Table scraps:

♣YOU'VE SEEN JUGGLING. Now see interpretive juggling.

♣DON'T YOU DARE think that Hugh Hewitt isn't putting his life on the line every single day. Do you see how he gets up in the morning and goes to his comfortable -- and yet, of course, potentially very dangerous -- downtown Manhattan radio studio? Huh? Do you? Do you see that? It's enough to make Osama tremble! (via Radosh)

♣I'VE SLOWLY BEEN catching on to the hilarious phenomonon that is the pre-release fun of "Snakes on a Plane." I first saw it mentioned in Wired, but have lately been reminded of it at Heaneyland (who even made a Snakes on a Sudoku). Be sure to check out the SoaP clearinghouse, Snakes on a Blog.

♣AS A PUBLIC service to any Lost fans who watched last night's episode, saw the blacklit map and said, "WTF!?", let me direct you to a screencap here. (via a Lost blog)

♣SOMETHING REALLY BOTHERS me about a teenager facing child pornography charges if all he or she did was post nude pictures of themselves, such as this situation. I understand the person technically did produce child pornography, and I understand how quickly real criminals could and would take advantage of a loophole if such teens couldn't be charged, but all the same: The law, in this application, is essentially making someone's own body illegal. Is that right?

♣THE CHOSEN PEOPLE can relax: Kobe Bryant isn't Jewish, but hey, he wouldn't mind if he was.

♣"DON'T YOU HAVE a Death Cab for Cutie show to be at right now?" The Onion reports: Two Hipsters Angrily Call Each Other 'Hipster'. That reminds me of all the times I heard rich Jewish girls at my high school call each other JAPs. I wonder what Kobe Bryant would think of that.

♣AND THEN, THERE'S this.

Permalink: 11:34 AM | Comments (1)

There's no customer service like... well, actually, there's just no customer service.

As you might recall, I recently wrote to Bank of America to seek relief from their own ineptitude. Yesterday, I got two (coincidentally corresponding?) responses: One from a person who claims to be a bank customer service supervisor, who left a “Thank You For Smoking”-worthy comment in the original post; and a mailed letter from the bank.

I suppose I shouldn't have expected much, but I did. I figured that maybe the BOA people I was reaching on the phone were at a disadvantage: I had put them on the spot, and they didn’t know how to resolve my problem without keeping me on hold for hours. With a letter, I figured, someone would have the time to actually figure out the problem and then get back to me.

Instead, someone had the time to pull up a form letter, make a few minor adjustments and then send it to this increasingly dissatisfied customer. The full letter, with my thoughts inserted in italics, is here:

Permalink: 08:15 AM | Comments (5)

So what if I don't know what cytoplasm is?

I had to take a semester of Spanish in college, and hated it so much that I wrote an article for the student magazine that made my professor cry. It wasn’t that I disliked her or the language. I was just upset that I had to take one semester of a language. To me, it was an inherent waste of time. My argument went like this: There’s no way I can learn a language in one semester, and yet one semester is all I have to take. If I was committed to learning Spanish, I’d have taken more on my own anyway. If I wasn’t committed, the required one semester wouldn’t provide me with a working knowledge of the language. Therefore, the semester could have been spent learning a subject better suited for one semester's worth of time.

This was, I’m sure, an outgrowth of a question I always asked during my K-12 years: Why am I learning this? I asked it every year of my parents and teachers, and never got a satisfactory answer. In elementary and middle school, I suppose it’s reasonable to say kids should be given a general base of knowledge. By high school, though, a lot of kids know what they like and what they don’t -- and more importantly, what information they’ll use later and which they won’t. When I decided I wanted to write for a living, I no longer wanted or needed to sit in an anatomy and physiology class. It was a waste of my time. The information wouldn’t be relevant to anything in my career, and so I knew I’d forget it shortly after the final exam. And I did. Over and over again, in the majority of my useless classes.

And now, finally, eight years after I’ve graduated from the Florida school system, the state is getting the hint. A proposal from Gov. Jeb Bush would allow high school students to declare a major, and then take classes that are more geared toward their career aspirations. This really might be the single best idea any member of the Bush family has ever come up with, or will ever come up with. For once, students would be given some control over their direction; they’d be allowed individualized education, which would give them more ownership over it and more enthusiasm for it.

Students don’t need cookie-cutter educations. They (or at least, I) resent them. Here’s hoping this idea takes hold in Florida and spreads. For once, my old state just might do something right... well, at least since the Heat got Dwayne Wade. That was an awesome decision as well.

Permalink: 08:14 AM | Comments (8)

Why worry? A little Febreze and you're all set.

As you can see above, someone in Asheboro, North Carolina searched Google for “how long it takes for sperm to dry on clothes,” and ended up at this site. (Out of sympathy, I blocked out the IP address.) While I don’t know the exact length of time for this -- at least for sheets, it seems to be somewhere between when I fall asleep and when I wake up -- we might as well speculate on what this person in Asheboro said after finding the answer:

• "No need to change, honey. By the time we get to the party, it’ll just look like an artsy blouse design."

• "Well, that’s not so bad. If I walk instead of taking the subway, it’ll be dry by the time I get home."

• "Are you sure we shouldn’t just spend a few bucks and buy theatrical glue?"

• "Well, whatever. Just make sure none of the kids at this party touch the clown wig for at least 20 minutes."

Permalink: 01:10 PM | Comments (3)

Primates with hard nipples

Update: You can now check out a lousy 45-second video I took of the show.

On the first night of their first American tour, as the rest of the Arctic Monkeys rocked out in Boston last night, the bassist stood back from the crowd, stone-faced and squinting, as if thinking, “What the fuck is going on here?”

And seriously, man, what the fuck was going on there? Who were those people in the sold-out crowd, screaming like they were seeing, well, a band they’ve at least heard of for a while? The Arctic Monkeys’ album just came out in the states; except for a few promo shows, they haven’t played here before. They’ve got one record. They just learned to play their instruments. How in the hell did this happen?

Truth be told, I originally turned down the ticket to last night’s show. My friend had offered it to me weeks ago, but because I generally lose interest in anything with a lot of hype, I told him to find someone who’d be more excited to go. He did. Then that person bailed out, and my friend called me with about an hour to showtime. At that point, it seemed silly to turn him down again.

The $12 tickets were going on eBay for $120. Outside the show, lots of somber guys wandered around mumbling, “Anyone selling a ticket? Just one?” When the band hit the stage -- coming out to a Warren G song -- the crowd went bonkers. As they played, two gussied-up women in a VIP section on the side of the stage kept beckoning the band members, and then scowled when the band members shrugged and indicated that, in fact, they have to keep playing. During the last song, a guy in the audience jumped up on stage and started furiously retrieving the set list, which had been thoroughly duct taped to the ground. Did these people just buy the hype? Had they somehow known about the Arctic Monkeys for a while? Are they all from England? Really, I have no idea. I don’t think the band does, either.

But here’s the thing: Although I was prepared to hate these guys, I actually kind of liked them. They’re fun, they’re catchy, and the lead singer has great stage presence. The last time I can remember a band coming with this much advance celebration is when the Strokes first hit -- and when I first heard “Last Night,” as I was slouched down in a couch at a friend’s frat party, I thought: Yes! Yes! Last night with the Arctic Monkeys, I didn’t feel that. (Nor, I guess, did I feel that with the rest of that Strokes album.) They don’t live up to the hype, but then again I suppose no band can. But they’re solid. They’re fun. America’s going to love them, and with good reason.

Permalink: 01:16 AM | Comments (6)

And the most distracting four-letter word is...

Last night I went to see Barbara Wallraff, an Atlantic Monthly contributing editor and author of the new book “Word Fugitives.” The book, as I understood it, is about common experiences for which there are no words, like “that restless feeling that causes me to repeatedly peer into the refrigerator when I'm bored.” (Suggestions from the book: “procrastifrigeration” or “leftoveractive imagination.”) So essentially, it’s a book of bad puns. But I went because I figured Wallraff would share some interesting insight into language, or at the very least talk about the Atlantic, which I like.

Instead, she mostly just shared these cheesy puns to the chuckling delight of the elderly audience. This, I should note, was in the same spot as that ill-fated Ana Marie Cox reading I went to. The Q&A session went a little better. Some people asked interesting questions and managed to provoke semi-interesting answers. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out why I was so unimpressed with the made-up words in her book, and then it hit me: They’re impractical. They’re so obviously jokey that they’d never have a chance of filling the actual linguistic void that they were crafted to do. I wanted to put this to her in the form of a non-insulting question, and raised my hand. She called on me, and I said something like this:

“I’m wondering if you think there’s a difference in the success of new words that are completely new versus ones that are, like the ones you’ve said tonight, essentially slight variations of existing words. Does one have a better chance of successfully being included in our language? For example, the word 'spam' is used to describe e-mail advertisements. We could have called them 'e-ads,' but we didn’t. We called them something that had nothing to do with e-mail or advertisements, and the word took off. Do you think there's a difference in which type would have a better chance of being accepted?”

In response, Wallraff told me that the word “spam” comes from Monty Python. Then she ended the Q&A session. Then a woman sitting in front of me turned around and said that spam was a lunchmeat eaten during wartime. Then the director of operations of the Atlantic Monthly came up to me and said, “Thanks for the spam question.”

Apparently the mention of spam is so overwhelming that people completely forget what else you had to say. Who knew it had such power? Well, lesson learned.

Anyway, about 10 minutes after that, my friend called me up and asked if I’d go to the Arctic Monkeys. See the above post.

Permalink: 01:11 AM | Comments (3)

A real doozy, indeed

A few things make sense in the world of Curtis: Hats defy gravity (because come on: at the angle it’s at, and considering how tall it is, the weight of that hat should yank it right off his old-lady-blue hair), and burglars break into people’s homes and start cooking up some baby back ribs. How else to explain how Daddy Curtis was awoken by the smell, and his first instinct was to grab a baseball bat? When he walks into the kitchen and finds that the perpetrator is his dorky son, he looks genuinely surprised, as if thinking, Phew! At least it’s not those crack addicts who cooked up a rack of lamb last week.

What’s really a shame here is that there wasn’t some dramatic misunderstanding -- or better yet, a final breaking point. Nobody here is advocating child abuse, but come on now, who wouldn’t like to see Daddy Curtis take a few swings? For the first time ever, this strip would be interesting. “And THAT’S for always giving me a hard time about smoking! And THAT’S for listening to all that crappy music! And THAT’S...”

Permalink: 08:19 AM | Comments (6)

How bad does it get? Poll numbers are low, Iraq’s a mess, and now he’s even lost the critical Old Ladies In Gaudy American Flag Sweatshirts vote

Reuters photo

Permalink: 08:14 AM | Comments (0)

Ok, so what about a "Tasers for Everyone" law?

States are increasingly considering “Stand Your Ground” laws, in which citizens can legally use deadly force against people who attack them. I thought we were already allowed to do that, but apparently not: According to a front-pager from the USA Today yesterday, many states still impose a “duty to retreat,” in which “people can be prosecuted, sued or both if they don't retreat from criminal attacks.”

The duty to retreat sounds like a bonus to criminals. I understand the intention, but the result, I’m sure, hasn’t been to avoid conflict; it’s been to punish people who have already been victimized. That doesn’t seem to accomplish much. Meanwhile, critics of the “Stand Your Ground” bills say they’ll encourage vigilantism, but that seems unlikely. When a mugger is attacking someone, the victim doesn’t contemplate the legal ramifications of their actions. They just do them -- and if they choose to fight, they find out later whether the law’s going to pardon or punish them.

So as I read that USAT article, I felt pretty happy about this trend. Here, finally, is a law that really makes some sense -- and to boot, one in which I’m suddenly on the same side as the NRA. But then again, nowhere in the article were these laws applied practically... until the last graf:

Florida's (Stand Your Ground) law could be facing its first test. Donald Montanez, owner of Tampa tow company, is charged with murder for shooting a man who took back his car without paying the towing fees. Prosecutors say Montanez, who feared being hit by the driver, fired as the man drove off. Montanez's attorney, Roger Rigau, says the new law should protect Montanez.

Oh. Well. I didn’t know it was going to be like that. I mean, I thought victims were going to be legally shooting rapists and muggers, not dudes who get carried away when their cars get towed. How unfortunate. Laws are a lot better in theory, aren’t they?

Permalink: 08:19 AM | Comments (0)

To all future auditioners: I am so sorry

In November, 2004, I received the following e-mail:

Dear Mr. Feifer,

The editors of a book of comedy monologues to be published by Smith & Kraus which to include therein an excerpt from your work entitled PHILADELPHIA CREAM CHEESE. Would you be so kind as to provide me with your mailing address so that I can mail you a permission request letter?

Thanks.

At first, I got excited. Sure, I had never heard of Smith & Kraus, but it’s a book! A book that people will sell, and they want me! Me! But then I thought about it, and decided it was a scam. The item they wanted was something I wrote in McSweeney’s (here, toward the bottom), and seriously now, who would want to reprint a little story about me eating cream cheese? It was like one of those Nigerian 419 e-mails: Someone I don't know has an improbable interest in me, they included a glaring typo in their e-mail, and clearly none of this can be good.

But I did a little research, and sure enough it was true. So I sent a frantic e-mail to McSweeney’s to make sure there weren’t any copyright problems, and they e-mailed me back a shrug: It’d be cool if they were credited in the book, they said, but I own the work and they don’t really care if it gets published elsewhere. Word up. I wrote Smith & Kraus to say I was in.

And then I waited. And waited. And forgot about it. And then remembered. And waited some more. And then yesterday, I got a check from Smith & Kraus for $20. I went online to find the book, and there it was: It’s “60 Seconds to Shine: 221 One-Minute Monologues for Men” and it sells for $19.95. I guess I know where my big payday will be going.

The publisher describes the book like this:

Actors looking for short pieces to work on in class or to use for auditions need look no further. This volume is loaded with choices from contemporary and classic plays, novels, and stories. Shakespeare, Molière, and Chekhov are represented, along with contemporary writers such as Philip Roth and Steve Tesich. Many of the monologues in this book are from less well-known authors, making it the perfect choice for actors looking for something fresh—something auditioners have never seen before.

That’s right: the master of iambic pentameter, the famed Russian dramatist and some jackass writing about cream cheese. There may be a reason this is something auditioners have never seen before.

Permalink: 12:03 AM | Comments (3)

Yo publishers, I got yer next "Maus" right here

Is anyone from the comic book industry reading this site? If so, I’d invite you -- nay, I’d beg you -- to drop me a line.

For the last year or so, my friend Joe and I have been working on a 24-page comic book called “Understando.” I wrote the script, he did all the artwork. It takes place at a college, with a Spanish-speaking janitor and a student who comes to rely on his incomprehension. The story is about the value of being heard, despite not being understood. Or, maybe it’s about getting along in a new world. Or, maybe it’s got some other theme I hadn’t thought of. I’m not much of a theme guy. But hey, if all that doesn't sound exciting, I can promise there's sex, booze, sleazy guys and slutty girls along the way. What's not to love?

It’s been a fun experiment and a first for both of us, and now we’re trying to get our little story into people’s hands. I know practically nothing about the industry, but have begun shopping it around in my own meager way. Hopefully I’ll be able to offer copies en masse eventually, but for now we just did a small run to share primarily with publishers. So, people with some comic book industry knowledge: If you’ve got any thoughts on how to help us, please let me know. And everyone else: Stay tuned. I want to share this book with you, but obviously can’t do it just yet.

Permalink: 09:33 AM | Comments (0)

Table scraps:

♣HEY, EEPH YOU! I mean that in a nice way. You should go listen to some crazy hillbilly beatbox music called eephing.

♣SOMEWHERE OUT THERE, a tribe of people get a great kick out of jokes about product packaging. This video's for them.

♣AT THE END of big football games, players shouldn't be dumping Gatorade on their coaches. They should be dumping chocolate milk -- because despite all the hype and marketing, it turns out c-milk is actually better for athletes than all those sports drinks.

♣THE RED PLANET? Actually, it's kind of bumpy.

♣AS DEATH APPROACHES, you decide that, in fact, you will not go gently into that good night. No, you will go coldly -- cryogenically frozen, theoretically hanging on to the world you left behind, the world that will figure out how to bring you back, how to make you whole, how to... oops, freezer malfunction!

♣DO YOU KNOW how much an elephant weighs? I bet you don't.

♣I HADN'T HEARD of J.T. LeRoy until s/he was exposed as a fraud, and I haven't paid much attention to the aftermath. However, I laughed out loud at a snide dismissal of LeRoy's (a.k.a. Laura Albert's) writing style in last week's New Yorker, enough so that I'm going to just share this big chunk of text here. It begins with a line in LeRoy's book, which goes like this: "I shout past the loud buzzing in my head, ‘I’m digging myself out!’ and watch clean, cold shafts of sun shadows rip into my flesh." The reviewer writes: This is what I think of as auto-gothic, and whether Laura Albert (if she was, indeed, the guilty party) meant it as a parody of fashionable angst or whether LeRoy’s prose really was the best that she could muster is, in the end, beside the point. Her cover—the one indication of brilliance in the entire farcical business—has been blown for good, and if that stops a few weepy nineteen-year-olds from filling their blogs, or, worse still, their début novels, with first-person reports of the sun shadows that ripped into their flesh, so much the better.

♣AND THEN, THERE'S this.

Permalink: 08:15 AM | Comments (0)

Drink drink drink! (and drink and drink)

I'm not a heavy drinker, but Boston's Weekly Dig recently offered me an opportunity I couldn't refuse: a free night on the town in exchange for 400 words and a few jokes. As part of their semi-annual nightlife section called "Five Drink Minimum," they send writers to different bars, have them consume five beverages and then chronicle the drink-by-drink experience. That was pretty lofty for me, considering I hadn't ever had more than two drinks in one sitting, but it seemed too fun to pass up. My evening, spent with great amusement at a swanky Boston lounge called 33, is here (pdf, mine's the first one in) or here (lower-quality jpg). (Update: There was once just a pdf linked here. If you had trouble accessing it, try the jpg now.)

After you read what happens with drink five, continue reading this entry.

Space constraints prohibited me from explaining how Rob managed to fetch the very pretty and broken-armed Molly, but it was so simultaneously genius and sneaky that it’s worth a mention here. He said he wandered around the two-floor lounge for a bit, and finally found her with a girl friend. He walked over, introduced himself, and said something to the effect of, “I have a friend who saw your cast and feels bad for you, and really wants to sign it. But he’s shy, and won’t do it himself. Will you come meet him?” She seemed happy to. What a gal!

Permalink: 12:24 AM | Comments (3)

And next week, there'll be jokes about the mouse

...hungry for what? An enlarged penis? A delicious Viagra snack? A weight-loss pill sandwich? What is it, Dagwood? What fuels your urges?

Permalink: 07:48 AM | Comments (1)

Update: Morocco is just that great

In December, I posted a conversation I had through Skype with a Moroccan man seeking an American bride. He even seemed to ask if my girlfriend was up for grabs. It was a strange exchange, and I thought it spoke to the desperation of people in impoverished countries and the promise they believe is available in America.

But according to a Moroccan girl I chatted with today on Skype, there's a very different reason for his desire: When American girls visit Morocco, they're so awe-struck that they start offering the world to the local men -- thus giving the wrong impression.

Here's the conversation:

[6:45:34 PM] Jason says: so you're in morocco, huh?
[6:45:45 PM] Sanita says: right
[6:46:26 PM] Jason says: cool. one time, a guy in morocco contacted me through skype because he wanted to find an american girl to marry. i couldn't help him, obviously.
[6:48:58 PM] Sanita says: :D
[6:49:53 PM] Sanita says: they are many americans girls come in morocco and promise wrong things to boys
[6:50:10 PM] Jason says: really? that's weird.
[6:50:48 PM] Sanita says: like to find a job for them or simply married
[6:51:13 PM] Jason says: i'm surprised american girls would promise those things. why do they?
[6:52:45 PM] Sanita says: cause they find a big hospitality and all things are simplifed by moroccan then tey promise like if they want to thanks them ( by return) get my point?
[6:53:33 PM] Jason says: i see. so the american girls are impressed by morocco, and get so excited that they promise marriage.
[6:54:23 PM] Sanita says: exact
[6:54:36 PM] Sanita says: but not almost of girls do that

Talk about putting out! This seems extremely far-fetched, but hey, I've never been to Morocco. Maybe I'd come back with a wife.

Permalink: 07:06 PM | Comments (1)

Starting life and starting a new life, and dressed the same for both

So there you are browsing news headlines, and you see one about nude wedding photos being all the rage in China. If you’re someone else, you might think, “Hey, that’s a fascinating cultural item.” If you’re me, you think, “Hey, can I see one of those photos?” Either way, you click. Then you see a larger version of what I’ve screencap’d above.

If you’re me, you glance at the photo and think it’s funny that the AFP mimicked the strategically placed gimmick from the end of “Austin Powers.” But then you look closer and realize that, in fact, this woman isn’t topless at all. She’s wearing a full dress. What the hell’s up with that?

You read the cutline:

A model poses for photographs at a wedding fair in Shanghai in 2004. But this is not the typical wedding shot these days -- Naked wedding photos are the hot new trend among young couples in once deeply conservative China.

...you know, just in case you were reading this story about nude wedding photos and were unclear about the “wedding photo” part. Except it’s not even a wedding photo; it’s a model at a wedding fair. So: It’s wedding related, and it’s a photo. But it’s no wedding photo. And more importantly, there’s a distinct, gaping absence of dangling flesh. What a rip off.

So here’s what I’m saying: If Yahoo! is too afraid to show us a nude wedding photo, it shouldn’t show us anything. What’s the point? When running a story about porn, it doesn’t show a picture of little children in a sandbox with the cutline, “Children enjoy a day at the park. But this is not porn -- that’s with naked adults having sex.”

Hell, the least Yahoo! could have done is found some semi-nude wedding photos. Like, say, this. (Hey, maybe she just couldn't afford a top to the dress. But you want more of her? Sure you do: here and here.)

Permalink: 12:45 AM | Comments (1)

Table scraps, Other Blogs Edition:

...A.K.A., "Mostly Stuff That People Sent Me That I Liked But Forgot To Post Until Now Edition"

♣WANT TO KNOW if a product is consumer friendly? You don't need to do a big study. Just give it to Millie Garfield, Steve Garfield's mom, and you'll learn its biggest problem: She can't open it. (volume one, volume four)

♣IN COLLEGE, WE once had a mouse problem. Physical plant people came in and laid down cruel gluetraps, and so I scrambled to make a humane trap that would lure the mouse instead. It wasn't a very good one, and it failed; the mouse ended up in the glue, and was killed. I sure wish I had thought of this at the time.

♣WHEN I READ this crazy story about a woman losing her camera, I was skeptical. But it's apparently quite real. And it has a happy ending.

♣EVER WORK IN a city storefront office, and have random people come in trying to sell you junky products? Ever wonder who these people are? If they make any sales? If they know they're being annoying? I sure did. And now, thanks to a job search gone wrong, we know.

♣I'M NOT THE only one with wacky Bank of America trouble. Check out this story.

♣A GUY I knew would get out of jury duty by bringing a copy of Guns And Ammo to the courthouse and then making vague racist comments. This guy did nothing of the sort, and came out impressed with the system. (via Universal Hub)

Permalink: 10:17 AM | Comments (2)

What good is that constitution thing again?

That's a screencap (with my added arrows) from yesterday's TheBostonChannel.com.

Permalink: 07:24 AM | Comments (1)

An open letter (also mailed) to Bank of America

Dear Bank of America,

You and I have been together for a while now. Oh, sure, I was originally with some of your competitors -- Bank of Boston first, which then became Fleet -- but you gobbled that up and so here I am, a loyal customer. We’ve developed a routine, you and I. You might say we keep in touch well. Every month, you charge me $25 for my account. When I get the monthly statement, I call one of your representatives to remind you that, in fact, I’m not supposed to be charged that fee. After some research, the representative agrees and refunds the money. The following month, I’m charged the fee again, and the cycle repeats.

Your people are always friendly and helpful. They thank me for banking with you. That’s nice. But honestly, I need some space. I’d rather not do this all the time. It’s been happening for months now, and I’m a bit tired.

Let me explain.

I live in Massachusetts. A few months after you bought Fleet -- which I was with at the time -- I happened to be in Florida and went to a Bank of America branch to buy some CDs. Between the CDs and the money I had in my checking and savings accounts, I qualified for your advantage account. It has a bunch of special features I don’t care about, and then one that I do: free checks. Hey, free checks! I like that. I signed up.

That’s when the problem began. The month after I signed up, I got the $25 fee. I called, and a representative explained that, even though Fleet and Bank of America had merged, the computer systems hadn’t been integrated yet. Therefore, my CDs were in one system and my bank accounts in the other. Together, they didn’t achieve the minimum balance necessary for the advantage account. They told me to go back to the regular account, and upgrade again in the summer of 2005, when everything would be merged. I did, and I did.

And sure enough, the fees kept coming. I kept calling. I kept getting refunds. Oh, I also got excuses and explanations, and promises of fixes. One time, I was told the problem was that my CDs and checking/savings accounts were actually considered two completely separate accounts, even though they were both registered to me. They were merged, and I was told the problem wouldn’t happen again. Another time, I was told a higher up was supposed to make some simple change in the system but -- oops! -- it didn’t happen.

Yesterday, March 7, brought a fascinating and new excuse. After keeping me on hold for about 20 minutes, the customer service rep told me that the problem is geographic: I opened the checking and savings accounts in Massachusetts, but the CDs were opened in Florida. And somehow, even though they’re both under the same account, that means the computer system won’t recognize them as both counting toward my advantage account. But hey, it was my lucky day: The representative had some account specialist on the other line, and she said that person gave me a six-month waiver for the fee. During the next six months, she said, I should wait until my CDs mature (which may require bending space and time, considering one is a nine-month CD), cash them out, and then buy the CDs again in Massachusetts. Then, she said, it’ll work.

Listen, Bank of America: That’s ridiculous. If a bank named after the entire damn country can’t reconcile items opened in two of its states, there’s something really wrong over there. You need some fixes.

At this point, I had enough. I told the representative that, in fact, I’m done. Forget it. Put my account back to where it was months and months ago, back to the account in which I don’t get free checks and don’t get charged a monthly fee, back to basics. And do you know what she said? It’s a little funny, actually.

She said no.

She can’t, because I already have the six-month waiver. “Well, ok, just take the waiver back,” I said. That can’t be done, because the waiver is non-revocable, she said. “So, just change the account back and the waiver won’t matter,” I said. That’s impossible, because I already have the waiver, she said.

It’s hard to argue with that logic.

Her advice: Wait six months. Then call back and, with the waiver expired, I’ll be able to make the change to my account.

There are many words for this, but I’ll give you only a few. “Ridiculous” comes to mind. “Annoying” is another. Also: Frustrating, absurd, confusing, makes-me-want-to-change-banks. (Ok, so that last one isn’t really a single word, but you get the idea.)

I can’t imagine that a bank of your size really has a computer system so completely imbecilic. Instead, I suspect I’m reaching representatives who, while friendly and pleasant and verbally thankful for my patronage, don’t actually have any idea what the hell is going on. Please, Bank of America. Fix this problem. Tear down this wall. I’m getting really annoyed here.

I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

Jason Feifer

Permalink: 12:00 AM | Comments (9)

Call the horseback fashion police

Since fashionistas are busy talking about things like Charlize Theron's shoulder today, I figured I’d turn attention to another sort of fabric faux pax. I was leafing through the most recent Rod’s “True Western Lifestyle” catalog recently -- I swear, it was sitting on someone’s table and I was bored -- and was struck by how every page contained some sort of gaudy horse-themed item. Most were women’s clothing, such as the ones I snapped above, but there were also horse-themed quilts and toilet paper holders and just about everything else.

I can’t imagine true western lifestyle people really wear this crap. And hey, I didn’t see any in “Brokeback Mountain.” So, I called Rod’s today to find out.

Me: I’m in Massachusetts and haven’t spent much time out West, so I was just curious: Based on looking at your catalog, it seems like everyone out there wears horse-themed clothing all the time. Is that true?

Friendly Office Lady: Well, we aren’t out west. We’re in Columbus, Ohio. So, I guess that’s west of you.

Me: Ok. But do people out west in horse country wear this stuff?

FOL: Yeah, it kind of depends. I think a lot of them are people that would like to sometimes pretend that they’re horse-themed type people.

Those posers!

Permalink: 01:39 PM | Comments (0)

Soon enough, they'll have the band take a commercial break

When I went to see Belle & Sebastian on Tuesday, it was at a Boston club called the Avalon. Normally, the Avalon is great: The stage is big and high, the sound system is top notch, and there are ample stairs that wise concert-goers like myself can perch on to see the band perfectly. But on that night, the Avalon proved it’s not particularly savvy to the ways of its customers. In fact, it is downright ignorant of them. The problem was this: Every 45 minutes or so during the show, they sent a beer vendor -- an actual guy with an ice tray strapped to his chest, pictured above -- wading through the crowd.

My friends, there is no room for this. Quite literally, no room. The people in these crowds are packed tightly together, like it’s one giant, crowded elevator, and some have been staking out their humble spots for hours. They arrived before doors opened, they hustled down to the floor, they stood in place through an opening band and a set change, they carefully positioned themselves to see just over the shoulder of that tall, chubby guy standing in front of them. And now it’s all gone to hell because the beer guy wanted to play Moses and part the sea.

This is not a baseball game. We, the concertgoers, are not evenly spaced out. We don’t have cupholders, and we can’t put anything on the floor. In fact, if we wanted a beer, we don’t even have enough room to lift it to our mouths without elbowing somebody. Perhaps we’d enjoy beer helmets, but the Avalon isn’t offering those.

I called the club yesterday to ask if this was a normal thing for Avalon, but the chipper girl I spoke with knew nothing. “They experiment with things, so maybe it was something like that,” she said. There are experiments that lead to great, new things, and then experiments that end with some smoke, a squirt and a stain on the carpet. Avalon, please consider this one the latter.

Permalink: 09:35 AM | Comments (3)

And don't forget about Waterdate

If Bill Clinton’s ever looking for someone to re-write history, he may want to consider a spammer. Here’s a great spam I just discovered in a filter:

From: “Sheila Costello” cher@0733.com
Date: 2/10/06 PM GMT
Subject: Former President Bill Klinton uses Voagra!

Everybody knows the great sexual scandal known as "Klinton-Levinsky". After the relations like this Klintons popularity raised a lot! It is a natural phenomenon, because Bill as a real man in order not to shame himself when he was with Monica regularly used Voagra. What happened you see. His political figure became more bright and more attractive. It is very important for a man to be respected as a man!

See our Voagra shop to enter upon the new phase of your life.

The innuendo at the end is awesome. “Oh honey,” she moaned, running her hand up his thigh. “Your political figure has become more bright and more attractive!” Meanwhile, the misspelling of Viagra is obviously an attempt to circumvent spam filters, but who knew that spammers consider “Clinton” a filter-worthy keyword as well? Ah, modern politics.

Permalink: 08:09 AM | Comments (0)

Maybe he's just being EU-minded

Overheard in the crowd before yesterday's Belle & Sebastian show (which was absolutely tremendous):

Guy1: What're you drinking?

Guy2: Whiskey.

Guy1: Got to have a little Irish in ya before Belle & Sebastian!

Guy2: But they're Scottish.

Guy1: Doesn't matter.

Permalink: 09:38 AM | Comments (6)

And later, they'll all gather 'round a new noise-making machine called a "radio"

Why was everyone in yesterday's Blondie gathered so closely together, as if in an elevator, to watch the phone call? Have these people not seen a phone in action before? Did Dagwood gather them all up to check out the newfangled technology? Maybe the whole Bumstead family has been stricken with a worse version of whatever memory loss that guy in "Memento" had. That'd also explain why, after more than 70 years of Dagwood eating a lot, they're still shocked -- so much so that Personality-Free Daughter must thrust her arm out of the frame, no doubt to brace herself against a nearby wall or large appliance -- when Dagwood says he'll be eating a whole pizza himself.

Permalink: 09:26 AM | Comments (2)