Monthly Archives: July 2009

Classified Information

Posted on July 31, 2009 by Kathleen Fox

Procrastinating on a Tuesday morning, I managed to make my third cup of tea outlast the front page, the editorial page, the obituaries, the word jumble, and the comics. This explains why I was browsing through the classifieds.

"Never worn, strapless pickup wedding gown." Isn't that a little contradictory? Not to mention that, as a pickup line, "Do you like my wedding gown?" might be a bit presumptuous.

Oh. Never mind. All became clear in a second ad, for a wedding dress "extra length for pickup style." Apparently this style must be a skirt so long that you have to hold it up so you won't trip over it. Bouquet in one hand, skirt in the other—it doesn't exactly leave the bride a free hand if she needs to tug up her strapless bodice. It may be the latest in bridal fashion, but this idea seems to be a few yards short of a full train.

Over in the household goods column was a deep fat fryer, "used only three times (I'm single)." Excuse me? Was the seller giving his marital status as a reason for not using the fryer? Or maybe he was just taking advantage of an opportunity, along the lines of what Lena did after Ole died. She couldn't afford more than one line for the obituary, so she told the editor just to put in "Ole died." The editor, a sympathetic soul, told her she could add three more words for the same price. The published obituary read, "Ole died. Boat for sale."

Maybe the same principle was at work here. You never know who reads the classifieds, after all. Maybe the former fryer could get together with the owner of the never-worn pickup wedding gown.

There was half a column of ads trying to give away kittens, each one "free to a good home." Anyone who's been there, either on the kitten-giving or kitten-getting side of the transaction, knows what this really means. It doesn't mean, "You'd better be kind, loving cat people, and we'll check." Nope. It means, "Please, please take a kitten. We don't care who you are. Take two, and we'll throw in a bag of cat food and half a bushel of zucchini."

Skimming through pets, collectibles, and household goods, I noticed a phrase common to a great many ads. Cars, couches, coats, and kittens were described as red, green, blue, or calico "in color." Thanks for clarifying; otherwise I might have assumed it was red in size.

All the ink wasted on those extra "in colors" might have been put to better use if people would give better descriptions of what they have for sale. Suppose, for example, you're looking for a dresser and you find one in the classifieds. The first question you'll probably ask when you call is, "How big is it?"

"Um, I'm not sure. You want me to measure it?"

"Yes, please."

You wait. You know it's going to take a while. First the seller has to rummage unsuccessfully in the hallway closet for a yardstick, then go down the basement to find a tape measure, then go back upstairs to measure the dresser, then come back downstairs to the phone.

You pass the time by reading more ads. There's an electric typewriter described as an "antique." Yeah, right; lots of luck getting 15 bucks for that. Hmm, there's a treadmill for only $125; maybe you should call. Just about the time you've almost decided it would be nice to have a kitten, the seller comes back on the line. "It's 56 inches wide, and 32 inches high, and 18 inches deep. And it has a big mirror."

"I'm afraid that's too big. Thanks anyway." You resist the temptation to add, "And if you had measured it first and described it better in the ad, you would have saved both of us a lot of time."

The final ad I read was a classic in only one line, a masterful combination of wasted words and under-information. "Sitting chair, maroon in color."

This seller could have learned a lot from Lena.

Categories: Words for Nerds | Leave a comment

Jumping Into a Bigger Pool

Posted on July 24, 2009 by Kathleen Fox

This isn't my usual focus, but I've been getting very frustrated with a topic that has nothing funny about it—health insurance.

In the debate about whether we should move toward a government plan or whether that would just make a bad situation worse, there's been some discussion of "portability," or making health insurance more transferable between employers. To me that doesn't go far enough. I'd like to see health insurance coverage separated from employment altogether.

The whole idea behind insurance is to spread the risk and the cost across a large group of people. The problem with keeping health insurance connected to employment is that in many cases, those groups simply aren't large enough to keep the premium costs down. They become even smaller when you take into account the number of people who don't need coverage from their employers because they have it through their spouses' jobs. And, of course, those like me who are self-employed don't have much choice except expensive individual plans.

Requiring employers to provide health insurance doesn't make any sense for smaller companies, because it doesn't do anything to solve the small pool/large premium problem. (Here is how the current plan before Congress would affect one small business.)

One way to separate insurance coverage from employment could be for the federal government to set up large pools or groups of people that would be covered under one plan. These groups could be regional, but with the technology we have available they wouldn't have to be. Then insurance companies could offer various coverage plans to those groups, perhaps through competitive bids. There would need to be a way for people to transfer easily from one group to another, so family members would be part of the same pool.

I may be missing something here; perhaps there are drawbacks to such a plan that I simply haven't thought of. But I'd certainly like to see it become part of the discussion.

Categories: Money Matters | 2 Comments

Smooth-as-Silk Sleeping

Posted on July 17, 2009 by Kathleen Fox

The subject line of the email was "erase wrinkles while you sleep." I assumed it was an ad for some miracle face cream made with yak butter, a newly discovered rejuvenating supplement, or a newly rediscovered ancient secret ingredient harvested from deep in the rain forest.

Ordinarily I would have sent it straight to the trash with the rest of the spam. I'd have missed this opportunity to look younger, just as I regularly spurn opportunities to find free government grants, buy cheaper car insurance, order upside-down tomato planters, and of course gain millions by sending my bank account information to someone from Nigeria.

But my computer was slow that morning. While I was waiting for it to finish thinking, I had time to read the wrinkle-erasing ad. It wasn't selling a cream, a supplement, or a new form of Botox. It was selling a pillowcase. Only $19.95, plus $7.95 shipping and handling—and order now to get a second one absolutely free except for additional shipping and handling.

These pillowcases, described as "the world's best kept beauty secret," are made from silk charmeuse, which sounds as if it comes from French-speaking silkworms. According to the ad, this silk contains natural protein. It also hydrates your skin.

I'm not sure the idea of a skin-hydrating pillowcase is all that appealing. It sounds too much like trying to go to sleep on one of those hot, muggy summer nights when everything feels clammy and you keep turning your pillow over just in case the underside might be a little bit cooler.

Then there is the minor technical detail that, in order to take advantage of the wonderful proteins and skin-hydrators in your silk charmeuse pillowcase, you would presumably need to sleep with your face mashed into the fabric. If you sleep on your side, you'd have to be sure to turn over in the middle of the night in order to avoid waking up with one side of your face looking younger than the other. If you sleep on your back, you'd apparently just be out of luck.

What I found most fascinating, however, was the refreshing truth in advertising of this email. My guess is that one of these pillowcases would work exactly as specified.

Nowhere in the careful wording of its two paragraphs was it stated that this beauty secret would eliminate wrinkles in your skin. You might indeed wake up in the morning and find fewer wrinkles than usual. Not in your face, though. In your pillowcase.

It's probably not worth $19.95, plus shipping and handling, to find out for sure.

Categories: Just For Fun | Leave a comment

Contemplating the Navel

Posted on July 10, 2009 by Kathleen Fox

Last week one of my relatives had abdominal surgery (which went well, thank you for asking, and he's recovering nicely). When all the cutting and stitching was finished, he was left without his belly button.

This led me to contemplate something I'd never considered before: the navel. On the inside.

We all know about the outside of the navel. It marks the place where the umbilical cord attaches to bring in all the oxygen and nutrients the developing fetus needs. After we emerge from the womb to become air-breathing little mammals, the cord dries up and drops off, leaving a neat little innie or outie behind to collect lint and help us locate our waists.

But obviously, all the good stuff traveling through the cord has to get somewhere inside the unborn baby's body. So exactly does it connect to in there, and how? And after we're born, is it still attached to anything? Or is it just there, like a bricked-over doorway that's no longer needed?

This required research. I asked one R.N., two veterinarians, and several mothers. Then I Googled "umbilicus." I do love the Internet; there was stuff online about the belly button that I never even knew I wanted to know.

First, briefly, the biology. In the fetus, the umbilical cord includes one vein and two arteries. It connects to the liver and the heart. I think it connects to other places as well, but finding out exactly where involved more multi-syllabic words than I wanted to look up.

This is the cool part. Within a week or so after a baby is born, the internal umbilical blood vessels become ligaments. There are six of these that connect our belly buttons to various places, including the liver and the bladder. I don't know just how important those ligaments are in holding everything together in there. Still, we probably ought to stand up straight and suck in our bellies; they probably appreciate the help.

Of course, the Internet being the Internet, my search results didn't stop at the physiology of the navel. I found a rhyming dictionary site with a bunch of words that rhyme with "umbilicus." These included Bacchus, hibiscus, circus, and hocus-pocus; feel free to create your own poem.

I also found a site with detailed descriptions, complete with photographs, of ways to enhance the appearance of one's belly button through plastic surgery. I'd never considered umbilical reshaping as one of life's necessities—or even one of life's luxuries—but I suppose if one were considering a career as a swim suit model it might be helpful.

Or my relative could always consult a plastic surgeon to rebuild his missing navel. I doubt that he will, though. Through the miracles of modern medicine, with a little help from his family, he already has a prosthetic umbilicus. On the front of his hospital gown, someone has pinned a bright yellow button.

Categories: Just For Fun | 1 Comment

“Grandma! She’s Being Bossy Again!”

Posted on July 3, 2009 by Kathleen Fox

It's a challenge to write something clever and entertaining about a family reunion when you know your words are likely to be read by most of the people who were there. Trust me, it gives a whole new dimension to the idea of writer's block.

This reunion—the fourth or fifth annual one now—was a three-day stay at a campground that included my parents, all four of their children, all their spouses except one who was out of the country (no, he didn't schedule the trip just to get out of spending time with the family—honest), all the grandkids, plus spouses and fiancés, except for two who live at a distance, and, of course, all four of the great-grandchildren. And let's not forget the six aunts and uncles and the handful of cousins.

Some people went fishing (and treated the whole group to a fish fry on Saturday night). Some people went swimming. Some people went for walks. Some people went for ice cream. Some people spent most of their time sitting in the shade and visiting. Everyone ate—fairly often, actually. And, apparently, everyone had a good time.

Several people remarked on the responses they get when they mention spending a three-day weekend with the extended family. These range from, "You really do that—and you enjoy it?" to, "I could never spend that much time with my family!" and, "How many fights were there?"

Sorry, no fights. Maybe that's because most of us have a sense of humor. It probably also helps that, despite some beer to go with the fish, this isn't a family where anyone gets falling-into-the-campfire drunk. (True, there is one uncle who occasionally passes out, but that's a heart problem, not an alcohol problem. Thank goodness the extended family includes a couple of veterinarians.)

But we do get together fairly often, and we do enjoy it. Is that because we're somehow closer or nicer than other families? Probably not. We come complete with the disagreements, personality conflicts, and leftover childhood stuff that all families have. But somehow, the idea of family is more important than any of that minor stuff.

At any rate, we keep showing up—for the summer camping trip, the Christmas party, and the various events in between like house-painting, moving, birthday parties, and weddings.

And maybe that's what makes the difference. The more often you show up, the better you get to know the people who share your blood and your history, and the more fully you understand how important they are to you. Maybe that makes it easier to accept their quirks and oddities in the same way you hope they accept your unique and endearing personality traits. Maybe showing up is simply what it means to be family.

Categories: Living Consciously | 4 Comments