Category Archives: personal

Body Image, Health, Rant

Physical Fit: Scathing Rant Commencing in 3…2…

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one-does-not-simply

So, I have tried not to become one of those people when it comes to my physical activity and fitness regimen, but today truly tested my metal.

I’ve recently changed up my routine workout schedule. A few different circumstances contributed to the adjustments. The primary reason was my move to a telecommute status for my job that put me within five minutes of my gym. Whereas previously my workout waited until the end of the workday when I stopped on the way home (because my office was inconveniently far from the gym to go during the day), I now have the ability to run to the gym for a mid-day workout break during my lunch hour. Another reason for the schedule shift was that my former choice of the after-work-workout was popular with a lot of people. The gym was crowded starting at around 5:00 P.M. If I didn’t get to the gym before that time, it was very unlikely that I would find any of the cardio machinery (elliptical, treadmill, stationary bicycles, or stair climber) free. The same could be said for the various resistance and strength training machines, and don’t get me started on the circuit training area. Needless to say, with my late in the day meetings, project, and door-knob questions from staff, I rarely got to my gym in time to get my turn at the necessary activities. It was frustrating, to say the least, and a recipe for fitness failure if I allowed it to be. Therefore, my change to a mid-day workout was an unexpected blessing. It is glorious. I practically have the whole place to myself, and I get in a full workout in the time most people get through lunch.

I fear that even this brief period of blessed freedom and isolation in my fitness has led me to a sense of complacency. I’ve become accustomed to my privacy and freedom of the unpopulated daytime gym. I have taken for granted that I have the run of the place. I mistakenly assumed that my frustrations of the gym-etiquette-deficient were behind me. Today, that cherished feeling has been decimated … decisively.

First, I got rather a later start than normal, but I was still at the gym shortly after the normal lunch hour. As usual, my chosen temple to physical fitness was practically empty. I was immediately able to get an elliptical machine for my run (yes, this is how I run because I’m old, and I have knees that still haven’t forgiven me for the mistreatment of my youth). So far, so good. After my usual three miles, I moved to the circuit training area.

  1. I just heard the groans from some of my more dedicated fitness experts among my readers, but here is my defense:
  2. I don’t do the circuit training every day or even every workout.
  3. I do practice “muscle confusion” and switch things up between leg day, torso, abs, etc.
  4. When it comes to a lunch hour workout, circuit training is a great way for me to get in a full body workout to start my week.

Back to my tale… I went to my blessedly empty circuit training area. There is absolutely nothing more frustrating than trying to do circuit training during the busy times of the day. Sadly the circuit training area is the one place in a gym where, for some reason, people tend to congregate and socialize after work (which was one of my frustrations with the after-work-workout). This is a serious problem for someone who is trying to stay in their groove (“Beware the groove… beware the groove…”).

For those that are unfamiliar with the circuit training, it consists of a fenced-in area with a series of resistance/weight machines interspersed with steps or other cardio activity that are laid out in a particular order allegedly to maximize the muscle isometrics (the science jury is still out on that one). The point of this is to work on strength and tone while keeping the heart rate in a target zone. There are arguments in the fitness community about the value of this, but for me, it seems to be a good option (especially, again, when pressed for time). My approach to circuit training, and why it is the perfect solution to a lunchtime workout for me, is to do the resistance machines in order (as one is supposed to do). I generally do three sets of 12-15 repetitions on each one, but I don’t do the steps in between every machine. I usually just monitor my pulse and use the cardio to boost it if it drops out of the target range. The exception to this would be when the circuit training area is totally hoppin’. I then follow the prescribed routine to keep from disrupting the flow for others… or I just avoid the circuit training all together and opt for the other machines or free weights available outside the area.

There I was, in the circuit training and starting to work my way around the area from machine to machine, checking my pulse and using the interspersed steps in between… I had worked my way around to the military press machine and just finished it. I took my pulse and found that I was still in the target range. Completely in my groove, I moved with determination to the next machine. That’s when it happened…

He walked into the circuit training area with loose, saggy (and probably more-expensive-than-they-should-have-been) basketball shorts. Ball cap on backwards and sporting a t-shirt with the sleeves cut out. Before I realized what had happened, he stepped between me an my next machine. That’s right, he skipped the rest of the circuit completely, just cut me off in traffic and sat down to do some bicep curls accompanied by impressive huffing and grunting. At this point, I had the option of skipping past this machine to the next in line or use the cardio step. As I paused to reflect, another of the species came over to stand next to the first and slid into place at the machine as the first finished his set.

Suddenly, I had a completely overwhelming urge to be an ass… or kick one. I pictured myself delivering a champion, thermonuclear wedgie accompanied by a firm flip of the reversed baseball cap perched on the head of the original douchebag. I also pictured walking over and just standing there without saying anything. If either of the Neanderthals asked what I was doing, I would calmly explain the purpose of the circuit training area and excuse their ignorant rudeness as “I am certain that your egos have cut off the blood supply to the part of your brain that governs your ability to read or think or have manners.” My final fantasy option was to go over to one of the empty bicep machines that were just outside the circuit training area and visible to the pair of them proclaiming loudly as I did so, “I wish there was a bicep curl machine somewhere outside the circuit training area!!!”

I, of course, did none of these things, satisfying though they might have been.  Instead, I heaved a great sigh, gave them a patented Ginsu-knife-eye-of-the-basilisk-witch-whammy glare, walked to the abdominal area to do some oblique work, and then finished up with another mile on the elliptical. Somehow, while much more righteous and mature, I’m pretty sure the imagined actions would have been a good deal more fun. BUT I would like to be able to continue using my gym, and taking the high road probably was the wiser option. However, for any of you out there reading this, be aware of the people around you and have some bloody manners!

Here endeth the rant… As you were.

Memories, personal

My Internal Pandora is Stuck on a Loop

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Every now and then, my brain has the oddest tendency to get stuck on a particular song. Like a needle on a scratched LP vinyl (for those who remember), I hear the same tune and phrase over and over. It isn’t even that I get the entire piece of music. It is just a short snippet of lyric and note that will wedge itself in my conscious, linguistic portion of my mind, and I am doomed to be singing it to myself all day long. No attempts to dislodge it with other similarly repetitive notes will work. Even when I become engrossed and distracted by the actual productive activities of the day, it is but a brief interlude before… “It’s a small world afterall…” And no, that is not the song that got stuck today. It just illustrates the point so beautifully; not to mention that you are all now sharing my grief with the proverbial soundtrack to the realms of Tartarus playing in your skulls… Muahahahahahahaha!

Ok, so maybe not. It is entirely possible that your will is so strong that the insidious seeds of mental torture are incapable of ensconcing themselves into your conscious and subconscious to play in a never ending loop. You might be one of the lucky ones who do not have the plague of songs waiting to absorb your neural energies with their continued repetition.

I, however, am not so lucky. It could happen at any point. A good many times, it occurs upon waking. There is the random song (or worse, an advertisement jingle) that has just *bamf* appeared in my forebrain waiting to tie up all my verbal processes while I try to get the record in my head to quit skipping and playing the same small section of music and words over and over and over… and over…

It might help me to even understand from whence the stream of notes and syntax has arrived to plague my thoughts. Sometimes, I can almost guess. I figure that I probably heard a random bit of something on the car radio or as elevator music somewhere along the path of my day. Sometimes, it may be that there were just a couple of words spoken with a lilt that called to mind a particular phrase in a chorus or a verse that remains glued to the inside of my head echoing for hours (and sometimes days). It might even be that I just read something in an email or instant message at work or even on social media at some point that excited the neural pathways in the auditory portion of my brain to make it light up like Christmas (because, yes, I am one of those people who actually “hear” the words when I read them on paper or screen). It could be any of these very logical and incredibly rational explanations for why a song gets stuck in my head like a shred of beef jerky between two molars in the back of my jaw, aching until a toothbrush or floss can be obtained.

And then… there are the other ones, the ones that pop into my conscious thoughts for no apparent rational cause. These are the ones that truly make me doubt my sanity and consider that perhaps there really are government or alien entities beaming thoughts into my head… where is my aluminum foil?!? While I’m not quite ready to subscribe to outlandish theories, I really do become extraordinarily curious about how my brain links up all the different pathways to bring those specific words and notes to rattle around incessantly until I want to pierce my own eardrums with icepicks.

When I imagine it, there are flow charts in my head that have yes and no dichotomies in a decision tree that ultimately results in the bizarre and random thoughts that seem to occur as if by magic or divine intervention. The scientific part of me knows that there are links somewhere, somehow… But the childlike wonder in me says “It’s magic. It’s a message.” Today is one of those days.

The song that presented to my brain unbidden was from the movie Meet the Robinsons. It is titled “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas. I cannot attribute the presence of this musical interlude to any multimedia influence as television and radio had not presented it to my ears. Additionally, I hadn’t seen the movie (though I do like it a lot) in quite a long time. The song itself is one that, despite my best efforts to stave them off, will bring me to a wistful or even morose place. I have actually been brought to tears by this song, though the theme itself is quite positive.

And so here I sit… tune stuck in my head… tearing up, and so very thankful no one can see me as I wail away like a big derpy girl. Why did this one pop in for a visit today? I guess I’ll take the message this time as “Appreciate the positives and take the win…” I guess if we can all learn to appreciate the moment we might stand a better chance of moving forward instead of getting stuck in the past.

Let it go,
Let it roll right off your shoulder,
Don’t you know the hardest part is over,
Let it in,
Let your clarity define you,
in the end,
We will only just remember how it feels.
Our lives are made in these small hours,
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate,
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain.
Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you,
Let it shine,
Until you feel it all around you and I don’t mind,
If it’s me you need to turn to,
We’ll get by,
It’s the heart that really matters in the end,
Our lives are made,
In these small hours,
These little wonders,
These twists and turns of fate,
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain.
All of my regret,
Will wash away some how,
But I can not forget,
The way I feel right now,
In these small hours,
These little wonders,
These twists and turns of fate,
These twists and turns of fate,
Time falls away but these small hours,
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain,
These little wonders,
These twists and turns of fate,
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These little wonders still remain.

                                (Rob Thomas, 2007)

personal, Rant

Do you even… bruh? A naturalist’s study of Ductusscchetto vulgaris: The common douchebag

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I speak now of the common white-sunglasses-wearing variety of human… they smell of vinegar and water. We’ve all encountered them. They exist in many different regional habitats, and sometimes they even migrate. They are hip. They are chic. They are “too cool for school.” They are full of swagger and superiority… so much so, in fact, that they feel compelled to inflict their superiority upon the rest of the world, whether we like it or not. They are the kings (and queens) of the must-have trends, and they have mastered the art of the selfie. We know this, (why?) because they take about a blue-billion of the things every day and share them with the world and all their dearest friends and followers on social media that they have never met in the flesh.

Size & Shape

Though mannerisms and verbiage would incline one to believe that this species is of a large and imposing stature, it is not always the case. While having some very specific and discrete characteristics that identify the species, there is a vast range of size and shape associated with the Ductusscchetto vulgaris. The size of the species is often inversely proportional to the extremes of behavior. However, this is not universal and there have been instances of larger examples of the species behaving quite outlandishly.

Color Pattern

As with size and shape, D. vulgaris presents in any number of natural skin tones (some of which were obtained in a no where close to natural manner). However, this particular species does ornament themselves with external accessories and does provide a great variety of presentation interesting to the observer. Often, these ornamentations appear to give the individual some sort of connection or status within the social grouping they have chosen. While not always what might be considered flattering, they are generally always very trendy. As noted, they seem to be drawn especially to white-framed sunglasses (especially of a highly priced nature) and hats with flatten brims that do not fit well (as evidenced by the fact that they will not stay straight on the head).

Behavior

As noted in the physical characteristic description, D. vulgaris comes in many shapes and sizes, but the universally recognizable characteristics are in the behavior. Frequently imposing, though not in stature alone, D. vulgaris inserts himself (or herself, not to be gender biased) into most circumstances without invitation or welcome. Most actions are calculated to garner the greatest amount of attention possible. Negative or positive bears no weight. All attention is good attention. D. vulgaris uses vocalization, physical presence, proximity, and occasionally motor conveyance to make sure that they achieve the goal of notice. Loud and raucous conversation, usually about perceived superiority in various activities is used in posturing ritual to establish dominance. Verbalizations are rife with buzzwords and colloquialisms with which they seem only to have a passing acquaintance with definition and actual syntax. Often, there are mating displays with various forms of physical and verbal proposition and proximity violations that can be compared to the physical posturing of the mountain gorilla or various unguent species such as deer, elk, and moose. D. vulgaris frequently appears to have perceptual deficiencies or maladaptation that prevents them from understanding hints or subtle indications from targeted individuals that they are not receptive to their advances.

Additionally, D. vulgaris makes attempts to eliminate competition and secure territory by making the area around them completely intolerable. Additionally, certain members of the species feel the need to be voluble in a non-verbal way. This includes grunts, growls, and incomprehensible vocalizations (much like those of other simian species) during tasks requiring physical expenditure, fitness activities, and reaction to members of their sexually targeted population. Additionally, these individuals utilize tools such as motor vehicles to stimulate the auditory senses and draw attention. This includes revving engines as well as the addition of accessories to their form of conveyance that produces vibrations to imitate the sounds of bumble bees in a coffee can. (We can only assume that this somehow stimulates the species sexual drives or possibly is a way to flush out their food source, it is a mystery and serves no apparent purpose for the motor conveyance.)

Mating

The behavior attributed to mating habits has already been addressed for the most part, but additionally, it might be noted that the male of the species appears to use the least eloquent verbiage in their attempts to woo the targeted individual. Frequently, “How you doin’?” is an opening gambit. However, these attempts seem to change with other sociological and entertainment media influence. The female of the species can be identified by the call, “I’m so drunk!”

Habitat

Much as other invasive species have taken over territory and nearly eradicated the native indigenous specimens, D. vulgaris has invaded most habitats and can be found in a wide variety of geological and sociological environs. However, they can be found in greater numbers in establishments where there are “SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS” or a vast supply of the beverages made of barley and hops. It is possible that they congregate in these settings due to some biological drive and migration pattern, or it may be a phenomenon like that of watering holes in the savannah. D. vulgaris also can be found in temples dedicated to the physical fitness. While the native species tend to focus on the benefits of movement and activity for health reasons, D. vulgaris generally attends this type of worship more for the benefit of attention seeking and ornamental posturing with the overly loud vocalizations to emphasize their prowess. This has often deteriorated into territorial disputes resulting in indigenous species attrition in many of these haunts.

Food

While not much is known about the universal diet of D.vulgaris, the individuals of the species are more than willing to dominate conversations and social gatherings with trendy dietary choices that are guaranteed to change their physical composition, regale terrified groups of people with intestinal woes related to various intolerances, or brag of the copious nature of their appetite and carnivorous habits. Generally, it can be said that if there is a particular type of food that is unpalatable or sickening to the audience in question, that will be discussed at length without any particular perception of negativity on the part of listeners. On occasion, D. vulgaris will take food from other species uninvited, especially if it inserts them to the notice of the group in question.

Similar Species

Ductusscchetto vulgaris or the common douchebag is similar to the jerk, misogynist, egoist, narcissist, bore, braggart, musclehead, skanks, mean girl, and egomaniac. There are subtle differences as well as gender specificity for some categories. The population sadly appears to be growing and terribly invasive, as stated earlier. Measures need to be implemented to control the population growth and promote conservation of more useful organisms.

personal

Sucker, Savior, Samaritan, or Survivor?

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DrPhillmeme

Most of us at some point in our lives have the impulse to reach out and help someone in need. Sometimes that someone is family, a child, a grandchild, a sibling, parent, etc. Sometimes the person is a friend. Sometimes the person could be an acquaintance or even a stranger down on their luck whose plight touches the heart. The point is that many of us feel a need or even compulsion to reach out a hand and try to ease the burden of their misfortune. With all the best intent, we give of our time, our emotions, our finances, and our energy to give them an opportunity to improve their situations. Sadly, that doesn’t always work out for that Good Samaritan, and sometimes, it hurts… a lot.

In the past year, I have unfortunately had to learn a lot of difficult lessons about this very topic. I never really considered myself to be naïve or a “soft touch.” I’ve actually spent a good deal of time in some rather unsavory company that has encouraged me to be cynical and wary of the individuals that brush past us in life resulting in negative balances in wallet or heart. I’m not a bleeding heart, and I’ve never thought of myself as someone of whom advantage could easily be taken. The last year or so has shown me the error of my suppositions and perceptions of my own judgment.

Several incidents contributed, but the big one was that I had opened my home (and heart) and offered assistance to some people who needed a second chance. It was a poor choice on my part. Not so much the attempting to help, but that my choice of recipient was ill advised. Not only did they continue to take any assistance offered without attempting to better their own situation; while we were on vacation in another state, they also walked out with my television, instruments, tent, and sleeping bags (yeah, I know)… not to mention my faith in humanity and sense of security in my own home.

Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson, but it still hurt me in some indefinable way when later (well after the incidents above) an acquaintance/casual friend called to ask if they could kip at the house due to some unfortunate circumstances of their own, to which I responded, “No.” I felt heartless and cruel shutting down this avenue of succor, but I had agreed to be strong in the face of the most pitiable tale. There were other options for them, and I was not the only source of shelter in the cold, cruel world. So, why did I feel like I should be put on a Most Wanted list for exceptional cruelty and pretty much sure that everyone would hate me because I turned someone away? It was an irrational burden of guilt that I put on myself, ruminating upon my response, but it was probably that long conditioning of the golden rule “Do unto others…” Oh dear. I could feel the negative karma points building. In my mind, I saw my character assassinated as a mean and heartless miser unwilling to assist a fellow creature.

Coincidentally, this topic actually came up with some friends on social media. The meme above actually started the conversation (no offense, but I’m not the biggest fan of Dr. Phil), but some really good points were batted about, and I “listened” and participated with rapt attention. First, I was amazed and gratified to know that I am not the only person on the planet that struggles with the balance of doing good, and self-preservation. Additionally, it was very nice to see some of the finer points of boundary-setting discussed.

Because, in truth, isn’t that really what we are talking about? It is all about boundaries. Each of us probably has some internal drive for our altruistic behaviors. For some it is paying it forward. For others, it is paying it back (because we’ve been there, and done that). There are people who are of a spiritual bent who are admonished by their faith to help those who are unable to help themselves and do good works for charity sake, and there are those who end up beggaring themselves attempting to help children, parents, siblings, and others because… they are our blood and family (or if not by blood, at least dear enough to feel like family). Lastly, there is an impulse to save a fellow human…just because. It is partially instinct (for most of the non-sociopathic folks out there), but it is also a societal construct that is reinforced by stories and modern media. Think about all those “Good Feels” type stories that are run through the morning programming, Headline News, and talk show circuits. Inside of each of us is a tiny little superhero trying to get out and make the world a better place… ok, maybe not all of us, but I’ve personally always wanted to be Batman, and I digress.

The thing is we want to be heroes. We don’t want to be the cold-hearted villain. That is where that guilt and recrimination in my own heart comes from. Logically, I know that there are other resources. Part of me is even a bit of a Darwinist (survival of those who have the strength or ingenuity to figure it out), but I don’t want to be the bad guy. I want to be the hero. I want to (for those of the biblical leaning) be the Good Samaritan, not the guys who walked by on the other side. But were they so very bad? I guess in the story, the guy in question was dying by the side of the road, and leaving someone to die is pretty rotten, but in the less life threatening instances of poor choices and missed opportunities, how much assistance is helping, and how much is enabling?

“It’s just the nature of some of us to try and try to help people that have no intention to improve or get well. Some of them even expect people to keep giving and giving and have no remorse about the after effects of the giver… Where is the line drawn at enabling? And…..why is tough love so devastating to the helpers/enablers’ hearts? [People] that pretend they want help/improvement and you invest in them and concern yourself with them but they continue to throw away the opportunity until they destroy all life lines… it’s painful…” – Friend 1.

“It’s just some of our nature to never give up hope that by being good to others will actual make a difference in that person’s life!… Especially as parents, it is hard to let go when we know in our heart that the path sometimes chosen will only lead to difficulty!” – Friend 2.

That is just it. We have people that we care about. We empathize with their situations, and we want them to do better and to have enough slack in that rope that they’ve reached the end of to pull themselves out of the jam. We believe them when they say, “If only I were given just a little help…” And we give…and give… and give some more. We give until we have given out, and all our energy and resources are put into the situation, but eventually we realize that the parties in question are taking the assistance and contributing absolutely nothing towards their own change and growth, and are very unlikely to leave the comfort of the caregiving to make it on their own.

“Because we instinctively want to fix people, but we can’t. It’s hard to just sit back, watch, and wait for them to fix themselves. Sometimes it takes a lifetime for people to change, if they ever do.” – Friend 3.

That makes it even more difficult. We care. We hate seeing people for whom we may have genuine affection struggle with the same page in the book of life and never quite get past it. We imagine ourselves in those situations and think that if those people are just given the same opportunities as more successful people have had, they will make the better choices and be successful in their own lives. However, experience and observation will tell you that it just isn’t always true. There are people who have been given no resources that make their own opportunities and make something positive out of their lives, and there are others who are given every chance in the world and continue to choose the path of self-destruction. For some of those that are assisted, it is absolutely true that they take the opportunities and they use them appropriately to pull themselves out of bad situations and into better lives. For others, they will continue to use that assistance and milk it until it runs dry… and then some.

“You guys need to learn about the ‘light switch’. If I stretch myself to help you and you shit all over it, I’m turning the switch to ‘off’. Once the switch is off, it stays off!” – Friend 4.

The “light switch” has another name. It is called “healthy boundaries.” Sometimes those boundaries are blurry and difficult to see. Sometimes, like the metaphor of the frog in the pan of water on a stove, that temperature just keeps increasing so gradually that you don’t realize that you are being boiled alive. That “switch” or boundary is our cue to recognize that we’ve done enough, and further efforts would be fostering dependence and/or detrimental to our own wellbeing. If altruism results in the depletion of resources to the point of endangering the stability of the giver, it benefits no one. At a certain point, we have to realize that continuing to bail someone out or attempting drag them out of a bad situation without their own active contributions towards the progress is just wasted effort. In the end, the recipient of the good will and help has to be willing to make the better choices and take a step on a better path on their own. If they are not willing to do that, no amount of effort from an outside party (namely us) is going to change their circumstances.

There are going to be people in our lives that no matter what we do to help, they are not going to change until they decide, or sadly hit rock bottom (from which they may never fully recover). Does that mean that no one should be charitable or offer assistance to someone in need? Of course not, and I’ll probably continue to help people out to the best of my abilities. I’m just going to exercise a little caution and try to be more aware of where I’m investing my time, energy, and resources. Remember, if we allow ourselves to be used up, we won’t be there for the next person in our lives for which our efforts might actually be beneficial. It isn’t cruelty to occasionally say “No.” It is just good boundaries for survival.

personal, Rant

A Tale of Ice and Fire or Winter is bloody well here!!!

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I am seriously displeased. I live in the south. We don’t have to deal with too many winter-related disasters, but boy howdy, when they hit, they don’t pull punches.

Power outage is a typical side effect of mother nature’s icy wrath. I’ve experienced this several times and lived to tell the tale, but this time, I had some concern… And I blame watching some poorly dramatized disaster movies which prompted my imagination to provide a looped reel of images where I and my loved ones (including the fearsome Toehunter) were discovered frozen into popcicles like that homeless dude in Scrooged (“You’d be a prettier color, I can tell you that!!!”) Aside from my vivid internal playback, and a tendency to catastrophize, I also blame power companies with a significant lack if emergency planning.

Modern humans are more dependent upon the comforts of electricity than we are aware. Aside from lighting, entertainment, food storage and preparation at the press of a button, and heating, there are a number of conveniences we don’t consider: Such as modern phones (yes, even the land line type), garage door openers, and water heaters.

During my most recent brush with nature’s elemental fury, our power got knocked out at around 10:30PM. Temperatures diving into the teens and wind chills lower than that, we were still ok inside provided the power resumed within a reasonable amount of time. “Reasonable” is apparently a relative term upon which the local utilities and myself completely disagree. Additionally, we are campers, and we do have some equipment to forestall tragedies of Donner Party proportions. We also have a gas fireplace, but that, sadly, has been malfunctioning and refused to light.

Again, we had no reason to manifest fear. Surely, the power provider was prepared for this apocalypse (since the meteorologists had been screaming about it for a week). Perhaps that was the problem? The “Crying wolf” thing?

The temperature in the house began to fall, and with each passing hour room temperature came closer and closer to those out of doors. Attempting to reach the electric company, I used my smart phone to go to their website. It proclaimed that their offices were closed due to inclement weather. They did provide an emergency number. I tried it. It was busy. For seven hours it was busy. Finally, in a desperate attempt to reach someone (perhaps we are the only ones left?!?), I called through a line to a different region and got the recording “Thank you for calling … Our offices are closed due to inclement weather…” But it allowed me to patch through to an emergency line, where upon I encountered a male who obviously was not used to customer service calls. I was informed that they could not give me any updates or timeframes, nor could I find that they even knew my area was experiencing an outage. He did thank me for the information and suggested I make other arrangements.

Other arrangements? Like move to the tropics, because I am not entirely certain what other arrangements he was imagining. For those of you who own homes in areas that drop below freezing, you may be aware of things like pipes that freeze and other little foibles of home ownership. At that moment, trapped by frozen garage door, shivering in the now below 45 degree house, and dressed in my most fashionable impression of homelessness, all I could think was about people who might be at the mercy of medical equipment that only have battery back ups, are without transportation, are alone and cold. I guess they should have made “other arrangements”.

I have also called someone to hopefully fix our fireplace that we might not achieve solid ice block status tonight, and dear friends have offered us shelter and a chance to warm ourselves (if able to pry open the garage), but to say I’m less than pleased with the efforts of our local utilities to support the community in this situation is a massive understatement. It isn’t even that I expect miracles. I understand they are working hard. I really do, but to pretty much give me the “Sucks to be you” speech and tell me to make other arrangements? Wow, I’m so glad they get nearly $300 of my hard earned wages every month! There is a rival power provider that supports the adjacent area, with more people in need, they were able to keep power on or restore it to a large portion of their customers (not all yet) relatively quickly and provide updates… Yes! Updates, and a press conference to discuss the plans and where to locate shelters. Oh, and they didn’t shut their doors and turn off their phones. Isn’t that amazing?!?

Second chapter of the icepocalypse:
I call a place to see if perhaps they can fix the gas fireplace. We could have some heat. I speak with the dispatcher who took my information and all the details of our unit (a gas fireplace! Come on!) The nice man on the line said the absolutely could help with that! They would try to get someone out today. Awesome.

After a few hours of waiting, I call back to see if we are on the list at all, and I’m told “Probably not today, because of the weather. Maybe tomorrow.” Ok. I’m disappointed but not dismayed.

About a half hour later I get a call from a guy who says “Are you still needing service?” Of course! Yes! Thank the heavens! He verifies my address, and asks about my unit (stop it!). I explain about the fireplace and lack of the beneficial attributes of… Well… Fire! He suddenly says, “Oh we don’t do gas fireplaces.” What?!? They said… “Oh they’re dispatchers. They don’t know.” Um… Ok. At this point, I’m tired (not much sleep), cold, and trying to come up with some plausible alternative to freezing to death.

Finally a friend (bless you Margaret!) called in a favor from the man that moved the gas lines in their house. This darling man talked us through and managed to get our fireplace to work well enough to knock off enough of the cold and get us through the night! So, while still not entirely happy with our utility providers and some of what I perceive as planning issues, I am grateful for friends, my hobo/homeless chic style (quite warm and dead sexy), and a fire in the grate.

In no way connected to any thrones or George R. R. Martin

personal

Confessions of an insomniac: perfect bacon bowl, magic bullets, ninja juicers, and that thing that shocks your abs

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Insomnia is an ugly and unpredictable foe. It also is a somewhat recent addition to my life, recent meaning only in the last 15 years or so.

At one point in the not terribly distant past, I prided myself on the ability to sleep in any situation, a handy talent when my job consisted of long hours on call and being paged to the emergency department all all hours. Back in those good ol’ days, I could grab a 5 minute nap in the doctors’ lounge, put my head down briefly on a desk waiting for lab results or callback from insurance, and I could exist quite well or that maladaptive sporadic sleep until I had the opportunity to sleep in an actual bed.

Something happened to me, though. At some point my body rebelled and now, regardless of exhaustion, surroundings, comfort, or sleep hygiene, I lay with eyes wide open, unable to achieve entrance to the land of Nod. My mind refuses to shut down. My brain’s off switch declining to respond to my requests, replays events, catalogues tasks unaccomplished, ruminates and catastrophizes over potential disasters… And I do not sleep.

Often I will drift off only to find myself wide awake, heart racing with a plethora of anxieties in the wee hours. Trusting to my body’s exhaustion to send me back to dreamland is a really bad joke. So there I lay victim to my own racing thoughts.

What I have found to be helpful on occasion is the television. Documentaries or shows that can distract my brain, but not engage enough interest to keep me from drifting back into sleep.
However, what is the bane of my efforts is the prevalence of infomercials that become omnipresent starting at around 4:00 A.M. Sadly I usually see them even if I’m lucky enough to drift back off, because they are at an elevated volume and are way too excited and dramatic in their speech patterns to fade into “white noise”.

I have discovered that the marketing gurus who came up with the evils of infomercials knew exactly what they were doing. Attack people at their most vulnerable times psychologically! The human brain is a curious thing. The ploys and selling strategies that are completely resistible during the light of day have the power of a hypnotist in the wee hours. The worthless and completely useless dust-collecting doo-dads that are laughable in the light of day gain the value and irresistible aspects of breathing by the glow of the television in a darkened room to sleep-deprived eyes.

You think I’m kidding, but I promise you that I am very far from being an impulse buyer. Typically, I am a person who will see something that appeals to me, have to think about it for a considerable amount of time, put it away on a wish list or back burner, wander around for weeks or months to see if I still want it, and then typically decide I can live without it. Believe me! Loved ones have literally had to give me gift cards that will expire to go get myself new wardrobe items because my clothing started to resemble hobo-chic or something from a retro store … and not in a good way. So, needless to say, I’m not one that might generally be supposed to be in danger of the wiles of the late night/early morning infomercial.

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!

Yes… I found myself listening to the joy and happiness of people eating out of the “perfect bacon bowl” while designing their new fitness program by individualized plan guaranteed to result in phenomenal weight loss in less than a month! I felt compelled to call the people who exclaimed over their silken, tangle-free hair that had all the shine and brilliance without stripping it of the natural oils that keep it healthy. I was astounded and amazed that I had lived so long without the thing that shocks your abs (and other muscle groups), firming and tightening without so much as a droplet of sweat expelled.

As silly and ridiculous as it sounds, all of the products took on a glow and produced a desire in me that I never could have predicted. I felt my hand twitch and reach for the phone on the bedside table. I wanted to immediately rush to the nearest computer to access the website for quick-ordering… because if I ACT NOW, I CAN GET THREE… THAT’S THREE FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!!!

It was all I could do to resist the pull of those words. It was like my life depended on the acquisition of this item that would only be available for the NEXT TEN MINUTES!!!

Thankfully, the cat demon that likes to sleep in such a way that I am prevented from moving during the night was roused by my physical reaction to the brainwashing attempts from the screen. He wasn’t terribly pleased by all of this and expressed his dissatisfaction by biting my toe. This was enough to awaken me to the sense of what was happening, and I reached not for the phone, but for the remote and silenced the sales patter with one press of the power button.

Thank goodness cats are immune to the perils of late night infomercials or I would be the proud owner of the Shakeweight, Magic Bullet, Flex Belt, Ninja Juicer, or ThighMaster!

personal, Rant

Rant: Society’s Humor Deficiency and Terminal Self-Importance

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First of all, I want to preface this by saying, this is not directed towards any one individual, and while I am going to address one particularly silly situation (silly, in my opinion), I do not necessarily fail to recognize the feelings and seriousness of actual social inequity or genuine concerns for the public health. This, however, is a rant. Pure and simple. Well, probably not so simple since my brain likes to take side roads and get lost in the woods, but you get the drift. And with that said… on with the show.

At what point in time did everyone in America become so thin-skinned that every blessed thing that is said, done, or even hinted is going to cause offense?!? When did the melting pot of the world become so polarized in thoughts, ideas, and beliefs that casual communication is a constant risk of litigation?!?

I have pondered and written before about hyperbolic opinions and lack of moderation, but things seem to have gotten way out of hand. It seems like every day I hear of something else that has a group of people vaguely bonded by some single common interest getting their knickers in a wad over something that has been said on the television, radio, internet, social media, etc., and said group decides to stage a protest, start a petition, or even go so far as to file a legal complaint. Seriously? Most recently, I have heard yet another completely ridiculous social outrage battle, spawned and nurtured by social media (and other forms of media just to boost ratings, I’m sure). I’m perplexed as to why we are still giving energy and air time to the nonsense that seems to be predominantly fomented by people who are just looking for something to be upset about anyway. I shall use this most recent (to my notice) issue as the example because I am myself one of the people who would be in the group who would find the incident offensive… at least if I felt like it was worthy of my time to get offended.

So, it seems that someone, possibly in an attempt at humor, has once again made some vague mention of gluten. People were so offended by this that they have petitioned to pull commercials from the Super Bowl. This follows the trending topic of Celiac and gluten sensitivity being a figment of the imagination according to some. I’m not going to argue about this one way or another. I will only say that this is something I have been hearing and reading from various people and a whole bunch on social media. It turns out, I am one of those fantastic (as in fantasy) beings who suffers from a gastrointestinal intolerance to gluten, specifically of the wheat variety (there are other types, you know). I’ve heard the arguments. I’ve heard people say, “It is all in your imagination.” I have read an article written by an MD (who turned out to profit by genetically modified food products) who proclaimed that there was no scientific evidence for gluten sensitivity.

And… my reaction? I DON’T CARE! Seriously. I’m not sure why me, my eating habits, my colon, and other digestive organs are any business of the people who seem to be completely offended by my choice to avoid gluten. So, why do they care? ‘Tis a puzzlement; a quandary for the ages. Why do people give two rips whether I or anyone else eats gluten? Why should they care whether there is a gluten free option on a menu or in the supermarket or that said quality is labeled on those particular foods? Sounds like a personal problem to me, and I find it somewhat amusing that my digestive health is of such concern to the people that don’t have to put up with it. I know how my body responds. I know how it has responded for literally years before I removed said protein (yes, gluten is a protein) from my diet. I know how much better I feel now. It is entirely worth the small sacrifice of wheat products from my life. As for science, there is actual genetic testing to support Celiac, so… not sure how or why anyone would debate that one.

The point being, what anyone says or doesn’t say about the legitimacy and truth of my gluten sensitivity doesn’t have any impact whatsoever on whether I choose to eat it or avoid it, and it certainly does not offend me if they choose to believe that my gastrointestinal response to wheat gluten is all in my head. I doubt seriously that my choice of entrée that does not include whole wheat rolls or wheat flour pasta is going to have some sort of psychological impact on them. So, why should I allow their belief about “dietary delusions” impact my own food choices?

On the other side of the argument, however, are a lot of people who are offended by the statements and have taken up the banner in protest of people who choose to believe gluten sensitivity doesn’t exist. Why would you care what they think?!? People! Eat the way that is healthy for you. Their opinions, no matter how loudly or frequently expressed are not going to change your body’s response. Unless that someone is physically forcing whole wheat bread down your gullet, their opinion is not going to harm you. (And honestly, if someone does that sort of thing, their opinions are the least of their issues. That is a pathological somebody to force feed something to a person who could legitimately have an allergy to it. )

I guess what I am getting at is, practice a little planned ignoring people! If you don’t like the fact that my body responds very badly to ingesting wheat products, don’t eat a meal with me (though, chances are you might not even notice anything amiss if you did). If you are one of the people who suffers from intolerance to gluten or worse, Celiac, take the precautions and stay healthy. For Celiac disease sufferers, exposure is a very serious risk that can literally be deadly (bleeding internally is a potential consequence). Otherwise, lighten up everyone! Stop assuming that flippant comments about any given topic are a personal attack on you. Half the time people say over-the-top things just to get an over-the-top reaction and boost their exposure by controversy. Better yet, learn to laugh at yourselves, because point of fact, not everything is about YOU! Here endeth the rant.

Memories, personal

Cornbread and Buttermilk

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Some of the strangest things can trigger memories.

Today it was a random commercial. To be honest, I don’t even remember what they were hawking. That is a sad, sad statement on the people who designed that particular commercial just to draw the attention of the viewer to their client’s product. Regardless, I was drawn because the commercial showed a very tired man coming home at dawn with his wife disparaging the rigors of the “graveyard” shift. This was followed by the magical passage of time to the man getting ready to go back to work and finding his young son at the refrigerator. In a scolding tone he asks the boy what he is doing up so late. To which the child replies, “I wanted to eat breakfast with you.”

Touching, isn’t it. Brings a tear to the eye. In these hard times, so many people are having to make compromises and give up time with loved ones just to make ends meet. This brings up a whole other conversation/argument/battle royal with my best friend about the cost of living vs. the potential wages earned. Not really where I was going.

That commercial stirred a memory, actually a couple of different memories. Both my father and my grandfather worked some non-traditional hours. Dad worked long hours. I often wouldn’t get to see him except for the brief time we got to spend as he drove me to my grandparents early in the morning to catch the bus to school. Dad’s old Volkswagon station wagon. It smelled like smoke and mustiness from his firefighting gear. The ride every morning was usually less than 10 minutes, but still those rides are some of my best memories of my father from early childhood, listening to the AM radio and shivering because the heater was practically non-existent.

My grandparent’s house was where I spent a lot of time, before and after school and during the summers. My grandfather, worked shiftwork. Sometimes days, sometimes 3-11, and sometimes graveyard. When Pappy worked the 3-11 or graveyard, I would sneak up well after my designated “lights out” to tiptoe into the kitchen. My grandfather’s favorite after work snack or pre-graveyard repast was a glass of buttermilk with homemade cornbread (you know the kind, cooked in a cast iron skillet) crumbled into it. Pappy always pretended to be surprised to see me, no matter how many times he found me at his elbow. He would pour me my own glass and slice me a piece of the cornbread for me to crumble into my own glass. The two of us sitting at the very 50’s-style Formica-topped kitchen table eating cornbread and buttermilk in silence while the rest of the house slept.

When asked about their best memories from childhood, many people think of beloved pets, winning the big game, or a trip to Disneyworld. Like a few of us, my best memories of childhood are quiet, purely mundane moments: A 10 minute car ride on frosty mornings with the smell of old smoke and the sound of classic country music on a tinny AM radio… and the taste of cornbread and buttermilk.

Memories, personal

Taking the tally… Still in the good

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Memory is a blessing and a curse. Most of the time people talk about the ghosts of the past that highlight regrets or bring back times that remind us of what we missed or lost. We think about “good old days” and “back when”. Primarily, that particular ability for recall brings up all the deficits of the present as we put on the rose colored glasses of “yesteryear”.

Don’t get me wrong. I am as guilty as the next. There are some terribly painful missing elements in my present existence and some glorious victories of days gone by that make me feel every second of my *cough* years. I have aches of grief and regret. I pine for times gone by that history has graced with a veneer of soft reminiscence. I miss the people gone from my life. I miss… my youth, my choices not taken, and I consider the alternative pathways I might have explored.

And now I will call for a full stop, before I start traipsing down that depressing road.

I had a reminder this very evening that memory can also be a blessing. I stepped into one of our regular haunts. For those who understand the concept of “the pub,” there is no explanation required. For the rest, a pub or “the pub” isn’t a bar or even just an establishment serving adult beverages. It is the local gathering place, where people share news and gossip, where you celebrate you victories amongst friends and your griefs amongst family. It is, to borrow from an iconic television cliche “a place where everybody knows your name.” These establishments are rare in the U.S. (we had prohibition, remember), and even more so in the south. I’ve been lucky enough to find a few places that fit the bill. It isn’t about the liquid refreshment or food. It is about the staff and the patrons who frequent these rare gems that give them the distinction of “pub”.

I’ve gotten distracted, as usual, but tonight, I had a plethora of stimuli that set up the internal playback mechanisms. The jukebox had evidently been loaded by every family member and friend wanting to visit my recollections. Every musical interlude called to mind a different person or particularly vivid event to mind. The time of year primed my mind to drift towards the past and all the elements missing from my present.

My saving grace met me shortly upon entering the pub. Making customary greetings, I happened upon this dear friend (family of choice). He remarked to me, “Remember how we met…”

I did. In that particular instance, he had been helping out on a busy night waiting tables. We had been new patrons. He smarted off. I smarted back. The rest is history. No. It isn’t. It is present. It is future. We recognized something in each other: A sense of humor, a spark of something… In days past they might have called it kindred spirit. From there so many friendships and feelings of family grew…

It reminded me of all the people that circumstance and synchronicity has brought to my life. Not all good, but if I am honest (and I suck at lying) more good than bad.

This year… It’s blown chunks. I can’t lie (see above). There have been some extraordinarily bad times about this year. But tonight, I was reminded that if I examine the account, my balance is still the the good. Take the win. Worry about the margin another time.

personal

PSA: Scams… Same ol’ song and dance…

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So, I know that most of this is old news to anyone with internet, but I found some of it entertaining and some just a bit more concerning. I’ll start with a little game I like to call the “telephone game.”

My phone rang for the umpteenth time in the past few days with the same number that was still unknown to me (209-813-0503, and yes… it has been reported. More on that later…). So, I decided that since they were so very desperate to get in touch with me (but never wanted to leave a message), I would answer. A very heavily accented (I can’t really tell you what the accent is because it changed locals and dialects about five times during the conversation) voice asked if I was the person to whom they were speaking (not in those terms, but you get the idea). The rest of the conversation went like this:

Me: Yes, this is.

Caller: This is Kevin [um…yeah, whatever], and I am with the U.S. Government Grass Department…

Me: The what department?

Kevin: The U.S. Government GRNSS department.

Me: Ok, I’m still not getting it. What department is that?

Kevin: The U.S. Governm….

Me: Kevin, yes. I got the whole government part in this, but I am completely unfamiliar with which department that might be. Perhaps we are experiencing a linguistic problem?

Kevin: The GRNSS… G-R-A-N…

Me: Oh! Grants. The grants department. We’re talking about money. I don’t have any. You’ll need to talk to someone else.

Kevin: No, ma’am. I am with the U.S. Govern…

Me: Yep. Gotcha, Kevin, but I don’t have any extra to contribute. The government already took mine, and I gave at the office.

Kevin: *crickets* Um, no. You have qualified to receive $7193 for your own purposes.

Me: What?!? You mean you want to give ME money? That’s how much?

Kevin: $7193.

Me: Ok. So, you gonna mail me a check or something?

Kevin: You have two options to receive the money. You can receive it by bank account, like checking, savings or something. Or you can receive it on plastic card.

Me: Plastic card? Not paper or metal? Ok… so, I definitely want money. How do I get this $7193?

Kevin: I need to verify that it is you.

Me: Ok.

At this point, Kevin proceeded to verify address and phone number. I was a little disturbed by the address portion of the program, but it’s not like it is difficult to Google these things. Once my identity had apparently be verified, we continued.

Kevin: Now, for what purpose would you use this money?

Me: Why?

Kevin: Excuse me? Why what?

Me: Why do you need to know? If I have qualified already, why would I need to explain myself?

Kevin: Um… we… I mean the U.S. Government Grants Department needs to inquire if there is a purpose for the funds dispensed. For repayment of debt? For purchasing a car?

Me: Well, that wouldn’t be much of a car. But, ok. Um… I would probably repay some bills.

Kevin: Repay…some…bills… [as if he is writing it down] Ok… that is all.

Me: Awesome. That was pretty painless. When can I get my money?

Kevin: Ok, how would you like to receive your money? You have two options: Bank account or plastic card.

Me: Oh, I think I would rather you mail the plastic card.

Kevin: *crickets* Um…what?

Me: You are going to mail me some sort of debit card with the money on there, right?

Kevin: Oh, no ma’am. You misunderstood. We put it on your card.

Me: My card? Like a card I have? I don’t have a card. Did you mail it to me?

Kevin: No… um… you have plastic card?

Me: Oh, like a credit card. Oh! I see. Wow, I’m dense. Sorry. No, I don’t think I want to do that. Let’s do the bank account.

Kevin: Ok. What is the account number?

Me: How should I know?

Kevin: Your account number where we will put the money.

Me: How would I know the account number for the account you are opening for me to draw on?

Kevin: [who now thinks that this is possibly the stupidest woman he has tried to con all day] No, your account, ma’am.

Me: Oh, I’m being silly again. You want me to give you my bank account information so that you can wire the money into it, right?

Kevin: [with an audible sigh of relief] Yes, ma’am.

Me: Oh, well that information would be “No”.

Kevin: What?

Me: Wasn’t I clear? Hell no, then. How’s that?

Kevin: But without the information, we cannot give you the money.

Me: Kevin, sweetie, I believe you are going to give me $7193 about like I think I can go outside right now and fly. This may be news to you, but I don’t give money, social security numbers, or account information to displaced Nigerian princes either, sweat pea. However… I have managed to keep you on this nice phone long enough to pick up environmental information in the background and send the spoof number to the law enforcement registry to try and get a trace…

Kevin: Um… uh… ma’am. I don’t… [CLICK]

Yeah, and that was my entertainment for about 15-20 minutes of my lunch break. This is nothing new, it is just repackaged. What I do find intriguing is that these artists are learning and using new tricks and tales. I liked the U.S. Government Grant flourish. Everyone and their second cousin twice removed have seen the infomercials and ads for how to get unclaimed money from the government. According to all these TV hawkers, the federal government has billions of unclaimed funds that all you have to do is ask… How about not-so-much? While there are a number of programs with money that has been earmarked for programs or assistance, I know not one of them that you don’t at least have to fill out some pretty impressive officially bureaucratic forms or write and actual grant proposal and explanation of what you want to do with the funds to obtain. Which brings me to another new, very nice touch: Kevin asked the purpose to which I would put the funds. This is another confidence booster to the unsuspecting mark. Hearing something like that, you might actually think they were official. I mean, the government is always wanting to know what you are doing, right? Lastly, the genius touch: The amount of the payoff.

This is a tricky part. Cons and scams always rely upon the greed of the mark. They are offering something for nothing or something that is too good to be true. The old email scams had astronomical sums of money involved, and these days, most people are wise to that old story. So, this new twist, they offer a sum that is big enough to be tasty and tempting, but not so big that it is unrealistic. My guess is that it would work on a lot of people, especially with bailout programs and federal student loan forgiveness. It is a new shine on an old scheme.

If you get one of these calls, I would not expect that the number is actually the one to which you were connected. It is most likely spoofed, randomly mapped and projected to your caller ID. It is often a real number. My favorite is when they spoof my own bloody number. That is an absolute riot. I always want to answer those with “It’s done, but there is blood everywhere.” If it isn’t your own number, report it. There are sites where you can report scam number. Also, add your own numbers to the “Do Not Call” list. There is a government (real this time) site for it. I’ll list the sites below.

So, not all scams are at a distance. Believe it or not, there are still some old school charlatans working the old games. There are no new cons.

In my local area, there are a couple of groups doing the old pavement game. This is a pretty standard con, and usually focuses on homeowners of the older variety. A group of workmen approach a home and offer to pave the driveway. Usually, they offer this service for an extremely reasonable amount. They ask for a down payment, maybe $200 and set up to start the job. However, once they set out saw horses and maybe some safety equipment (goggles or hardhats), they notice it is close to lunch… or perhaps they say then need to go buy sealer. They depart, leaving the equipment to make it appear that they have every intention of returning. Voila! They disappear. They’re out maybe $15 worth of materials, and the homeowner is out $200. Occasionally, they actually do some work. Often, it is shoddy or much less than they offered (like oiling the drive, rather than paving it).

With some of the storms and weather we have experienced, another version of the above has cropped up. Again, this type tends to focus on older people in the community. And… as it happened, one of our law enforcement friends got to deal with this type today.

A mature lady answered her door to find a group of men there stating that her roof was damaged and that they were there to fix it. The lady being of more sound mind and will than they were expecting told them that they were not, but as she was outnumbered and a bit threatened, they went up the roof and started working. Our gal wasn’t to be bullied… So, she called 911. The officer responded to watch all of the men scoot up the ladder as fast as they could go.

Um… why would they do that? Wouldn’t they be trapped up there? Not the best exit strategy.

Correct, you are! However, that was not their intention. Apparently the “gentlemen” in question were in possession of what might be perceived, to the casual or not so casual observer, as illegal substances. Yep. They emptied their pockets on the roof. There were any number of interesting packets and items for “recreational” use, and there was about $40. The law enforcement officer asked the guys if all that stuff was theirs (we wouldn’t want them to lose any of their possessions, right?). Strangely enough, they all denied any connection to the items found on the roof. Mrs. Smith (pseudonym) should probably keep an eye on who is using her roof as party central. Anyhow, as no one claimed the substances or the or other items from the rooftop collection and since no damage had been done to the roof, no arrests were made. And Mrs. Smith got $40 out of it. It was on her roof after all.

It seems that every week (if not more frequently), I read or hear about some newly concocted method attempting to target unsuspecting people for money. Part of it is probably that we are in difficult times, and not everyone bears up under hardship to the credit of their character. However, another part of it is that the public, in general, is more vulnerable, precisely because we are in such difficult times. Everyone is struggling, financially, emotionally, and we’ve lost hope that good things will come. We are all vulnerable to the desire to have some of the burden lifted from our shoulders. Now, most, still retain enough cynicism and intellect to know that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is, but there is always that next wave of cons, scams, and schemes designed to overcome that natural cynicism and wariness. So, beware the predators out there. Be careful with your personal information, and say hello to “Kevin” for me.

Report The Call – http://www.reportthecall.com

Federal Trade Commission – http://consumer.ftc.gov

Do Not Call Registry – http://www.donotcall.gov