Category Archives: Fucked Up

Houses of the Haunted Variety

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The Universe is a funny thing. It giveth and it taketh away. On Wednesday I hand delivered wedding images to an ecstatic client who even teared up over a few of them. I couldn’t have asked for a better response. I love what I do. My job actually makes people happy. It makes me happy. I have chosen my career wisely. Everyone, including her parents and sister, seemed very pleased. It may also lead to more work. No matter how much marketing I do, my work will be mostly referral based. Aside from getting more work, it’s also highly satisfying to make my clients happy. Funny how that works out.

After riding the extreme high of delivering the images to my client, things seemed like they were getting on track. Except, we got a new letter from the people we bought our house from. I suppose I can’t talk about it just yet, but use your imagination. I won’t go into details just yet, but my basic feeling is this: A POX ON THEM! BOILS AND POXES AND FIRE!!

*sigh*

Why can’t things stay good? Why do bad things have to crop out of nowhere, fuck shit up, and ruin it all? I wish I knew why bad people existed. After 5 months of turmoil, I wish I had it in my heart to give them the benefit of the doubt. What’s the matter with them? I’m not sure why they’re targeting their (un)righteous indignation at us. What did we do, besides pay them more than the house was worth? Um, nothing. In fact, they’ve been the ones making us miserable. We’ve been pleasant and fair – more than fair – since this whole thing started. I suppose I must accept that people are jerks. I shouldn’t let it get to me. It’s just another challenge to overcome. An annoying challenge, but we’ll be fine.

Onto other things.

So it turns out our new house is HAUNTED!!! I know. What house have I lived in that wasn’t? This one especially, I think. I’m usually the canary in a coal mine when it comes to hauntings. I’m the one who’s troubled by strange noises in the middle of the night and feelings of dread in my basement or attic. I haven’t sensed anything. Except, last week AJB’s assistant and I visited the house and started finding garlic cloves in doorways and window sills. We made light of it and tried to figure out why. I finally called the contractor’s head employee, Alex, who’d been on the job the most. He told me it was something the other guy, Edgar, did. Perfect name, don’t you think? I told him it was fine and we didn’t care if the house smelled like garlic – which it did.

The next time we met with our contractor, he pulled us aside. “What I’m about to tell you is something I’ve never told a client,” he said. Turns out, Alex had called him and said he refused to go back on the job. He said this because he and Edgar had heard noises like people walking around the house, fans turning on, and at one point, they walked out to the back of the house – when they came back in, all the kitchen cabinets were open. I’d probably be calling a priest right about now. Except, I’m used to this sort of thing. I’ve had way too many unexplained occurrences: jiggling door knobs, haunted door bells, voices, sightings, dark entities, noises in other rooms, the cats watching walking ghosts, my sister’s cats watching a woman walk back and forth across a room, the Hong Kong camera experience, and so much more. I could write a 3000 word post about it all. I’m a fairly logical person. I’d explain it if I could.

I read an article recently that talked about how feelings of dread are actually NOT caused by ghosts, but rather a low frequency which comes from old pipes and actually triggers the human fear response. I don’t know about that, but I’ve seen and heard things that will turn you WHITE! Truth is, I know how crazy it all sounds. When I tell people about the things I’ve experienced, I often wonder if they think I’m nuts. I also know what I’ve seen and heard, but even I question it.

Anyway, Alex returned to the job and seems to be fine now. I want to ask if he’s experienced anything else lately. I’ve also heard that construction jobs tend to rile up the spirits, so it makes sense they’re all up and about. Or it could be the noises are simply the house settling with all the work being done. OK, so how do you explain the kitchen cabinets? Either way, something is spooking the handymen. It’s an old house, after all. 108 years old this year.

When we moved into the temp Glendale house, I did a cleansing ritual – I walked around with sage and chanted nice things claiming temporary ownership of the house. I banished all bad energy and even though I felt silly doing it, it made me feel better. I’ll do the same thing at the new house. Twice if I have to.

When thinking is a crime

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In 2006 when Christopher Handley was accused of owning too much Manga, I didn’t hear about it. I heard about his sentencing yesterday. OK, so the basic story is that this guy, Christopher Handley, owns a crap load of Manga. As I understand it, Manga is Japanese Anime in book form. It comes in various forms from completely innocent to totally grotesque. It goes from Pokemon to Tentacle Porn. It runs the gambit of cute fluffy animals having fun in the forest to people having sex with cute fluffy animals in the forest. It further delves into what could be construed as child pornography…or at least, that’s what they’re calling it. This guy, Christopher Handley, apparently owned a ton of it and a good deal of it involved images of children engaged in sexual acts.

Understand, this is artwork. Manga are cartoons. They are drawings on paper. They are Japanese comic books. Handley is guilty of reading cartoons. According to the articles I’ve read, he’s never acted on these images. He looks at them and ‘bates to them. Hey, whatever floats your boat. So tell me again how that’s a crime?

I don’t read Manga, but my step-daughter does. She reads the cutesy teen romance stories. I had Little House of the Prairie, she has Manga. I’ve seen plenty of Manga, it’s hard to ignore when you’re a Comic-Con attending dork and yes, a good majority of it is about sex, implied or explicit. Big boobs, young girls in smaller than small skirts…but not all sex is profane, some of it’s just inferred and a lot of it’s just kid stuff. Television and movies go further than that, so what are we talking about here?

I wouldn’t read the books Handley does and I don’t even really like Manga, but it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist. If he’s just reading, collecting, and ‘batin’, where’s the crime? If no one’s being hurt and this doesn’t uncover some illegal Japanese child pornography ring, why is this man serving time? If my step-daughter is reading Manga, should I be worried? I’m not. Not all Manga is bad. How does this effect my life?

It effects everyone’s life. You, me, your mom, everyone. This law basically states that any implied child pornography, even cartoons, is illegal…which means it’s illegal to own or look at Lewis Carroll’s photographs. Does this mean Anne Geddes is a pedophile? She takes pictures of naked children, where do you draw the line? Why is the line an issue when it comes to art and concepts? This is merely a first step to domination, control, and censorship. Criminalizing art? What’s next? Serving time for killing digital men in video games? Will I go to the big house for allowing Mario to fall of a cliff? It was an accident. This may sound extreme, but once we allow people like Christopher Handley to go to jail for READING and THINKING we lose more and more freedom. It happens slowly enough and enough under the radar that by the time people take notice, it’s too late.

Photography by Lewis Carroll

I think most people agree that child pornography is wronger than wrong, but if artwork depicting it doesn’t actually hurt children and the people reading it aren’t physically committing crimes, what’s the problem? What this boils down to it what George Orwell called “thought crimes”; you think bad things and bad things happen to you. If America is the Land of the Free, why are people being imprisoned for THINKING about child pornography? Let me be clear, this man never acted on the images aside from wanking off (sorry, no one ever said that, but it’s pretty obvious).

I don’t know the law, in fact, if I try to read legal forms I glaze over in a dumbfounded haze which can only be cured by funny cat videos on YouTube. What I do know is that yes, a crime has been committed, just not by Handley…but by the American Justice System. OUR justice system, the one that’s supposed to protect us from the baddies of the world. I bet all those cartoon kids are happy Handley is in the clinker. He can’t hurt them anymore. Wait…THEY’RE CARTOONS! They have no feelings! They’re not even remotely corporeal!

The biggest mistake Handley made wasn’t owning kiddie cartoons, it was pleading guilty. I’m not sure why he did this, but he should be fighting for this rights and the rights of every American. Perhaps he didn’t want the publicity, too late. Perhaps he just figured he’d serve his time and go back to his life. And what? Go back to the life where he can’t read what he wants, where thinking bad things is a crime. Thankfully the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund seems to be on the case. Handley may not be fighting for his rights, but other good people are.

When I’m outraged to this level, I ask myself what I can do. I can do two things: I will not be afraid and I will help spread the word. If anyone has any better ideas, I’d love to hear them.

An open letter to Anderson Cooper

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Dear Anderson Cooper,

I’ve watched you on CNN for years, mostly because you’re always on, you’re charismatic, good looking, and you talk smart stuff. Like a good journalist, you rushed to Haiti and were one of the first on the scene. You’re fairly thorough in your reporting and you seem to try and bring in the human aspect of crisis stories, which is admirable. Tonight, however, I watched in horror as you talked at the camera as family members of a young girl desperately dug her out of a collapsed building just inches behind you. They dug with one shovel and their own hands. There you stood like some talking head, reciting the events as they unfolded. At one point, you put the microphone INTO the opening in which these men were digging so that we at home could hear this girl’s muffled cries.

What the fuck is the matter with you? I understand that due to the nature of your career, one might need to grow a thick skin and close themselves off to human suffering. In order to do your job, you have to shut out the cries of children and report like a disaffected robot. You have to get the story. I understand that. It’s your job and it’s why you get paid the big bucks. However, how cold do you have to be to stand there and watch while others frantically work to save a life? How far have you buried your emotions? Where is your humanity?

Over the course of the evening, I heard you relate that many people there are asking for your help. You are but one man and can only do so much. You can’t help everyone so you don’t help anyone. I understand you’re there to do a job and you probably think it’s best to leave the humanitarian work to those better qualified. You might even think that you’re providing a valuable service. Regardless, this isn’t about you quitting your job and joining the Red Cross. It’s what you didn’t do in that moment when when you chose to sensationalize pain rather than get your manicured hands dirty. What did you think you were doing? Did you think you were helping? You were getting in the way.

When it comes down to it, you and your kind capitalize on the suffering of human beings. It’s what you and the other media whores do. You offer nothing in regards to making the world a better place. You report about the bad things and you only watch as horrors evolve. You are a sadist. Did it not occur to you that you had crossed a line? As I watched this, I quite honestly thought (because you come off as such a nice guy on TV) that you might actually help dig. No, you just stood there, talking.

Reporter or not, you’ve shown the world that your ratings are more important than a human life. Your emotions are, like the unfortunate people of Haiti, buried under rubble, trapped and dead. You are an automaton and you have no soul.

Sincerely,
Kristen

P.S. I don’t know what you do in your free time. Maybe you volunteer at a soup kitchen or something, but tonight was reprehensible. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Organizing a Digital World

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It’s 2010 and hundreds of nano-robots have entered my brain and are accessing my organizational programs. We also have that *big thing coming up, so it’s time to get busy. Trepidation? You bet.

Since around 2004 when I got my very first digital camera, I’ve simply loaded images onto my computer willy nilly. With hardly any regard to structure, it’s one of those things I told myself I’d do later. 40,000 images later, I’m at an important juncture in my career. I have too many images, don’t need access to them all, and need to find them faster. Furthermore, iPhoto isn’t meant to handle 40,000+ images. It’s meant for Mom and Dad’s photos of birthday parties, Christmases, and the Grand Canyon. Now, don’t get me wrong. This is not a slight on Mac or anything. Mac and I are good friends, but iPhoto really isn’t the high-octane photo organizer a photographer like me needs. It bogs down, chokes up, and fades out.

The problem now is that I do indeed have 40,000 photos (maybe more, not counting everything on my laptop). I’ve done some research and have come across a lovely $300 application called “Lightroom”; it’s made by our friends over at Adobe, the people who brought you Photoshop. Lightroom is like iPhoto on crack. It’s got quite a few more advanced features and really seems to take organization seriously. In addition, it makes me feel more grown-up.

Problem is, how do I integrate 40,000 photos into a new application using new organizational methods? I have no idea. I thought I’d import everything and then organize, but I couldn’t figure it out. I thought the best way to do this was to import everything at once. Once I got everything in, I couldn’t figure out a good method. I thought about starting over and importing folder by folder. That was until I realized iPhoto isn’t necessarily organized that way. Besides, I don’t think I can import image by image one by one. That would take forever. I deleted everything I’d just imported. Not the original files, by the way. The added bonus came when I cleared the trash bin. I then realized I could indeed organize the way I wanted to within Lightroom, except, now I have to start over.

Yesterday, the import took around 4 hours. At present, Lightroom is acknowledging that the images were there but cannot find them. Yeah, that’s because I deleted them. I’m not sure how to get the ghost images out of there and a second “delete” is taking forever. Good thing I’ve allocated the entire day for this project. And I have to do it. It’s integral that I stay organized, can find images, and can get my workflow working. Up until now, I haven’t had an efficient workflow and I’m pretty sure it’s hindering my work. I’ve come to hate downloading images and I have hardly any desire to work on them, work through them, or put them to any good use. That’s because the current method doesn’t work. I need things that work.

We’ll see how it goes. I’ve got 4 hours to kill. I guess I’ll do laundry or something.

UPDATE: When tried to re-import the images from the iPhoto Library, the entire library was gone. Yes, this means what you think it means. Everything. Gone. We still have no idea what happened, but are hoping that by using Time Machine to restore the internal drive to an earlier date before the Lightroom debacle, this will fix things. I hope. Of course, this means I must also face the fact that all my images might be gone. Forever.

*Note to self: Five years from now, you won’t remember what you’re talking about. Hint: 320

That horrible smell coming from the bathroom

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Friday, as I was walking passed the kid’s upstair’s bathroom, I caught a whiff of something rancid. I went in to inspect further, looking all around, I was unable to find anything. I began to suspect that maybe the kids had disregarded a bologna sandwich or worse, something had died in there.

stuartlittle2We’ve had issues with mice in the walls and attic. You may recall my heartfelt letter to the rat family we would be annihilating. Since then, we occasionally hear scratching in the walls, but haven’t gotten around to the second onslaught. In September, my littlest baby, Matilda, caught and killed one that dared enter our domain.

Then there was the random slaying of a small bird which was subsequently left under our bed as a gift. We were in Illinois for Thanksgiving and came home to tails of our cleaning lady’s discovery. We’re not sure how it got in the house and we’re unable to determine who the did the killing and presentation. My best guess is Matilda. She’s already got one live-kill under her belt and she’s the kind of crazy cat that would leave us dead animals, she seems the likely choice.

“Something dead”, you see, is not a far stretch. We live in a rather rural, tree-filled area of Pasadena and this sort of thing has become commonplace for us. I don’t like it very much, but this is where we live. There are rats and possum and stray cats and deer and coyote and squirrels and raccoons…oh my.

When the exterminators came the last time, they sealed up the walls pretty good. I realized this wouldn’t be enough to keep them out. If mice and rats want to come in, they will. Turns out, rats can squeeze through a hole no bigger than the size of a quarter. Awesome. Sealed out and caught never meant that the “smart” rats wouldn’t remain in the attic happily living off…whatever they find up there. Most likely practicing cannibalism and strange rituals. This also never meant they couldn’t figure out new and exciting ways to get into the house. I figure they’re getting in through the outside basement and climbing up the walls. This also means, you can’t ever totally get rid of them. Not fully. A constant battle for years on end.

At first I thought the horrible smell coming from the bathroom was a backed up toilet. Living in an old house, that kind of stuff seems to happen all the time. I filled the toilet with enzymes to clear any potential blockage. I closed the door. Later that night, I showed AJB the smell and was nearly knocked on my ass from the sheer potency of it; it had been closed off in a small room for hours. I couldn’t stand it! It was the most horrible smell I’d ever smelled. It was awful. I almost barfed! I also couldn’t get the smell out of my brain. Ick, ick, ick!!!!! Hands down, worst smell I’ve ever encountered…in my life.

AJB confirmed my worst fear that some mystery animal had died somewhere, most likely in the walls or attic. OK, now what? I called the Humane Society for advice. They referred me to the “under the house guy”, the guy that’s crazy enough to go into your attic or under your house to retrieve animal corpses. Turns out, the “under the house guy” is indeed a bit crazy. The next day, he talked my ears off about what he does, how he does it, how much it costs (although we never got a straight answer), and how he might have to use a *saw-zaw to cut through the walls – something he didn’t want to do. He repeated himself several times, never let me talk, and interrupted me when I tried. I told him I had to talk to my husband; a woman’s most helpful tactic when dealing with contractors and work people. When he called later, I let AJB handle it so he could understand my colorful description of the guy. This guy was nuts, but we hired him anyway.

He showed up, a little guy with a Tom Hattan beanie. He went up in the attic, looked around and determined it was in the walls. All he could do was spray high powered deodorizer. We would have to wait until the smell dissipated on it’s own. In Winter, that could take a month or so. The animal would turn to dust and bones, forever trapped in our walls. Which made me wonder: How many other corpses are lodged between the walls of our 100 year old home? Probably dozens.

Until the smell goes away, that bathroom is closed for business. We’ve left the window open hoping the rain doesn’t get in and mold the place up. As an added bonus, my allergies have been off the hook for days. I suspect it’s a dead animal allergy.

Sometimes owning a house isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

*He actually meant Sawzall, but pronounced it “Saw-Zaw”.

The Addams Family Musical SuckFest 2009

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Skipping over the real important aspects of my life like my wedding, my honeymoon, and how I spent my Thanksgiving vacation, I thought I’d concentrate on putting something up…anything. I came to the conclusion that I am often happiest when I write. Therefore, I shall write. I have also concluded that Twitter is, not the least bit, a heartfelt record of my life. And I need one.

I am by no means a theater critic. I do, in fact, hate a lot of theater. Since meeting my husband 5 years ago, he has dragged me (often kicking and screaming) to numerous theatrical productions of various types. These types range in quality from local theater to big productions starring famous people. Bless his heart, he does try to take me to shows he thinks I might enjoy; anything dark or weird.

Over time, my aversion to theater has lessened to the point where I am less inclined to kick and scream, but rather let out a few moans of “I guess so” when he asks if I’d like to see something. This has also geared me towards keeping a weather eye out for shows we can see together; as it’s something he thoroughly enjoys doing. It makes him happy and I enjoy seeing him happy. I’ve also seen enough shows now to have a firm grasp of what the good ones look like.

Vanity Fair Cast Photo

Vanity Fair Cast Photo

On our way back home from Paris, we stopped over in Chicago’s O’Hare airport. As we staggered through the terminal, I spotted a poster for the pre-Broadway production of The Addams Family Musical starring Nathan Lane and Bebe Neuwirth. I was a little more than excited. When we came home, we bought tickets. They were expensive.

A week later, we were back in Chicago for Thanksgiving. Tickets in hand, we ventured to the big city to see a show that couldn’t possibly disappoint. I mean, we’re talking Nathan Lane, Bebe Neuwirth, and the frickin’ Addams Family. How could we lose? OK, so it’s a musical, but Nathan Lane, Bebe Neuwirth, and the frickin’ Addams Family! As usual, I didn’t set out with the highest of hopes. We’d already heard that the show wasn’t very good, but that Nathan Lane brought it to the table and served it up right. I was looking forward to seeing Lane and Neuwirth do their thing. I mean, these are top quality actors we’re talking about!

To be fair, let’s start with what the show got right. The costumes for the Addams ancestors were gorgeous and rather well done.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way….

The Addams Family Musical was probably one of the worst shows I’ve ever seen. Nathan Lane was out sick and his stand-by, Merwin Foard, took his place. The sheer magnitude of dissatisfaction in this misfortune hovered over the audience like a thick fog. It was, needless to say, a severe let down and the audience never fully recovered.

The curtain opened to a whimsical tune about Wednesday Addams no longer being a little kid anymore and taking the fictional Addams oath to honor the family’s macabre way of life. Instantly, you could tell the girl playing Wednesday was going to get on your nerves (AJB’s 13 year old daughter hated her). Not only was she unable to evoke the spirit of Wednesday, she was, sadly, a stupid little brat which conjured thoughts of ripping one’s ears off.

The creators of this show thought it would be awesome to take our beloved Addams’ into a new direction. Wednesday was now 18, she was in love, rebelling against the strangeness of her family, and filled to the brim with teenage angst. While the creators attempted to keep some semblance of Wednesday in tact, despite her new found mutinous behavior, she wasn’t anything even remotely resembling the little girl clutching a decapitated doll we know and love. This girl they called “Wednesday” had somehow met a boy (a really normal dude) and fell in love. They made out all the time.

Despite claims in the Playbill that the creators would disinherit the TV show and films, the major plot of the story was “normal family meets Addams’ and freaks out”. So much for new ideas. Normal boy’s parents meet the family. All hell’s gonna break loose now! The stereotypical Ohio business man and his quirky, poetry-spouting wife come over for dinner. What could go wrong? Wednesday begs her not-normal family to act normal for one night. There was a song about it.

During the course of the evening, Morticia has a mid-life crisis, Pugsley accidentally poisons the normal mother (of which he is later apologetic), Grandmama flashes her crotch and discusses her sex-life, the family plays a made-up game called “Full Disclosure” in which the “adults” of the family drink wine and tell the truth. Not sure why. Wednesday throws numerous tantrums, Gomez whines about not understanding anyone, and Ohio Dad fucks a giant squid; after which I inadvertently spoke out, “what the hell?” Fester fades in and out of being a weirdo-pervert to a wise narrator who falls in love with the moon – eventually copulating with it. The subject of “sex” was a major topic – because, you know, Morticia and Gomez just bang all the time – it eventually became uncomfortable and creepy, but not in a good way.

Cousin “Itt” makes a brief appearance and so does Thing. Lurch is ever present, but because he doesn’t speak, he’s the least of our worries…that is, until his big number.

None of the above is actually half of the show’s overall problems. Problem was, the creators of the show just don’t get it. They have absolutely NO idea who the Addams Family are, what they’re about, or why we love them. Morticia would never, in a million years, have a mid-life crisis. Ten years in the future or not, she would not lament the appearance of crow’s feet. She would, in fact, rejoice that they were called “crow’s feet” and that like a fine wine, she only gets better with age. Gomez would continue his usual half-crazed antics, be cool, fence, crash trains, and smoke cigars. Pugsley and Wednesday would grow up, but continue to celebrate who they were. Grandmama would always be Grandmama and Lurch would always be Lurch. There is, you see, a great deal of pride in being an Addams. While I suppose it’s OK for characters to grow or change, they shouldn’t change into an entirely new family no one cares about. Because the TV show is an integral part of who the family is, you almost certainly can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.

They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky, they’re altogether ooky, The Addam’s Family.

At their core, they are what a family should be. They’re not perfect and sometimes they embarrass you, but they love you for who you are…even if you’re dead, demented, or covered in hair. They are, above all, about tolerance, tradition, and love. The people who produced this musical totally missed the mark. They managed to turn the undying affection of Morticia and Gomez into a sleezy sex-fest. Yes, we know they bone all the time, but their implied love-making and copious amounts of arm kissing was always far more romantic. We don’t need it spelled out.

Aside from the horrifying diversion from the truest sense of the family, it was painfully obvious that the actors were aware of what they’d gotten themselves into. The missing Nathan Lane, replaced with the poor man’s version of “Raul Julia meets Robert Goulet” wasn’t able to pull off jokes Lane could have done in his sleep. Bebe Neuwirth, whom you’d assume would make the best Morticia ever, ended up looking like someone’s mom dressed as Morticia for Halloween – in one of those “Gothic Enchantress” costumes you see at Target. Frankly, Bebe just doesn’t have the cleavage to pull off the lowest of the low-cut Morticia costumes. And sadly, her big number “Second Banana” fell absolutely flat as it continued the theme of mid-life crisis comparing herself to an old plum. Morticia, insecure? Never. Ever.

Should I even talk about the cruddy set design? Talk about cheap. Just about everything looked borrowed from another show and none of it conveyed the grandeur of the Addams residence in all it’s Second Empire, deliciously dilapidated decor. Cobwebs? Not one. I also don’t have space/time to discuss the ugly choreography and the sad use of major-key songs versus minor (more spookier) songs.

The Addams Family Musical was disappointing on every level. We tried to think: Even if Nathan Lane had showed up, would it have made a difference? It might have…a bit. Nathan Lane is pretty awesome, but I’m not sure even the great Nathan Lane could carry a dead weight like this. Bebe couldn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if this show ends up having one of the shortest runs on Broadway ever. They might even set a new record. Thing is, that’s sad. This show had the potential to be something truly amazing.

If it tells you anything, AJB’s kid’s have been making fun of “Second Banana” for days. If this wildebeest of a sham crosses your path, turn around and walk the other way. You’re better off renting the goofy Addams Family Reunion movie with Tim Curry and Darryl Hannah. That’s not saying much.

La Canada Station Fire from our Patio

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A fire broke out north of Pasadena today; about 5 miles or so from our house. There is a good distance between us and the fire – as well as an entire 4 lane freeway – so we’re not really worried. The creepy thing is that you can see the flames from our house. More specifically, from our patio.

Earlier this evening, AJB and I drove up to La Canada to get a spectator’s view of the fire. It’s literally chewing up the Angeles Crest landscape. We even spotted a big explosion. I’m assuming it was a tree exploding – as they do. As of midnight this evening, The La Canada Station Fire is spreading and has gone from 5 acres to 500. I suppose it’ll get even bigger by morning.

View from our patio. Photo: Kristen Simental
La Canada Station Fire from our Patio

Customer Service in the Recession

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I should be packing for DC, but this made me so mad, I had to rant about it.

AJB and I ventured out to The Men’s Wearhouse to pick up 2 new suits, some shirts, ties, pocket squares, a belt, and braces. The suits were chosen, but needed to be tailored and were ready tonight. First off, let me say, I understand that The Men’s Wearhouse is not the height of men’s fashion. If you have the means, I would suggest going elsewhere for better quality. In fact, The Men’s Wearhouse is the Burlington Coat Factory of suit stores. That said, AJB needed a suit and we’re on a budget. You can get a nice enough suit at discount prices. At least, you won’t look like you bought your suit at an outdoor swap meet. Since we were picking up the suits, we thought we’d kill a few more birds with a few more stones and get the remainder of his accessories at the same place.

In an effort to bust through the shopping, I hit the tie table first thing. JCS was with me so I picked out ties quickly and handed them to him. We took them over to the table. I thought I’d lay them out with the jackets to see if they worked. Anthony, the assistant manager, whisked the coat from the table as I was trying out ties and quickly came back with shirt and tie selections. He laid them out ignoring the ties I’d chosen. Now, I’m a very observant person. I know when people are throwing attitude, no matter how subtle they think they’re being. Every time I disagreed with this guy, he gave a sour expression and once or twice tossed in a condescending laugh as if to say “yeah right, purple tie with a yellow pocket square? You must be joking.” I explained my color choosing methods and how I was using the color wheel to determine eye pleasing combinations. It’s a fact that colors that are opposites on the color wheel just go well together. They just do.

So this guy didn’t get it. No matter what I did, he kept coming back with blue on blue, red on red, purple on purple. Everything was colored coordinated to a tee. Fine. I get that most people want to match, but AJB is an artist and he specifically told me he wanted to stand out. I also think that when you’re an artist, the rules don’t apply. You can have a purple tie, a blue shirt, and a red pocket square. Go for it. Be bold! The new rules of fashion are: There are no rules. And as an artist, it’s your job to push the fashion envelope whenever possible. So while AJB wants to look professional, he also wants to make a statement about his creative capabilities.

Mr. Red on Red scoffed, huffed, gave looks, and laughed whenever I disagreed with him; like I was some stupid kid. He tried to put AJB in burgundy loafers and when I said “hell to the no” he seemed annoyed, as though I was cock blocking his fashion sense. I was, in fact, cock blocking his fashion sense, but that’s only because he follows a strict set of rules that AJB doesn’t have to adhere to. I suppose you don’t make it to Men’s Wearhouse Assistant Manager if you don’t know your shit, but in this case…because I wasn’t taking his word for it, we were treated like Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts, Pretty Woman) on Rodeo Drive; like dullards, like lower class citizens. He continued to bring his color choices to us even after we’d made a final decision. It felt as though he were saying, “you couldn’t possibly want that, here, try this”.

We did our best to high tail it out of there. As we brought AJB’s items to the counter, Anthony attempted to up-sell AJB on some socks. Being the smart go-getter that he is, AJB noted that it was a better deal to buy 3 socks at $5 each rather than the set of 3 for $20. Anthony was shocked that AJB couldn’t see the logic in his deal and aggressively pushed the socks sale. AJB bought some socks, but not the ones Anthony wanted.

All I know is, Anthony was annoyed with us from the get go. I don’t appreciate being scoffed at. And he scoffed! He sure as hell did. He was annoyed with us, made us feel unwanted, was far too aggressive, and did not provide us with excellent customer service. And I hate that. I’ve worked on the other side of the counter and I know what great customer service looks like…and that wasn’t it. He hardly smiled and he made us feel like a joke. Worst of all, he made us feel uncomfortable. He acted as though I was disagreeing with him just to be contrary or aggravating.

One thing you learn in retail is to leave your shit at the door. I don’t care if your mom died. If your problems are that bad, stay home. Don’t dump your baggage on unwitting customers. It doesn’t matter how much you get paid or how much shit you’ve taken from customers that day…THIS IS YOUR JOB! This is what you do and this is what Men’s Wearhouse pays you do to. They don’t pay you to show up, treat customers poorly, and then collect a paycheck. I repeat, this is your job. You chose it. You do the work that is required of you for however many hours you’re there. You do it, because you’re not the boss and you don’t own the company. You get hired to sell suits with a smile and entice customers to return again. And hey, check this out: You don’t work at Armani. Get a grip.

Playing Devil’s Advocate for a moment, it could be that Anthony is trained to get customers to leave with matching ensembles. It’s what he knows and it’s what usually works. However, has he never heard the saying, “the customer is always right”? If that’s not a Men’s Wearhouse policy, George Zimmer can stand by his suits, but not his employees…and that sucks. Their website reads: Great service is about building relationships. At Men’s Wearhouse, we want to be your clothier for life. Apparently, Anthony didn’t read the employee handbook.

I’m so annoyed with Anthony’s lack of courtesy that I hereby place Men’s Wearhouse on boycott until further notice. I made sure Anthony saw me write down his manager’s name. I will be calling to complain. This is simply unacceptable. In financially difficult times, when sales are down, you need to be as sweet as pie to make sure your customers return. If nothing else, customer service is the foundation of any business. It doesn’t matter what your product is. If you’re an asshole, you won’t be selling any of it.

FYI: I don’t choose AJB’s clothes for him. As a woman, it’s my job to provide perspective, advice, and common sense. AJB always has the final say. Don’t you, baby? *kiss*

My So-Called Birthday

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Last weekend I threw, what I imagined, would be a really great birthday party for myself. It didn’t occur to me until later that maybe it was a little sad that I made my own birthday cake and did all the pre-prep and planning by myself. As party time drew near and passed, a few people showed up, but no where near the amount I’d hoped for. In fact, while my immediate family showed, none of my extended family made it; which made me a little sad because I go to all of their functions. Friends I was hoping to see (who said they’d come) didn’t show. The ones that did come were amazing and wonderful and lovely. They made, what I considered a flop, to be a little less like a birthday party and more like a small, but pleasant, get together. I’m not complaining, but I sort of am. I’m happy for the people who showed and let’s face it, it could have been worse. Right? Still, I think I set my expectations a little too high. I suppose I assumed the people I wanted to see wanted to see me too.

My sister stayed the entire week previous. What should have been a sisterly romp through wedding planning, I’m afraid ended up being a very boring time for her. Truth is, I’m just starting to get into entertaining and I’m not very good at keeping people occupied. I feel really bad about it. I don’t feel like she had a good time, we didn’t actually get very much wedding stuff done, and AJB’s kids, who are lovely, aren’t quite as lovely to people who don’t know them very well.

On Monday, I drove her back up North. That night we arrived in Vallejo, had dinner with her wife, K2, and K2′s new hot Finnish boyfriend, went back to the house and crashed. I got up the next morning, hung out for a bit and then drove a grueling 6 hour drive down the 5 Freeway. I was so exhausted, I had fleeting thoughts about getting a hotel on the side of the road – which lead to thoughts about getting murdered in a hotel by the side of the road. If you don’t know the 5 Freeway, it’s this long stretch of road that spans the entire state of California. Central California, in particular, is barren cow country dotted with Mexican radio stations and creepy rest stops. The drive itself is tedious because there isn’t much to look at except farms, rolling hills, farms, and rolling hills. You also get the wonderful experience of passing through the horrific slaughter house area which smells like death.

By the time I reached the Grapevine (a winding steep and dangerous incline), my eyes were burning, but by the time you reach this part of the drive, you’re almost home, so I pushed myself to the limit. I blasted The Sex Pistols to help keep me awake. I made it home, had some food and crashed hard. I woke up about 4 times during the night having a hard time falling back asleep each time. I cycled through my various natural sleep remedies, but continued to find sleep illusive.

By morning, AJB woke me up, but we were already late for an his appointment to get a suit. Through his assistant, he found a vintage suit store in Silverlake called Jake. We would get the suit and then head off to Disneyland. It was, after all, my birthday. I figured we’d get to the park no later than 1 or 2. The suit took a little longer than we expected. It’s a great suit. Afterward, nearly starving, we lunched at one of my favorite cafes: The Down Beat Cafe in Echo Park. Because AJB needs the suit for a big meeting in Washington, I agreed to taking the suit to the tailor in Studio City. By that time, I was becoming more and more tired, not feeling well in general, and was cranky. We got on the road a little after 3:30pm and hit heavy traffic. It would take several hours to get to Disneyland. I tried sleeping in the car, but became increasingly annoyed. After an hour or so, I gave up and told AJB to turn the car around. The day was wasted. We went home and I went to sleep.

So I’ve been feeling crappy all day. Emotionally and physically I’m drained. I’ll go ahead and call this one of the worst birthdays ever. I didn’t even feel like answering the phone when people called. A good deal of this stems from the long drive yesterday, the pathetic birthday party, and the fact that all I wanted to do today was wake up and go to Disneyland. I put too much stock in my birthdays and when they go awry, I get disappointed. I guess what I should do is treat them like any other day. If something good happens, hooray. If not, no big deal. March 25th is just another day. I’ll keep telling myself that until I believe it.