JUNK AND SPAM

Junk and Spam sounds like the name of a law firm that advertises on television, but they are two features on my amazing MacBook Pro. Computers are truly astonishing---especially when they work. Most of the time, my computer can discern the difference between legitimate e-mails and the unwanted kind. I don’t know how it does that, but when these unsolicited e-mails arrive, they are automatically tossed into “Junk and Spam” folders, and then, with a flick of the finger, I can delete them.

Everyday, my folders are filled with at least thirty or more pieces of junk mail. Usually, I quickly scan them to be sure that legitimate communications haven’t landed into one of those slots, and then I get rid of them.

However, as a less than scientific experiment, in the past few weeks, I decided to jot down some of the subject matter that ended up in my folders. Had I opened them up, I could have “learned more about cremation” after “taking a walk in my bathtub,” or “eaten some of the foods that will kill my brain.”

Several of these junk inquiries seemed inordinately interested in my brain. One advertized a “brain revolution.” I would need this to invest in “penny stocks” or “crush my fat.” Ouch! One enticing subject only said, “enthralling.”  Maybe that involved how I’d feel if I needed a “nail fungus remedy,” or wanted to “meet a cougar.” I’ve seen cougars in the mountains. No way do I want to meet one up close.

I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to hire a “Russian woman” if she did windows. I found it very confusing, when there was an offer to “remove bedbugs” with a “bedding blowout.”  If I had bedbugs, I would blow up my bed!

Then there are pretend professionals who dive into the river of spam. I was offered and “option for a divorce attorney,” a “Buy now pay later” deal, and a “one stop dental implant.” I guess that’s a kind of drive through experience.  You open your mouth, the dentist sticks in an implant, and you can get a Big Mac on your way out.

A “Luxury Weight Loss Resort” might be your last resort, because even with “permanent dentures” one would have to have a “mental disorder” to “lose 30 pounds in 30 days,” unless they plan to do some really deep “erasing of all those wrinkles.” In case any of you are interested, there is still “open enrollment” if you want to “sell your assets.”

Many years ago, before the advent of computers, there was a place called Maxwell Street in Chicago. It was the carnival street for hucksters, con men and scam artists. The inside of a raincoat could be lined with watches for sale, and a fortune could be made if you could discover the prize hidden under the three   cups which were quickly moved around by the man behind the table. Designer purses and clothes could be purchased, if you didn’t care where they came from or if they were fakes. My favorite con was the perfume trick. Perfumes that usually were available for big bucks were sold from a small table that could quickly be folded up if the police arrived.

The salesman had a convincing spiel. “Smell the stopper in the bottle.”  It always smelled so sweet. The fragrance was delicious and the price was right. When the customer got home, she discovered that the perfume was soaked in the stopper, and the bottle was filled with Chicago River water that didn’t smell half as good.

Even with technology, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Esther Blumenfeld (“A sucker is born every minute.”) “attrib.” P.T. Barnum

SO HOW COLD IS IT?

If your GPS is frozen, you know you have arrived at the IceHotel in Jukkasjarvii, Northern Sweden---located 200 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle. Most guests only stay in the IceHotel for one night, and it’s best to book reservations for the winter season, because the hotel melts back into the Torne River every spring. Since the bedrooms are around 5 degrees Celsius, the manager claims you sleep very well at night in your thermal sleeping bag on top of reindeer skins. Obviously, Rudolph overstayed his visit.

In the morning, you are treated to a cup of hot ligonberry juice, and if your lips freeze to the cup, I guess you can keep it. Couples come to Jukkasjarvii from all over the world to enjoy weddings in the ice chapel, and children are baptized there. I assume it’s a few drops from an ice cycle.

I was not lucky enough to experience the IceHotel, but did go to the coolest bar in Stockholm. The Absolut IceBar Stockholm is the world’s first permanent IceBar, chilled to a constant 5c/23degrees F. Not too many people are allowed to enter the bar at one time, but that’s no problem, because even dressed in snowsuits and mittens, it’s too cold to sit on an ice bench for too long.  However, it could be an innovative treatment for hemorrhoids.

Everything is frozen—the bar, the seats, the glasses---but even non-scientists know that vodka does not freeze. Consequently, it’s an Absolut treat to slug down a shot.

Scandinavia offers ice structures for fun. It’s a different story in Balea Lac, Romania, where high on a mountaintop, at an altitude of 6,000 ft. priests have blessed a church made of ice, which is cemented together with water and snow--kind of like in Arizona, but without the ice, water or snow. The Romanian church is a copy of an old church in Transylvania without the vampires.

Relations between the different Christian churches in Romania haven’t been very good over the years due to arguments relating to church ownership. The communists seized all the churches in Romania in 1945, and then later gave them to the Romanian Orthodox Church. They didn’t return some other churches to other denominations. What did the Godless communists know about such things?

But with the Ice Church all denominations can worship there. The arguments and misunderstandings can be put aside for a while until the whole thing melts. Then folks can resume bickering again until the winters freeze and the church is once more cemented together with water and snow.

Esther Blumenfeld (“A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water”) Carl Reiner

THERE'S A SHERIFF IN TOWN

Children have security blankets, business owners have security cameras and drug dealers have security attack dogs.  Having outgrown childhood, and not being a business owner or drug dealer, I opted for a home alarm system.

 Other than the few times I opened my patio door (without turning off the alarm) at 5:00 in the morning, my security system has served me well. At the times, I have mistakenly set off my alarm, I am comforted by the thought that all of my neighbors know it’s time to wake up, but I find it strange that they don’t come out to check if a robber is driving off with me or my furniture.

One time, a new neighbor did run over to see if I was okay. It gave me pause when he said, “Next time I’ll make sure you are okay by bringing my gun.” I don’t know if he intended to shoot an intruder or me, so I’ve been exceedingly careful ever since, and have put a reminder on the inside of my patio door that says, “Alarm.”

On the few times that I have accidentally tripped the alarm, a man from the Home Security Company calls and says, “Are you okay, or are you just plain stupid?” Then I have to give my code words; “I’m a nincompoop,” and that seems to satisfy him.

So, everything has been copacetic until last weekend when my alarm and I had a great adventure.  My friend and neighbor, Barbara called me at 7:45 in the evening and said, “My granddaughter is visiting from out-of-town, and we want to walk over, so she can meet you, and we can walk off our big Mexican dinner.” I said, “Oh, La, La, (which is more French than Spanish) I just stepped out of the shower and am in my pajamas and robe. Give me a few minutes to get my act together.”  She said, “Don’t get dressed. It’s just us girls.” So, I took two minutes to straighten up the living room and turn off the alarm. The first time I pressed the code, it didn’t disarm, so I entered the code again, and it worked.

My friends arrived, sat down and we began to chat. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and through the front door peephole, I saw two sheriffs, with big guns, standing there. I opened the door and said, “Hi, what can I do for you?” And, one of them said, “Your silent alarm went off.  Are you okay?” “What’s a silent alarm?” I asked. “It’s a panic button,” replied the bigger sheriff. “Please step outside. So, in my pajamas, robe and slippers, I stepped outside.

“Why am I out here?” I asked. “We want to be sure that no one is holding a gun to your head,” replied the other sheriff. “Please show me some identification.” I looked down at my bunny slippers and replied, “I don’t carry my driver’s license in my pajamas. Come on in and I’ll get it for you.” They stepped inside, I got the identification, introduced them to my friends, and they left satisfied that no one was in any danger other than overindulging in Mexican food.

Shortly afterwards, my friends also left. Finally, at 9:30 in the evening, I decided to go to bed and read for a while, but before I made it to the bedroom, my doorbell rang again.  Once more, I looked though the peephole, and saw a uniformed security guard. This time, I carefully disarmed my alarm, and opened the door. “Now what?” I said.  “I’m just checking to see if the Sheriff’s Department responded to your panic call.” I assured him that I was just fine, and he left.

I put on some lipstick and stayed up for two more hours waiting for the Canadian Mounted Police, but regret to report that they never showed up.

Esther Blumenfeld

A GOOD DAY

My friend, Ric can take a handful of flowers and arrange them to look like a Monet masterpiece. For him, that can be the start of a very good day.  I can take a bouquet of flowers, stick them into a vase and Edvard Munch would run outside screaming.

It’s a given that none of us are good at everything, but some of us are better at faking it than others. I always pride myself on being punctual. However, last week, I got a call while hiking in the mountains. It was 9:00 a.m., and the start of a very good day. Then a voice said, “Where are you?”  “I am hiking,” I answered.  “Well,” she said, “You are supposed to be here having breakfast with me.”

 I said, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” Sure enough, I had forgotten to check my calendar. I ended up being 25 minutes late, and arrived, looking like a hiking bag lady. Naturally, I hoped I would run into no one I knew.  Of course, that was the morning that the whole town decided to have breakfast at the same place. The only consolation is that the next time I see people, they will tell me how much better I look since I gave my clothes back to the Salvation Army.

Over the years, I have learned to do a few things well. I know how to use a toilet plunger, and when that works, it’s the start of a really good day! I’m a pretty good cook, and when I remember that the oven mitt is not for the microwave but for the oven, it’s a really good, painless day. And, the oven timer saves me so many times when I am baking a cake and decide to write a story while waiting. It’s always a surprise, when the timer lets me know something’s in the oven--- even when I forget what I put in there.  After all, a finished story is my good day!

For me, it’s never a good day when I have to go to a meeting. Thomas Sowell said, “People who enjoy meetings should not be in charge of anything.” Unfortunately, once someone let’s you know, “I’m in charge,” it usually means that it won’t be a very good day. Taking charge should mean that you know where you are going.  Also, it’s not a good day when the leader turns around and finds no one following.

With the advent of 2016, we should all aspire for at least a few good moments with each day. Getting out of bed in the morning and putting one step in front of the other is a good start. Taking care of your teeth, whether they are in your mouth or a glass might be the next step. Whatever rings your chimes to make you find a moment of satisfaction and success---whatever works for you---is what you should do.  No one lives a charmed life, but as Steven Wright said, “If you want the rainbow, you’ve got to put up with the rain.”

Esther Blumenfeld (Have a good day.)

GIDDY UP!

A man saw a little boy digging a hole in a pile of dung.  “Why are you doing that?” asked the man. “Well,” said the little boy. “There’s got to be a pony in there somewhere.”

When the University System of Georgia decided to put their old folks on ice flows and float them out on the waves of a Retiree Health Exchange, I started digging in the dung.

First, I was informed that to get on the Exchange, I had to be enrolled in Medicare B. “What are you talking about?” was my response. “I have been on Medicare B since 2001.” Turns out that when the University System changed computers in 2009,I was inadvertently put into the “Non” Medicare B category. They tried to tell me that it was my fault for the monthly overpayments I had made for six years.

My friends urged me to write a letter of complaint. They said, “The pen is mightier than the sword.” (Not original, but really very nice people!) So, I sent a letter to the Vice Chancellor on the Board of Regents, and after playing the; “I’m an old widow lady card,” I received a total refund---but no pony, because now I had to deal with the health insurance switch.

I was given a three-hour window to sit by my telephone to be interviewed by a trained insurance agent. After receiving two hours of information, my telephone ear had turned to stone. At that, the information lady told me that she had another appointment, and we’d have to re-schedule to sign up for the plans I had chosen. Ten minutes later, I had another question and decided to call her back and leave a message with my question. However, she answered the phone and said her appointment had been cancelled, so we could finish the process.

Taking a minute to switch the receiver to my other ear, I said, “Okay, let’s get this over with.” It took her another two hours to read all of the legal requirements for each policy. It was the same information for each policy. “Do, you understand?” she said---each time. Not only did I understand, but, by now, I had memorized every word. Finally, the interview was finished. Both of my ears were cast in stone---but still no pony.

Not only was I required to wait for approval from the different insurance companies; I was to call her back in January to arrange the payments for my bank. I thought I was finally finished. No such luck. I received information from the University System that I could keep my dental insurance for another year. Naturally, I had signed up for coverage with a different company. So, I called the University offices to remove my dental coverage. They said, “We are busy. Do it by computer”--the same computers that had screwed me up the first time!

Grinding my teeth, I told them what they could do with their freaking computers, and that they should remove my old dental coverage.  Unfortunately, I tried to send this message by computer, and the request came back ten times telling me to make the request “above this line”---the very same line that I had typed above ten previous times. Finally, I got a real person who said, “I can do this for you, if you send me an e-mail so I have proof that I did it.” With a flick of his finger, he eliminated my old dental insurance and I acknowledged the act.

You’d think by now I could stop shoveling, but “NO!” Now I have to find out if my University Term Life Insurance expires before I do.

Esther Blumenfeld (Giddy-UP!)