Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
  • Monthly Archives: January 2011

    • Singles Cruises: New Look, No View

      Posted at 3:04 am by kayewer, on January 30, 2011

      Cruise ship ads feature couples and families, but some lines now want to cater to singles, too.  One problem, though:  no windows.

      Royal Caribbean recently announced that it is overhauling one of its 22 vessels to include three “inside” cabins for singles, with no view of the scenery.  So pairs and families get balconies and panoramic views, but for those traveling (cue the dramatic music) alone, it’s a different experience.  Maybe the folks at Royal Caribbean want the singles to spend more time outside on the Lido Deck or something.

      I’ve never been on a cruise, but I know people who have.  It’s an expensive and very socially geared way to take a vacation, with all the meals and shows and stops at exotic ports, all manned by skilled onboard hosts with degrees in hospitality and tolerance for any situation that may come up, like a lonely single traveler.

      Of course, activities like shuffleboard have been replaced with rock climbing walls, surfing pools and kids’ animated feature themed package deals.  Disney has a huge presence in the party vessel movement, and for those folks who like a helping of Mickey and Goofy with their ports of call, I’m sure it’s all very nice.  I guess they’re not thinking of  Disney, “Love Boat” or Shrek when planning these single occupancy cabins.

      Where are they finding room on an iron-clad vessel to squeeze in some ventless living spaces?  Do some  higher-priced suites lose their hot tub rooms or something?  When I first heard the news, the image of a twin bed and a TV tray came to mind.  And remember, they have to add a bathroom.

      Maybe the cruise line will offer a channel on the television (which they also have to squeeze into that room) on which the single guest, trapped in their cabin pod, can watch the passing view from a camera mounted on the Lido Deck.

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    • Is “Buy Local” Loco?

      Posted at 3:32 am by kayewer, on January 23, 2011

      What do Anchor Hocking, Anna Sui, Indian Motorcycles and Slinky have in common?  They’re still made here, in America, by workers who want to make things here.  I don’t know how many things I’ve shopped for lately that don’t say “Made in USA,” but there are too many out there for my comfort.

      I wanted to get a ceramic cup to hold my cup of tea at work.  I couldn’t find one that wasn’t made in China.  My favorite sweaters are made in China.  So many clothes are assembled overseas, you’d think nobody knew how to sew in the U.S. nowadays.  What ever happened to home economics in school?

      I do (and have for years) wear shoes made in America:  SAS.  They come from Texas.  The factory had a fire a few years ago, but instead of going overseas they rebuilt.  If you go to www.sasshoes.com, click on the factory tour and watch a great video about making shoes the old-fashioned way:  by hand with skills carefully honed by experience and attention to detail.  That might be a talent most Americans seem to be lacking in an electronic age.  Folks overseas, though, get their hands dirty, and they do it for a lower paycheck and a simpler lifestyle.

      Living in New Jersey means we should have garden ripe produce. but everything in the store seems to be shipped from someplace else.  I even wonder about the tomatoes.  When you can’t find a “Joisey Tomat,” you know some things about being American have gone to pot (but not one from American made Anchor Hocking).

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    • Call Me Sometime In My Lifetime

      Posted at 2:59 am by kayewer, on January 16, 2011

      It’s hard to get people to get back to me.  This week alone I’ve waited in vain for four emails and an important phone call.  A fifth email came back to arrange an appointment for my car’s regular maintenance check, and the sender referred to me as “Karen.”  That’s not my name, so it doesn’t count.

      Last Sunday I dropped off an old roll of film–yes, some folks still have rolls in their cameras–at a new camera shop just outside of town.  The young man taking my information was nice enough, but it was easy to see that he didn’t feel comfortable filling out forms in pen using–heaven forbid–carbon paper!  He said the processing would take a few days:  by digital instant gratification standards that’s an eternity.  I haven’t gotten a call to say my film is ready and the pictures came out great or that nothing came out.  I don’t feel I should have to chase a business to get the full advantage of my in-person experience.  Besides, when dealing with men we all know that they tend not to call when they say they will.

      When I call tech support at the office, sometimes they don’t call back for days or weeks.  They do tend to get inundated with requests for password resetting, error messages and the occasional Blue Screen of Death event requiring an ambulance for the computer and its owner, but would it hurt to at least type a quick reply like, “I got your question and I’ll get back to you this afternoon” so I know how long to wait?  I always ask for a “read receipt” so I know somebody opened my email, but it still involves waiting to get the receipt.

      My college still hasn’t gotten back to me to verify my status.  Maybe they assume that I’ll just show up in a cap and gown on a date sent to me by psychic vibes.

      I have a new idea for an app that could solve the whole callback problem:  when you send a message and expect a return call, you can program their phone to load a countdown  which, when it reaches zero and they have not responded, will ignore any vibrate or silent modes and launch into a full rendition of 1812 Overture which won’t stop unless the phone is answered.  That would change the course of callbacks for good.

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    • The Graduation Waiting Game

      Posted at 3:49 am by kayewer, on January 9, 2011

      Attending college can be fun, but it also involves a lot of waiting.  Whether you order books online or stand in the queue at the campus bookstore, pop into Starbucks for a coffee or the student office to update your ID card, there is always a wait for something.

      For me, the wait is for the final word on whether or not I am finished with college.  It has taken an awfully long time to get one little degree, but I guess I can wait a day or two more.  At least I’m not standing in line.

      Back in 1977, my guidance counselor told me, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn’t college material.   I applied to evening classes at the local Ivy League college anyway, and when I told the counselor that I had been accepted, I actually got a congratulatory reply.  Go figure people sometimes.

      Ever since then I have gone to college whenever I had the opportunity.  Obviously there have been a few breaks, and it has taken me two Ivy League institutions and a county college to do it, but the end is in sight at last.  The results lie in the hands of my overworked (and often under-appreciated) advisers.  These people handle thousands of students every semester, and somehow manage to stick to a solid program of determining who has completed the necessary courses and waited in enough lines to get a diploma.  I’m on that short list.  I submitted my form last October and waited in cyber-queue for a response.  The line is moving up. . . .

       

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    • Three Little Pigs Reimagined

      Posted at 2:15 am by kayewer, on January 2, 2011

      I decided to start the year with writing just for the heck of it.  It may not be all that palatable, but first drafts are always a bit bizarre.

      Once there were three pigs, brothers from the same litter, who set off in the world to find their individual purposes and identities.  Because they had grown up in the agricultural industry, they were familiar with animals and food recycling (what the farmers called slop), but they were also fascinated with building.  They had seen barns, homesteads and silos while growing up in the wallow, and they decided to each try their hands at the construction industry.

      The first pig was the eldest, and he built his sample home from bricks.  The second pig used lumber to construct a log cabin style home.  The third pig kept ecologically sound building materials in mind and used straw and biodegradable materials for his home.

      The head of the licensing board, B. B. Wolf, was a money- and power-hungry deviant with anti-pig issues.  When he arrived at the third pig’s home, he produced a jackhammer and punched a hole into the straw house, accused the pig of several EPA violations, and ate him.

      At the second pig’s home, Wolf brought along a summons from a lawyer friend of his, accusing the pig of ethics violations because the notion of having people live as Abraham Lincoln did in the old South  might leave the impression of a recidivist pre-civil rights mindset in the housing industry.  When the pig came out to receive the summons, he was also eaten.

      When Wolf reached the home of the last pig, he was impressed with the excellent quality of the workmanship he saw in the sample home, but his attitude wasn’t swayed one bit.

      As he looked in the window and saw that the pig kept a pot of water boiling  in the fireplace, he set up an elaborate scheme against the pig.  He went to the wolf morgue and stole some remains, brought them back to the pig’s house and sneakily sent them down the chimney into the pot, then called the police to report a murder.  The pig was taken away for questioning while the forensics team tried to decipher the evidence.  Eventually the pig was sentenced to ten years in the pigpen, and the plans for the brick house were outsourced overseas.

      Unfortunately B. B. Wolf never saw a penny of his ill-gotten brick home plans.  A diet of too much raw pork killed him within 18  months, and a building conglomerate took over the plans to build new brick homes in underdeveloped pigsties.

      There is no moral to this story, but I wonder what boiled wolf would be like, don’t you?

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