Tuesday, 05 July 2011
So, I remembered that I had all these things that I wanted to write about Owen. I keep putting it off because, well, none of it is relevant to one specific day – which is the goal of this blog – but then I figured, “eh, who cares?”
About a month ago, I said that Isla was 300 days old. This, of course, prompted my number-crazed son to inquire as to how many days old he was. I told him that would take some calculating. I showed him how I had to multiply his 6 years times 365 days in each one of those years, plus one additional day for when he was two years old. Then we had to add in the days that had passed since his most recent birthday (which had only been about three weeks earlier). When I arrived at the sum, Owen seemed impressed. Jennifer and I moved on to other topics of conversation, but a few minutes later Owen said: “Hey, I was 2,011 days old on my birthday and this year is 2011.” I stopped for a minute to figure the numbers in my head. Then I said something like, “Yeah, you’re right!”
I thought that was a pretty amazing feat. First, he had to subtract the correct number of days to arrive at his birthday. Then, once he realized he was 2,011 days old that day, he had to make the connection that his age (in years) matched the year number. Pretty impressive.
Of course, I should mention that my calculation was wrong – later tallying revealed him to be well past 2,011 days old. Still, Owen’s math was right.
Around the time when Owen finished Kindergarten, I asked him if he remembered last year, when he graduated from preschool. He said he did remember that. We talked about it for a while, and then he asked why he had to wear “that funny hat.” I explained that it’s called a graduation cap, and it’s a tradition for people to wear that cap on the day they finish high school or college. I told him his preschool class was mimicking those traditions. “Oh,” he said, “I thought you only had to wear those hats if you were from a certain country.”
This completely baffled me, so I asked, “What country are you talking about?”
He said, “I don’t know. It’s like, National American something.”
I started laughing. Owen had no idea what was so funny, but I kept on laughing. Finally, I said, “Do you mean National American University?”
Yes, that was what he meant. Having seen some daytime commercials lately (now that school is out), Owen has come across those danceable National American University commercials. Those commercials include scenes of students wearing said caps. Not familiar with the word “University,” Owen just took the two words he does know (“National” and “American”) and just assumed this was a commercial inviting people to come visit that great country of National American. Provided, of course, they wear the right hat.
I bought Owen the book Volcanoes and Earthquakes. Big mistake. While he enjoys learning about the science of plate tectonics and the Earth’s crust, he is mortified at the extent of human suffering from these natural causes. On one page, he saw what looked like casts of human corpses. He asked me if those were real people or if it was just an artist’s rendition of what it would look like if people died from a volcano. I looked at the page and saw it was discussing the excavating of Pompeii. I told him that the bodies had long since decomposed, but that the rock had hardened around them and presevered their poses at the moment of death.
Ooops.
Owen immediately pointed to the figure of a dead child and began crying. Jennifer and I tried to explain to him that we don’t live anywhere near a volcano and that, with modern technology, experts can often predict when and where a volcano is likely to erupt and people who do live nearby can head for safety. This, of course, doesn’t mitigate the past suffering, and Owen asked, “Why do people who are pregnant move to where there are volcanoes?” I tried to explain that those people probably lived there their whole lives and might have had no idea when or where volcanoes went off.
Owen has really gotten a soft spot in his heart for babies and young children ever since Isla has been born. I think, seeing her, he realizes how vulnerable to just about everything (even themselves – Isla would probably choke on carpet lint within hours if left to her own vices).
If you want to read more about our kids, check out my wife’s latest blog post: CLICK THIS! (Fun fact: If I try to click on this link while at work, I get transferred to a Websense page telling me the site is blocked due to sexual content.)
Wednesday, 06 July 2011
As noted previously, my bondage to AT&T expired near the end of last month. After two years, it was time to move on from AT & shitTy. I called up their ‘customer service’ hotline last week, just to verify that my bondage was concluding. When the woman on the other line learned that I planned to jump ship and move on to a competitor as soon as possible, she began offering me all sorts of things: She’d let me upgrade to a new phone at no extra charge, she’d waive some stupid fee, she’d allow me to have a longer trial period for my next AT&T phone.
“Yes, yes,” I told her, “That’s all very nice, but you’re only saying that stuff now that I have the power to go elsewhere. When I was under contract, you were unwilling to do those things. So, back then, I told your reps that as soon as the contract expired, I would move on. So that’s what I’m doing now.”
She apologized for their past actions, but I told her that was too little, too late. I explained that her company claims to have a 100% customer satisfaction guarantee, but that I was never satisfied and they never cared. Therefore, they are lying when they say they strive for 100% customer satisfaction and I don’t wish to continue doing business with a company that lies. She said something about other companies being more expensive, but I pointed out that all other companies have something going for them that’s more important than money: They’re not AT&T.
Anyway, I planned to reactivate my old Verizon phone, which I kept stored in a box under my bed these two years. However, the head of the house said it would be more cost-effective to get on her parents plan. I could visit the Sprint store where her sister works, she explained, and get a phone from someone I know and then just pay my in-laws ten bucks a month to hop on their plan.
Fine.
So now I have a Samsung phone. I hate the brand name “Samsung,” because everytime – EVERYTIME! – I see or hear that name I think of Neil Diamond’s “Song Sung Blue,” and I do not need Mr. Diamond coming into my brain every day.
Today I got a call from an impersonal Sprint HAL-9000, that asked me all sorts of questions about my visit and purchase. Of course, I gave high marks all around (since my sister-in-law’s reimbursement is influenced by such surveys). It seemed a bit silly to give a ‘5’ (Very Satisfied) to questions like, “How satisfied were you with the lay out of the store?” After all, I don’t fucking care about a phone store’s layout. In fact, it looked just like a typical suburban, bland waste of space…like every store I’ve ever worked at (and nearly everyone I’ve visited, too). But, you know, I was trying to be charitable.
Here’s what I like about my new phone:
-It’s not AT&T
-It takes pictures
-The screen stays on while I’m talking so I can see if I’ve lost connection
-I can edit my contact names, so people like Rpbertb can be easily edited to Roberta without having to enter in a new entry
-Contacts can hold more than one phone number, so I don’t have to have people listed two and three times anymore
-It’s a flip-phone. This is important because flat phones (like my wife’s iPhone) would just be ruined in my pocket, and slide-open phones slide open in my pockets and gobble up lint.
Here’s what I don’t like:
-It’s a little wider and longer than my Verizon phone. Not by much – maybe a quarter inch in both ways – but it makes a difference. It’s not as comfortable to hold when I’m talking. More importantly, it takes up more space in my pockets. When I sit down, if it teeters on top of my leg, it’s just fine. But if it slides out to the left (I keep it in my left pocket), then it’s more likely to just slide right out or at least tug on the pocket. If it slides to the right…um…well let’s just say I keep other things in between my legs and so a phone is competing for space with other, um, packages.
-It has a screen on the front. Yeah, I don’t like this. If I want the use the phone, I’ll flip it open. A screen on the outside is just asking to be scratched or broken, especially since I keep my keys in the same pocket. (And, no, I can not keep my keys in a different pocket!) My wife suggested putting duct tape over the screen, which I may do eventually, but in the meantime, I’ll just allow that stupid, pointless screen to exist for however brief it’s life may be. Once I crack/break/chip it, then I’ll cover it with duct tape.
-The brand name on the outside reminds me of Neil Diamond. And, in fact, I listened to the entire song while typing this blog post. Damn.
