FFOAD – IOS TEL & Verizon

The latest Friday FOAD goes to those thievin’ bastards from the Dallas area – IOS TEL. You can’t call ‘em, you can’t find ‘em but they will rip you off if you’re stuck in DFW Airport and use your credit card to call someone.

Yeah I know, you’re saying, “But, everyone knows airports are really expensive!” You are correct, I know that as well. However, there is expensive and then there is IOS TEL, the folks that brought you $8 per minute phone calls, and you don’t know you’re getting ripped off until days later.

Oh, and a special FFOAD to Verizon, the lying bastards that have signs near their phones that long distance is provided by Verizon, which obviously is total BS. Obviously Verizon is getting a cut from what IOS TEL steals from the unsuspecting traveller.

So enjoy your FFOAD IOS TEL and Verizon! I hope a homeless person sneezes on every one of you.

Who the HELL is IOS TEL…

… and why am I getting charged $41.81 for a 5-minute phone conversation?

Here’s a bit of history. On a recent flight from Dallas to Germany, I missed my connecting flight. American Airlines set me up on another flight, only it was routed through Paris, and instead of getting to Frankfurt at 7am, I wouldn’t arrive until 2pm (Frankfurt time).

So, my cell phone couldn’t connect and I used a pay phone CLEARLY marked “Verizon”, and there was even a sign that said “Long Distance Service Provided By Verizon”. So I called the person picking me up at the airport, and told her the flight number, the arrival time, and that it was Air France not American. Since it was between 1am and 2am in Germany, the phone call lasted under 5 minutes.

Then I get a charge on my credit card for $41.81.

This isn’t over. That’s outrageous, and considering the state of the US Economy, I wonder how Verizon is going to react when it starts getting out they are allowing some 3rd-Party phone service to screw people over?

Thus Endeth the Midlife Crisis

Most guys that have a mid-life crisis buy a sports car and marry a “trophy wife”. I just didn’t blog for a couple of years.

Guess I’m not one for big displays.

The Nifty 50

Over Memorial Day weekend I’ll be hitting the half-century mark. Since I’ll be a grandfather before September, the weather was nice and I was enjoying a Texas spring day, I thought back on my journey thus far. It’s been interesting.

I can remember where I was when Martin Luther King and both John and Robert Kennedy were assassinated, Ronald Reagan was shot, and I watched the Challenger shuttle explode – live. I watched Armstrong walk on the moon, Nixon resign, and Cronkite read the news.

TV was 3 channels and some of that “UHF” stuff and then morphed into cable or satellite dish. “Color TV” became commonplace, and now the “Hi Def is coming” articles I read have also come true. Vinyl records became CDs, VHS and Betamax fought it out and the winner lost to DvD and TiVo. I got to see microwave ovens start and of course get better.

This isn’t going to be some sad dissertation on how much better things are now or how things were better in the good ol’ days. The truth is if you look back where you’ve been it might surprise you. Might make you wonder too.

I wonder if anyone in the last 30 years got the same thrill seeing a band or singer on television the way I did, getting to stay up and see the Beatles on Ed Sullivan? I saw the first music video on MTV (yes, they used to play music videos. Really.), and I can’t remember anything being close to that. I can only imagine what someone who was able to see Elvis about 8 years earlier (albeit from the waist up) might say as a comparison.

Sadly I can also remember where I was when Elvis, and John Lennon, and George Harrison died.

I missed having a mid-life crisis. Never got around to having one and now I think it’s too late.

I listened to Chicago play at Pine Knob in 1975, and 20 years later I stood near the same stage as I listened to them again, this time as a paramedic. In effect I went from someone that had no cares to someone that was ready to care for anyone that needed help.

I’ve had to explain to someone that their spouse of 35 years was dead. On other days I extended a marriage. Let’s not kid around here. When someone that was clinically “dead” – no heartbeat – walks up to you at work a few weeks later and shakes your hand to say, “Thank you”, you had a good day.

I’ve delivered babies. Not something I recommend outside of a hospital, by the way.

Do I have a point? Yes.

Life is a tapestry, but sometimes you need to examine the individual threads. Sometimes that is the only way you’re ever going to appreciate just how great your life has really been.

How healthy is it to get hit by a truck?

Random thoughts from driving to work:

A lot of Austinites get out of bed, strap on some athletic shoes and take an early-morning walk for improved health. Kudos to them. However, more than a few seem to let their brains sleep in. I met a pair today that were walking next to a road that has a speed limit of 60, and few streetlights. They were adorned in dark red tops and black shorts. No reflective materials on them, not even their shoes. I didn’t see them until I was right on top of them, and I look for people when I drive.

Second, a sense of satisfaction when there is a Police Officer around when you wonder about them. I admit I drive about 5 mph over the limit. So when someone passes me like I have my truck in reverse, and then a little while down the road they are having an up-close-and-personal conversation with an officer, I can’t supress a snicker or two.

FFOAD: Dean Koontz

I don’t really hate Dean Koontz. He’s an excellent author with a fine body of work enjoyed by readers around the world. It’s just how he writes his chapters.

2-3 page chapters, which keep you reading. “Oh it’s only 2-3 pages, and I don’t want to quit now!”

Next thing you know you’re looking at the clock and realized if you take a quick shower and stop a a drive-thru for breakfast, you can just make it to work on time. Sleep? Later.

So thanks for all the wonderful books Mr. Koontz. But on behalf of those that have spent many sleepless nights because you can’t seem to write longer chapters – this Friday, FOAD.

Yes, you too can be a Techno-Transient

I was reading a book last night and with the TV on in the background (apologies to Al Gore), an advertisement came on that reaffirmed my understanding why my remote’s “Mute” button is used most often.

Apparently, for a small fee I can take my home wherever I go! Internet, phone, TV, music, and more!

Uh, isn’t that how we describe the homeless? Sorry. “Transients”. (It sounds so much more Sanitation Engineer when you say it that way, and no dirty looks when you suggest they be called Urban Outdoorspeople.)

I can’t figure out how people making more money that I ever will can sell these ideas. Take your home with you when you leave home! Aside from the contradiction in terms, why would I want to take home with me when I go out? I can argue that I leave home to get away from the dirty dishes, not drag them out with me so I can hear them rattling around in the back seat.

When I vacation somewhere, I want to experience where I am. If I want to have my own home with me at all times, I won’t leave home, I’ll just spend extra time looking at pictures of places that interest me. Why spend the money for travel if I’m just going to pop in the ear buds of my iPod and listen to a playlist, log into the internet and surf away, or watch my favorite shows?

Worse than the fact that well-paid people came up with this Techno-Transient ad campaign is that someone making more money than them decided that it was the best idea presented, and gave the okay to run with it.

Of course, I still read books that are printed on paper and not on a website so I might be missing something.

Yes, I’m Pro-Choice. Get over it.

Not sure why the “Pro-Life” folks have decided to keep allowing the zealots to come to the group meetings, but I’m thinking maybe they need to re-evaluate things.

I got dragged into an argument (my fault, I went to WalMart and was minding my own business, a sure recipie for disaster in that place) between two women, one that had the poor taste to wear a button with a “choice” message on her purse.

The zealots don’t listen, and that’s probably because they are too busy screaming and picketing, and demanding that Roe vs. Wade be overturned, and when they get time they are screaming we need a Constitutional Ammendment that defines “marriage” as being between a man and a woman. That’s a pretty full schedule there, so actually talking to someone that’s Pro-Choice would take intelligence, and patience, and listening.

I’m not sure how Pro-Choice got jobbed into meaning “Pro-Abortion”. I’ve never seen a Choice rally where the people on the podium advocated women abort as many unborn as possible. I’ve seen them in favor of women keeping their rights to choose how they want to live their lives. So let’s get this one out there for the Pro-Life people to ignore yet again.

Pro-Choice is NOT “Pro-Abortion”.

I can’t; in my worst mood, see a woman that finds herself unexpectedly pregnant flipping her hair and thinking she’ll just pop the thing out like a pimple. I can’t begin to imagine a woman’s thoughts over deciding to have or not have an abortion. But I can say that as a man it’s not my place to slap down any deterrents if in the end a woman decides that because of the circumstances in her life, she must choose to get an abortion.

As a man, I don’t have to suffer the hormone changes, the body changes, and all the natural consequences of a pregnancy. How can I possibly agree that a woman be forced to bear a child to term, or be considered a lawbreaker?

I would never suggest a woman get an abortion. If my daughter came to me and said she was pregnant and was considering one, then I would talk to her about other options, but in the end the decision would have to be hers to make.

Back to the argument. The woman that was vehemently Pro-Life asked me if I thought abortion should be legal. I’m afraid I tripped her up when I asked what she was doing to provide for the children that were born to women that didn’t want them. Did she make or buy diapers, formula, and clothes? Did she offer to care for the babies while the mothers went and found work? No to both questions. Stumped her I’m afraid when I asked what her ideas were about all the children – obviously unwanted – being born to mothers that couldn’t afford to care for them.

That’s my biggest problem with the Pro-Lifers (well, after their habit of shooting and killing doctors that perform abortions that is). It seems the Pro-Lifers are all about the stopping, but nothing about the consequences of their victory. I don’t see the Pro-Life people or the “Moral Majority” providing for the care of the children. It’s more important that these unwanted offspring make it into the world. Then they can be part of the ugly statistics of increased child abuse, which allows them to grow up and be much more likely to commit a felony, and end up in prison.

Oh hold it. Maybe the Pro-Life people are thinking ahead. Seems most of them are in favor of the Death Penalty. But if I were to suggest that they make their motto “Save The Fetus So We Can Fry The Felon” I’d catch all kinds of Hell.

Wandering thoughts…

Things that hit me while I’m trying to shop, and end up thinking about…

Because of the way a lot of people push shopping carts around, I tend to limit my shopping excursions to the quick-hit, get out fast type. In theory, that should mean I can use the express lanes for faster exits. Fat chance.

If I head for a lane clearly marked “10 items or less”, I will find myself behind someone that can’t count, can’t read, or doesn’t care. In most cases I suspect all of those reasons. Regardless, I stand there with my frozen items steadily thawing while Bertha tosses her 250 items onto the counter to get a tally, and then wait a bit more while she counts out her bill in pennies. This sort of stuff gets me thinking, leaves me wondering, and also gets me more than a little pissed off.

Most of all I’m getting increasingly frazzled by the growing “I don’t give a shit about manners, nor do I give a shit about you, I’m the only important person” attitude.

I’m getting the sense that “parents” now are really some sorry asshats, and there’s a growing fear that I – as a parent – was on the tail end of the generation of people that really were “good parents”. Being on the tail end means that I wasn’t the greatest, but I still managed to raise a child that isn’t going to snap and commit some heinous crime.

I read today that some teenager walked into a shopping mall in Utah and just started shooting. The kid ended up dead, so we’ll really never get any insight into why it happened. My thoughts are that the parents should be tried and punished for failure to care about their son.

There is no way that I – as a teenager – could have gotten to the point where I was so psychotic that I would be able to grab firearms and then head into a crowd of people and start thinning the herd. My parents were on top of me as I grew up. They asked what I was doing in school, they wanted to meet my friends, they knew where I was when I went out of the house. If my parents weren’t home when I got there, the neighbors were caring people, and they would have told my folks if I had people over (which was against the rules in most cases). The neighbors knew my parent’s expectations for me, and they helped enforce those rules.

Today I don’t see that. I see parents that are distant, more tied up in their work, and trying to wedge in some “quality time” with their kids, who aren’t stupid – they know Mom or Dad resent having to force interaction. TV, iPods, the internet – all of these things have become electronic babysitters, and the poor kids are cut loose to figure things out, because Mom and Dad think a V-chip or “parental controls” mean they care.

Violent video games, television shows, movies, and music lyrics don’t turn kids into killers. Distant parents do.

FFOAD – 7-11 Clerk Boy

I try to keep things simple in the morning when I’m headed to work. I like to buy a newspaper, and maybe a Frappucino to sip while I read about world events.

7-11′s provide a nice way to get those things and a tank of gas (for under $2 a gallon!) in one easy stop. At least it’s all set up to look that way.

I use a debit card and fill my tank, and then walk into the store to grab a paper. I see the Starbuck’s Frappucino and get one of those. After that it all goes downhill.

Taking my two items to the counter, the kid at the counter asks “Did you get gas?” Pretty simple answer – “Yes. But I paid for it with my card outsi-”

The kid goes and looks at his “gas machine” or whatever technical name it has. “Which pump?”

“No” I say calmly, “I already paid for it outside. Look, here’s the receipt.”

Clerk Boy is looking out the window, trying to see which pump number my truck is near.

“Hey, are you listening? It’s already paid for. I just need to pay for this paper and coffee.”

Clerk Boy turns. “Did you pay for it already?”

Damn. I knew I should have learned American Sign Language. “Yes.” I bite off the sarcasm. Yay me.

Then it gets worse. Clerk Boy looks at the register like it’s some alien technology, and he is the first to find it, and must now research it and bring forth its secrets to the world. I decide to preempt any potential problems and get out cash to pay for the paper and coffee.

Clerk Boy is still checking out the register like a cave man would investigate his first encounter with fire. I’m starting to boil over now. I’ve spent longer in the store at the counter than I did pumping an entire tank of gas. I want to get to work. I express those sentiments – somewhat rudely – to Clerk Boy. This action generated a visit from the Manager (Yes, and in perfect “Simpsons” stereotype, it was an Indian) who was “concerned” over my tone of voice.

I explained the situation, and the Manager took my cash and bid me on my way. Did he teach Clerk Boy how to use the damn register? Didn’t appear to. He closed the register, handed me my change and walked immediately back into the back room, apparently leaving Clerk Boy to torture the next unsuspecting customer.

So Clerk Boy, start the weekend right. It’s Friday. FOAD.