Someone at Netflix Should be Fired

Ohhh Netflix, what were you thinking?

Let's recap:
Sometime in June - Netflix announces price hike = customers are annoyed.

September 18 - Netflix announces they will be splitting DVDs and streaming video into two separate websites and services = customers are pissed.

October 10 - Netflix recants with blog post and sends email to all customers letting them know they have canned the two-service idea and DVDs and streaming will stay the same at Netflix.com = customers are more annoyed, have eye brow raised; and/or have already cancelled their subscription.

It's great that Netflix actually listened to their customers, (how could they ignore the THOUSANDS of negative comments on that blog post, which seem to now be removed BTW), and responded quickly to the outcry. But who the hell was the bonehead in their marketing department who thought up the idea in the first place? Why did they think it was a good idea to make things MORE complicated for the consumer? And why did they name the never-to-be service 'Qwikster', which sounds so much like Amway's Quixtar that it makes me want to barf and NOT clean up the floor with Amway products. (did I mention I have a hatred for Amway? Ahh, another post).

Anyway, good job Netflix in doing the right thing. You will keep this customer. But next time, think long and hard before listening to your corporate marketing guru. In fact, I think you should just hire ME. :)

Did anyone cancel Netflix over this debacle?

Trying

This post is from a chapter in the novel I'm writing.

As the family walked to the car I was able to see the license plate on their Ford F-150 as the linebacker approached it. The state was Montana and the plates expired in September of 2011. I was glad to get my bearings and know that I was still in the current year. I didn’t know how this soul traveling worked but it was somewhat of a comfort to know I wasn’t time traveling. As soon as Diane got into the driver’s seat and started the truck she pressed a button on the dashboard and I could hear a cartoon start to play somewhere behind me. When we turned around to look in the back seat I saw the two kids buckled in and riveted to the screen hanging from the roof of the truck.  

The drive was beautiful. I had never been to Montana; never had any reason to I had thought. I wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy guy. But the rolling hills that were marked like puzzle pieces with sandstone peaking through the soil and geometric patches of grass, were unlike anything I had seen. The sun was setting and gave the land the look of a fake movie set. We drove 30 minutes before we arrived at another town, smaller than the one we had left. During that time no one in the car spoke. Their house was up a dirt road and appeared to be on a sizeable piece of property. The place looked shabby and at least thirty years old. I missed my condo in Miami. I missed the cool feel of the black tile on my feet in the kitchen. The shiny flecks of silver in the granite counter top as I sliced limes on it. The way the balcony door creaked a certain way right before it closed. Or even how the couch fit me perfectly when I sat on the left side and leaned my elbow on the arm while watching TV. Why are those the things I remembered? Shouldn’t I have memories of the things I did there, you know, with people? I thought about how solitary I had been in life. I thought I wanted it that way. No complications, no drama, nothing tying me down. But if all that leaves me with is a warm and fuzzy feeling about my countertops, I’d say I wasn’t getting a whole lot out of life. I felt a pang of regret. That was definitely a feeling that was unfamiliar to me. I also never wanted children. Many a relationship of mine ended when the uterus-minded party found out this bit of information, and they acted as if I should have shared it on the first date. So as long as I’m regretting not having closer relationships, I might as well see if this kid thing is all it’s cracked up to be while I’m visiting the linebacker. Although, I had a feeling that this might not be the family to model after. 

Once inside the house the linebacker headed down a long, narrow flight of stairs into the basement. I quickly deduced that the space was what would be referred to as a man-cave. I mentally shook my head in disgust at the thought of the role of the American wife. Decorate the entire house with no semblance to the man’s tastes or preferences; sequester him to the basement, garage, or workshop; and then complain to her friends that he spends too much time in his man-cave. “What is he doing down there for all that time?” the wives wonder aloud at the lunch table. He’s jerking off to porn because you never give him any, that’s what he’s doing. As I surveyed the room with its neon beer sign memorabilia, pool table, plasma screen, and wet bar, I quickly got back to my state of mind of loving my single life – screw relationships. I had all this at my place, minus the wife. Well, I didn’t have a neon sign of the Budweiser frogs repeatedly jumping onto a lily pad. He switched the TV on and ESPN filled the enormous screen. Well, this was turning out to be one stereotype come alive after another. He made a drink at the wet bar; pouring Crown Royal into a tumbler with no ice. When he opened the cabinet I noticed it was nearly bare; just the bottle of Crown, and an ancient looking bottle of Kahlua, which everyone’s bar seemed to have. Not much of a bar for a man-cave. He stopped and stared at the glass in his hand before he drank, swirling the contents around slowly, eyes fixed on it in the way one does when they are looking at something but not really seeing it. I waited for an emotion to come through to me, as I was certain he was lost in thought. I felt nothing. For some reason it worried me that he wasn’t giving me anything. Snapped out of his trance he raised the glass and took a long drink, closing his eyes and sending me to darkness for a few seconds.

Fly Away Home

My Grandpa was a kind man. Beneath his sometimes gruff and grumpy exterior when I was a kid, this was the man who would feed stray kittens outside the farmhouse, quietly sneaking out there with a small saucer of milk and talking to them. He taught me about the many types of birds just beyond the screened-in porch, their calls, their habits, and what he liked about them.He would worry about me as I got older and lived alone, asking me if I kept my gun handy, and if I was safe. We wrote letters for years, hand-written, old fashioned letters that make you smile when you see them in the pile of ordinary mail. I still have every one of them.


My Grandpa was a honest man. He was never anything but straight forward with you. He said what he meant and he meant what he said. He kept promises, even if it was just a promise to my 9-year-old self and my cousin to take us to get ice cream in town the next day.


My Grandpa was a hardworking man. I believe farming is one of the toughest professions there is. And he tirelessly worked in the hot Indiana sun, with heavy, dangerous equipment, through drought and flood, to support his family. And while some farmers ruined the soil and the land that bore them so much, Grandpa used farming methods that helped preserve the soil; working with and watching Mother Nature to learn how she would best recover.


My Grandpa was an intelligent man. Not only did he know all there was to know about farming, he would say some of the most profound things when discussing the U.S. government. He would listen to you talk about any subject and ask you questions about it and want to learn more about it. He shared his opinions but didn't push them on anyone. He read the newspaper and watched the news and wanted to talk about current events.

My Grandpa was a loyal man. Loyal and loving to my Grandma; old pictures show him looking at her and smiling when she didn't know it. Loyal to our country as he signed up willingly with the U.S. Army the day after Pearl Harbour was bombed. He spent hellish days in Papua New Guinea during the war, repairing planes and learning of death after death of his friends when their planes went down.


My Grandpa was a stubborn man. He didn't do anything he didn't want to do, if he could help it. Right up until the end he was stubborn. Since he was ready to go and miserable in this life, he did what he could to show God he was ready to go. And it worked. God listened and let him fly away.

Books Are Not Dead

I was incredibly bummed out yesterday when I received an email from the CEO of Borders announcing the close of all Borders stores. :(  I have been a Borders fan and customer for years. When I see that big red sign on the side of a building I'm filled with visions of colorful book covers, new fiction releases, beautiful greeting cards, and the shelves of Bargain Books where you can find any arbitrary topic marked down to $4.99 (101 Ways to Use Pine Needles for Art anyone?). I feel a sense of peace just walking in there, and want to stay for hours. Yes, of course this could be true for any book store, it just so happens that there are Borders stores everywhere close to where I live and work so it became my store of choice.

I know this economy is extremely tough right now and that was the first thing I thought of when I heard the announcement. However what bothered me was hearing the water cooler talk that said Border's close is due to the e-book revolution and less and less people are buying actual books. One person even went so far to say they thought books are dying and that they would rarely buy a book now that they have a Kindle. I think I threw up in my mouth a little.

I. Heart. Books. I love to buy them. I love to set them on my night table, on the coffee table, or the car seat, waiting to have the time to read them, seeing the cover out of the corner of my eye and feeling full of promise for a new adventure. I love the feel of a book in my hands; the soft edges of the pages flipping between fingers, the weight of it literally, and figuratively with the story line in some cases. To me reading is a relaxing experience, one of the few things in my life that doesn't require technology. It takes me back to childhood summers and vacations and settling down in a comfortable chair for hours. Holding an electronic device and having yet another screen glare back at me is not something I need to add to my life.

Perhaps Borders was slow on the uptake to adopt the e-reader technology, lagging behind their competitors. I can recognize that; there IS a market for it out there that needs to be satisfied. But I certainly don't believe that the real book is dead. I know there are other people out there like me that will continue to give the book life, just as the book breathes life to a story that you would have never before imagined.

Sisters of the Treadmill - Unite!

I have noticed a trend at the gym. Women . . . . just aren’t very friendly to each other there. Have you ever noticed that? Now I am a person who regularly smiles at people in general, in many different situations. I am quick to smile and even say hi to strangers. But not at the gym.


When you walk into the women’s locker room no one meets your eyes. If they do, it seems like pure accident. And you could be crowded around 5 other women getting into lockers and changing and not one of them will say hi to one another or speak at all, unless they are friends that came together. Now I know I’m generalizing, but this is the case every time I go to my gym! And I find myself doing the same. I don’t look at anyone or say hi to anyone.

Since going to the gym is something that is ‘tough’ to do for many reasons: motivation, time, money, willpower, etc., wouldn’t it be nice if us women banded together and encouraged each other? There are days when I don’t want to go, and even as I’m slowly walking into the locker room I’m still trying to find an excuse to turn around and leave. It would be great if the first woman I crossed paths with said, “You made it this far. No turning back. Go get em’ girl.” Or if while I was on the bench next to another girl while we tied our shoes I would say to her, “Good for you for getting here and sticking with it. Let’s kick some caloric ass!” And then when on the treadmill and my heart is pounding, my calves aching, and my butt jiggling, the woman next to me would say, “Just 5 more mintues! Watch the rest of this HGTV show and then you’re done!”

We should be cheerleaders for each other. We are sisters of the world. And the elliptical machine. Why don’t we congratulate each other, instead of looking one another up and down when our backs are turned and either making ourselves feel better, or worse, based on the assessment.

Don't Forget to Relax . . .

When we return from vacation it's all too easy to get sucked right back into the busy life at work, home, and everyday errands. So this visual post is a reminder to me to hold on to the feeling I felt when I stood on the beach at sunset; breeze on my skin, sand and water at my feet, Cancer's full moon rising up behind me, and endless possibilities ahead of me.

 

Animalistic Fashion

Have you noticed the abundance of jewelry/accessories/clothing featured OWLS in the past year? All of the sudden they seemed be everywhere; owl necklaces, owl belts, owl rings, etc. It's such a random creature to feature in retail stores that it really made me notice. (and yes, okay, I bought an owl ring)

But it got me thinking - who decides which creature becomes the trend for the season? Who is the person that sits in their cushy office, reading demographic reports, and gets to announce to all of retail, "I hereby declare, this season we are doing the Owl! The Owl I tell you! It will be a hit! A real fashion must around the world. Everyone will want an owl accessory, yet they won't know why! Mmwhahahaha!"

I have nothing against you, my wildlife Owl peeps. (haha, peep-peep) I just don't understand the selection process. Did fashion decide you were a sorely neglected bird and it was time for your day in the sun (but, oops, you are nocturnal).

Reminds me of a line from Good Will Hunting in which Minnie Driver invites Matt Damon out for coffee and he responds, "Yea sure. Or we could just get together and eat a bunch of caramels. . . . . when you think about it - it's just as arbitrary as drinking coffee."

So I would like to declare, if I might, the next creature to hit the fashion world and go viral. Because when you get the chance to be deliberately arbitrary, by God do it. Let's make it the year of the THREE-TOED SLOTH in fashion.
Who's with me? Anyone want sloth earrings?