Monday, 19 September 2011

Jennifer, Isla and I are staying in the swankiest hotel ever. It’s the Renaissance Atlanta Midtown Hotel (owned by Marriott). CLICK HERE to see their website. The lobby has back-lit marble decor with a large (200+ gallons) saltwater aquarium suspended between two pillars. There’s a modern, gas fireplace, too. And this evening they had a wine tasting in the lobby from 5:00-6:00, complete with hors d’oeuvre.

Backlit marble decor.

Isla notes her favorite flame.

We’re staying on the 17th floor. Our large room, with flatscreen TV, king-sized bed, Aveda toiletries, and bathrobe, is the corner room and we thus have a view of Atlanta both to the west and south. I think this might be the highest floor I’ve ever stayed on in any hotel.

The class I am attending is being held here at the hotel in a very classy conference room. Breakfast was waiting for us when we arrived, and lunch consisted of so many dishes I couldn’t try them all. Before and after lunch, the staff brought in snacks.

I could get used to this kind of life-style.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

While I was in class for day two today, Jennifer and Isla walked to the Center for Puppetry Arts. I’m sorry I missed it but, hey, I had to go to class.

Here are some photos from their excursion:

In the evening, after a stop in the lobby to partake in the wine tasting again, we dined at Marlow’s Tavern. An awesome restaurant with incredibly delicious salmon. Also, great beer on tap. I tried a local microbrew. Sorry, I can’t recall the name of it. Probably because I drank so much of it.

Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Today was the third and final day of my class. The class was only half a day today – actually, it was less than half a day, finishing up at 11:00. I received a certificate that says:

Be it known by all that James Zimmerman has successfully completed an extensive professional development educational course developed by the Institute of Packaging Professionals entitled “Fundamentals of Packaging Technology – Semester 1.”

The certificate then goes on to list all the topics we covered in class. It is dated September 21st and it’s signed by both the IOPP President and the class instructor.

I gotta say, this was a very interesting, relevant course. I’ve attended lots of classes through my job(s), but I think this takes the cake as the one that was both relevant to my job and enjoyable to sit through.

Exiting the conference room, my wife and daughter were waiting for me in the lobby. As per our plan, Jennifer had already hailed a cab, and it showed up within two minutes. We arrived at the airport nice and early and, with minimal lines, had time to check out a few stores and dine at Chili’s restaurant at the airport prior to our flight.

I still hate flying.

Thursday, 15 August 2011

Arriving at work today, I found one of my framed posters was lying on the floor of my cube. The frame had been hanging in my previous cube for years and back on Tuesday I affixed it to one of the walls in my new cube. Well, I must not have affixed it very well.

The frame was broken, as was the glass. The poster itself is still in good condition, so I hung it back up sans frame. I busted up the frame into garbage pail-sized pieces, and I picked up the larger shards of glass. One piece of glass, however, made up of about 90% of the original pane, is too large to fit into my garbage pail, so it’s just sitting in my cube doing nothing right now. I could walk it down to the recycle center, but I don’t want to drop it or cut my fingers on it. I guess I could go get a bag to carry it in, but that would be a real pane.

Friday, 16 September 2011

I wrote to A-1 Vacuum Center yesterday, saying pretty much what I wrote in my post RIGHT HERE. The manager responded soon after. Here’s a truncated version of his email:

Thank you for emailing.  I appreciate the opportunity to correct this matter if possible.

I’m sorry you had problems with your vacuum after we repaired it.

Although this is no excuse, our service people do treat belts as “wear & tear” items that can break easily.  Rarely does a belt break without a reason and rarely is it a defective issue.  We take pride in having good quality products that will perform well in normal circumstances.

However, that being said, there are rare occasions where our customers may experience a broken belt or other problems after we repair their vacuums.  I’m sorry you happen to be one of the very few.

I have discussed this with my service man.  He did remember your specific situation.  He recalled the belt looked like it had snapped which generally means that the brush was stopped unexpectedly and the weak link happens to be the belt.  Most vacuums are designed so that the brush and motor are spared by the belt if something happens unexpectedly.

I have also discussed with him and the rest of our crew to be more sensitive to the customer’s point of view when this type of thing happens in the future. I hope this will minimize complaints and maximize customer satisfaction.

By the way, you mentioned your original belt lasted 5 years.  This is also highly unusual as most vacuum belts like yours are designed to last 1 year.  Even before that time most belts lose their tension and efficiency so we generally recommend replacing belts at least once a year to maintain full brushing efficiency.

OK, I’ve gone on long enough into the minutia of our business.

How much did we charge you for your second “defective” belt replacement?
I’d like to offer you a full refund and 2 spare belts for your trouble.

Please respond with your address so I can mail you the belts & refund so you won’t have to make another trip.

I hope this offer will meet with your expectations for our “Satisfaction Guarantee.”
If not, please respond so we can discuss this further.

I gotta say, I’m impressed! I wrote back saying there was no need to reimburse me for the belt, as I only bought one, and I think it’s completely fair that I pay for it. I provided my address, and, today, the belts arrived in the mail. I immediately installed one of them to insure that it was the right size.

Saturday, 17 September 2011

Today we spent packing for our trip. Tomorrow we fly out to Atlanta.

I really, really dislike flying. Every time I board an aircraft, I sit there and wonder what, exactly, I’ve done with my life to yield so many plane rides.

Tomorrow will be the 26th time I’ve flown on an airplane.

Here are the years in which I’ve gone on at least one plane ride: 1975, 1979, 1987, 1994, 1995, 1998, 1999, 2001, 2003, 2004, and 2006. As you can see, it’s been over five years since my last plane ride which, as luck would have it, happens to be the biggest gap I’ve experienced in my adult life. But tomorrow I’ll be boarding an airplane again.

Ugh.

Sunday, 18 September 2011

You know what I hate more than plane rides? Airports.

I’m not even sure I want to tell the story of our experience at the airport today, so I’m gonna be brief here.

Poor parking and construction meant we walked into the airport about 10 minutes later than we’d anticipated. The kiosk computers were down, so we couldn’t print our tickets. We stood in a line for a half hour waiting for our tickets, then another line for 50 minutes to get through security. They flagged our backpack as suspicious, which led to another 10+ minute wait while a TSA employee inspected the bag. (FYI: Baby wipes show up as a solid, black block of matter – evidently that’s very suspicious-looking.)

We ran to the gate, but missed our 2:30 flight. We tried getting on the next one (@ 3:30), but were given three reasons why we couldn’t board:

1) The door was closed

2) The plane is ful

3) Since we intentionally missed our flight (the employee’s words, not mine), they were under no compulsion to get us on the next flight.

Hanging out for a very stressful two hours, we were allowed to go “stand by,” which means they might let you on the plane if any other hapless soul “intentionally” misses their flight.

I was given permission to board the 5:00 flight. When I landed in Atlanta, I turned on my phone and was pleased to have a message from my wife saying she had boarded the 7:00 flight. I waited for her at the gate, and we were reunited at 10:15 (Eastern Time).

Walked into the hotel at 11:00. Ordered room service and requested a wake-up call. The day ended sometime after midnight.

Monday, 12 September 2011

After getting ready for work amidst a house full of boxes, I arrived at my cube only to be surrounded by more boxes. As you may recall, I coincidentally switched cubes last week, and so I spent most of my day unpacking. I’m once again in that mood where I want to get rid of stuff. That feeling doesn’t come around often enough for me, so I like to take advantage of it when it does.

In going through my stuff, I filled up my recycle bin and my garbage bin. I also put in a request for an under-the-desk drawer. My last cube had one, and I was shocked – shocked!, I tell you – to discover there wasn’t one in my new cube. The form I filled out asked why I was making the request, and I wrote, “so that I have a place to put my pens.” And then the form asked, “What would be the consequence of not performing the request?” So I wrote, “My pens will be all over the desk.” Evidently, this was air-tight reasoning, as I came back from lunch to find a drawer installed.

Tuesday, 13 September 2011

I once read somewhere – and I’m sorry I can’t recall the source – that cities have “neighborhoods” and suburbs have “developments.” Isn’t it weird, the source said (and I’m paraphrasing here), that a construction company comes into an area, chops down the trees, fills in the wetlands, plows down the hills, removes the big rocks, kicks out the wildlife, and then proclaims the site to be ‘developed’? As a memorial to such environmental pillaging, the construction companies name the development after whatever they have destroyed. For example, if you live in Elm Park, be assured that the construction company mowed down dozens of elm trees to pave those roads. Fox Glen, Rolling Meadows, and Babbling Brook are similar examples.

It’s funny because now, when I drive past apartments or neighborhoods or ‘developments’ that declare their name on a prestigious sign, the first thing I think of is what the name betrays. Did they plow down the hills, block the view, uproot the trees, what? It’s like the name is an underhanded betrayal.

A comedian (again, the source escapes me, sorry) once commented on a similar underhanded betrayal of reality. He said that people will often preface their words with a disclaimer that belies their real motive, or stymies your attempt to respond. It’s hard to explain, so I’ll just give some examples…

Have you ever heard anyone begin talking by saying, “Not to be too blunt, but…” You know that person is going to be blunt, right? And now there’s not much you can do about it, because they’ve already declared that they’re not going to be blunt.

Or here’s a better example: “Well, in all honesty…” (Translation: ‘I’m going to be rude.’)

“For lack of better words…” (Translation: ‘I can’t think of a way to say this politely.’)

“Well, not to rip on someone when they’re not here, but…” (Translation: ‘I’m about to rip on someone who’s not here.’)

I wish I could think of better examples, but once this was pointed out to me, I began noticing it all the time. It’s kind of funny, really. It’s amazing how often – especially in work settings – people set up these disclaimers that are supposed to absolve them of culpability. I laugh a little each time I hear one.

Wednesday, 14 September 2011

Today, I paid another visit to A-1 Vacuum in St. Paul. About two weeks ago, I made a stop there to figure out what was wrong with my vacuum. They replaced the filter, cleaned it out, and sold me a new belt. They were a little underhanded in their practices, but nothing to really complain about (though I did blog about the event).

After leaving their store, I brought my improved vacuum home and set it aside. There was no reason to vacuum, really, since we weren’t living in the house yet. So the vacuum did absolutely nothing for nearly two weeks.

Back on Sunday, we used the vacuum for the first time since A-1 installed the new parts. The belt broke. On its first use.

I thus brought the vacuum into the store today and complained that the belt didn’t even last for one usage. One of the employees took the vacuum apart, pulled out the belt and proclaimed that I must’ve vacuumed up something like a rock that broke the belt, because this sort of thing doesn’t just happen on its own. (No shit, Sherlock.) I said, “Yeah, but shouldn’t it survive more than one usage? My last belt lasted over five years.” He said something I didn’t understand, and then said he would not replace it for me.

“Really?” I asked, “Even though I just bought it and used it only once?”

He confirmed this was correct.

I was really surprised. When I used to work at Lenscrafters, by comparison, they had a 30-day guarantee: You could return your glasses for any reason for the first month. If they didn’t work, you didn’t like them, or even if you just broke them in half in a fit of rage. And keep in mind the lenses were often custom made.

Nevertheless, the employee was 100% confident that the belt was not faulty. He refused to give me a new belt just in the interests of customer service (and their website does promise 100% Customer Satisfaction). And, even though their site also promise refunds and replacements on damaged parts less than 14 days old, he didn’t even offer me a discount on a new belt (the belt broke on day 13, I arrived back at the store on day 16). I told him to reassemble my vacuum and that I would go buy a belt from his competitor.

Also: Check it out – my University is ranked 11th by US News and World Report for best Regional Universities. It’s the top ranked University in the state, too.

And here’s my review of the book The End of Christianity. I previously wrote about this book HERE, but that was back when I was only about half finished with the book. The review provides my synopsis of the whole book.

Saturday, 10 September 2011

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. -Anatole France

Is it odd to mourn the loss of an apartment? A home that, in every measurable way, is not as good as the one we moved to today?

So long, hilariously-named intersection.

Our new home has a fireplace, central air, a two-car garage, three bedrooms, a washer and dryer, a yard, a playroom – even a gazebo, for Christ’s sake! – all things that our apartment did not have.

While moving a piece of furniture from point A to point B, one of my friends said, “I bet you’re not gonna miss this apartment, are you?” I hesitated to answer.

It’s true, though: I won’t miss living less than a block from the highway. I won’t miss the loud neighbors. I won’t miss sharing my walls and floor with strangers. I won’t miss having to show up with $2.50 worth of quarters every time I needed to do a load of laundry. And I certainly won’t miss the cramped space.

But there are things I will miss.

The first Monday after we moved in to our apartment, I carried Owen with me as I walked downstairs to get the mail, and he stood next to me as I used the key to open the mailbox. I told Jennifer I was saddened that getting the mail wouldn’t be like it was at our previous home. There, he and I walked down to the end of the driveway and he opened the mailbox himself and pulled out the mail. But now, I didn’t think he would be able to figure out which mailbox was ours. And he certainly wouldn’t be able to figure out the key.

Boy, I was wrong.

The very next day, he walked right to our mailbox, and within a week he had mastered the key. Over the years, he and I made a game out of it, taking different staircases down and back up, using the elevator, kicking a ball down the hallway as we went and, eventually, letting Isla hold the keys as we walked down.

So I will miss getting the mail.

I’ll also miss the coziness of the apartment in winter – with windows on only one side, and with two floors below us, the walls and floor were warm even on the coldest days.

I’ll also miss Owen’s bedroom. He’d had a beautiful bedroom before, and I have every assurance he’ll have a beautiful one again, but I was happy that my wife went in and painted his room before we even spent our first night in the apartment. His calendars hung on the wall, his books were aligned nicely, and a solar system model was suspended from the ceiling. Owen’s little kitchen was set up in one corner, and his chalkboard in the other. Owen affixed numbers to the outside of the bedrooms and bathrooms – his room was number one.

This apartment was also our home while I took guitar lessons, while Jennifer went on a trip to Seattle, when we voted for the first and second time, when we visited Duluth, when we (re)started college at St. Kate’s and Hamline, when Owen attended preschool and kindergarten, started first grade, and put his first couple of baby teeth under the pillow. It’s where we lived while I hosted a TV Show, when we went on several nature walks with Happy Trails, and while we explored the cities – including fossil hunts, a trip to the planetarium, trips to Crosby Lake, Como Lake, and Fort Snelling, visits to the Model Train Museum, the Transportation Museum, the State Capitol, and, most recently, the Foshay Tower.

It is also where we were living when I finally achieved my goal of officiating a wedding and my other goal of viewing every Hitchcock-directed film. More importantly, it was while living in our little apartment that we said goodbye to our cat, Oliver. And, of course…

Sunday, 11 September 2011

My wife snapped this photo of Isla, standing in the now empty living room of our apartment. Last night, for the first time, we slept in our new home – it was only Isla’s 3rd time in her 410 days not sleeping in the apartment. Today we spent our last few hours at the apartment, cleaning and gathering up what little remained. Isla napped in the bedroom one more time.

This is where our baby was conceived. And this very spot is where, nine months later, she was born. And where, one year later, she celebrated her first birthday.

Goodbye, Apartment. Thanks for the memories.

Thursday, 08 September 2011

I took the day off of work today, which makes six days of the last three weeks that I haven’t gone to work (excluding weekends). I started a new class at Hamline today, and coupling that with our upcoming move, I figured I’d stay home today and get stuff done.

Well…I dropped the class.

Everything was going fine in the class for about the first 45 minutes, and then I looked closer at the professor’s class schedule – which she had in electronic version only – and realized the class was scheduled for both Thursdays and Tuesdays. I raised my hand to ensure this was correct…and of course it was. I had specifically asked my adviser to suggest classes that were available only one day a week. There is no way I can leave work at noon TWICE a week and still make my 40 hours each week. Beyond that, this history class is considered a capstone class – meaning it’s essentially supposed to be the last history class I take before earning my minor.

About an hour later, after running around campus getting the proper paperwork and signatures for dropping a class, my adviser told me he had confidence that I would do well in the class. I appreciate his high opinion of my abilities, but I still can’t miss that much work. He suggested I sign up for another class – a Friday only class that begins tomorrow. I considered this option for a few hours, but tonight, whilst talking with my wife, I decided to just forgo a class this semester.I’m just too busy and stressed out right now. This isn’t likely to change anytime in the future, and that really puts my goal of achieving this degree in question.

In lighter news: after picking Owen up from school this afternoon, we headed over to the St. Paul Corner Drug store. Owen saw some paper pumpkins taped to the wall. He asked what they were for, and I told him that if you give the store some money, they will let you put your name on a pumpkin and the money goes to help kids with cystic fibrosis. After the soda jerk told us the cost was a buck, Owen asked me if I had a dollar on me.

I did.

Owen’s is the rightmost pumpkin.

Friday, 09 September 2011

I spent the day at the Minneapolis Convention Center today. About an hour after getting to work, all us employees boarded chartered buses and rode to the City of Lakes. There, they held an “Employee Expo” featuring presentations, ‘cafes’ of activities, food, and games.

I played a trivia game featuring corporation-related trivia questions, such as “Who is the VP of HR?” and other fascinating bits of knowledge. The top two scorers of the day went home with iPads. The best I ever got to was #9. Man, I just can’t seem to win any iPads, Wiis, or iPods no matter how hard I try. I must be unlucky when it comes to products with absurd names.

Later, I assembled kits for making lava lamps and magnetic Silly Putty (these will be donated to kids’ science clubs – the magnetic putty was rather cool; I’d like to make some at home soon).

The most distracting thing about the day, though, was the centerpiece decoration: Hanging Ball Sacks. I’m not kidding you. Hanging. Ball. Sacks.

Take a look:

Ball sacks.

The balls kept changing color, which I think is a clear signal the Convention Center needs to see a doctor. I kept looking up at them, wondering if the contents were going to come spilling out of the ball sacks at any moment. Thankfully, nothing like that happened, which, of course, means that the sacks were well hung.

All right, enough already with the crass jokes.