Black Thursday

Shopping is taking over the holidays. This, of course, isn't news. But retailers just seem to want more and more. Opening at 6 a.m. or 5 a.m. on the Friday after Thanksgiving wasn't enough. This year, there are more retailers that are opening on Thanksgiving Day. Don't we all have enough gross consumerism surrounding Christmas? Can't we keep one day pure? Apparently not.

Thanksgiving is a great holiday. It's certainly one of my favorites. It's the holiday that has no gifts, no expectations or requirement of good weather, nothing but a huge meal and some football. It's a day that you're supposed to reflect on what you are thankful for and be with loved ones and eat until you can't move.

Part of what makes it great is that almost everyone has the day off, as well as Friday, so you have the glorious long weekend. If your family is out-of-town, it's a good chance to visit, and even if you stay in town, you can slow down a bit. You've just made a huge meal, and the leftovers will get you through most of the weekend without having to cook. Sure, you'll probably want to knock out some of the Christmas shopping, but you have all weekend. But now, retailers want to push shopping on all for the entire weekend.

It's gross. I feel bad for all those people who have to work on those days, because they don't get to relax on Thanksgiving Day. They can't travel to visit anyone, no doubt they can't fully participate in dinner as they have to rest before working crazy holiday hours, because some CEO decided that they needed a little more cash for the bottom line. (I found this quote from Kathy Grannis, a spokeswoman for the National Retail foundation: "Shoppers have shown us that they love wrapping up their Thanksgiving meals, grabbing their coats, and going shopping." I'm willing to bet a large chunk of cash that ol' Kathy isn't going to be leaving her Thanksgiving meal early to open the doors at the local Target.) I read an article that said that the only people who are working are those who volunteered, which must be true because there are at quite a few Wal-marts and Sears that aren't opening because they didn't get enough volunteers to work on Thanksgiving Day (that was sarcasm.)

The thing I'm confused about is why. Why are they doing this? All these places have on-line presence. Can't we do this on-line, instead of forcing employees who are so desperate for money to give up a holiday? Costco seems to be able to do it. Amazon doesn't even have stores, and they've been known to sell a few items around the holidays. Do we have to camp out in front of Toys R Us to have a merry Christmas?

What are the stores actually getting here? Is this really making any difference to the bottom line? Somehow, I just can't believe it. Yeah, they get their store mentioned in the papers, a few folks pay a little less for another tv, but I don't know what the retailers are actually making. We all know that a lot of these door-buster specials have little or no profit for the companies, so are they turning on the lights and paying the employees for any actual profit?

I'll tell what they're getting from me: I've decided that I'm not doing any pre-Christmas shopping at any store (or their on-line version) that's open on Thanksgiving. It might be a boycott of one, but it's got to start somewhere. I'm not going to lie: it's going to suck. I love Target but none for me this holiday season. No more Old Navy (and Gap) for a while. Sorry kids, nothing from Toys R Us this year. No quick run to Kmart for lights or whatever. Maybe if some of us don't encourage this, we can get Thanksgiving back.

Friday Morning Quarterback

The election is over and now it's time to figure out what happened. It's actually pretty simple: there's a group of older, rich white guys running the GOP and the closer you are to being them, the more likely you were to vote for them. Unfortunately for them, more and more people are less and less like them. 

Here's the problem with the GOP model: they're clinging to that cool-kid model of the '50s. (I know the GOP is completely not cool, but hold on for a minute.) The GOP thinks that everything is still like high school in the '50s. You have this group of popular kids: the star quarterback, head cheerleader, etc, and they run everything. It might be just a handful of kids, but everyone looked at them and were all, "if only we were them." They set the standard, ran student council, all of it. Very "Revenge of the Nerds". You didn't have to appeal to the minorities or gays or dope-smokers because they all actually wanted to be you and expected you to run things.

But now, for so many reasons (more minorities, people out of the closet openly, the internet showing someone that they are not alone), the "outcasts" don't want to listen to the self-proclaimed Big Man on Campus. As one of the folks I follow on twitter pointed out "it's no longer subversive to smoke pot at a gay wedding." The fringe folks are realizing that they're not so "fringe" after all. "You're not like the popular kids? Hey, me too!" Things like gay marriage are passing, mostly because most people don't care who other people are marrying. They certainly don't want other people to be making judgments about their lives. I think younger people (the ones that don't fully get the whole '50s mindset because that might as well be Victorian times) are confused about the idea of even voting on something like that. 

The GOP is genuinely befuddled that there are girls like me who don't want to be homecoming queen or cheerleader, even if it were offered to me. They don't understand that I actually do want to work and have a good job and not have to rely on a man to take care of me. They don't get that the gay guys don't secretly wish they weren't. (Even moreso, they don't secretly wish that meathead quarterback *was*.) I'm not saying that we're this super-tolerant society, but I do think that we are a society that, for the most part, really doesn't care what you are doing most of the time. Smoke dope? Whatever. Sleep with people your same sex? Shrug. You're not actually an American yet? If you're getting your work done and you're not causing trouble, what do I care?

That's the difference in message: The democrats say "we'll help you be what you want to be" whereas the GOP is "we'll help you be that 1950s thing!" Guess which one speaks to more people?

Where do the wishes go?

I wish. I wish too often. I wish on birthday candles and an eyelash on my face and the clasp of the necklace that made its way to the front and on the first star of the night. Despite all logic, I always make a wish.

Maybe it's real. Maybe there is a force in the universe that grants wishes. Maybe it's not for everything: the birthday candles might be real whereas the blown eyelash is just a puff of air. The thing is, I don't know, so I figure I better be safe and make all the wishes. And, just in case, I better make the same wish, over and over. What if that universe force decides to only grant the most recent wish? Better be sure I'm getting the wish I really want.

Although there is a part of me that knows that these wishes are simply hopes I'm casting into the air, there's another part of me that thinks it just might happen, so I better wish carefully. But there have been times when something happens, and I see that a certain wish will never come true. And I can't help but wonder where those wishes went.

You might think that when that wish is gone, it might shake my faith in making wishes. I suppose it should, but, then again, what if I'm wrong? It always comes back to that. What if there was a reason this wish shouldn't come true? Maybe the universe is looking out for me or has a plan that I can't see right now. Maybe someone else's wish somehow trumped mine or maybe I didn't do it right. But I want those wishes. I want those wishes back. I earned those wishes and I need them back.

And you're working on something good

He's gone into his Little Room on what he calls a writing bender. I've never been with someone who is an artist-type before, and, even on regular days, HWM doesn't work normal work hours. But when he wants to really get in that creative groove, he takes a writing bender. He stays in the room, day and night, for a few days. He's at home, but he's also away.

HWM has a place to work that he calls his Little Room. It's not a study or an office, but it is where he works. He surrounds himself with things he loves, his pictures, his buddhas, his mementos, art he has created, whatever he needs to inspire him. He lights incense and candles and listens to music and gets to work. When he goes on his benders, he immerses himself in the Little Room, sleeping in there, only coming out for a few minutes to gather some food or go to the bathroom. Days later, he comes out, exhausted, needing a shower, but with a glow of creativity in his eyes. These benders push him forward, and I love to see this.

When we we first together and he would do a bender, they confused me. Why was he going away for so long? Why didn't he want to see me? What the hell was he doing in there? Everyone I know works "normal" hours, what did he think he was doing in there? Why was he sleeping in there, why not be more comfortable with me? But now I get it. I see why he does this and how they help him.

When he goes on benders now, I smile. I will miss him, even though we're in the same house, but I know he's creating magic. I smell the incense, I hear him moving around, and I can't help but smile. I plant a couple of kisses on the door and I hope he knows I am thinking of him.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em

There is something exciting and romantic about the whiff of cigarette smoke. These days, I don't smell it very often. I'll be out walking (you only smell smoke outside now; there's something almost scandalous about the idea of smoking indoors these days), and someone will walk by, and I'm transported to a different time.

When I was growing up, smoking was all around. All of my grandparents smoked, as did most of the grown-ups I knew. You could smoke in bars and restaurants, you could even smoke in college classrooms. I had a professor who would puff his way through 4 or 5 cigarettes during his 50-minute lectures at 8 in the morning. When my parents would have parties, the house filled with smoke and laughter. Sure, the house stunk of old smoke the next day, but while the party was going on, cigarette smoke meant something was happening.

The first boy I kissed beyond a simple peck on the lips smoked. He was the older brother of a friend of mine, and seemed mysterious. Until I met him, I thought only bad kids smoked but he seemed nice, not a "hood," as my mom would call the kids I wasn't allowed to hang out with; however, he didn't say much, so maybe I didn't know his secret life. I met him as part of a group and we seemed to get along. I got those first kisses at a dance club for teens, during a slow dance. Our next (and only) date was to meet to watch the next high school football game. I don't remember much about that night except being terrified that we'd run into someone who would tell my parents I was with a boy who smoked.

We didn't have a lot to say to each other but when he kissed me, it was exciting. I could taste the smoke on his lips. I can't say that kissing him made me feel grown up, but it did make me feel like less of a kid and more like a teenager. It made me wonder what dating and meeting boys and falling in love would be like.

When I got older and went out with friends, we would go to places where smoking was all around. Pizza places, bowling, concerts, anywhere people hung out, there was smoking. Going to bars in college meant you came home with your clothes reeking of cigarette smoke. Most of my friends smoked, and I was jealous as to how effortlessly they'd handle their cigarettes. The tapping of the pack, the cupping of the end around the flame as they lit up, that first inhale and exhale, the different ways they blew smoke. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find the way people smoked as cool. People look cool when they smoke, they just do.

(Of course I tried smoking in college. However, I have a chronic cough and even one cigarette left me with a hack so deep in my lungs even an idiot 20-something knows that's not a good look. I was left to admire others for having something to do with their hands when we were just hanging out.)

The smell of cigarette smoke takes me to nights full of possibilities. It takes me to a time when we didn't text to know who was going to be where. You showed up and looked around and hoped. Smoke was where things were happening. Smoke reminds me of going to breakfast with my Nana, and just taking your time with your coffee and cigarettes. To me, smoke is still the scent of excitement.

Birds singing in the sycamore tree

I am afraid to dream. I believe I am. This isn't to say I don't have goals or hopes or plans. These I have. But dreams. I'm not so sure.

Dreams are different from goals. A goal is "I will lose 20 pounds." A dream is "when I lose those 20 pounds, I will be discovered and become the world's first over-35 super model!" I'm pretty good at goals. I can make the plans, make a list of things to get done, start crossing those off. But dreams often require a bit of faith, a bit of hope, a bit of counting on chance. Dreams need you to be able to picture a new way of looking at your life. I'm not so good at those things.

I view myself as a practical person. Maybe it's my anxiety, maybe it's because, at heart, I am a scientist, but I when I make plans, I'm not comfortable with taking chances. It's not a bad thing: I have a steady job, a 401K, the sorts of things a responsible adult should have. But I don't really have dreams. When I try to dream, I see where it can go wrong. I see that I might need someone or something to come through that I can't control. And so I hesitate, afraid to commit to a dream.

On a recent episode of "Treme," someone criticized New Orleans, saying that it was nothing but "drunks and dreamers." And with that, I understood why I love New Orleans. When I visit New Orleans, I get to see the dreamers. I hear the stories of how they just packed a bag and moved there, or came to visit and just never left. Maybe it didn't turn out like they planned, but for a moment, they had the courage to give in to a dream. I think to myself, "I could never do that." I wonder what it would be like to believe in what could be over what current was. Is that enough? It seems to be.

Here's the funny thing: I have given into a dream. And it was the best thing that ever happen to me. So, why am I afraid to dream now?

I want bravery. I want bravery so that I can dream. I admire the dreamers because they have a bravery that I can only hope to have. One day, I may give into a dream, and you might shake your head at that crazy thing I just did. But don't worry; I'll still have my 401K.

Crippled inside

I feel fragile this days. I feel like I am stumbling and I can't get it together. I feel like I make the wrong choices and I can't follow my own instincts. This happens. I go through these phases. But today feels hard.

I always want people to think I'm tough, that I have a thick skin. But I get upset too easily. I try to act like a roll with the punches, but I feel jarred when things go the wrong way. I cry too easily.

Maybe it's not that I don't want anyone to know. Maybe it's that I'm afraid that if someone knows, they still won't care.

Shoot and score

I have ordered a new camera. It's not a DSLR and it's mirrorless, which are things that mean very little to me. I love taking pictures, but the details of what a camera does and what make one better than another isn't interesting to me. I barely know who much my camera can zoom. But this camera is, from what I have read, a good camera for those who want something more than a point-and-shoot, but don't want too much crazy going on. That sounds a lot like me.

I do love my point-and-shoot and I expect it will still be the one I carry around on most days. But, under certain circumstances, I get frustrated with it. Low light, action shots, certain indoor circumstances don't give me the pictures I want. There are times I see what I want to capture, but that's not what shows up. I suppose that will happen with any camera, but I'm hoping it's a bit less. I'm hoping to be able to get a good picture of the next full moon.

What pushed me over to the buying territory is that Sony is upgrading this camera in the next month, so the current model dropped in price by $200. I couldn't resist. It's possible that these upgrades in the newer version would be nice, but I'm thinking that won't be the case as the rumored upgrades have to do with video capture (something I never do with my current camera) and blah-blah computer interface. If you know anything about me, I'm about ten years behind on anything technology-related, so even the "old" computer-ish stuff is still at least five years ahead of anything I'm going to be using. Do I think those upgrades are worth over $200? I'm taking that bet and buying the current model.

I am worried about the bulk of this camera. I'm already pushing bag-lady status with the amount of stuff I drag around on a regular basis, so this might just push me over the top. "Don't mind the suitcase; it's carry-on size." Actually, I am more worried the bulk will have me leaving it behind and not using it enough. I will have to push myself on that.

Sometime next week, the new toy arrives. I'm very excited! Stay tuned for updates.

Pronoun confusion

"We built it!" chant the Republicans. This is in answer to a statement that President Obama said about small businesses. First of all, that statement about not building a business by yourself, besides being quoted out of context, is absolutely true. Even in the commercial of the guy rebutting the President's claims, he claims that he and his father built their business. Are they not even listening to themselves? When they chant, "We built it!" do they not see that the pronoun they are using implies that they don't do it alone?

Besides completely missing the point, that a business needs the infrastructure, roads, community, etc, to succeed, why is this considered a bad thing? Why is the idea of assistance something undesirable? I went to public schools and the government paid for a nice chunk of my graduate school. And where's the line? If you get a scholarship to college, should you turn it down? Should you avoid the interstate and get an off-road vehicle? I need answers!

I have no doubt that being a small business owner is a challenge and loads of hard work. But isn't this why you would want more help, not less?

What we talk about when we talk to Genoa Jeff

When I was in high school I was one of those girls who spent hours on the phone. It was before the days of cordless phones, so I had an extra-long cord and I could cover my entire bedroom while chatting. We'd talk and do other things; they were less like conversations and more like just keeping each other company. We didn't have email or texts or facebook, so it was the phone.

I had a handful of friends I could turn to for these non-ending phone calls. Most of them were not my boyfriends, as my boyfriends weren't very interested in the rambling chatfest. It takes a certain type of person to be on the phone for hours and hours.

One of my phone friends was Genoa Jeff. I met Genoa Jeff when we were in the All-Ohio State Fair Band together. The AOSFB was three weeks away from home with 300 other band dorks. I loved every minute of it. I honestly don't remember how close Genoa Jeff and I were when we were at the fair, but he lived just close enough that calling each other wasn't long distance, so we could spend hours on the phone.

Genoa Jeff was skinny and sarcastic and smoked all the time. Looking back, I realize that he must have hated living in small-town Ohio (heck, Genoa wasn't even big enough to actually be a town), and he envied me, living in the big city of Toledo. He would ask for all the details of my high school, what music we were playing, how many people were in the band, did we really have ten tubas in the marching bands? Being a high school girl, I couldn't be more thrilled to talk for hours about my life, so it was the perfect arrangement.

We would talk and talk, until my dad kicked me off the phone. What in the world did we talk about? I suppose it doesn't really matter. We just told each other the stories from our day, no doubt editing our lives to make them more interesting or dramatic. Our lives barely overlapped, so any artistic license was purely for entertainment.

I'm not sure when we lost touch. He just sort of faded from my life, and, when I realized that he was gone, it was too late. I wonder what happened to Genoa Jeff. The sad truth is that I don't even know his last name, and googling "Genoa Jeff" isn't any help. So I just remember, long talks about nothing and everything.

(Thanks to Bru, who inspired this post.)

You're my obsession

I'm not sure when things changed for me, but I wasn't caught up in the Olympics like I was years back. Don't get me wrong: I still paid way too much attention to what's happened and I spent plenty of time checking results on-line. But something was missing. A lot of people blamed the coverage (which had plenty of problems), but there's another issue for me.

When we watch the Olympics (or other world-class sports), we are watching people who are obsessed. There's a commercial that ran during the games showing various folks training and the voiceovers are statements like, "I haven't had dessert in five years," "I haven't read any books," etc. The idea, of course, being that these people are so focused on the athletics, they have time for nothing else. But is that appealing? Is this a good thing?

It is amazing watching what some of these athletes can do. You watch them fly through the air, run faster than seems possible, and you know that you will never ever be able to come even close to that. But you also hear the stories: how they left home at 12 because they wanted to train with a certain coach or how they've had the same knee repaired three times already before the age of 25, and I have to wonder if we really should be celebrating these athletes.

Maybe I'm a bit jealous. I've never had that singular focus. I've had times when I've had goals, and I've gone after them, but, deep down, I don't think I could have given up a big part of my life to go after just one thing. It's not that I've cut corners or walked away from a challenge, but I prefer balance over putting all my eggs in one basket. In fact, I'm happiest when I have the back-up plans and the different things to do.

When I was younger, I admired that focus that these athletes have. I wasn't consciously aware that this was part of the equation, but I would wonder what it would take to be an Olympic athlete. Now that I'm older, I realize that there is an element of "these people are crazy" that goes into this class of training and commitment. I'm not sure if we should be admiring this. And maybe this is why I'm a little more jaded when I watch the Olympics.

Four more years!

I started this blog four years ago. Sometimes I can't believe it's been that long, but it's not like nothing's happened during those four years. Since I started this, I've had three different jobs, three residences, two computers, three cameras, a divorce, and an amazing new relationship. There's been a lot going on.

I'd like to say that when I started this blog, I thought I had it figured out or that I'd have no idea that things would change so much, but that's not true. I had a feeling a storm was a-brewin'. It was one of the reasons I started this, to have an outlet. I knew I was looking for something, and I still am. But, as cliche as it sounds, I see that getting there is half the fun.

I started writing here because I felt a pull of writing. I sort of expected to write a few posts, then let it fade away. I know that's not the most positive of attitudes, but I also know how these things go. I have more than a handful of half started projects hanging around the house (I probably will never knit that scarf.)

If I'm being honest, one of the reasons I started this blog was to reach out to (the former) Mr. Higgy-Piggie. This isn't the place to go into details about everything that happened or dig at old wounds, but, looking back, I know how many times and ways I tried to go to him, but there was never any attempt by him to move towards me. I started writing this, and he never read it once. Not a one time. Not when I started, not when I moved away, not when I told him that I didn't want to be married to him anymore.

I am now with Handsome Writer Man, and I am smiling, just writing this. As he is also a writer, it is not surprise that HWM reads this as well as any other writing I am willing to show him. He supports me, not only in my writing, but in so many ways that I was not supported before. I am happier now, but I am also stronger, and I am thankful for this every single day.

Thank you to everyone who has read this over the years. I know it's not a huge audience (if Statscounter is to be believed, I have yet to hit 7000 views), but I appreciate every single view. I will probably be writing here, on and off, until the idea of a blog goes away. I thank you, again, for reading and for all of the positive words.

Carsick

I get carsick. I get carsick like a little kid. I was told I'd outgrow it. Sadly, this was not to be. It seems so minor, but it affects a lot more than you might realize. I'm not going to pretend that it's a serious illness or that some people don't have bigger, truer issues, but it's something I wish people wouldn't just dismiss it as nothing.

When I think back on being a kid, about half my memories involve carsickness. My best friend's mom used to take us around in large, older cars with the heat cranked up. The car smell liked plasticized vinyl and that fake pine from one of those air-fresheners hanging on the rear-view mirror. (To this day, when I see one of those silhouettes of a pine tree, I get slightly nauseous.) I don't blame any driver for causing me to get sick. I get carsick at an Imax theatre. I've made myself carsick with my own driving, which should earn me a special prize or something.

I can't always predict when it'll hit. Generally, I need as few stops as possible. I am less likely to get carsick on a 50-mile ride down a highway than a two-mile trip to the store on back roads. Heat is always a factor, so if you see me place my wrists on the cooler window, I'm just trying to cool down a bit. (I'm not sure where I got the wrist thing, but it works on a limited basis.) I'm better in the front seat than the back, and I'm best of all when I can drive, which is why I will often volunteer to do the driving.

When I get sick, I starts out as a touch of queasiness, a rumble in my stomach. I cough (a reaction I have to being nauseous because just turning green and trying not to throw up is never enough.) At this point, I am usually trying to get fresher air, cool down, concentrate on not being sick (which is often not the right action because then my body starts crying, "I'm carsick! I'm carsick!" My body is a jerk.) It just builds from there. Often there's nothing I can do but just hope we arrive at our destination soon. I rarely get to the point of actually throwing up, but, once I'm out of the car, I do need some time to recover.

It's embarrassing. It really is. For me, it's the usual reaction to a ride in the car, but, for a lot of people, they want to check to see if I'm alright or they get overly concerned. I just need some fresh air and a few minutes. I don't want to discuss it, because I am highly suggestible and the more I talk about it, the more I feel it. (How suggestible am I? I'm slightly carsick just writing this post.) The good news is that it never sticks around. Five or ten minutes after I'm out of the car, it's over.

You probably don't realize how often you just pop in the car with a group of people: you go to lunch, you run an errand together, you pick someone up. I do, because every single time, I have to decide if a bout of carsick is worth it. I dread when someone picks me up to go somewhere. Every Christmas, my family wants to drive around and look at the lights, and I have to ask them to limit the drive.

Of course, it's not just cars: planes and boats are just as much fun. Sailing is just an invitation to revisit my last meal. I'm not afraid to fly, but I hate the idea of getting sick when I fly. I can feel it the second a plane starts circling an airport. I can't read when I travel -- that would be too much. (I have found that mahjong on my Kindle is a good diversion, but I have to shut it down when we approach, which is when I'm most likely to get sick. Flight attendants do not take this as a reason to violate FAA rules.)

It's not deadly and there are bigger problems in the world. Just understand that when I ask to ride in the front seat and a touch more air conditioning, it's just an attempt to enjoy the ride.

Toms shoes: A story of really awful customer service

I buy too many shoes. My excuse is that I have a hard time finding ones I like. I want cute, comfy, nice-looking, non-blister-forming shoes. This is not easy for me. If they're cute, I get blisters; if they're comfy, they generally look dumpy and I might get blisters anyway. I thought I found a solution earlier this year with Toms shoes, but their customer "service" is too terrible for me to support, on any level.

I bought two pairs, liked them, so I ordered a pair of plain black canvas ones. For what they are (basic canvas shoes) they're pricey, but they were want I wanted. It took two months to finally have these shoes. 

When I ordered the black canvas shoes, Toms sent me the incorrect ones (these). I did everything correctly when I placed the order (I didn't click the wrong style or anything like that), but Toms expected me to handle the return in the sense that they would email me a UPS label, and I would have to repack, label the box, and take the box to a UPS store, then, once received and processed, they would send me a replacement pair. I asked if they would at least pick the box up at my door, and the customer service rep said that I would have to drop it off. I don't live by a UPS store and I work, as I explained, so she suggested I flag down a truck and they would take it. As this was the extent of the help, I told her I'd figure it out.

Unfortunately, I was unable to get the return to a UPS store in the 30-day window attached to the label (I wasn't aware of the time constraint until I got an email stating that my label had expired), so Toms offered to send me another label. I replied to the email that, yes, I would like a new label.

I heard nothing back.

I sent another request via email.

I heard nothing back.

I called directly. Unfortunately, even though I called during Toms business hours (which are limited and West Coast times), everyone was away at a team-building event, so there was a message to call back even later in the day. I called back later and was on hold for over 20 minutes. Unacceptable. Look, I get that they want to be this hippy-dippy-California place who does team building on a work day. Terrific! But now that you're back to work, answer the damn phones!

It was suggested to go to email (although my email experience was a series of non-replies so I didn't go down that road) or live chat, where, much to my surprise, there was no one there as well, just this message, over and over:

"All TOMS Customer Happiness Team members are currently assisting fellow customers. We appreciate your patience and a SOLEutions specialist will be available to assist you shortly. Please have your order number ready."

I got that at least 20 times. You can only imagine how pleased I was at this point. I'm on hold and the live chat was sending form letters.

I finally did get someone to talk to me and send me a UPS form. I didn't want to go through that again, so I sent it off right away. And waited almost three weeks for my replacement shoes. Toms is one of the few places that still charge shipping fees and, yet, their shipping system is incredibly slow. Frustratingly slow. In that time, I realized I needed shoes for a vacation, and since these weren't coming, I ordered from Zappos.

What is going on over there? These shoes are not inexpensive, but I thought they'd be worth it. When I got my first pair, I thought that I had found that shoe that I could wear almost anywhere. My sister, who has all sorts of foot issues, also raves about how wonderful her Toms feel. But, honestly, how can I continue to support a product that doesn't seem to be interested in its customers?

So, as I do, I wrote an email to customer service detailing everything above (in fact, most of the post is from that letter.) Their response: "We are following up regarding your request for a return shipping label for a recent TOMS order error..." Yes, that was the point of this email: my request for a return shipping label. I ran screaming into the night.

I know that some of the delay was my own delay in sending the shoes back, but this whole experience has soured me on Toms. I appreciate their causes and wanting to help others, but they need to fix the basics. I just refuse to support a company that ignores customer service.

Love in a work climate

This isn't about office romance. This is a question for those out there, working for The Man: how much do you owe The Man? Where is the line between company loyalty and selling your soul?

Let's start with the basics: you owe your company however many hours promised per week (usually 40, which is another discussion, but, for now, these are the rules of the game.) But no one really talks about the quality of those hours. Of course, you have to talk to your coworkers, but there is a difference between discussing a deadline and chatting about the kids' soccer games. But, then again, getting to know your coworkers makes the work environment more pleasant and makes working with these folks that much easier.

Should you be updating your facebook page? "Heavens no! Not on work time!" Except it's been shown that a bit of web surfing can actually increase your productivity, so maybe not checking facebook is a bad thing. Maybe you owe it to your boss to be tweeting.

How many hours in excess to the base 40 do you "owe" the company? Should you be checking your email at night and/or on the weekend? How about when your on vacation? Or sick? How many extra hours should you put in to get that big project done? What if there's no big project and they just expect you to be working more and more? There is a definite "you're lucky to have a job at all" vibe that some companies give off, but don't they owe you a reasonable workload? Is it fair for a company to demand that you work extra hours to fill out your 5-year plan?

Another big question: when is it time to look for the next opportunity? Sometimes the grass is truly greener someplace else or there might be rumors of lay-offs and cut-backs. Is it being "disloyal" to look for other places to work? Is it fair that companies frown upon such behavior, yet have no issue with a "reorganization" that leaves hundreds of employees behind? Do companies have a right to upset if someone browses LinkedIn? What about going to a job interview?

Back in the day, people would work for a company for 20 or more years, so, not only were you loyal to a company, but a company would be loyal to you. Now, it's a different dynamic, but companies still expect a loyalty that I'm not sure they deserve. If you truly love your job, you may not get that commitment that you want or need. Maybe it's easier to not get your heart broken if you have love outside of the office.

May the odds be ever in your favor

I'm wearing my good luck earrings today. I'm not sure how they became my lucky earrings but it always seems like I have good days when I wear them. I don't wear them too often because I don't want to use up the good luck. It's like praying to St. Jude for every little thing: he'll get tired of answering all those little prayers, and when you really need him, he'll be ignoring you.

I got these earrings from a bad boyfriend. He was one of those boyfriends who doesn't treat you right but you stay with him to prove that he is actually a good boyfriend to everyone who's telling you that you should break up with him. He worked nights and was always tired and was still in love with his last girlfriend. He acted like seeing me was doing me a favor, and, looking back, I'm not sure why I was with him as long as I was, because I can't even say I was really in love with him. I probably was vain enough to think that I would eventually break the spell his last girlfriend had over him and then he'd be wonderful. No spell was ever broken and I finally had enough.

They're probably my favorite earrings of all time, and it's not just the luck thing. They're what are called "threader" earrings, which you can find pretty easily now, but when he gave them to me, I had never seen earrings like that before. They're gold and delicate and easy-to-lose. I remember being so surprised when he gave me these, as he was not good at the gift-giving. He was the kind of guy who'd forget your birthday or buy you something that should be useful to you ("You said you needed new spark plugs!") Maybe it's one of the reasons I love these earrings: they remind me that unexpected things can happen.

I don't think of him when I wear these earrings. When I put on those earrings, I am hoping for something, and they remind me that life is full of possibilities. Maybe it's not the earrings that are good luck; maybe I am bringing luck to the day.

The house on the hill

Let's pretend: you need a place to live. You're not sure exactly where to live or the type of place you want, so you talk to a few realtors. These realtors show you these lovely, huge house, full of rooms you may never use. You never thought you'd ever live like this! It's all so beautiful! Of course, it's way more than you need, but, hey, you only live once!

As you've never gotten a place before, you're not even sure how much you can afford. But every single realtor sits down with you, "crunches the numbers," and assures you can can afford these amazing places. On one hand, it doesn't seem right: they're quoting numbers like $10,000 a month and you only earn $35,000 a year, but they pull out spreadsheets, tell you about grants, low-interest repayment plans, all sorts of ways to get money for this house. They explain to you that living in a place like this will make *you* more valuable, and this amazing house will pay for itself. Now, imagine you're 18 and being told all this. Would you believe it?

Isn't this how college is sold to kids these days? College is not cheap. We all know this. But an 18-year-old looking for a place to spend those next four years might not see all the money:
A breakdown of costs
They see your their place on their own, professors that seem to know everything, parties, big-time sports. It's all very exciting. They don't see the potential debt they may be graduating with:
Lots of stats on college debt
(I won't even talk about how much it might cost if they go to graduate school, but additional education seems to be required more and more these days.)

I would never suggest that kids shouldn't go to college. I am a firm believer in education taking you to that next level. I've got my degrees, and I needed to get them to be where I am today. But I think it needs to be done smarter. Should you be sending your 18-year-old who scraped by in high school and isn't sure of his major in to a private college using loans that he'll have to pay back after he graduates? Maybe that's not the best place for him to try to grow up. There are a lot of kids who might benefit from taking a year or so off and work for a while. See what a dollar buys these days, see how limited their opportunities might be. Colleges should embrace the kids that come back, although I'm not sure if this is the case.

Another part of this mess is the decision of major. I get the argument that college is not a placement service, but there is something to be said about giving someone all the facts before making a decision. There's nothing wrong with warning a kid who's paying $40K a year for college that, given the average salary of a person in her chosen profession, it'll take her roughly 20 years to pay back her college loans. I would also say that a decision about how this 18-year-old will pay back any college debt isn't stomping on someone's dream, but, rather, a practical decision.

There are a lot of ways to get an education. I am saying that the model of sending every 18-year-old who gets in to an expensive college without direction is probably not the best choice. While four years away in college may be a wonderful experience, paying off that debt for so many years to come may offset some of that.

Who's calling during dinner?

As you may have heard, there's an election coming. Welcome annoying political ads, welcome phone calls convincing you to vote a certain way. Even better, most of these calls are done by a machine, who can't tell it's leaving a long, rambling speech on another machine.

Last election, I was "lucky" enough to live in a swing county in a swing state, so I got the robo-calls. Lots and lots of robo-calls. Every day, there were multiple calls to sort through just in case a real person called and left a message I needed. Then all evening, they called. I suppose I felt slightly less guilty hanging up on a real person rather than a machine, but only slightly. I just wanted it to be over.

I suppose as annoying as they are, these calls have a purpose. Sure, they want you to vote for whatever candidate they are selling. (I do wonder if they accomplish their goal with these non-ending calls. By the election, I was so tired of all the candidates, I almost didn't have the energy to actually vote.) The other purpose was to get money for whatever candidate or party they were trying to push on me. "Hi, I've just completely interrupted your evening? Can you give me some money or we can afford to do this more?" I have to wonder, does this work?

I maintain they're doing it all wrong. Here's how you get me on your good side and get money from me: offer to stop calling me. You heard me: I will pay money to not get any more calls. Just imagine it. If you support a certain candidate, they'll put you on a list and not call you. No robo-calls, no interrupted dinners, no email. For more money, they could widen the net: no calls from the party associated with the candidate. Now, that's something I'd pay for: silence from a candidate. The problem is that if you could afford it, you'd probably pay for both sides. Of course, then you'd have to actually decide on a candidate based on issues rather than advertising. Wouldn't that make the election interesting?

American Idol: Make Number One More Better

Every year it sucks me in. I say that I'm only going to watch part of an episode, and I end up watching the whole season. I'm not sure why, but I think it's mostly because it's easy and predictable. You know what you're getting when you watch "American Idol." This isn't a bad thing. It's comforting, in its way.

It's still the number one show on television (ratings-wise), but the ratings are slipping. There are lots of people complaining that they get the same type of winner, year after year, but I don't think that's the problem. Sure, it's a bit boring, but winning "American Idol" guarantees nothing, so give the tweet girls what they want. However, I'd like to offer a few suggestions for improvement.

Let me start out by saying that I don't think it should change much. It's never going to be that powerhouse it once was but that's alright. Except for the random slip by Steven Tyler, it's safe, fun, family-viewing. And although I've stated otherwise, I've decided that the simple format of the person with the lowest number of votes goes home is the way to go. Other shows have tried other ways, but one of the charms of "American Idol" is that the audience really does pick the winner. "The Voice" was on its way to winning the ratings war, but they screwed up by making the judges too powerful and the system too complicated to understand. I say leave "American Idol" as it is; the one judges' save is enough.

So, if the voting should stay the same, what should be changed?

First, and most important: fire Randy. Yo, dog, I'm just not feeling it, dude. He says his ridiculous little phrases, drops a few names, but adds nothing. I don't get why they keep him, and I doubt that anyone is watching the show for his pearls of wisdom. When the contestants do a musical tribute to your lack of originality, it's time to go.

Why isn't Jimmy Iovine a judge? Wouldn't he be the perfect replacement for Randy? He actually knows music, he has a relationship with the other judges and the contestants (even if he can't get Jennifer's name right), and he always has good insights into the performances. Make this happen! Also, I miss the occasional guest judge. Guest judges add a different perspective. After a few weeks, you know what the regulars think of the various contestants. It's nice when someone new gives their opinion of what's going on in the competition.

I'd like a little more behind the scenes. I like knowing which contestants are friends, which ones compete against each other. It certainly makes the elimination shows more interesting. When Colton got voted out, watching Phillip's reaction was part of the drama. I love watching the process of picking the songs. Some contestants come in with terrible choices and Jimmy guides them to a better fit, and sometimes Jimmy doesn't agree but they show him that it is the right choice. Don't turn it into "The Real World" or anything like that, but the personalities are part of why we watch. This is why everyone loves Hollywood week.

The biggest change "American Idol" needs to make is to update the song catalog. Through these many years, "American Idol" has made roughly a gagillion dollars. Please, use a fraction of this to pay for songs that have been released during these kids' lifetimes. Other shows seem to be able to do this. Why does Idol cling to standards? Why is Hollie singing a song from 1945 in the finale? I seriously doubt that when Joshua found out he was going to get an opportunity to sing with his idol, he wanted to sing a song that was written 22 years before he was born.

At least now they allow the contestants to admit they hadn't heard of the song when it was assigned to them. But how do we get a sense of what kind of a singer they'll be if they don't get to actually pick songs they know. I don't mind having the various theme weeks, but we need more songs that these kids genuinely love. If I'm placing bets, I'm thinking that the girl voice-powerhouses would rather sing Adele than Whitney. And if they fall on their faces, at least they did it singing a song they love.

It's not much, but a little update would be nice. And, truly, get rid of Randy.

Face the face

Can we talk? Well, according to Sherry Turkle in The New York Times, we cannot. Here's the full article. There are points that are valid: there's nothing I hate more than someone checking their phone while you're talking to them (and, yes, of course, I've done that as well because we've all become that gross.) I also agree that there is something wonderful about a conversation between people. However, she showed how people can't converse by quoting a 16-year-old boy who states that he'd "like to learn how to have a conversation." When were 16-year-old boys ever able to have a conversation, especially one with a 50-something college professor?

There's something very cranky, "you kids get off my lawn!" about this article. She complains about the "young people" at work who wear headphones instead of chatting with the senior partners at work. I have to wonder if she asked any of the "young people" why they wear headphones? In my case, I work as a writer in a noisy office space (because, despite her statements about the lack of conversation in the modern workplace, there are loads of conversations happening at my work.) Because I am not a senior partner (or equivalent), I have a shared office space. I need those headphones to get my job done. This doesn't prevent me from chatting with my coworkers, but it does allow me to control hearing every social update.

I am tired of the narrow definition of communication so many people cling to. Turkle is one of the many who insists that a conversation is "sitting in the same room talking." (It's unclear what she feels about talks on the phone, but I'm guessing she's anti-that as well.) I'm not saying that conversations like this aren't a good thing, but it's terribly narrow. I communicate with people in so many ways: email, twitter, facebook, blogging, text messages, phone calls, flickr. In fact, one of the reasons I do all of this is because some people in my life are more reachable these ways. I need and want all of these ways to have the people in my life communicate with me.

This lack of acceptance of other forms of communication feels like intolerance to me. I'm not saying somone has to do all the forms I do (because, clearly, I have a problem), but if you are only reachable by one form of communication, you have cut me off, not the other way around. These other ways of communicating show different sides of a person. I have gotten to know people through facebook, their blogs, twitter; I am in a flickr group with two of my aunts, and I'm seeing their lives in a new way.

Turkle writes about "sips" of conversation as if it's a bad thing. Sometimes a sip is exactly what you would want. Sometimes chugging isn't the way to get to know a person. Some people need to ease into your life. She also makes the assumption that verbal communication is better than written. There is something wonderful about the written word that isn't captured in long, rambling conversations.

The art of conversation is changing, but it has always been changing. I am sure that when the telephone was invented, people decried the lost art of letter-writing. Perhaps instead of all the hand-wringing, we should be celebrating that we have so many ways to communicate with one another.