Coffee heat rising

w00t! Zillow Speaks!

Is this some kind of a miracle or not?

Zillow says my house is now worth $235,000. That’s three grand more than I paid for it!

Now, o’course…it must be said that in times past we’ve been known to pontificate that Zillow is full of beans. But possibly its beaniness is in the mind of the beholder…

On the other hand, as we scribble there’s a foreclosure on the market, just around the corner. The bank seems to believe it’s worth $225,000, even though it’s a short stone’s throw away from the conduit of blight that is hideous 19th Avenue.

That house need$ work, but it has good bones: it’s SDXB’s model, hands-down the best floor plan in the tract. And the asking price is not quite as ridiculous as the three hundred grand another bank hopes to get for a decrepit house just down the street, same floor plan as mine but with a second-rate garage enclosure bloating the livable square-footage.

😀

Phoenix is a city of small enclaves. The result is a patchwork of property values. In the North Central area, some areas are rebounding in value, to the point where prices are already looking ridiculous again. Others, elbow-to-elbow with $500,000 neighborhoods, are still on the downscale side.

The increases haven’t struck M’hijito’s neighborhood, at least not exactly. Cattycorner across the street from him, a house is on the market for $350,000. But it has five bedrooms (it’s been hugely added onto) and someone went amok with the renovations in there. Zillow still values M’hijito’s house at under two hundred thou’.

On the other hand…just now almost nothing is for sale in his area. All the foreclosures are finally off the market. Prices for truly cute, centrally located mid-century houses within walking distance (for a young person) of the much-touted light rail line are very reasonable just now. I think that returns the neighborhood to the status it held at the time we bought: ripe for gentrification.

It’s perfect for young professional singles and couples.

IMHO we’ll be rightside-up by the end of this year. And if the economy holds for just a few more years, we should at least break even on the thing.

Medigap Runaround, 2013

So I get a notice from Mutual of Omaha that they’re jacking up the premium for my Medicare supplement insurance (known as “Medigap” because it fills the considerable gaps in Medicare Parts A and B coverage) by $433.58, an amount that happens to be exactly $433.58 more than I can afford.

In the mind-numbingly complicated maze that is the private Medicare supplemental insurance landscape, I have Plan F, a mid-priced scheme that effectively covers everything that Parts A and B do not cover. The last time I talked with Mutual of Omaha, their CSR suggested I switch to Plan G, which covers everything except a $147.50 Part B deductible. Part G premiums are so much lower than Plan F’s now that even paying the deductible out of pocket you still come out ahead.

Ooohkayyyy….

Meanwhile, I’ve compiled a list of a dozen companies that do business in Arizona and are charging less than Mutual of Omaha for Plan F.

Monday, I begin the endless round of calling with Mutual of Omaha itself, trying to get underwritten for Part G.

I speak with one Ernest. He says Plan G will cost $116.28, well under what I’ve been paying for Plan F. I ask about the underwriting. He transfers me to another agent, one Nicole. She says she’s a licensed agent in Arizona. But she also won’t talk with me. She tells me to call an 800 number and utter these words: “I have a Plan F and want to change to Plan G, and I want underwriting.”

I dial the 800 number and, interestingly, reach another Nicole. I say, “I have a Plan F and want to change to Plan G, and I want underwriting.” She is confused. Do I want the Underwriting Department? I say I was told to call her number, and I start to complain about the runaround.

She transfers me to one Carol. I explain what I want. Carol is in life insurance. She transfers me — to a phone tree.

Eventually, I reach one Cheryl. She says you have to fill out a whole new application for a whole new policy. She says they’ll send it to me.

Now I call Universal Fidelity. Kayla answers and says she can give me a quote. She says their Plan F is $133.85 — about what I’m paying now — and Plan G is $112.99. She explains that you have to trigger the Medicare deductible before Plan G will cover anything. This implies that there could be circumstances that Plan G will not cover, since not all issues covered by Medicare A & B are doctors’ visits. She says an agent will call me — some guy from American Health Underwriters in Ft. Worth.

I call Everence, where I reach one Jason. He says Everence is a fraternal benefit organization for fundamentalist Christians. Episcopalians do not count as Christians in their book.

Next I call American Family (the ever-annoyingly advertised AFLAC). Here I get an incredible electronic runaround and finally give up without ever reaching a human.

Moving on, at United Healthcare I reach one Don, who tells me that their Plan F costs $180 a month and their plan G, $160. He tries to corral me into an AARP HMO. I tell him to get lost.

Now I dial Heartland, where a person named Tracy transfers me to a male person with a name pronounced “Teal.” He’s with Equitable Life. He says their Plan F costs $149 and Plan G costs $140. There’s a $20 application fee, he notes. He says he will send an application and gives me a direct phone number at which to reach him.

Next I call Forethought. It’s after hours now on the East Coast, and their offices are closed.

I wonder if Government Personnel Mutual will cover state employees or the children of Merchant Marine officers. In the course of searching for an answer to this question on their website, I’m shunted to a webpage of something called Medicare Marketplace. I dial the 866 number and reach one Larry Peters, who presents himself an insurance agent & broker in Omaha. He says that Government Personnel actually started out serving only federal employees and members of the military, but it now covers civilians, too. Its plan G is only $110.70; if I want a Plan F, the next-best deal he can get for me is with American Continental at $141.94.

However, he says, it’s late at his office and the computer system is about to shut down. Could we talk the following day? We exchange phone numbers and agree to try to get in touch about mid-morning Arizona time.

On Tuesday I leave the house at 6:30 for a hike up the mountain and get back around 8:30. An hour or so later, I call him back. He says the application fee is $25. I agree to this and say I’m interested in Plan G. He asks the  underwriting questions and says he will send the form.

In the meantime, I’ve done a little research.

By Tuesday morning, I know that Universal Fidelity got a negative rating from A.M. Best in 2011 and again in March of 2012. Heartland has racked up a grade of F (for “flunk”) from the Better Business Bureau as well as 8 complaints at Ripoff Report. A. M. Best downgraded it in 2009.

Central States, which I  have not yet tried to reach but whose rates look pretty high, has an A. M. Best rating of A+; Manhattan, with slightly higher rates, has a rating of B+ and a long-term rating of bbb-; A. M. Best considers it to be “stable.” Government Personnel Mutual is rated A- (also in the “excellent” range) with a long-term rating of a- and a “stable” outlook; the Texas Department of Insurance’s excellent website shows no complaints against it.

Later on Tuesday, one Mike from Universal Fidelity calls. He says that company charges $129.85 for Plan F and $108  for Plan G. He’s a fast talker and he’s trying to maneuver me into committing to one or the other of these. In the course of conversation, he says the application fee is $45.

Since that’s clearly beyond the pale — the others are charging $20 to $25 for the privilege of asking humbly whether you may be allowed to purchase a policy to fill in the empty spaces around the capacious Medicare coverage — I ask him if that $45 is billed to me when he puts the application in the mail or only after I fill it in and submit it. He won’t give me a straight answer. I say, “You’re not answering my question. Am I billed $45 simply because you mail me a blank application, or am I billed $45 when you receive the completed application?” Disingenuously, he says I’m billed $45 when they send me a statement for the Part G coverage.

Annoyed, I say, “Look, you have competition. Why don’t you wait a couple of days before sending this application to me, until I can see what I can find out about Plan G from the several other companies that offer it in Arizona at affordable rates.” He flounders. I say, unequivocally, “Wait two days before you send this application. I will be in touch with you.”

This morning while I’m at a meeting, Mike calls back. He wants me to return his call. I’m involved with grading papers and writing a report about the meeting and so decide to delay that particular annoyance. While I’m still working, he calls again and leaves a message on my voicemail saying he had the prices for Arizona wrong, and that Plan F is actually $133.85 and Plan G, $112.79. They’ll divide the $45 application gouge between two months, making the first two months’ Plan G payments a bargain $135.29. Mighty white of ’em, eh?

Amazing picture, isn’t it? Over two days, I’ve called SIX insurance companies offering identical Medigap plans at six different rates and I’ve spoken to TWELVE different people and an impenetrable telephone tree. Of the twelve humans, nine could give me no information of any value, two tried to hustle me, and one may be hustling me but seems to represent a reasonably reputable company offering a plan at an almost affordable rate. Alleged plan G rates range from $112.99 to $160, for the same, identical, federally regulated coverage; “application fees” range from $20 to $45.

To start the underwriting process, I’ve had to give my Social Security number to a guy I met through an Internet page and who for all know could be Osama Bin Laden’s nephew, out to fund his organization’s enterprise with identity theft. And yes, I’ve asked around among friends and business acquaintances and been unable to find anyone living in Arizona who works as a broker for Medicare supplemental plans. The best I can say is that there is indeed a Larry Peters running an insurance agency in Omaha.

Ain’t private enterprise grand?

Why not  just have Medicare provide full coverage, instead of throwing elderly, frail, and often fuzzy-minded citizens into such a gawdawful briar patch?

What a flicking nightmare.

Apparently I’m going to have to go through this rat-race about once every year or two.

I did find an outfit that issues reports on Medicare Supplement and Part D (prescription drug) plans. The report on Part D will set you back $49. Their report on Medigap insurers is $99. So…that’s $150, just to try to get an allegedly unbiased comparison of these outfits.

Otherwise, there appears to be no help available to consumers for navigating this dangerous and expensive mess.

One Toke Too Hilarious!

My old friend and former boss Jeff Burger posts this entertaining video at his website. You have got to see it. Lawrence Welk brings us Brewer and Shipley as modern spiritual!

SpringsteenBookYou might enjoy Jeff’s new book, Springsteen on Springsteen: Interviews, Speeches, and Encounters (Musicians in Their Own Words), by the way. Jeff has been a reviewer and reporter of popular music for lo! these many decades, and is quite an expert on rock music.

Student paper day…so I don’t expect you’ll hear much more from me till tomorrow. {sigh} Only one more feature-length article and a brite slated to come in from that set. Then…ahhh! A whole summer of peace and quiet.

Hiking Oak Creek!

🙂 After all that physical therapy and all that exercise, I made it to the much-anticipated hike up the West Fork of Oak Creek. As you may recall, along about last October, at the annual silent auction fundraiser for the choir, I bought a ticket to an excursion organized by two of the day school‘s teachers. At that time I thought surely the back pain I’d inflicted on myself the previous January would go away in time for me to get in shape by late April, 2013.

Well, of course, it didn’t. By February of this year I still could barely move, much less go hiking…or even walk very far. Two doctors and six weeks of intensive physical therapy later, I’d recovered enough to walk briskly and even climb. This left…well…seven days to get ready for the hike. As of yesterday, I sure wasn’t in top physical shape (and probably never will be again…so we’re told ;-)), but was one heckuva lot better than I have been.

It was great fun! The organizers have been at All Saints so long they actually remembered my son, who’s pushing middle age these days. Several other people associated with the church or the choir showed up, all of them really neat people, a pleasure to be around. Early yesterday morning we boarded the school’s large van for the short ride up the freeway to Sedona, and by mid-morning we’d arrived at the trailhead and were on our way!

Here are some of the sights…

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In the 1870s, the Mayhew Lodge stood near what is now the paved road through Oak Creek Canyo0n; before that, there was probably a homestead. A small grove of apple trees survives from that time, as well as a few red-rock ruins. As usual, click on the images for larger, higher-definition views.

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View of the creek from the bridge near the trailhead.

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This, we’re told, was the lodge’s chicken coop. Up behind it is a cave that was used for storage.

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From the outset, sandstone cliffs loom above you.

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And loom…

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And loom… Yes, that is actually the real color of the sky.

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Here’s part of our merrie groupe. Check out the cute little dog: each of our guides owned one of these doughty miniature poodles, acquired at the same time from the same litter.  They make awesome hiking companions and are so delightful I’m thinking maybe a poodle would make a better roommate for The Queen of the Universe than another (difficult-to-find!) corgi.

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The trail meanders up the canyon. We crossed the creek maybe a half-dozen times during our five-mile hike.

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We paused to rest a few minutes on this sandstone bench.

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Strange nest of a type of tent caterpillar. Weird, huh?

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A rockfall dropped this truck-size boulder and a bunch of its companions across the path. Our guides could remember a time when this little fellow wasn’t there.

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Some more debris from that rockfall.

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More scenery…

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Our guides are into geocaching. One of them climbed up here to retrieve a stash left by a previous visitor.

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We stopped here for lunch or snacks. The little dogs had a grand time swimming in the creek here!

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These lichens on the rock look like artwork…

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Here’s the whole canvas!

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More scenery.

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After that stop, we headed back to the car, like so many horses trotting for the barn.

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You know you’re there when you see those old, old apple trees again.

After the hike, we stopped in Sedona for lunch and drinks at Indian Gardens, a nifty restaurant and market in a historic building, said once to have housed a roadside gas station. It has a lovely big back patio where we could sit with the little pooches, enjoy some delicious sandwiches, and soak up a little tea…or, in my case, a Black Butte.

I’m ready to go again! One of the women on the hike, also a choir member, suggested she and I should get together for other trips. So it looks like we’ll be hiking companions. This could get to be a great deal of fun.

“Terrorist”: Let’s Call a Spade a Spade

“We believe this to be a terrorist,” said Boston Police Commissioner Ed Davis. “We believe this to be a man who has come here to kill people. We need to get him in custody.”

Reuters, Scott Monroe and Tim McLaughlin

In all due respect, sir: No. This was not a terrorist. This was a murderer. And his brother, who’s still at large as I write this, is a murderer, a car thief, and a kidnapper.

In a word, they’re both thugs.

We need to stop honoring thugs with a term that suggests they’re some sort of heroes for some sort of cause. The word “terrorist” describes a person who commits violence as a form of political speech. To call every madman and every nitwit who decides to commit a violent crime upon the public a “terrorist” is to lionize criminals.

It’s time to quit that. Way past time.

People who kill innocent civilians are murderers. They are murderers of women and children. They are murderers of men who have presented no threat to them. People who commit carjackings are thieves. People who make off with the owners of the cars they steal are kidnappers. They are not heroes of some cause. They are criminals.

Each time we call some misguided madman a “terrorist,” we elevate him or her to the level of a minor hero for some political cause. And when we create laws specific to “terrorism,” we institutionalize that honoring. In doing so, we do not discourage such behavior: we encourage it.

Let’s get real. We already have laws against murder. We have laws against theft. We have laws against kidnapping. We have laws against building bombs and placing them in public places. People who violate those laws are criminals, not some sort of romanticized (in their own eyes) low-level heroes.

We need to get rid of the “terrorism” laws and prosecute these jerks for what they are: criminals, under the perfectly effective laws that existed long before the waves of panic generated by the 9/11 attacks.

Khalid al-Mihdhar was a criminal.
Mohamed Atta was a criminal.
Marwan al-Shehhi was a criminal.
Ziad Jarrah was a criminal.
Hani Hanjour was a criminal.
Tamerlan Tsarnaev, if he proves to be guilty, was a criminal.
Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, if he proves to be guilty, is a criminal.
Timothy McVeigh was a criminal.
Jared Lee Loughner is a criminal.
James Holmes is a criminal.
Adam Lanza was a criminal.

The sooner we identify such people as what they are — thugs, not some sort of marginal heroes for some sort of imagined or fanatic cause — the better off we as a people will be. The less scared we will be and the more effective we will be.

Let us call them what they are, and let us prosecute them for what they are: murderers, thieves, kidnappers, bombers, shooters. And let us dispense with the politically loaded term “terrorist.”

It gives these people way too much credit.

OMG! Actual CUSTOMER SERVICE!!!

I couldn’t believe it. Yesterday I experienced an instance of real, genuine customer service from a telephone customer service rep. The employer of this paragon? Bosch appliances.

The Bosch in my kitchen, which at about six years old can be described, in today’s dystopic world, as “aging,” dropped the sprayer arm off its upper rack. A Bosch has a rotating sprayer arm in the bottom of the tub and another rotating arm attached to the bottom of the upper rack.

Well, you’re supposed to take each arm off and clean it now and again, so in theory I know how to put it together. But it would not go back on.

I called my favorite appliance dealer here, hoping they could tell me what I was doing wrong. Their CSR couldn’t figure it out and gave me a phone number. When I called that, the phone tree made it clear the line was for merchants. But as I was listening to the robot yack, I noticed the sticker bearing the serial and model numbers happened to have a customer service number. Hung up on the robot, called the number on the sticker, and lo! Quickly reached a live human being!

Can you imagine?

If that weren’t amazing enough… I asked her if she could give me a URL for a diagram that would show how the parts were supposed to fit together. She said she would e-mail a PDF of their parts manual. “On page  6,” said she, “you’ll see a schematic that shows how that piece goes together.”

Before I could walk back to the computer, the thing had hit the in-box.

And well. Yeah. At a glance it indicated a part was missing…where should I find it but on the bottom of the tub, where it had fallen off and bounced beneath the lower rack. Noooo problem! Snapped the gadget together, and it clicked right into its place on the upper rack.

I always cringe whenever I have to jump through those frustrating, infuriating telephone-tree hoops. Is there anything more disingenuously insulting than a robot voice going on about how “we value your business”? Dude! If you valued my business you’d pay someone minimum wage to answer the flicking phones!

At Bosch, I did have to climb past one limb of a phone tree. But it wasn’t too annoying: the CSR in question came on the line after one punch-a-button before finding a live person. She was sane, polite, and she actually spoke real, unaccented, idiomatic English. Absolutely mind-boggling.

It paid for the extra cost of a Bosch.

 Dishwasherparts