2007 - Poofle's Top 10 Albums · 16 January 08 by Mike
1. Band of Horses – Cease to Begin
2. Wilco – Sky Blue Sky
3. Spoon – Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
4. Andrew Bird – Armchair Apocrypha
5. Buffalo Tom – Three Easy Pieces
6. Jose Gonzalez – In Our Nature
7. Iron and Wine – The Shepherd’s Dog
8. Ryan Adams – Easy Tiger
9. Radiohead – In Rainbows
10. Kings of Leon – Because of the Times
Probably missed some…forgive me…the baby’s arrival threw off my discovery of new music…
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Comcastic Customer Service, With Unsolicited Snotty Fucking Attitude · 11 November 07 by Mike
We’ll be switching to Verizon FIOS TV tomorrow, bringing to an end a painful divorce from Comcast that’s been 6+ years in the making. We’ve never had viable TV/Internet alternatives until now, and during much of our time with Comcast one could suggest that we didn’t have a viable provider, but for the sake of the kids, let’s not argue about the past.
So in severing our TV ties with Comcast, we would be left with a Comcast Digital Voice telephone number that we wanted to either keep with Comcast or take with us to Verizon, if that was an option. With that question on my mind, I solicited the help of Comcast’s Chat Support. Below is a transcript from that chat on Friday:
Michael >I am canceling my TV service with Comcast next week, which would leave me with only the digital voice plan. Can I take the number (xxx-xxx-xxxx) with me to another provider? If not, how much would it cost to continue keep it?
James >Hello Michael_, Thank you for contacting Comcast Live Chat Support. My name is James. Please give me one moment to review your information. once your service is disconnected, it releases your phone number. so, if you would like to keep your phone number, you will have to schedule an installation with the other provider first. Was there any thing else I can help you with today?
Michael >So if I cancel my cable service, I can’t keep the phone service with Comcast?
James >I didn’t say that. you can keep the phone service if you wish. however, you asked if you could keep the number if you went to another provider. and I answered that question
Michael >I also asked how much it would cost if I kept it. So you didn’t answer that question.
James >that depends on the promotions available at that time. prices are subject to change
Michael >Can you tell me how much of my current bill is made up of TV charges and how much is phone?
James >they are packaged together in a bundle, so I am not able to break that up for you
Michael >Good day sir.
Just for the sake of anyone searching for a proper, attitude-free answer to the question of home number portability, Verizon informed me that I simply need to inform them of the number and they’ll take care of the rest.
Goodbye Comcast, hopefully forever.
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Carry On My Wayward Daughter · 28 August 07 by Mike
Last night, in a slight freakout about our flight tonight to visit friends in Phoenix, I called the airline to make sure we were all set to fly with a 5-month-old baby.
I actually asked the customer service representative if my daughter counted as one of our available carry-ons.
For those of you as dumb as me, she does not count as a carry-on, but also is not entitled to have any carry-ons either.
I’ve never wanted a flight to be over more than these…I don’t want to be ‘those people’ with ‘the screaming baby’. I’m bracing for the worst, so anything less than living hell will be acceptable to me.
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Let's See How Karma Screws Me This Time · 19 August 07 by Mike
The wife, baby and I were representing my father-in-law’s Bagna Calda recipe at an area Italian Festival Sunday…a day I originally planned to accomplish many house tasks with my two girls gone for a block of hours. Plans changed, and it was going to be the two of them alone at the festival. So I ended up going along…a 5-month-old baby, bubbling anchovies and oil, steady downpours and a bunch of crazy, old, strange Italian ladies was going to be too much for the wife to take on alone.
We left with plenty of time to get there because we didn’t know where in the hell we were going, and Pittsburgh’s road and bridges are in a constant state of construction, so a few detours could throw us off our Google Maps course.
On one detour, through the town of Tarentum, my wipers swept away the rain to display an old man standing in the middle of the street with his arm up, asking me to stop.
I let my window down a little bit to see what he wanted, and he asks, “Do you have a telephone in your car we can use to call the police, there’s been an accident.”
“Ummm…OK, yeah, I’ll pull over,” I told him.
I got out of the car, standing in the pouring rain, and asked what he needed.
“This lady hit me,” he told me, pointing to an old lady under an umbrella, as if I were a police officer taking statements. “She pulled out in front of me. Call the police.”
Seeing no damage, and relieved that his accident didn’t involve any injuries or him pissing himself, I asked if he had the phone number for the police.
“911,” he replied.
“I can’t call 911, this isn’t an emergency. 911 is for emergencies.”
“1515,” he replied.
“1515,” I asked. “What’s that?”
“The phone number for the police,” he answered.
“What’s the rest of the number, 724…something, something, something, 1515?,” I replied.
“Right, 724-1515,” he answered.
“Sir, that’s not enough digits, that’s not a complete phone number. I need three more numbers.”
“224,” he answered.
Not sure if he just pulled the numbers out of his ass, I thought ‘what the hell’ and dialed the number, which was the police administration line, and that gave a number to call for police assistance. The message didn’t repeat the number and I didn’t remember it, so I called back to hear it again, asking the man to write down the number I was going to say to him.
“If you would have called 911 already, we’d be done,” he said.
“Sir, 911 is for emergencies, write down this number,” I said.
He only wrote down the last four digits of the number on his wet paper, and that wasn’t really legible given the bleeding ink and shaky writing. I called one more time and vowed to just memorize it, which I did.
“Tarentum 911, what’s your emergency,” the voice answered.
Shit, the old man was probably right, I could have just dialed 911. “It’s not an emergency, I didn’t dial 911,” I said. “I’m helping two people who don’t have phones who had a car accident…they want police assistance.”
The operator asked a series of questions about injuries, debris, road blockage, etc. “Gotta be honest, I don’t see any signs of an accident.”
“Where’d that lady go,” the old man yelled, apparently ready to declare this a hit and run.
“She went under that porch to get out of the rain,” I told him. “I’m on the phone, can you keep it down?” With the rain, cars going by and Soft-talking Steve on the other end of the phone, I was having trouble hearing.
“Where is the accident,” the operator asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied. “Where are we,” I asked the old man.
“West 7th Street,” he replied.
“West 7th Street,” I told the operator. “Right across from 122 West 7th Street,” smart me said seeing the number on the building across the street.
“What’s your name and phone number,” the operator asked. I gave him the information, but reiterated that I was not involved in the accident, was just trying to help the man who flagged me down in the middle of the road, and that I was not going to be present with the police arrived.
“OK,” the operator said. “We’ll send someone out right away.”
I told the old man that the police were on their way and suggested he wait under the porch to stay dry.
“The police would have been here if you dialed 911,” he replied.
“Have a good day sir,” I answered as I got in the car. But the car was locked. The wife and baby apparently decided that if this was some sort of scam or robbery plot, they’d be safe inside while I was being assaulted.
At least the police would have been on the way to assist and laugh at me should this man, whose age was higher than his weight, have given me a whoopin’.
And good to know my wife is teaching my daughter that old men can beat up her daddy…
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Half Time · 26 July 07 by Mike
Something that has been on my mind as of late, in thinking about my dad’s death, is that he was 60 when he died.
I’m 30.
Obviously death isn’t set for me at age 60, but what if? My dad surely didn’t think he’d only have 60 years on this planet. What if I am at the half-way point in life? What would he have done differently if he knew at age 30 that his life was half over?
I believe I know some of the things he would have done differently, in terms of living life in the moment, taken from some conversations we had in the months leading up to his death.
He started realizing that it was not the material possessions, like his classic Chevelle or Corvette, accumulated over the years that were important, but rather the people in his life that loved him, respected him and cared about him. And while he thought perhaps he had focused too much on those possessions, the nearly 200 people that showed up for his funeral hopefully showed him that in his 60 years, he touched a lot of lives.
It’s not about feeling the wind in your hair with the top open on your Corvette…it’s about the freedom of that moment. It’s not about the car, it’s about who is riding shotgun.
We all want nice things, but what good are they on their own? Why have a nice dining room table if it’s not surrounded by friends, laughter, food and drink?
Many times, in this digital camera age, I’ve thought to myself how we need to take more pictures, to preserve the memories of a moment. Now I think we need to have more moments worthy of taking pictures. Pictures don’t visit you in the hospital or come to your funeral, the people in them do.
I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me in the next 30 years…after that I’ll start looking back at pictures.
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Can We Get Extra Hubris On Our Pizzas? · 17 July 07 by Mike
If it’s the thought that counts, then OK, I give the Democrats a pass on last night’s pizza sleepover. But we’re at a point in this country that the thought no longer is good enough…thinking hasn’t accomplished what we need in Iraq. So last night’s debate was an exercise in futility and an asinine publicity stunt, and as a registered Democrat, I’m embarrassed.
Tom Coburn, (R)-OK, said “I bet I can stay up longer than they can.” Really, can your dad stay beat up Harry Reid’s dad too, you childish little man? Can you drink me under the table, fratboy? Come on, grow up. That’s pathetic…are you a United States Senator or an 8-year-old boy?
Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid said, “Will the all-night session change any votes? I hope so,” said Reid. “Because it will focus attention on the obstructionism of the Republicans.” If the attention of country isn’t keen to the legislative cock-blocking of the Republicans in Congress and the Bush Administration by now, it’s never going to happen. And if it did bring about more awareness, our outrage has only proved unheard in the past, so why would this time be different? The administration will continue to plod along with their hands over their ears, screaming, “Blah blah blah, I can’t hear you, blah blah blah.”
And even if by some miracle these amendments to bring most troops home by May actually got through the Senate, Bush is absolutely going to veto anything that sets a timetable for withdrawal. So what’s the fucking point?
I think the American people are largely aware and focused on what is going on, and most are very unhappy. I think we get it…it’s our ‘leadership’ that doesn’t. As a group of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans, along with MoveOn.org stated, “We’ll send a clear message to Senators and the media that this isn’t about partisan games—it’s about people’s lives.”
I’m pro-life when it comes to our military forces. I never understood how you could ‘Support Our Troops’ more than that. Unless of course you put a magnetic ribbon on your car, then yeah, I guess that’s more supportive.
B.H.D. / A.H.D. · 27 June 07 by Mike
One of the deals the wife and I made when planning to move was that we would get a new TV when we sold our old house and bought a new one.
We didn’t really watch a lot of TV before, and I thought it was because of a lack of quality programming. Now I realize it just looked like shit. See, the programming can be shit as long as it doesn’t look like shit. I’ll watch almost anything that is a high definition broadcast and cringe when faced with a standard definition (I call it low def) show on my glorious 42” plasma. We don’t understand what took us so long, and how we watched shows in low def all these years that HD has been available. You know what they say, once you go to 1080i, you never go back.
I’m embarrassed to admit having watched an episode or two of According To Jim, just because it looked really good in HD. Sadly, it was announced today that the show has been renewed for another year, so I will probably and unfortunately continue to follow the sitcom life of the unfunny Belushi for another season.
One show that we never, ever watched before that has really captured our eyes is CSI Miami. So far, just entering month three of my HD life (my version of being born again), this is the most visually attractive show on TV. I don’t know any of the character names, but I know the helicopter shots of Miami in HD are borderline absurd.
I’d rather the Kentucky Derby be raced by horses not being hit with a stick because I think the horses should want to be the fastest because of their competitive spirit and not because they know the beating will cease after a mile and a quarter. Nevertheless, the detail of the dirt being kicked and the flaring nostrils of the horses was beautiful.
I was watching the final round of the U.S. Open a couple weeks ago in our bedroom on a pathetic low def TV because my 3-month-old daughter was there playing (apparently my priorities are not completely out of whack just yet) when the TV made a popping noise and went black, with a burning plastic smell in the air and smoke coming out of the back of it. I quickly unplugged it and yelled to the wife to get the daughter out of the room in case the stink was toxic or an explosion was pending, and it wasn’t but a few seconds after that I thought, “I can now get an HDTV up here too and I don’t need a reason or excuse. Happy Father’s Day to me!”
A few days later on my way to work, the morning after some nighttime storms, I was driving on a tree-lined road as the sun was on its way up. The light from the sun was hitting the still wet leaves, creating a beautiful, glistening shine, prompting me to proclaim to myself, “Wow, real-life is in HD.”
I think as long as I try to remember that from time to time I’ll be OK, and won’t end up spending the entire summer in our basement, numbed by the glow of HD.
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Father's Day · 6 June 07 by Mike
I’ve never been one to buy into what I think are Hallmark Holidays, but I would be lying if I said I had not thought on multiple occasions last year, “I’ll actually be a father next Father’s Day.”
I cannot even begin to predict what I’ll be feeling next Sunday, though I know I wish it was over. Perhaps I will find myself focusing on my first Father’s Day with my daughter, but I think my first Father’s Day without my father will permeate my thoughts.
And it’s OK if it does, because clearly I’m still very much in the grieving process. I’ve dealt with the loss of three of my four grandparents, and a Great Aunt and Uncle that were much like an extra pair of grandparents, but that pain is so profoundly different than what the last three months have brought on.
The ups and downs are brutal. One moment you feel thankful that he’s no longer suffering, and the next moment you feel anger that he even had to deal with it in the first place. And then you think about how you miss him and get upset at the thought that you never get to see him again.
We went to an amusement park a few weeks ago, and it took every ounce of strength I had to not start crying in line for a roller coaster. My dad loved roller coasters, and in line I would start thinking about riding with him at Hershey Park as a kid and get choked up. I began to feel like I had been punched in the stomach, which is not necessarily the feeling you want when you’re about to put your own life in the hands of some rickety-ass wood structure, in a car operated by some kid who is barely going to graduate high school in a few weeks.
It is unexpected things like this that really have been throwing me for a loop. I’ll see an old Chevy on the road and wonder what year model it is, thinking to myself, “My dad would know.”
I see an article like this and picture him saying, “They’ll regret it,” and then imagine him going off on some rant about the stability of mainframes, which is what he worked with for a living.
I’ve got so many fond memories of things we had done together, the things he taught me and the good times we shared. But just as those thoughts begin to bring along a smile, I think about the things we didn’t get to do, the things I was too ignorant to learn from him, and the good times we won’t get a chance to share.
It’s all, coincidentally, very much like a roller coaster. And I wish I were a kid again so that I could grab his hand and ask him if we could just get off the ride…
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March 15th, 2007 · 31 May 07 by Mike
I became a father that day, the day my own father passed away, succumbing to a nine-month battle with a rare cancer. His passing was imminent, such that I had said my final goodbye to him the previous night, just hours before his death. I then drove three hours westbound on the Pennsylvania Turnpike to be with my wife, who was due to give birth to our first child in five days. I wanted to be there to support my mother when my dad passed away, but I feared that I was pushing my luck with my expectant wife being so far away, and having the potential to go into labor at any moment.
Five days became zero days.
My mother called me at 6 a.m. when I was getting up for work to tell me that he had passed. No matter how much it was expected and how I had braced myself for such news, the actual words coming out of my mother’s mouth hit me like nothing before.
My wife held on to me, knowing what news was on the other end of the phone. Shortly after hanging up, my wife said, “Michael, I think my water broke.” No matter how much it was expected and how I had braced myself for such news, the actual words coming out of my wife’s mouth also hit me like nothing before.
A flurry of ‘Holy Shits’ followed, as I scrambled to pull myself together and get my wife calm, comfortable and to the hospital. “Was the car seat installed properly? Did her bag have everything she needed? I don’t even have a bag packed…I’ll just take the bag I had with me at my parent’s house the last two days,” I thought to myself.
“We’re having a baby today,” I thought to myself. “Holy shit!”
On their respective paths in and out of this life, we like to believe they passed each other somewhere in the ether.
My daughter has helped me tremendously through this difficult time, even though she’s obviously too young to know how or why. I’m not sure I even understand how or why, but having her there to hold and to love has proved to be a magnificent coping method, though it’s still very, very hard to come to grips with the fact that my dad isn’t here to be a part of it all.
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I Don't Have Time For Psychological Romance · 27 January 07 by Mike
The pregnant wife and I attended our childbirth and labor class yesterday, hoping for some reassurance that we can, in fact, do this. We also sought some knowledge on how the entire process would be going down, because prior to the class, we worried that we wouldn’t realize that labor had actually started, and I’d end up delivering the baby with tongs and tin snips.
As we’re parking the car, the pregnant wife said to me, “Did you put my phone on vibrate before you handed it to me?”
“Yes,” I answered. “You don’t want to be that girl.” While the Muppet Show theme is a cute ringtone for an expectant mother, it wasn’t something we needed to share with the other knocked up couples.
Less than an hour into the class, one woman’s phone went off, and she frantically dove into her purse to try to shut it off. Everyone tried to ignore it, and no mention of it was made by the instructor, but the woman was clearly embarrassed.
An hour or so later, another woman’s phone started ringing, and she too dug through her purse to try to shut the thing up. At this point, you would think everyone would take a moment to consider whether they’ve put their own phone on vibrate.
“Aren’t you glad I put your phone on vibrate,” I asked the pregnant wife.
“Yeah, I would have been mortified,” she replied.
Less than thirty seconds later, with timing so perfect that it makes me actually believe there is a God out there just to screw with me, “Boh, chick boh,” came out of my pocket. Cameo’s ‘Word Up’ is my current ringtone of choice, and for the life of me, I couldn’t find the silent button on the phone for what seemed like an hour, though thankfully it was before the bass line kicked in. Not that I’m embarrassed by enjoying the sounds of Cameo, for it is truly one of the best songs of all time…it’s what you might call a guilty pleasure. One that you play off as kind of a joke around others, but in your own mind you love the fucking shit out of that song.
I did set the phone to vibrate right then and there, and after the class have changed it to my Twilight Singers ringtone…at least until I get over the shame…or gather the courage to show my true love for Cameo.