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Annals of the Floored & Flabbergasted

Consumer-proof Packaging: What’s in YOUR Kitchen Drawer?

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So the other day I went to open a bottle of cheap wine, the type with the screw-on cap. Naturally, I reached into the kitchen drawer — premium real estate in this house — and quite naturally pulled out a wrench.

Yeah. There’s a wrench in the kitchen drawer, something no woman in my mother’s generation (or in mine, until rather recently) would EVER have allowed to take up space there.

This led me to reflect on the the ubiquity of consumer-proof packaging — almost everything you buy is hermetically sealed in layers of plastic (much of it hard as a football helmet) and cardboard — and how much I hate that kind of waste. And how much I hate the ways it has to be dealt with.

In addition to a wrench, my kitchen drawer contains a pair of pliers (good for pulling off the hated inner paper seals of paper and tinfoil, among other things), a heavy-duty pair of scissors, and an extra-sharp ultra-cheap grocery-store knife that I don’t mind denting or bending. The tin snips won’t fit in there — have to walk out to the garage to get those, whenever I need to hack into one of Costco’s accursed heavy plastic clamshells.

Costco isn’t the only offender. You get impermeable packaging from Fry’s Electronics, Target, Walmart, and even sometimes from Amazon, despite the latter’s policy designed to discourage it.

Also needed:

• A screwdriver and a hammer to break into the adult-proof pill and cleanser bottles
• A package of thumbtacks to render the adult-proof bottles openable
• A hacksaw, for worst-case scenarios

How can I say how much I resent having to own a tool chest devoted to opening containers? And how can I say how much I hate the amount of useless plastic and cardboard that goes straight to the city landfill, often tainted with a few drops of blood from my fingers?

Am I the only person who is made crazy by the crazy packaging? What tools do you keep in your kitchen drawers these days?

Neighborhood Patrol? Really?

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What on earth could they be thinking? The current bunch that’s taken control, with vivacious élan and enthusiasm, of the neighborhood organization has decided that nothing will do but what we must have a neighborhood watch.

Astonishingly, the Phoenix police department is aiding and abetting this bit of foolishness. The neighborhood association is recruiting people to join up and take a (1) training class, after which, presto-changeo, “you will leave the class trained to help with our PNP.”

You realize Arizona is a concealed-carry state. The legislature in its infinite wisdom got rid of the requirement to get a concealed-carry license by taking a firearms safety class. So everyone and his little sister is lugging pistols around. Even if these volunteer coplets are told not to carry guns, you can be sure at least some of them will.

And you realize that according to the best crime map that covers the city of Phoenix, since last August there’ve been about eight or ten crime complaints here in the ’hood, most of them petty thefts out of driveways. Much as I complain about the inner-citiness of it all, the place is really pretty tame.

And there’s a kid in the neighborhood who goes around tricked out in full thug regalia, complete with sagging pants and a hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head. And yep: he’s a black kid. About 14 or 15, I’d guess. He usually hangs out with a bunch of kids who affect a more average look. But the first time I saw him, I was certainly given pause — straight-looking pals notwithstanding.

So, the question is, what part of “George Zimmerman vs. Trayvon Martin” do they not recall?

The risks in having a bunch of nervous, half-baked civilians tromping around looking for criminals defy belief. If they’re likely to be carrying concealed weapons, so are the perps they encounter (if any). So are the innocent citizens they mistake for perps. We’ve seen what self-appointed neighborhood security guards can do when they meet up with a black male in a jacket with a hood.

Back when my parents lived in Sun City, the county sheriff had this old-guys’ citizen’s patrol. My father actually joined it, he being bored and restless. He was an expert marksman. But most of them weren’t. One of the old buzzards tangled with a burglar who was trying to break into a loading dock door at a strip shopping center. Burglar shot and killed him.

Thank goodness this bunch of enthusiastic neighbors is just a passel of volunteers. If it was an HOA, we could all be liable for a lawsuit if someone gets hurt or killed.

Such a stupid idea. If the local burgers couldn’t transcend their idiocy, wouldn’t you think the cops would have better sense?

House Paint: Is Eye-Searing White the New HOA Beige?

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We’re told, by a publicity-seeking local developer, that the new style in renovations and infill is bright colors. Have you seen that in your part of the country?

In fact, the latest fad among that set seems to be blinding white paint, so brilliant white it almost hurts your eyes to look at it. Three houses here in the ‘hood, one of them (pricey) new construction, now sport this startling new look.

LOL! I suppose it would bounce the sun’s heat off. But ouch! And what will the thing look like after a year of dust storms and mud-slinging rain?

blindingwhitehouse

 

Wine: In Search of Lower Alcohol Content

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Did you realize that wine makers, especially in the US, have been quietly upping the alcohol content in some of our favorite potables?  According to the Canadians, who screen incoming alcoholic products, the worst offenders are Chile, Argentina, and the United States, but vintners in all countries do it to some degree.

The theory is that the higher alcohol proportion makes for a heartier product, more attractive to consumers. Also, we’re told, higher sugar content created by the American habit of using riper grapes than Europeans do enhances alcohol content. But because the same Canadian review found that wine makers systematically understate alcohol levels, it’s difficult to avoid speculating that, like caffeine in soda pop and nicotine in cigarettes, this is yet another device to hook users on a product by inserting a habit-making, potentially addictive drug.

I like a glass or two of wine with dinner, often a fairly elaborate affair produced, with flair, in my own kitchen and often served up at mid-day. In recent years, what used to a tasty accompaniment to the grilled filet mignon or the Greek-style baked sea bass has taken to knocking me for a loop. A glass and a half of zinfandel, and I’m ready to fall face-forward into the dinner plate! I’ve attributed that to advancing age — as your metabolism slows, your tolerance for various drugs fades; alcohol is a drug, and so it follows that you’d become more sensitive to it as you dodder toward the grave.

No. California zinfandels rank among the very highest wines in alcohol content: upwards of 14.5 percent! I’m very fond of zins. And also of petite syrah, another in the “highest” category. Others of my faves place in the “high” range: California cabs, pinots noirs, and syrahs, Chilean merlots, Australian shiraz…holy mackerel!

How did I miss this? Apparently it’s all the rage these days to seek out low alcohol-content wines.

It came to my attention earlier this week, after I’d bought a bottle of Mâcon-Villages chardonnay. Normally I don’t care for chardonnay — it’s a boring wine — but the price was right and this was something different for me. So I grabbed it off the shelf. Served it up around 1 or 2 in the afternoon with a lovely slab of grilled mahi.

It was light and refreshing and…yes…several glasses later I realized I’d swiggled down half the bottle!

A-n-n-d…I should’ve been sh*t-faced.

But I was not. I felt quite sober. Wouldn’t have gotten into a car…but nevertheless, around the house I was fully functional. Had no trouble completing the remaining little projects on the day’s list. Wrote some copy. Graded some papers. Puttered around til 10 or 11 at night.

Normally, if I have almost half a bottle of wine, it is all I can do to crawl down the hall into the bedroom and climb into the sack, where I end up sleeping out the rest of the day in a stupor. No stupor was forthcoming.

Click! A light went on. Googled “wine alcohol content” and that’s when I learned that US manufacturers are deliberately jacking up the alcohol content in our wines, that many overseas producers are following suit, and that it’s still possible to find some decent vintages with what used to be normal levels of alcohol.

Here’s what I found out:

From The Guardian:  Wine levels systematically understated; about 1/3 of samples tested by Canada. Worst were Chile, Argentina, US, but all countries were doing it.

From NPR:

Imported whites with “low” alcohol content (around 9% to 11%)

Vinho verde (Portugal)
Txakoli or Txakolini (Spain)
Riesling (Germany)

From Wine Review Online:

Categories of wine called out as particularly high in alcohol content (14% to 16%)

California zinfandels
Most California, Washington, and Australian reds
Italian wines distributed in the US

From Real Simple, listings sorted by alcohol content:

Low (under 12.5%)

Whites:

French muscadet
French Vouvray

Moderately low (12.5% to 13.5%)

Whites:

Austrian Grüner veltliner
Australian riesling
French Alsace white
French Loire and Bordeaux whites
French white Burgundy
Italian Pinot grigio
New York riesling
New Zealand sauvignon blanc [I doubt this!]
Oregon pinot gris
South African sauvignon blanc
Spanish albariño

Reds:

French Beaujolais and Burgundy
French Bordeaux
Italian Chianti
Spanish Rioja

High (13.4 %- 14.4%)

Whites:

Australian chardonnay
California chardonnay
California pinot gris
California sauvignon blanc
California viognier
Chilean chardonnay
French Sauternes
South African chenin blanc

Reds:

Argentine malbec
Australian shiraz
California cabernet sauvignon
California pinot noir
California syrah
Chilean merlot
French Rhône red
Italian Barolo

Very high (over 14.5%)

Whites:

French Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise (fortified)
Portuguese Madeira (fortified)
Spanish sherry (fortified)

Reds:

California petite sirah
California zinfandel
Italian Amarone
Portuguese port (fortified)

Real Simple’s listings are the broadest I came across. Quite the eye-opener, eh?

Just lookit that: California zinfandel and petite syrah fall into the same category as fortified wines like port and Madeira. Ugh! No wonder I’ve felt blotzed after just a glass or two!

Dunno about you, but I’ll be cultivating a renewed appreciation for white wines, despite a strong preference for reds. And after this, I won’t buy any more California wines. We’ll be learning a lot more about French wines!

But as a caveat, do bear in mind that the Canadians discovered manufacturers are deliberately understating alcohol content. I would be very surprised if the Marlborough Sauvignon blanc from New Zealand, available in vast quantities at Costco, were “moderately low” in alcohol. Two glasses of that will have me falling face-first into the sack, just as fast as two glasses of California Zinfandel will. It looks like the only way to know will be to taste-test, consider how you actually feel after one glass, and keep a record.

And since you may be getting a lot more alcohol than you think, don’t ever drive after imbibing even one glass of wine.

High Inefficiency: Washers and Rx Plans!

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So this morning I take it into my pretty little head to do the laundry in my fancy new(ish) Samsung high-efficiency top-loading washer with the fun clear lid that lets you watch the clothes sloshing around, just in case you’re feeling unusually bored.

To do that I have to…

• Sort clothes (colored, white…said not to be necessary, but watch this space…)
• Sew up the mesh bag that split apart the last time I washed a few items
• Put jeans into mesh bags, one bag per pair
• Sneak one pair of cut-offs into a mesh bag holding a pair of jeans
• Put socks, panties, and camis into several more mesh bags
• Haul bagged laundry out to the garage, whereinat the fancy washer resides
• Load washer
• Measure portion of  radically expensive “high-efficiency” laundry detergent into stupid little cup from which the machine dispenses it
• Clean the mess created by laundry detergent dribs of radically expensive “high-efficiency” laundry detergent that splashed from stupid little cup onto machine’s lid and tub rim
• Set machine to “bedding,” the only cycle that dispenses enough water to get a load of jeans and T-shirts clean…in AN HOUR AND TEN MINUTES!
• Go away for an hour and ten minutes but don’t leave the house because no one in her right mind would leave an appliance full of water sloshing around unguarded for a hour and ten minutes or for any length of time unless what she most loves to do is mop up gigantic messes

An hour and ten minutes. Figure there’s got to be a better way. Now I drag the whites into the bathroom, wash them in the vanity sink, rinse them in the bathtub half-filled with cold water, traipse them out to the garage, and hang them up.

By the time I finish this job, the washer has ALMOST filled with water and started to slosh its FIRST laundry cycle.

Got that? I washed an entire load of laundry by hand, in the bathroom goddamn sink, in less time than it took the wondrous high-efficiency washer to even START to wash the load I stuffed into it.

Okayyyy…. Now we understand why these amazing machines so “efficiently” save water and power: when you don’t use the thing, you don’t use water and power.

Wash four crocheted shirts by hand and lay them out on the tile floor to reblock and dry.

These items could also have been laundered in the wondrous high-efficiency washer. But I wanted to get them clean sometime during my foreseeable lifespan.

The khaki dye and the orange dye from two of these Nordstromsy made-in-Asia shirts leak into the sink water. Therein lies the reason we STILL separate the whites from the colored clothes, even though we are assured that it’s ever-so-much more highly efficient to launder all the clothes together. No doubt it is, if you enjoy wearing grunge-grey “whites.”

Moving on…

Now I decide I should go online and sign up for a new Medicare Part D (prescription drug) plan, since my outfit, Wellcare, is doubling its premiums. I decide to select Humana’s Walmart plan, whose premium is about what I’m paying now and whose copay is significantly (as in HUGELY) lower and which has four- and five-star ratings across the board as compared to my present plan’s three-star complaints ratings. You can sign up for these plans on Medicare.gov, in the same app that allows you to call up and compare plans. However, what you can’t do is figure out whether signing up for the new plan automatically unenrolls you from your present plan, or whether you have to jump through 15 to 30 minutes of phone-tree hoops to get disconnected from the folks who have been ripping you off for the past year.

Navigated to Arizona’s version of SHIP, a bureaucratic fragment that usually employs some uninformed volunteers to answer your questions. Checked the FAQs; this particular (very obvious, IMHO) question was not answered. Called the phone number. Got an obnoxious robotic answering machine, saying if I would leave a message maybe someday they would get around to calling me back (fat chance!) and maybe then I could ask the question whose answer I need now, not sometime in the remote future.

Found a phone number for Humana at the Medicare.gov site. Dialed it, expecting another obnoxious robot.

Mirabilis!!!!!!!! Got a human being!

Yes. You do get disenrolled from the old plan when you sign up electronically for a new one. But would I like for her to sign me up, as long as we were on phone?

Sure.

It took FORTY MINUTES to get through the tape-recorded boilerplate bullshit Humana’s doughty CSR had to play into my ear. At the end of of each of three long-winded segments of boilerplate bullshit, I had to answer, clearly and unmistakably, “YES.” This, she explained, is taken to be a telephonic “signature.”

God. All. Mighty.

The washer was almost done by the time this tedious experience ended.

So now I’m signed up for a new Part D plan, though it won’t kick in until January 1. This is good, because the plan I’ve got is the biggest rip-off ever to come down the pike.

I hope the new one won’t be a rip, too. There’s some reason to believe it will be slightly better:

• User ratings show a lower tendency to deny coverage of drugs prescribed by your doctor and to try to substitute drugs your doctor specifically says you shouldn’t be taking.

• Co-pays are much lower. In fact, if you can wait for them to send your pills by snail-mail, co-pays are sometimes zero dollah. What I’ve had is so ridiculous that I’ve given up even asking — I’ve just been paying out of pocket. The last Rx the Mayo prescribed was denied because, the pharmacist said, Wellcare didn’t like the doctor!

Got that? They don’t like a surgical resident in the service of one of the most prominent, high-powered, respected oncological surgeons in the country. The same surgical resident whose last three prescriptions were honored without quarrel.

Hauled the laundry out of the washer. Hung it up to dry. Cursed the double time-suck.

Annals of the Floored and Flabbergasted: Back Office Staff Edition

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This morning I get on the phone to an assistant in the gynecologist’s office, to whom I’m trying to explain, for the THIRD time today (not to her, but to two other folks) that because it looks like I’m headed for a mastectomy, a medical oncologist advised me to consult with a plastic surgeon before that comes to pass,  and so I would like a referral to a plastic surgeon who knows what s/he’s doing.

She doesn’t quite follow. It’s a complex series of thoughts, after all. So I explain (again) that I need to talk to a plastic surgeon before I get scheduled for a probable mastectomy.

Says she:

“Is that in the pelvic area?”

{thought balloon: you ARE one of my students, aren’t you?}

“No, honey, mastectomy has to do with your breasts. They’re going to chop off one of my boobs.”

“Oh. How do you spell that?”

Ha haaaa! Is that hilarious or not?  And just think how hilarious it is that medical offices are populated with folks like this, ready to take care of your every health need…