The Priority Mail Myth

Yesterday I mentioned my newfound disdain for the delivery reliability of the U.S. Postal Service. I mentioned a package that someone sent me over 2 months ago, via Priority Mail, that had not arrived.

I also mentioned unsuccessful attempts to call my local Postmaster to complain. Well, today I got through.

The person I talked to put me on hold while she went to see if the package was there. She was back on the line within a minute, telling me that the package was there, that a delivery attempt had been made December 24.

I was here December 24. That was the day that I got a note from my mailman telling me he was sorry he was unable to deliver a package. That's the time I successfully called the Postmaster, he told me the package was there, so I went and got the package. A box of Christmas cookies.

The Priority Mail package that I got today, cost $9.80 to ship from Washington to Texas.

It seems to me there is not much of a priority to Priority Mail if the priority is so lax as to allow a package to languish for so long on a shelf with no attempt to deliver it. Or return it to the sender.

So, I opened the package. It was several Christmas gifts, all wrapped. It was like having Christmas all over again. Out of it I have a nice Washington calendar. I'm looking at a snowy Mt. Spokane ski lift right now, with the lights of Spokane in the distance. It doesn't make me homesick. It looks cold.

Facebook Friends Fiasco

A couple days ago I was reading the Only Child Syndrome blog when the Only Child mentioned that she was finally provoked to check out Facebook. She had been an early user of MySpace, but grew tired of MySpace when it was co-opted by teenagers and trashy webpages with way too much going on.

I went through a MySpace phase a couple years ago, moved to do so by Tootsie Tonasket. She was having some problems (they've gotten worse) with her son and the mother of her granddaughter. I had fun making up a bunch of characters. It was amusing having all these people interacting with fake people.

Two of the characters, Durango & Igor, used pictures of me. I had Igor being a 34 year old Dallas cop. One thing led to another and soon Tootsie Tonasket's son was making threats to Igor. Which led Igor to cause the son to believe Igor had been in contact with the Wenatchee police regarding the threats.

Which all sounds ridiculous, but had the son, he ain't too bright, telling his mother he was going to turn himself in to the Wenatchee police before they arrested him. His mother was then able to tell the wayward son that she could get Igor to stop this, if the son would shape up. And that's what he did, for awhile. And he was grateful to his mother and treated her better. For awhile.

So, anyway, after reading what the Only Child said, I decided to check out Facebook. Well, before you can do anything in Facebook you have to set up an account. The steps in that process have you listing your birthdate, where you went to school, what year, I forget what else.

And then the setup process comes to this part where people from your high school years show up. I thought I was supposed to click on names I knew. I only recognized 4 of them. So, I clicked them, not realizing this sent the person something called a 'Friend Request."

One of the Friend Requests went to someone named Jeff Kenoyer. I recognized the name, but had no memory of the guy. He sent a message back asking who I was, how he knew me and why I wanted to be his friend. This felt vaguely embarrassing.

Then I got another reply from one who I actually do remember, Karen Fisher. Since I'd made myself younger than reality during that setup thing, she said "Hey. We were not in the same class. Are you from Burlington?"

To which I explained how it was I came to send out that Friend Request thing, and that some of the info in my Facebook profile isn't true, due to me not thinking I'd be using this Facebook thing, so why bother worrying about making every little detail accurate. That and I like being 15 years younger than my actual age.

Anyway, last night Karen made a series of amusing attempts to figure out who I am. I pointed her to this very blog, but apparently I look so much different than I did in high school that I am not recognizable. This pleases me. I had no idea!

To figure out who Jeff Kenoyer is, I had to find my high school yearbook. I was pretty certain they'd made it to Texas with me. I was right, all but the Freshman one. I've no idea what became of that one. When I saw Jeff Kenoyer's face, I recognized him as someone I'd seen before.

I'd not looked at a yearbook in a long long long time. It all looks so dated now. I guess that makes sense since it was a long long long time ago. That's Karen and her twin Keith, above, scanned from the yearbook. Apparently they were voted "Most Dependable" by my class. I have no memory of voting on such a thing. I don't remember if they were dependable or not. I do remember they were both cheerful and nice people.

What a world we live in now. Way back in high school if you'd told me that in 2009 we'd have an African-American President, that I'd be in Texas, walking distance from where Lee Harvey Oswald is buried, sitting at something called a computer, writing something called a Blog and scanning a picture out of my high school annual, well, little of that would have made any sense to me. Though I would have thought the info about the black President to be cool.

I wonder if Karen will figure out who I am today. I suspect not. I have never been a memorable person....

Caroline Kennedy Affair?

The Dallas Morning News had not arrived by the time my morning coffee had.

The lack of a newspaper had me laying on the floor reading that book I've mentioned earlier, that being "Sons of Camelot: The Fate of an American Dynasty." It's a good book. I had no idea how bad the behavior was of some of Bobby and Ethel's offspring.

I remember John Jr.'s infamous photo in his magazine George were he posed as Adam, nude, with an apple above his head and chastised two of his cousin's, Michael the Statutory Rapist, and Joe, as, "Poster Boys For Bad Behavior." The Poster Boys For Bad Behavior is the chapter I read this morning.

However, despite currently reading this book about bad Kennedy behavior, I'm still not quite able to believe this morning's fresh Kennedy scandal. That being that the actual reason Caroline Kennedy withdrew her bid to replace Hillary Clinton in the U.S. Senate, was that she'd been told if she didn't withdraw, her supposed affair with New York Times publisher, Arthur Sulzberger would be exposed.

The alleged affair has been reported on Fox News and MSNBC. Sulzberger is in the midst of getting a divorce after being married to Gail Gregg for 33 years. Caroline is married, with children, to Ed Schlossberg.

That's a photo of Sulzberger above.

HOT Hiking January Tandy Hills Day In Cowtown

We're in the 80s today, this 22nd day of the New Year, in Texas, in what some British newspaper called the United States of Obama.

The check I mentioned in a blogging earlier about the Post Office, showed up today. I got it on my way to the Tandy Hills around noon. That's today's view of beautiful downtown Fort Worth. This view is actually from a vantage point outside of the park, out in the zone where all the broadcast towers are.

On the way out of the park I saw that someone had dismantled the Tandy Hills Shrine, removing it from the trail and tossing it all in the grass. I was appalled at this senseless destruction of a living piece of ever growing guerrilla art. It can and shall be rebuilt.

But not today. I was in a hurry to get the hiking done.

Being an exercise addict is not all it's cracked up to be. It's like an annoying addiction. If I don't get my fix, I don't feel good. It's a living hell having a monkey like this on your back. I don't know how to get the monkey off my back. There are no 12 step programs that I'm aware of. There should be, because there are a lot of people out there, like me, with this addiction.

I took the Island Girl to the airport. Again. This morning.

A couple hours later, I got a call from Miami asking if I am mad at her. Then another from San Juan with the same question. I'm expecting a 3rd call from Ponce with the same question. The answer is "Duh." I let the calls go to voice mail.

I'm heading out in this blistering heat, again, to head north to Washington Mutual, then further north to Sprouts Farmers Market. I have room for one passenger in my vehicle if you want to come along.

Problems With The United States Postal Service

Up til recently I thought people who complained about Post Office competence were being totally unfair. With me thinking the Post Office does an amazing job of delivering so much stuff.

Up til recently, as far as I knew, I'd never not received something sent to me, or had someone not receive something I'd sent.

But, in the past several months I've had 2 packages not properly delivered. In that the mailman leaves a note saying that he was sorry he was unable to deliver. The note tells you to sign it if you want to have another attempt to deliver made. Or pick it up yourself.

I've tried the 'sign the note for another delivery attempt' option before. The note just stays in my mailbox. Ignored.

My mail room has a separate area for parcel deliveries. The mailman is supposed to put the package in a parcel box and leave the key in my mailbox. Apparently that is extra work and it's easier to leave a note.

I called my local postmaster to complain. I was told the problem was chronic and that he was old school which took pride in doing the job right, but a lot of the new younger mailmen were slackers.

About a month ago I learned someone had mailed me a package with around $250 worth of stuff inside. What stuff, I don't know, she wouldn't say. When I was asked if I got the package it was already a month since it had been mailed. It's now been another month. No package.

Calling the Post Office, now, I get an answering machine. I don't know how I managed to get the Postmaster on the line the previous time I called to complain.

And now this morning I learned that a check I've been expecting had been mailed to me, at my P.O. Box. It is a large check. I have not seen it. This vexes me.

High Tandy Hills Hiking Temps, Big Mammal Encounters, Tootsie Tonasket & The Island Girl Returns

That's the view from the Tandy Hills, a couple hours ago, at about 4 in the afternoon, looking west towards downtown Fort Worth and Interstate 30. It was 75 when I went hiking. We are in the 70s the next several days.

The picture was taken with my miraculously brought back from the dead camera. It remains alive.

I was in the Tandy Hills zone in the late afternoon due to agreeing to deliver a party, who insists on not being talked about in my blog, to a doctor's appointment. The appointment was supposed to take about an hour. Which meant I hiked for about an hour.

I had a scary encounter with a large mammal in one of the more isolated areas of the park. I heard loud noises, I first thought it was an armadillo, which I've never seen in the Tandy Hills, but I'm well used to the noise they make as they rut about for bugs to eat. I hear them all the time at Indian Village Creek Natural Historic Area.

As I got closer to the source of the noise I knew it was not an armadillo, it was too loud. I began to be concerned it might be one of those wild hogs I've read about.

And then I saw what it was. A man clearing some brush. We exchanged a few words and then my phone rang.

It was Tootsie Tonasket wanting to tell me the latest chapter in her soap opera. The short version is she had her son arrested on outstanding warrants. The son had been getting drunk and threatening Tootsie. Tootsie's husband has moved out to his own rented house a few houses from Tootsie's. The son moved in with his dad. And now is in jail. There were more details but I can't remember them, due to my attention deficit disorder problem. Or blessing.

Tomorrow I once again deliver an Island Girl to the airport for a sober return to the land of her birth. I enjoy the early morning jaunts to the airport. Why? I do not know.

My Olympus Camera Has Come Back From The Dead

A few days ago I blogged about dropping my Olympus camera, breaking it, and my search for a new camera, with the 2 finalists being an Olympus waterproof, drop damage resistant, weather proof camera and a top-rated Canon.

So, yesterday I picked up my damaged Olympus, thinking I'd take out the rechargeable batteries. But, before I did that, for some reason, I thought I'd try to turn the camera on again.

It came on as if nothing had happened to it. I took a picture as if nothing had happened to it. After I'd dropped it there was a real bad grinding noise when the camera tried to open. The display would not light up. Pushing on the shutter button did nothing.

I can only speculate why the camera is back working. Here I was going to buy a new Olympus, that was supposed to be harder to break. But apparently my, once more alive, current Olympus, has some sort of magical repair itself ability.

Or maybe when I dropped the camera some part of the inner mechanism was wrenched out of alignment, but held in tension by a spring, or something. Then while sitting idle the tension slowly put whatever had wrenched out of alignment, back into place.

I'm going with the magical repair itself option. We'll see how long the newly healed camera continues to work. It likely is a temporary return from the dead.

Are You In With Starbucks Free Coffee Call For National Service?

Minutes ago I was doing the secret behind my flexible, youthful body, that being yoga on a big inflated ball. I listen to the radio while I do this.

There was a new Starbucks ad that struck me as, well, wrong. While seeming to be altruistic.

The Starbucks ad said Starbucks was getting behind President Obama's Inaugural Speech call for community service by joining forces with something called HandsOn Network.

Starbucks is suggesting the good citizens of America answer their new President's call for service by giving up 5 hours a week to community service.

And, if you do your 5 hours between Wednesday, January 21, as in today, and Sunday, January 25, Starbucks will reward your good service by giving you one free cup of coffee. Not a Frappaccino, not a Mocha, not any of those other fancy coffee drinks Starbucks sells, that I've seldom bought, even though I'm from the coffee mad Seattle zone.

Directly from Starbucks...

How to Participate at Your Local Starbucks

Visit Starbucks:
You can join the “I’m In” campaign, part of the Starbucks™ Shared Planet™ commitment to community involvement, when visiting a local participating Starbucks beginning Wednesday, Jan. 21 (and continuing through Sunday, Jan. 25). Stop by the “I’m In” display featuring community pledge cards, pick up the card, and fill it out with your five-hour commitment to volunteer.

Pledge Five:
Place the “I’m In” sticker from the pledge card on your lapel, signifying your pledge, and take the card with you as a reminder to keep the effort going. As a thank you, each customer who pledges five hours of their own time will receive a complimentary tall cup of brewed coffee.

Track Success:
Customers can log on to pledge5.starbucks.com to record pledge hours, find local volunteer opportunities via the HandsOn Network, track hours pledged-to-date, and receive updates on the campaign."

I don't know, maybe this is Starbucks doing a good thing. But something about it struck me as sort of a cheesy marketing ploy. I think if the ad had simply said Starbucks had allied itself with the HandsOn Network and were encouraging people to volunteer, suggesting people go to Starbucks' website for info on how to volunteer. And not had the free cup of coffee thing if you do your 5 hours in the next 5 days, then it would have seemed like a totally altruistic thing.

Or if Starbucks pledged some monetary donation to some good cause for every 5 hours of community service, that would have seemed like a good thing.

But the idea of doing 5 hours of community service and going into a Starbucks to get a cup of coffee for free, well, I might do the 5 hours, but I wouldn't bother with the coffee.

I remember years ago, Burger King had a promotion where you got a free Whooper if you'd go to the counter and say "Whopper beat the Big Mac." I was able to get myself to do this once. But something about it was embarrassing to me. Even though I actually do think the Whopper beats the Big Mac.

Now, I'm off to do 5 hours of community service so I can get a cup of coffee...

Public Airport Intoxication: Part Two, The Seinfeld Moment

Well, I really had me a day, yesterday. A totally absurd day. The most absurd part was a Seinfeld moment, well minutes, that had me running for 45 minutes, covering miles of two D/FW Airport parking garages. I'll get to that later.

So, you may remember, yesterday I took someone to the airport who proceeded to get arrested and jailed for public intoxication.

The party in question was heading to an island in the Atlantic, where the arrestee's 83 year old mother was going to pick her up.

So, the arrested was quite panicked as to how to let her mother know not to go to the airport. Several calls were made from the jail cell to various people trying to get the recipient of the call to call the mother. However, the cell connection from the cell was so bad, no one could make out much of the calls. And I don't speak Spanish. So, how could I call the mother.

At some point the arrestee was able to get ahold of someone on the island and told that person to tell the mother that the arrestee was sick. The person on the island somehow then told the mother that the arrestee was sick and in the hospital. Which is sort of true if you stretch poet license to its limits.

I got the number of the jail. Called, explained the situation. I'd been getting constant phone calls from the arrestee. Little of which I could understand. The jailer said he'd put the arrestee on a land line. Before that could happen the arrestee called again. I said I'd head that way and see if I could cause a release to happen.

The jail is not inside the airport. It's on a side road to the east about 3 miles from the main airport freeway. I found the jail. I talked to the jailer. He said the arrestee had not sobered up, under the legal limit, almost 9 hours after the arrest. I was appalled.

The jailer put the arrestee on a jail phone. I felt like I was in a prison movie. The arrestee was in a panic, worried her mother would have a heart attack thinking she was in a hospital. The arrestee begged me to get her out of there. I said I'd see what I could do.

I talked to the jailer, asked if the almost sober arrestee could be released to me. He said he'd go check on the current condition. He came back and said he could release the now sober arrestee.

It took a half hour to process us out of there. That is when it was learned that the 3 pieces of carry-on bags and a jacket, were back inside the airport.

The jailer gave me a number to call to make sure the items were there. I got an answering machine. The jailer told me Lost and Found was in the C2 section of the C terminal. I'd dropped the drunk off at C31 that morning. C31 is a long ways from C2. It's a big airport.

While I was trying to call Lost and Found the newly released jailbird called her mother. The cell phone had a good connection once it was out of the cell. I don't know what cover story was told the mother. I didn't care at that point.

So, we head back into the airport. I easily park right across from C2. I barged the line at the ticket counter and asked the agent where Lost and Found is. Right behind us, through security, she said. So, we had to show our driver's licenses and she printed up what looked like boarding tickets.

I was not happy having to go through security. I hate that part of flying. And I was not prepared for it. As in I was wearing baggy pants held up by a belt. But I made it through with only one slight moment where it would have been embarrassing. I was going commando, also with no socks.

I started to feel like I was in an Amazing Race episode. I found Lost and Found. Explained the situation. The Lost and Found lady, Tiffany Washington, said that type stuff is not brought there. I used my considerable powers of charm, and Tiffany made a lot of phone calls and located the missing items. They were back at baggage claim for C31.

We went back to my van, left that parking garage and headed for the C31 parking garage. Unlike C2, the C31 entry level was full, so I go to the next level, then the next. Find a spot, park, hurry to the C31 baggage claim. We find the stuff behind a locked door. A lady opens it. All is there but the jacket.

We grabbed the stuff and hurried out of there. Crossed over to the parking garage. I quickly walked to where I thought the van was. It was not there. I was totally baffled. We walked around for a bit, re-traced steps, all to no avail.

I then told the recently drunk one to stay put and I'd run through the garage. I proceeded to do so. It was sort of fun. I was told later I looked like a cartoon character. I thought I had checked out every possible location in that garage. So, I ran to the next garage. I quickly figured out, after running through 2 levels, that there was no way that could be the location.

Ran back to the C31 garage. Found the freshly sober one, who had asked an airport employee for help and was given a number to call where they'd send someone to drive you through the garages looking for your vehicle. I thought that sounded ridiculous, but I took the number.

I said to the sober one, I think I made a mistake, thinking we'd had to go up, to find my van, but then I remembered that when I left the full level, the road went downhill, before re-entering the parking garage.

So, I ran down a level, then another. I was pretty sure I was on the right track, but I was calling that rescue number anyway. As I hit option #1 on the phone tree, I spotted my van.

I called the arrestee/jailbird/drunk/sober one and said stay put, I'll be right there.

It was an uneventful drive back. 121 had backed up 183, so I exited at 157 and took a right on Trinity Boulevard to get back here with no more traffic jams.

The starved arrestee/jailbird/drunk/sober one had not eaten, so I drove through Jack in the Box, then back to her place, where I hauled up the baggage and poured the rest of the liquid, that had caused the trouble, down the drain.

I needed a good symbolic gesture.

And then I was out of there. 20 minutes later I got a call telling me she found the missing jacket, stuffed into one of her bags.

What a happy ending to a sad, sordid, pathetic story.

Today's Obese Outhouse Joke

Regarding yesterday's incident where an intoxicated wannabe flier was not allowed to fly, but was instead allowed to spend the day in the airport jail, well, Gar the Texan opined regarding the absurdity of being so harsh with someone who is a tad tipsy, due to the tipsiness potentially presenting a hazard to the other fliers once they are in the air and facing some potential problem, where it'd be best if everyone were stone cold sober.

While at the same time, an obese person, who it would logically seem might present just as much a safety hazard, if not worse, to their fellow fliers in case of an emergency, is allowed to fly. Sometimes after having to purchase a second seat to hold all their girth.

As usual, Gar the Texan, with his extremely highly evolved thought processing, seems to be making a valid point.

I truly would not want to be seated next to either a drunk or an extremely obese person. Either would be uncomfortable and a potential safety hazard, particularly if I had the window seat, in both an emergency and a restroom call.