment, oh, not one little bit. He howled and barked and yapped up a storm. Sorry, Honus. Beowulf is my favorite. Maybe if you were my favorite....but no. If there was some bizarre cataclysmic event that wiped out every other dog on the planet except you, Honus, you STILL wouldn't be my favorite. And even if I had an inoperable brain tumor and decided you were, I hopefully wouldn't forget the last time I gave you free run as a desperate attempt to get you to stop barking THE ENTIRE NIGHT, and you completely trashed the place. No, Honus, sorry. Not again in this lifetime.
Beowulf spent a few happy hours walking his perimeter -- around the top floor, sit by the front door for awhile, then back down to check on me. It was all well and good until I finished my work and lay down for a quick nap. Then his circuit included trotting over to my cot and thoroughly washing my face. On every single pass. Ewww. Meant no open-mouth sleeping, but I tolerated it because it was the most affection he'd ever shown me, and I don't much fancy the idea of saying no when such a large beast has his jaws exactly at face level.
By morning he was literally yawning, could hardly keep his eyes open (I exhorted him multiple times to relax and sleep next to me, but he would have none of it. Not while there was a building to be guarded. Tery's employees should have half the dedication). Tery says the day shift who came in after me remarked about how calm and well behaved he was. Yep, just have me be Beowulf's personal handler. That would be great.
My happy boy
Some more pictures: I found this symbol drawn on every available surface last weekend. I deduced it was Twilight-related.
Where are the fundamentalists who thought Harry Potter was satanic? Too busy getting gay marriage banned, I guess
My Navi Navi, licking her lips and Lomo-fied:
Unrelated, here's another gay ferret boy pic, because I can't get enough of them:
~*~
Finally a movie rec: Right at your Door. A terrorist attack hits LA, and we're trapped in a house with a guy who knows less than us, cuz he didn't read the EW review.
The movie is actually kind of brilliant in its simplicity. We meet a young married couple who just moved to a house on the outskirts of LA. He's some kind of stay-at-home do-nothing rock musician. He makes her coffee in bed and sends her on her way to work in the city.
It's not long, however, before bombs are set off downtown. He's listening to the radio at the time, which becomes his only contact with events because their cable isn't hooked up yet. Clever. Naturally his first (and only) thought is for his wife. Having no luck reaching her cell phone, he jumps in the car to retrieve her himself.
He doesn't get far as police are already scurrying to cut off roadways into the city. He stops at a hardware store where people are emptying the shelves of duct tape and plastic tarps. He joins them.
He gets back home and stands paralyzed by indecision, waiting to hear from his wife. A man bursts through his front door, an immigrant handyman working next door who needs shelter. He begrudgingly lets him stay. The radio instructs everyone to get inside and seal up their house as best they can. It was dirty bombs, and the fallout is slowly expanding out over the entire area.
Still he doesn't move. The handyman begs him to start sealing the windows, but he refuses to do anything until he knows where his wife is. Finally, at the last possible moment, they get started and cover every door and window with plastic.
It's not long, however, before his wife finally appears, stumbling out of the drifting ash and coughing up blood. The California foliage looks like New England in winter, there's so much toxic residue out there. And this was the hardest part of the movie for me. He has to tell his wife she can't come inside because she's contaminated.
I thought about it. If it happened here, if it were Tery stuck outside, could I tell her, "No, you can't come in, I'm sorry"? I really don't think I could. Could you? (obviously substituting Tery with someone you care about. Or no. Would you turn Tery away if she came to your door? The movie asks these difficult questions)
She predictably doesn't take it very well, especially after learning a complete stranger is enjoying sanctuary in her home and she can't. She screams irrationally, curses her husband out, then seems to calm down and accept it. But then, in a fit of pique, she uses her cell phone to smash a window on the French door. He stops her, quickly reseals the window, but the cell phone is still inside, along with bits of ash. He sees it there, and what does he do? This man, who in all other ways appears perfectly intelligent and appropriately cautious, tosses a dish towel over it and forgets about it. There. Threat nullified. Because he's just too busy crouching in the corner and weeping to do anything else? Well, you know that's going to come back to bite him in the ass later. And it does.
The majority of the movie is spent watching him reassure his wife and try to figure out what to do. Part of the beauty of the setup is it's all from his perspective. There's no cutting away to show us what's going on elsewhere. If he doesn't know what's going on, we don't know what's going on. We get our information the same way he does, from unsubtantiated rumors spread by the media. Also the phone rings a lot, and we learn early on it's his wife's family calling (presumably from out of state) to check on them. They both answer reluctantly, because here's another difficult question the movie poses: If all you have is bad news (or no news at all), is it better to placate your family with lies or just not talk to them at all? I vote for not at all, particularly if my mother is going to snipe at me about lifelong behavioral foibles while I'm coughing up a lung.
The handyman decides to risk it and head home, since he can't reach his wife by phone. His wife's ex shows up (the guy's wife's, not the handyman's), also vomiting and contaminated, and convinces her to join him in a mad effort to get to a hospital. There's about three minutes of tension in an attempt to inject this sudden backstory uninvited into the plot. While they're gone, the military shows up and grills the man on his situation and possible exposure risk. He admits to the cell phone on the floor and they make him collect a sample for them. The soldiers are more frightening than terrorists -- suspicious and shadowy in their biohazard suits, blinding him with a flashlight while interrogating him towards an unknown end.
They disappear. His wife returns, looking worse off than ever, but at least the ex isn't with her. They linger on a few more hours. She calls home and shares one last tear-filled conversation with her brother. All signs point to her dying slowly and horribly.
But wait! Here's the twist (look away now if you don't want to be spoiled....more, that is): The military come back, drag her away from the house kicking and screaming. Inside he's threatening them to leave her alone, until he's given the news that the tiny bit of toxic dust on the phone it turns out was NOT contained by the carelessly draped dish towel as he had assumed. No, it had instead incubated and mutated into a deadlier airborne form. And and and he was now a lethal carrier AND the condition was irreversible. Nothing to be done but seal the house in a giant carnival tent and pipe in a neurotoxin that kills him in minutes. His wife? She'll be fine now with medical attention. The end.
Scary? Oh yeah, it plays just right on all the new fears of the 21st century. Terrorist attack, government figures who are even scarier than Muslims, biological warfare on American soil, the media lying to the public -- this movie has it all. Kind of a downer of an ending, which is what I liked most about it. Rent it now.