Time to reload the uniform karma machine for the Super Bowl.
To review the rules for those of you not familiar with Mrs. Linklater's tendency to make broad, sweeping generalizations -- red or black uniforms win the uniform mojo and therefore the game. More times than not.
All white is almost always a dead bang loser uniform and must be avoided at all costs. However, even if you get stuck with the white travel jersey -- figure out a way to get some red or black mojo working. Accessorize!!! Add a little silver or gold. What do you think helmets, shoes, socks, and wristbands are for! [Think Oregon].
Unless you're playing against a green uniform. Then white can win. [Unless it's Oregon.] But I mean GREEN green, not almost black like Green Bay wore against Pittsburgh last year. Adding black to the green might have been the best move of the franchise. Compare their almost black Super Bowl jerseys to their uniforms from back in the day -- those Al Gore gag me green and banana yellow outfits. Okay, now they've been relegated to charming, throwback colors. I still rest my case.
Pittsburgh threw all their chances away for last year's SB title from the moment they stepped on the field. They had a chance to enjoy some monster mojo with their uniforms -- gold and black can generate awesome fear and loathing -- but no-o-o-o-o! They showed up wearing yellow pants with their white jerseys. I mean, really?!! You couldn't wear black pants? With black on black helmets. Maybe gold and black shoes. You gotta do SOMETHING people!! Losers.
Meanwhile, let's recap the 2012 Division Championships last weekend. San Francisco showed up in their red jerseys against the Giants. Let me remind you once again that red and black uniforms win more games than any other colors. Sports Illustrated said that. Did a study. No, I don't have the article. I'm not a journalist. I'm just opinionated.
In fact, starting with the wild card games, seven out of eight teams in red or black won their games this year. Or, to phrase it another way -- all the home teams won. Perhaps that was because all the home teams had serious uniform mojo. Except one.
The 49ers' red jerseys should have meant an easy trip to the next level. But they threw away their chances to win the battle of the game day outfits, when they came out looking pretty much the same as they did all season. Gotta freshen up the look for a big gig, dontcha know. Can't rest on your laurels even when you're the home team. A little silver or gold, something ferocious to make your helmets worth talking about. [Think Oregon again]. But no, you got cocky and settled for same ol' same ol'. Score SF less than zero for not even attempting to generate some style point mojo with a little flash.
The Giants, for their part, were smart enough not to wear all white uniforms, which would have been the kiss o' death. The fickle finger of failure. It was bad enough they had to deal with traveling team white jerseys. Since SF didn't make much effort and New York avoided looking like the losers they should have been, Mrs. Linklater has decided [after the fact, when she can do no wrong] that there was no winner of the NFC divisional uniform mojo. She calls it a tie.
Often when that happens, the game is up for grabs. Home team advantage or not.
And that's the way it was. In the end, nobody won the game. San Francisco lost it. Blame it on the mojo. Or lack thereof.
Before that game, Mrs. L was having brunch at a fancy bistro with a carved wood bar, but still had a chance to watch the start of the Ravens/Patriots' game, because they had a tasteful flat screen for patrons who like football with their eggs benedict. She immediately noticed that the Ravens' scored some serious uniform mojo when they came out on the field, smothered in so much black you almost didn't notice their jerseys were white. She was ready to anoint them winners of the game's uniform mojo -- until New England stepped on the field.
The Patriots' black jerseys beat New York's white jerseys. Okay, ALMOST black jerseys. Like Green Bay, New England's blue is way blacker than the primary color it used to be. As soon as I saw Tom Brady in his so-close-you-could-call-it-black-jersey, I called the uniforms a draw. Advantage -- no one. Rats. I knew then the Ravens would lose.
Interesting to note that neither game had a winner as much as both games were lost.
The Super Bowl is in Indianapolis. I will pick the winner based on uniform mojo. But I can't make the call until they run on the field. Both teams have almost the same colors. Basically red and blue. A little white. Some silver. I figure whoever works out a way to get the most black into their scheme will win the game. Even though both have red as one of their colors.
Did I mention, when red plays black, black wins?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Netflix Should Just Go Out of Business
Dear Netflix:
I signed up for your service when it was $7.99 for streaming AND you'd mail me one DVD at a time. What's not to like about that deal?
I stayed with you, unlike 800,000 others, after you doubled the price to $7.99 for streaming and $7.99 for one DVD by mail at a time.[Clearly you hadn't read about the New Coke fiasco before starting Quikster.]
However, after a couple of months of watching pixilated and low res crap on my MacBookPro [in case you think I have a bad player], I realized that you didn't have any decent movies to watch on streaming video, besides the fact that you suck at streaming, so I dropped that service.
At the same time, for some reason, I decided to increase my DVD service with you to two at a time for $11.99 a month. What was I thinking?
Because, after checking my account, more than 50% of the DVDs I get mailed from you are too damaged to watch. Unless I don't mind skipping key scenes, or jumping three chapters at once.
And what's with telling me to play your piece of shit DVD on another player when it's damaged? Or clean it up myself? Seriously. It doesn't matter. Nothing's going to make those beat up disks you keep sending to my house suddenly work.
In addition, by the time you send me a replacement, up to a week has passed. This makes your $11.99 two-fer mail service a lot more expensive than it's worth.
Plus, for some reason Netflix users also are blocked from watching any of the "Bonus Features" unless we are willing to go out and buy the DVD. Seriously, who came up with that little marketing ploy? Like I'm going to buy the DVD of a movie I have chosen to rent, just for the Bonus Features. If I won't pay to see a movie in the theaters, why should I pay through the nose to buy the DVD to see the Bonus Features? Don't get me wrong. I own lots of flicks. And I love the Bonus Features, but not enough to pay full retail, which is more than double the cost of going to a movie theater. Just so I can watch the extras a total of one damn time.
So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to cancel you as of February. Sorry, but my public library is way cheaper than you are, plus their DVDs don't get shipped to me unplayable, damaged from abuse, or smashed in the mail. And I can watch the bonus features anytime I want.
Do you understand the concept of service? Or do you think we won't notice that you're just trying to sock away the money?
Here's something you have yet to grasp -- if there is a problem with a DVD, my library, unlike you, will fix it, so the next person, i.e., me, doesn't get a damaged disk. In fact, they have invested in a machine that fixes DVDs so they are like new. Which begs the question -- are you just too cheap to invest in keeping your inventory in good shape?
Also, at my library, which is less than a mile away, I can get an entire season of say, MAD MEN, all at once, not one disk at a time like your "service." In fact, this month, every single TV series is FREE. That's four to six disks. Usually the whole series costs a buck a week. And you can renew it for another week for another buck. Except on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, when you can get not one, but TWO series for a buck. If I want, I can rent up to ten complete seasons or movies at a time. For $10. Or, if you do the math, only $5 on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. $11.99 for only 6-8 DVDs without bonus features is starting to sound extravagant.
I'm sure there was a time when you offered a decent product for a fair price. Unfortunately, it's becoming obvious that your time has passed.
In the end, it probably wasn't such a good idea to double your prices, when it turns out the quality of your product is only half as good as it should be. Or ever was.
Buh-bye.
I signed up for your service when it was $7.99 for streaming AND you'd mail me one DVD at a time. What's not to like about that deal?
I stayed with you, unlike 800,000 others, after you doubled the price to $7.99 for streaming and $7.99 for one DVD by mail at a time.[Clearly you hadn't read about the New Coke fiasco before starting Quikster.]
However, after a couple of months of watching pixilated and low res crap on my MacBookPro [in case you think I have a bad player], I realized that you didn't have any decent movies to watch on streaming video, besides the fact that you suck at streaming, so I dropped that service.
At the same time, for some reason, I decided to increase my DVD service with you to two at a time for $11.99 a month. What was I thinking?
Because, after checking my account, more than 50% of the DVDs I get mailed from you are too damaged to watch. Unless I don't mind skipping key scenes, or jumping three chapters at once.
And what's with telling me to play your piece of shit DVD on another player when it's damaged? Or clean it up myself? Seriously. It doesn't matter. Nothing's going to make those beat up disks you keep sending to my house suddenly work.
In addition, by the time you send me a replacement, up to a week has passed. This makes your $11.99 two-fer mail service a lot more expensive than it's worth.
Plus, for some reason Netflix users also are blocked from watching any of the "Bonus Features" unless we are willing to go out and buy the DVD. Seriously, who came up with that little marketing ploy? Like I'm going to buy the DVD of a movie I have chosen to rent, just for the Bonus Features. If I won't pay to see a movie in the theaters, why should I pay through the nose to buy the DVD to see the Bonus Features? Don't get me wrong. I own lots of flicks. And I love the Bonus Features, but not enough to pay full retail, which is more than double the cost of going to a movie theater. Just so I can watch the extras a total of one damn time.
So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to cancel you as of February. Sorry, but my public library is way cheaper than you are, plus their DVDs don't get shipped to me unplayable, damaged from abuse, or smashed in the mail. And I can watch the bonus features anytime I want.
Do you understand the concept of service? Or do you think we won't notice that you're just trying to sock away the money?
Here's something you have yet to grasp -- if there is a problem with a DVD, my library, unlike you, will fix it, so the next person, i.e., me, doesn't get a damaged disk. In fact, they have invested in a machine that fixes DVDs so they are like new. Which begs the question -- are you just too cheap to invest in keeping your inventory in good shape?
Also, at my library, which is less than a mile away, I can get an entire season of say, MAD MEN, all at once, not one disk at a time like your "service." In fact, this month, every single TV series is FREE. That's four to six disks. Usually the whole series costs a buck a week. And you can renew it for another week for another buck. Except on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, when you can get not one, but TWO series for a buck. If I want, I can rent up to ten complete seasons or movies at a time. For $10. Or, if you do the math, only $5 on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. $11.99 for only 6-8 DVDs without bonus features is starting to sound extravagant.
I'm sure there was a time when you offered a decent product for a fair price. Unfortunately, it's becoming obvious that your time has passed.
In the end, it probably wasn't such a good idea to double your prices, when it turns out the quality of your product is only half as good as it should be. Or ever was.
Buh-bye.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Cat People of PetSmart
There is a glass enclosed room at our local PetSmart, where there are used kitties of all makes and models stacked in cages for your selection. Several times a day there's a trained, professional volunteer whose job it is to let them out of their cages so they can climb on the furniture and strike a pose on the carpeted feline jungle gyms.
Potential cat owners can come into the inner sanctum to enjoy some up close and personal kootchie-coo time with this colorful crew of tabbies, calicos, long hairs, short hairs, and the occasional fancy breed. Many, if not most of these kitties have been saved from euthanasia in the proverbial nick of time. This up close and personal visitation is all part of the auditioning process, to help these furry creatures earn a second chance to barf up their hairballs, pee on the carpet, and leave cement hockey pucks in a fresh batch of kitty litter at some new owner's home.
Potential cat owners can come into the inner sanctum to enjoy some up close and personal kootchie-coo time with this colorful crew of tabbies, calicos, long hairs, short hairs, and the occasional fancy breed. Many, if not most of these kitties have been saved from euthanasia in the proverbial nick of time. This up close and personal visitation is all part of the auditioning process, to help these furry creatures earn a second chance to barf up their hairballs, pee on the carpet, and leave cement hockey pucks in a fresh batch of kitty litter at some new owner's home.
Visiting this cat room is kind of like strolling through the red light district in Amsterdam. Except at $150 and up, the felines are more expensive. I have the distinct impression that the animals have been provided by local rescue groups, based on the name atop the extensive questionnaire one has to fill out. It sure isn't PetSmart.
Two pages of information are required. Besides your job contacts, along with the number of people and other pets in your household, the cars you drive, and your salary last year, you are required to submit an admission of guilt, if and when, you've ever had to give up any of your previous furballs of love. Like say, if she died. Better have a good reason.
Plus, there's an age limit. That's right. People over 75 are considered too old. No doubt this is just another conspiracy to rid the world of one of our nation's most important resources -- the neighborhood cat lady, a job which we all know requires the services of an elderly person, preferably a woman. She is not to be confused with a member of the Cat People, a militant feminist group who post on facebook, march against euthanasia, and remain dedicated to keeping you from adopting a cat at all costs from PetSmart. Not since PETA started throwing blood on fur coats has there been a more self righteous bunch of beyotches so determined to keep cats imprisoned in cages while they prevent anyone from taking them home.
Prospective owners endure the rigamarole of filling out "the forms" just to qualify to be considered for their "vetting" process. That's when the Cat People really start to give you a hard time. PetSmart, like most national chains, probably doesn't give-a-sh*t who gets a cat, as long as papers have been signed and money has been paid. It's these devoted volunteer Cat People from the rescue groups who make the ordeal such a pain in the ass.
Two pages of information are required. Besides your job contacts, along with the number of people and other pets in your household, the cars you drive, and your salary last year, you are required to submit an admission of guilt, if and when, you've ever had to give up any of your previous furballs of love. Like say, if she died. Better have a good reason.
Plus, there's an age limit. That's right. People over 75 are considered too old. No doubt this is just another conspiracy to rid the world of one of our nation's most important resources -- the neighborhood cat lady, a job which we all know requires the services of an elderly person, preferably a woman. She is not to be confused with a member of the Cat People, a militant feminist group who post on facebook, march against euthanasia, and remain dedicated to keeping you from adopting a cat at all costs from PetSmart. Not since PETA started throwing blood on fur coats has there been a more self righteous bunch of beyotches so determined to keep cats imprisoned in cages while they prevent anyone from taking them home.
Prospective owners endure the rigamarole of filling out "the forms" just to qualify to be considered for their "vetting" process. That's when the Cat People really start to give you a hard time. PetSmart, like most national chains, probably doesn't give-a-sh*t who gets a cat, as long as papers have been signed and money has been paid. It's these devoted volunteer Cat People from the rescue groups who make the ordeal such a pain in the ass.
And therein lies the problem. When -- and most importantly WHY -- did cats get so hard to own? Whatever happened to the days of getting a free kitten from someone in the neighborhood whose pet got knocked up by a traveling tom? The father of the kittens was usually long gone, leaving little evidence of his transgression, save for some unusual color variations. Where are the old ladies you could count on to take in every stray so no cat was left behind? Not at PetSmart, I can assure you.
Yesterday a relative of mine got a phone call from one of the PetSmart Cat People. They had a cat for her. The last time they had a cat for her she only qualified for a senior cat [7 or 8 years old] because she is an "older" woman. Older than I am, as a matter of fact. Unfortunately, she had to return the cat, because he didn't pass its physical when she had it checked out by her vet. You would think that PetSmart would do that beforehand, but apparently not.
The poor thing had diabetes. This time my deserving relative was supposed to get a younger, healthier cat. Yay! While she filled out the paperwork, I spent time babysitting a couple of dogs for one of the volunteers. I kept them entertained by walking them around the store. And talking babytalk to them. I was a regular Barbara Woodhouse.
An hour passed and I noticed the cat carrier was still sitting on the table without a cat inside. I looked through the windows and saw four Cat People talking with my family member. The cat she was supposed to adopt was lounging around on the jungle gym, unperturbed. Finally, someone came out, took the dog I was tending and invited me inside the cat sanctuary to join their discussion.
For some reason, they were talking about the cat that my relative had returned months ago, because it had diabetes. Apparently someone else had been chosen to get the cat. Only she decided to get a divorce and gave the cat to a friend. This is AGAINST THE RULES!! Apparently the cat has now disappeared and the Cat People are trying to get it back.
If you're like me, at this point, you're wondering, WTF does this have to do with MY family. Isn't this a problem for the Cat People to take care of? Just give us -- sorry SELL US -- the new cat and we'll be out of here.
But things didn't happen that way. After another half hour of discussion about how to get the diabetic cat back -- I finally said, "You know, that cat is dead. If the people won't tell you where it is and how to get it back, it's gone." Since my family has attorneys they wanted one of them to write a letter to the woman and make her bring the cat back.
Because I wasn't the one adopting, I didn't scream, "Okay, so you'll get a letter! Meanwhile! Do we get to take the new cat you promised or not?" Apparently the answer was no, because we left with an empty carrier. I'm still flabbergasted, since THEY CALLED US!
The B.S. Factor of that little episode -- for those of you keeping track -- is close to 94. It would be higher, except I didn't mind playing with the dogs.
Yesterday a relative of mine got a phone call from one of the PetSmart Cat People. They had a cat for her. The last time they had a cat for her she only qualified for a senior cat [7 or 8 years old] because she is an "older" woman. Older than I am, as a matter of fact. Unfortunately, she had to return the cat, because he didn't pass its physical when she had it checked out by her vet. You would think that PetSmart would do that beforehand, but apparently not.
The poor thing had diabetes. This time my deserving relative was supposed to get a younger, healthier cat. Yay! While she filled out the paperwork, I spent time babysitting a couple of dogs for one of the volunteers. I kept them entertained by walking them around the store. And talking babytalk to them. I was a regular Barbara Woodhouse.
An hour passed and I noticed the cat carrier was still sitting on the table without a cat inside. I looked through the windows and saw four Cat People talking with my family member. The cat she was supposed to adopt was lounging around on the jungle gym, unperturbed. Finally, someone came out, took the dog I was tending and invited me inside the cat sanctuary to join their discussion.
For some reason, they were talking about the cat that my relative had returned months ago, because it had diabetes. Apparently someone else had been chosen to get the cat. Only she decided to get a divorce and gave the cat to a friend. This is AGAINST THE RULES!! Apparently the cat has now disappeared and the Cat People are trying to get it back.
If you're like me, at this point, you're wondering, WTF does this have to do with MY family. Isn't this a problem for the Cat People to take care of? Just give us -- sorry SELL US -- the new cat and we'll be out of here.
But things didn't happen that way. After another half hour of discussion about how to get the diabetic cat back -- I finally said, "You know, that cat is dead. If the people won't tell you where it is and how to get it back, it's gone." Since my family has attorneys they wanted one of them to write a letter to the woman and make her bring the cat back.
Because I wasn't the one adopting, I didn't scream, "Okay, so you'll get a letter! Meanwhile! Do we get to take the new cat you promised or not?" Apparently the answer was no, because we left with an empty carrier. I'm still flabbergasted, since THEY CALLED US!
The B.S. Factor of that little episode -- for those of you keeping track -- is close to 94. It would be higher, except I didn't mind playing with the dogs.
Snowy Lagoons in January
This shot above was easy. The one below I didn't get, because the dog came walking by so fast I only got two shots and they were both just a little off.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Photography 'r Us
This is one of about forty photos I took with my NEW [gently driven] Nike D200
on Saturday at dusk. I posted one of the horizontal versions on my facebook
page and used another one for my desktop [see sidebar], but this vertical one
is my favorite, so it goes here. Rather nicely, I think. Un-retouched, by the way.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Got Me A New Camera
Thanks to one of my brothers, I'm the proud owner of his gently used Nikon D-200 and the motor to drive it [with two industrial strength batteries]. I also inherited his Nikon D-100 a while back. I guess that makes me about as digital as a person can get without being a robot.
Thanks to having a camera in their faces ever since birth, his kids are very easy to take pictures of. They're willing to stop what they're doing and smile at the goofy adult who is snapping shots. And even do it again when you mess up. Even nicer, they always have real smiles, not those bizarre clown faces that some kids make.
So muchas gracias to Annie, Chris, and Nick for letting me take their photos morning, noon, and night during my week with your family on the Outer Banks. I'll even let you win at Crazy Eights next time. . .
For the uninitiated, the Outer Banks is not a group of banks with belly buttons that protrude out of their stomachs. That's an Outie. Or a car -- that's an Audi. It's a spit of land as far east as you can get in North Carolina. Far out from the rest of the state. Thus Outer. As in Mongolia, except it's North Carolina.
I also think it's pretty obvious that none of these photos has been digitally enhanced. All of them could be worked on, but part of me hates messing with reality. Or my camera's version of it. One of the reasons I miss film is that you could get some awesome results in days gone by without having to resort to artificial tweaking. Fujicolor 800 was my all time favorite film to use before it was downgraded to blech. Its colors were so vibrant they looked lit from behind. I like the Kodak Portra 160, even though it costs an arm and a leg. In olden days, Kodak anything was always reliable, but, except for Ektachrome, tended to go a little too warm for my taste. But now, anything goes. And Photoshop rules.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Baby You Can Drive My Car
A family friend has a favorite driver she likes to use to take her to the airport. His name is Leonid. He's a middle-aged Russian, who listens to a Russian radio station while he drives. She likes him so much, I was invited to join her in his van to catch my flight and save myself a penny or two as her guest. For that I was very grateful. Thank you very much.
The problem for me is that he doesn't seem to drive a van that belongs to a cab company. First of all, it's entirely too clean. Secondly, it isn't one of those vehicles plastered with company logos and phone numbers all over it.
He drives a metallic gold family van like yours or mine, assuming I had one. His is a lot like the new one my brother and sister-in-law recently bought, just not as tricked out for little kids.
I also noticed that he didn't get calls from a dispatcher on a two-way radio either. Since he doesn't have a two-way radio. Or a dispatcher. My friend said that the number you call to schedule him is his cell phone. So there's no fifty-year-old gum-chewing babe with a cigarette voice waiting to take your order. Or, like some companies, a guy named Jumar in India, who's sending out cars from 5000 miles away.
The van isn't a limo van either, with a distinctive blue license plate that says "livery." It has an ordinary, run-of-the-mill plate, like anybody else driving carpool on your block.
I noticed that Leonid's wheels also don't have a village sticker on the windshield like the rest of us living in the suburbs have to have. Or don't have, depending on what you think you can get away with.
In addition, when he comes to the airport to pick you up, he wants you to meet him at door A, B, or C, out in the third lane, the one reserved for use by family members and other civilians, so the cops have easy pickin's, when you've been sitting around too long. Apparently Leonid never waits at door G or uses the middle lane like all the other cab/limo services are required to do at O'Hare.
I began to wonder whether he's even got a chauffeurs' license. To my chagrin, it turns out a driver doesn't have to have one to haul people in the suburbs. Only for the city. Okay, then, what about insurance in case there's an accident? Hmmmm. Got me.
The good news is that Leonid only charges about half the price of the other services, which naturally makes him an attractive financial option in these belt-tightening times.
Naturally, being an entrepreneurial sort, he was hoping to get future business from one or both of us, but I felt I had to disabuse him of that notion. "Why should we hire a dirty van with a card reader doesn't work?" I asked. He took the time to explain why, but, as much as I might have wanted to consider his many valid reasons, I have no idea what he said.
Meanwhile, I can't wait to hear what happened to our man from Russia, Leonid.
The problem for me is that he doesn't seem to drive a van that belongs to a cab company. First of all, it's entirely too clean. Secondly, it isn't one of those vehicles plastered with company logos and phone numbers all over it.
He drives a metallic gold family van like yours or mine, assuming I had one. His is a lot like the new one my brother and sister-in-law recently bought, just not as tricked out for little kids.
I also noticed that he didn't get calls from a dispatcher on a two-way radio either. Since he doesn't have a two-way radio. Or a dispatcher. My friend said that the number you call to schedule him is his cell phone. So there's no fifty-year-old gum-chewing babe with a cigarette voice waiting to take your order. Or, like some companies, a guy named Jumar in India, who's sending out cars from 5000 miles away.
The van isn't a limo van either, with a distinctive blue license plate that says "livery." It has an ordinary, run-of-the-mill plate, like anybody else driving carpool on your block.
I noticed that Leonid's wheels also don't have a village sticker on the windshield like the rest of us living in the suburbs have to have. Or don't have, depending on what you think you can get away with.
In addition, when he comes to the airport to pick you up, he wants you to meet him at door A, B, or C, out in the third lane, the one reserved for use by family members and other civilians, so the cops have easy pickin's, when you've been sitting around too long. Apparently Leonid never waits at door G or uses the middle lane like all the other cab/limo services are required to do at O'Hare.
I began to wonder whether he's even got a chauffeurs' license. To my chagrin, it turns out a driver doesn't have to have one to haul people in the suburbs. Only for the city. Okay, then, what about insurance in case there's an accident? Hmmmm. Got me.
The good news is that Leonid only charges about half the price of the other services, which naturally makes him an attractive financial option in these belt-tightening times.
I do know that when we landed back in town today, expecting him to pick us up at the curb by door B, he was a no-show. Arrangements had been made by my friend when he dropped us off several days ago. She has said she never has to call him to confirm, because he makes such a big deal out of writing the flight arrival info in his little schedule book so he won't forget. But something happened. Because he never got there.
Instead we called another cab service and got a ride home in a van with all the hallmarks of a legitimate cab service. First, we were provided with an interior that was just one date shy of a gang bang. Additionally, I was gratified to notice that the exterior was reassuringly covered with a dent or two, along with the smarmy colors and lettering of a genuine cab company. But the piece de resistance was the driver himself, who spoke with an accent that rendered him nearly impossible to understand, no matter how many times he repeated himself. And there was more. Yes, he had a two way radio, but, no, we couldn't use a charge card, because his card reader was broken, probably during the first Gulf War. Fortunately, we had cash. I know that by the time we got to the tollway, my comfort level was at an all-time high. Naturally, being an entrepreneurial sort, he was hoping to get future business from one or both of us, but I felt I had to disabuse him of that notion. "Why should we hire a dirty van with a card reader doesn't work?" I asked. He took the time to explain why, but, as much as I might have wanted to consider his many valid reasons, I have no idea what he said.
Meanwhile, I can't wait to hear what happened to our man from Russia, Leonid.
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