Coffee heat rising

Tree Assassinated!

Mwa ha ha! Yesterday I put Sr. Gerardo and his compañeros up to removing the shaggy, overgrown paloverde tree that has dominated the front yard since I moved in here.

Planting that thing was a mistake from the git-go. When I moved in I had the raggedy lawn torn out and replaced with desert landscaping: good move. Placing a desert shade tree on the south side of the sun-blasted front yard sounded like a good move at the time.

Problem is that paloverde — a thorny li’l fella — grows like a bustard when given even a small amount of water. Before long, it was bending over the sidewalk and poking the pedestrians in the eyes. And me in the eyes. More and more it looked like a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Gerardo’s guys did a pretty good job of keeping it trimmed up, but the things grow so fast that keeping it out of the “menace to navigation” category was not easy.

That notwithstanding, by the time I made up my mind to get rid of it, the thing was JUST HUGE.

Gerardo bought his biggest trailer (which is big!), and the men filled it to the scuppers.

And now…my goodness!!! You can actually see the sidewalk from the front window. It’s a miracle.

The paloverde stood in the yard outside the walled front patio. Inside said patio, we have a large and handsome olive tree.

Olives thrive in Arizona, the climate being not unlike that of southern Greece. With the increased dose of sunlight, that thing should grow even larger, so we won’t be lacking for shade.

Or olives.

Lots and lots of olives…

Guess what I should do to thank Gerardo & his guys for Service Above and Beyond is harvest a ton of those things, pickle them in oil, lemon juice, and vinegar, and fork them over to la famiglia.

Meanwhile, speaking of the Excellent Mr. Gerardo: WHAT to do about the refrigerator situation?

I told him he could have the annoying fridge for which I was royally ripped off by the not-so-excellent B&B Appliances up in lovely Sunnyslop. This, in response to his request that I give it to him rather than sending it to the county dump, where it belongs.

So… that was the plan.

But… After grinding and moaning and howling and whistling for a week, the damn thing is settling down. Even though I think of it as Less Than Ideal, well…grrrrrrrrr….okay okay…i could probably live with it for a year or so.

Also, truth to tell, I’m none too comfy about giving that lovely gentleman an appliance that I regard as a Piece of Sh*t, even though he does know all about it. If I were going to give him an expensive gift, I’d druther hand him a $1500 gift certificate to Lowe’s or Home Depot, to do with as he pleases.

Are you getting a clue to how extraordinary this guy and his crew are?

Yeah.

Onward…

 

Fridge Fantasia!

The Saga of the Singing Refrigerator gets ever more fantastic.

A fine and handsome refrigerator repairman came galloping in on his white charger yesterday morning. Not only was he pleasant to look at, he was very smart and quickly solved the problem.

Turns out a flap of plastic along the bottom of the unit’s back side had worked loose. One screwdriver was all it took to tighten the damn thing down, and voilà!  Buzzing, humming, banging racket GONE.

CAN you believe that?

It cost me $95 to fix it.

He didn’t seem to disapprove of the vendor, B&B Appliances, as much as I now do. But he did allow as to how it’s pretty evident that the unit was not brand-new, as alleged. He thought it had probably been run for awhile and then returned to the store.

Yeah. Waddaya bet it was returned because of the racket it was making?

Its motor still runs loud. But it sounds like normal motor noise, not some sort of loose screw.

Y’know…I’m an old bat and I’ve had a lot of refrigerators over my lengthy lifetime. Hm. Let’s think about that…

> Parents’ house: beach house outside of Ras Tanura, Saudi Arabia
> Parents house: portable house in camp, Ras Tanura, Saudi Arabia
> Parents’ house: block house in camp, Ras Tanura, Saudi Arabia
> Great-grandmother’s house, Berkeley, California
> Parents’ apartment: San Francisco, California
> Parents’ next apartment: San Francisco, California
> Parents’ apartment: Long Beach, California
> Parents’ next apartment: Long Beach, California
> Parents house: Sun City, Arizona
> My & my room-mate’s apartment: Tucson, Arizona
> My apartment: Tucson, Arizona
> My apartment: Phoenix, Arizona
> Husband’s and my apartment: Phoenix, Arizona
> Husband’s and my first house: Phoenix, Arizona
> Husband’s and my second house: Phoenix, Arizona
> My next apartment: Phoenix, Arizona
> My apartment downtown: Phoenix, Arizona
> My next house: Phoenix, Arizona
> My present house: Phoenix, Arizona

Hmmmm…. That’s NINETEEN refrigerators! Oh, no: make that TWENTY. We lived in our house downtown long enough to buy a second refrigerator.

And this thing in the kitchen now is the only one that ever emanated weird noises. For whatever reason. Certainly not for any such flimsy reason as “a paper-thin piece of plastic was not bolted down tightly.”

  • Give.
  • Me.
  • A.
  • BREAK!

Not a single one of those other 19 fridges ever banged, rattled, or carried on. None of them sounded like a freight train a-rollin’ up the tracks.

If this kind of performance is “normal” or something like it, then…well… We are lookin’ at some serious degradation in the quality of our lifestyle. In fact, GE appliances overall are highly rated, despite a generous share of consumer complaints.   It appears that the 21st Century leaves something to be desired.

Like, maybe…competence?

Unstuck in Time!

My Lord, but life in the 21st Century is a PITA. One of its least charming aspects — which effectively dominates anything you try to do — is The Endless Runaround.

The endless computer runaround. The endless phone runaround. WhatEVER it is that you need to get done, you can’t reach a person to explain what’s up and get them to fix it. Instead you hassle and you wait and you hassle and you wait and you  hassle and you wait and you repeat REPRESENTATIVE!!!!! over and over and over again, until after about five or ten minutes of steadily increasing infuriation, you finally reach a human. First, though, you get put on hold listening to ads or annoying, redundant messages.

I can remember when a human answered right away after you dialed a number. She would promptly direct you to the party who could help you with your issue. Yes: it was usually a “she” because the jobs were low-paying and women in the Good Ole Day were almost wholly consigned to low-paying jobs.

And no, that was not a good thing.  But it was what it was.

But in the “not a good thing” department, neither is FOR BLAH BLAH BLAH, CLICK 9… FOR BLAH BLAH BLAH, CLICK 8… FOR BLAH BLAH BLAH…..  uh huh. Click 8 and get stuck on hold for some interminable wait, during which you’re entertained with annoying ads or annoying Muzak.

I bought a refrigerator from a local vendor. It was junk: it makes loud noises:

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZRATTLERATTLERATTLERATTLE…

So I arranged for Gerardo take it back to the ba*tards, and I bought another refrigerator from Home Depot.

Aside: Never buy local just to make yourself feel righteous. That’s a recipe for disaster. Always buy from major corporations that have competent customer service and return policies.

I called AMEX and explained the situation telling them that I will need to buy a new fridge and don’t know what to do with the noisemaker in my kitchen. They said have no fear and charged into battle.

AMEX voided the $1376 charge to the crooks, even though said crooks refused to take the machine back.

So I figured to donate this thing to a charity (not so much: nary a charity in sight will accept a refrigerator!!!) and buy a new fridge at Home Depot.

After I had arranged to buy a Home Depot refrigerator, the noise emanating from the clunk slacked off. And…lo! What do I find online but a page remarking that sometimes refrigerators buzz and rattle when they’re new, but that effect goes away. Hm.

Since the local crooks told AMEX they would not take a return or refund my money, I decided I should cancel the HD fridge. (Bad idea, BTW).

So now I get an email from AMEX going on about how I will owe them $1400 for the refrigerator. That’s fine, as long as it’s going to work.

And it does work: noisily.

BUT…in addition to that, they’ve also got the charge pending for the Home Depot refrigerator!

Forgodsake.

So yesterday I had to drive up there and argue with HD about that. They supposedly canceled the charge.

This morning I get an email from Home Depot billing me $1400 for a new refrigerator.

GAAAWWWDAMMIT!!!  On the phone to American Express.

Calling AMEX involves a brain-banging run-around. You can’t get a person on the phone for love nor money. After what feels like half an hour of punching buttons and uttering words — I’ve found that SCREAMING REPRESENTATIVE!!!!!!! INTO THE PHONE does speed this process along, BTW — I get a person and explain the story. Their rep, who seems sane (how???), agrees that the charge will be voided.

So now here I am, sitting here in the family room listening to this fucking GE refrigerator humming to itself, occasionally still buzzing. If you go over and smack it, the noise stops — well, not the motor humming, but the damned crazy-making buzz.

And as if I didn’t have enough aggravation to fill the day, no doubt I really should go back up to HD and confirm that the refrigerator purchase really was voided.

Probably should have gone ahead with eating the $1400 bill for this thing, throwing it in the alley, and buying a new one. But…well…DAYUM!

Even when it’s not buzzing, it runs quite loud. In fact, I’d say I’ve never had a fridge whose motor noise was this loud. As for the buzzing…well…I’m thinking I’ll call a refrigerator repairman (if such creatures still exist) and pay him a trip charge to come look at this thing and see if it can be made to run quietly and skip the rattling episodes. If not, maybe he can recommend a replacement brand.

****

ohhhhh and just to make the day perfect: apparently my ad-blocking software has failed. Now I’m getting BLITZED with effing ads on every website. arrrerrghhhhhh!!!!!

 

AMEX to the Rescue!

By Golly! American Express’s white charger just lurched into battle! All it took to apply the spurs was a couple of phone calls. 

The refrigerator mess has gotten worse and worse. The damn thing that I spent $1440 on is a piece of junk: verifiable, genu-wine junk. The retailer, B&B Appliances, refuses to take it back, telling me effectively “Tough nougies, and screw you very much.”

Guess I haven’t gone into detail about that fine fiasco.

My old fridge being on its last legs, I bought a new GE refrigerator to replace my old side-by-side compartment fridge  and freezer. The new one is an old-fashioned model with one refrigerator compartment and one top freezer compartment. This, because sometimes the side-by-side sections in the previous (otherwise perfectly fine…) fridge weren’t wide enough to accommodate some item I wanted to put in there.

I bought this at the venerable B&B Appliances, primarily by way of “buying local.” At the same time I also purchased a new microwave, because the old one would barely reheat a cup of coffee when set on “high.” I figure when Satan & Proserpine, the house’s previous owners, did their gigantic house remodeling job, they must have bought those appliances at the same time. So, of course…they’re crapping out at the same time!

Big mistake, this purchase:

  • The refrigerator compartment is too small to hold more than a day or two worth of food.
  • The freezer has no ice-maker.
  • The thing makes a weird, loud noise when it kicks on, a kind of uproarious BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ….
  • Turns out you can’t buy ice trays for love nor money. NO ONE SELLS THEM! Well…except Amazon. And they’re all those plastic things, the ones you have to twist and wrestle with to get the ice cubes out. And good luck with that.
  • This means to have ice, I’ll have to buy bags of Crystal ice…no longer easy to find, because…well, everyone has fridges with ice-makers.

So…here I yam, figuring I’m going to have to donate this piece of junk to charity (won’t THEY be pleased!) and pony up another $1500 for a decent fridge. I trudge around Best Buy, eyeballing the merchandise. This morning — well, yesterday morning, because it’s 3 a.m. the next day as we scribble — I’m cruising home from Best Buy and AJ’s, and as I turn into the ’Hood, I spot Marge out in front of her house. Marge is the Late, Great Wade’s wife — he died in surgery for recurrent brain tumors. She has relatives in the Midwest and also a house up north in the mountains, so she’s not home a lot.

I stop and say hello. She asks how I’m doing, and I relate a Reader’s Digest Condensed Version of my sad story.

Says she, barely taking a breath, “Have you disputed the charge with American Express?

Uhmmm….  “N-n-n-o-o…hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well, do it. That’s why you have an American Express card.”

Holy Mackerel! Not to say “duuuuhhhhhh…..”

Back in the house…grab the AMEX card…grab the phone…dial the number on the back of the card. Describe the whole sad/outrageous story to the CSR. She takes my phone number. She says they’ll get on it…

Shortly, the phone rings: AMEX dispute/fraud department. I recite the tale to that guy. He transcribes the story in minute detail. And he seems to take this shenanigan quite seriously. He says they’ll have a chat with B&B.

Frankly, I’ll be VERY surprised if they get far. But on the other hand it was pretty clear that B&B — like everybody else and his little brother — figures they can take advantage of an Old Bat and get away with it. They may not feel the same way when confronted with the corporate might of American Express. 😀

In that case, presumably they’ll come and get their ludicrous excuse for a refrigerator. If not, I’m donating it to the Salvation Army, which at least will allow me to deduct some or all of the cost from my income taxes. Tomorrow morning I’ll buy or (preferably) borrow a Coleman cooler, which will hold food for a couple of days, until I can get Best Buy over here with a real refrigerator. Fortunately, I have a chest freezer, which can hold the currently small inventory of frozen stuff and maybe some ice.

Tomorrow (uhmm…make that “today”) Best Buy is sending a crew over to install the Ring camera and lights I bought. They’re going on the east side under the eaves (I hope), where they will capture a clear view of the shenanigans at Tony the Romanian Landlord’s co-ed reform school.

He had the darlin’s out of there for a week or 10 days — apparently after the cops ambushed him, he had to make some serious renovations to the inside of that house. But this afternoon he caravaned them all back in several cars. If these devices aren’t too hard to use, I may install another one over the front door, so I can see who’s outside before opening to the next pounding on the screen.

The little sweeties were throwing rocks at the side of the house again last night. And…heh! The front door to that house apparently sticks when you try to close it. So every time they go in or out, they SLAM!!!! the door so hard you can hear the thud! all the way on the far end of my house, where the concussion vibrates the walls and windows. Tony must figure that’s a real funny way to inflict a little extra revenge on the neighbors; otherwise he would have told the workmen he’s had over there to fix the goddamn door.

I imagine when they see that camera, they’ll throw rocks at that, too, until they break it.

Desert landscaping — most of the houses here have xeric landscaping — is often decorated with fake “streams”of river rock, fist-sized pieces of granite and whatnot eroded into smooth ovals, just about perfect for throwing around. I’ve got a fair amount of it in my front yard, and the house directly next door to the Romanian reform school also has a “river”of rock, giving the kiddies a gold mine of projectiles to throw around.

Buying the damn camera and installing it will set me back another $400, on top of the $1500 for the microwave and the junk fridge. Fortunately, there’s plenty in the checking account for the nonce. But it means that I’ll have to make another drawdown from savings to cover the bills.

Not the end of the world…unless we have another recession, another stock market crash. Which, the way life has been going of late, you can be sure will inevitably happen about the time all these fine “improvements” are installed.

Is Costco Worth the Hassle?

So…yes: this afternoon it was off to Costco, after a lengthy absence from those sylvan fields. Grand fun, in a shopper-ish way… Two bottles of nice wine at a more or less cut rate (one red, one white). My favorite, unmatchable cheddar cheese — can’t get anything remotely like it in any of the local grocery stores. A sweet little long-sleeved shirt, truly softer than soft. A boxful of quinoa salad, very excellent. Two big containers of chopped vegetable and barley soup, all tomatoey and delicious-looking.

And on and on.

Stand in line at the cash registers. Watch the cows come home. Breeze through the check-out. Finally get out of the store and…

…yeah…

Hit the road just as the rush hour gears up.

Ugh!!!!!

Long, slow, annoying, jack-around drive home. But finally get here without killing or being killed. Unload the car. Feed the dawg. Give her one of the new allegedly tooth-cleaning treats.

The soonest I managed to get Ruby in to Wonder-Vet’s for a surgical tooth descaling and polishing is next April!!!!! So if these silly chew things work, she should be in much better shape for that misadventure.

In the meantime, though: yech! What an awful trip. Which brings us to the Question of the Day:

WHY AM I DOING THIS?

Yes. Why do I shop at Costco at all?

Truth to tell, it’s been a good two or three months since I last trudged out there. Lately, it’s occurred to me that I can buy everything (except the kewl cheap clothing) at AJ’s, Safeway/Albertson’s, and Sprouts. Don’t even have to risk my life for some of that: I can walk to the Albertson’s and the Sprouts.

I wouldn’t do so — at least, not without a hefty male companion — because it’s unsafe to walk down there, whether through the ‘Hood or along Conduit of Blight Blvd. Especially along CofB…. But it’s a two-minute drive in the car. Both Albertson’s and Sprouts now have security guards shooing the hustlers out of the parking lots.

AJ’s is a little bit of a drive, especially near the rush hours…but nothing like the horror show entailed in driving way to Hell and gone to either of the nearest Costco stores.

Except for the beloved casual clothing items, everything I would ordinarily buy at Costco is available at the local grocers. So…

So…

So, yeah: why AM i doing that?

?????

Right. I don’t think I’m gonna do it any more.

May renew my membership (their plans start at $60 p/a). But I think probably not. Especially if I find I’m only going out there a few times a year. Their automotive department truly did pay for itself with the late, great tire episode. Without a doubt, I got my money back in spades after having bought the Dog Chariot’s tires at Costco. But…does that require me to shop in their store?

Prob’ly not.

I think, yea verily, that I’ll keep up the Costco membership (for the sake of the tire shop) but limit shopping trips to a few a year, in search of specific items you can’t get easily at other venues.

Meanwhile, speaking of doggy treats: it’s time to walk Ruby…or rather, for Ruby to walk the Human.

Lemme Outta This Place!

Seriously….  If my son did not object SO vociferously to the idea that I should move to some other precinct in the Phoenix area, I would be sooooo radically OUTTA here.

But he does. I think it’s because he wants his muther and his father and New Wife and himself to be within easy shootin’ distance. Just now we all live in the venerable North Central part of lovely uptown Phoenix.

If I had my way, I’d live one HELLUVA lot further from the noise, the crime, the goddamnable lightrail, the crime, the vagrants, the goddamnable lightrail, the constant cop helicopter flyovers, the goddamnable lightrail, the…you get the idea.

Although this neighborhood is on the fringe of tony North Central, it is decidedly fringe. The lightrail brings homeless, drug-shooting, thieving transients up to the end of the line, on the northwestern corner of our neighborhood, and tosses them off here to wander through our streets, alleys, and yards; to sleep in our carports; to steal anything that’s not red-hot or nailed down. Directly to the north of us is one of the toughest districts in the city, sweetly called “Sunnyslope,” an incubator of crime and long the hometown of the local Hell’s Angels. Consequently we have cop helicopters roaring overhead all the freakin’ time.

And y’know…  rrrrrrrrooooaaaaarrr rrroooaarr roar roar roar roar is not a very soothing lullaby. Earlier this afternoon we had a cop copter chasing around the neighborhood and then settling on the alley behind the Funny Farm. Back and forth. Forth and back. Around and around and around. Roar roar roar roar roar…  45 minutes of it…

Godlmighty, who and what are they chasing out there?

Get up. Check the doors. Lock the last door the pooch went out and then came back in. Set a phone next to the chair I’m loafing in. Cancel the plan to get in the car and drive off to the Costco, lest a sh!thead breach the defenses while I’m gone.

How tired am I of this stuff?

Seriously, it’s business as usual here in the’Hood, the cost of living in a centrally located middle-class urban neighborhood. And…

Am.

I.

Tired.

Of it!!!!

If I had my way, I’d move to Fountain Hills ((cheap construction; questionable whether the benefits outweigh the hassles). That’s assuming I wanted to stay in the crime-ridden Valley of the We-D0-Mean Sun. Alternatively, I’d pick Prescott (nice little burg, but a bit too tourist-ridden), Santa Fe (New Mexico), the Oro Valley (suburb of Tucson), Patagonia (artsy-craftsy community nigh unto Nogales, Mexico)…. Hmmm….

The truth is, few or maybe none of these places would be a huge improvement. You think you’re getting away from the cop fly-overs by moving to Sun City? Wait’ll you hear the fighter jets out of Luke AFB! Makes the cop helicopters sound like a lullaby.

Keeeripes! Where can you live in These Newnited States where you don’t have to keep deadbolt locks on every exterior door, alarms on every window, and a pistol close at hand? Where the ambient noise isn’t enough to drive you nuts?

IS there any such place?

Certainly not here. You don’t dare even drive down the street without locking your doors. Twice, I’ve had unsavory types try to pull my car doors open at stoplights — one of them was a guy who, according to that evening’s news, was a violent SOB on the run from the cops.

Surely there must be SOME place left in the good ole U.S. of A. where you can live in peace. Anybody know where it is?