american shakedown

I got an e-mail today concerning my subscription to The New Yorker. It was funny in a few ways: first, it was a bit pissy about notifying me “three times” about my renewal (even if I’m not sure how) and essentially demanding payment. The second bit was the price: $69.95 for 47 issues (one year). “It’s simple, just click here, pay the money, and everything is good.” Sure. I finally find a phone number to call and the conversation ends up with “Josh” letting me know that I’m on auto-renewal (which is fine by me) and that the computer kicks out a $69.95 rate for 47 issues. The tone of his voice was actually implying, “Isn’t that great? Automatic computer stuff and we have to do nothing!” I told Josh that I wasn’t going to pay him jack at this point, let alone $69.95 for one year, so he needed to just simmer down. It went something like this:

Me: “Listen, Josh. I’ve been with you guys for 7 or 8 years now and you’re trying to junkpunch me with a $69.95 rate for one year.”

Josh: “Umm. That’s the standard rate.”

Me: “For what? Delivery via yak to a monastery in Tibet?”

Josh: “Umm. Did you get a special offer or rate in the mail or via e-mail?”

Me: “No, why? I'm renewing.”

Josh: “Well, what’s the best rate you can get?”

Me: “Where?”

Josh: “Umm, anywhere.”

Me: “Is this really the route we are going to take?” [me typing while talking]

Josh: “Umm.”

Me: “Okay, Josh. At your Web site I can get 94 issues for $69.95 or 47 issues for $39.95. Your move.”

Josh: “Umm.”

Me: “Josh, let me help you out here, you seem like a nice kid. I’m renewing my subscription with your publication. I love The New Yorker and I’ve been with you for years. What I don’t want is you sending me some bullshit e-mail about paying my bill and the cost being about the highest rate you can come up with. Make sense?”

Josh: “Yes.”

Me: “You’re saying that it’s automatic and computer-y doesn’t actually make me feel any better or confident in this process.”

Josh: “Yes.”

Me: “Good. How about you fix my rate on the Web site and I’ll log-in this afternoon and pay my bill which will be $69.95 for two years (94 issues).”

Josh: “Okay.”

I wonder. I really do.

t

cooking

I meant to add a bit about an article in the New Yorker that ran on about stoves. Yes, stoves. As only they can do, the title and quick blurb gets you thinking, "that might be interesting"; a trap that got me totally caught up about four years ago when they did a two-part series on freight trains. This one is Hearth Surgery by Burkhead Bilger and it addresses the massive health issues surrounding wood-burning stoves used to cook around the World (you can read an abstract here: a subscription is required to read the entire article, digitally). The amount of engineering involved in creating a device that doesn't kill yet allows various cultures to cook three-times-a-day is staggering. Talk about a group that walks this Earth in the shadows, yet are trying to help nearly three billion people; it's truly an issue that seems nearly unsolvable. I'm slackjawed that I can fire up a safe, functional cooking device so easily yet the issue is so massive beyond our shores. I'll print a few copies and mail them out if anyone is interested.

you don't say

There’s a fantastic piece in the New Yorker this week, The Deepest Dive by Alec Wilkinson. I was reading it last night and was unable to participate in any social interaction until I finished and learned the result. Here’s a link to it but you need a subscription to read it all and I suspect that if you have a subscription you’ve already read it. For those that don’t, here’s a quick summary: there’s a group of deep divers / free swimmers who set records in various categories. In particular, we're following two women who are trying to set the constant-weight depth diving record (bringing back to the surface all the weight you take down) and be the first to break the mythical 100-metre deep barrier. They use mermaid-like fins to get deep but have no other equipment – it’s pretty stunning. The process and physicality of the dive, the mental aspect, the detachment from the body, and the recovery all make for great reading. The New Yorker will really draw you in every few issues with something you never knew or never even thought about. In fact, I had to re-read (twice) Malcolm Gladwell’s piece in the last issue that dealt with Southern Liberalism and the debunking of Atticus Finch; who’d have thunk?

It’s been so humid here over the last few days that we’ve awoken to full damp on the inside of our windows. I consider it to be untenable.

As I was wandering about the Internet yesterday, I don’t remember what started the quest, I found an in-studio performance by the reunited Jayhawks. They were in the Current studio in June and did three songs and answered a few questions. They have a box set coming out that will (I think) include all the studio albums, possibly a DVD, and some b-sides and outtakes. I’d forgotten just how good they sound when playing together (the last time was about 1994) and those first three albums before Mark Olson left the band were just grand. If you want a little primer on alt.country / Americana, you could do worse than just listening to early Jayhawks. (Here’s a link to the audio from the in-studio.) It sounds like they might hit the road after the New Year – we’ll be on the alert in the Metro for the news.

I’m awaiting an update on the first week of school from Laurel. I’ll give her another ring tonight and see how it’s going.

X is going to Nationals game tomorrow night. I was offered a game last night from a visiting friend and turned it down out-of-hand. Just goes to show you how little interest baseball holds for me. I think her seats for the game are going to be cush; in that case, it’s probably worth it.

t

taking on my life

I can’t help it. The Shouts & Murmurs pages of the New Yorker is standing on the pinnacle of sly humor these days. After last issue’s take on crushes (all of which I’ve experienced), and this issue’s review of another aspect of my life, there is no way to make it any better in the next issue. This particular section of the magazine has always been hit-and-miss with me – I’m often into it for just one paragraph before moving on – but they’ve now laid purchase to at least three solid, future months of my reading time. Genius.