Coffee heat rising

Never a Freakin’ Dull Moment…

DepositPhoto; Rainy Weather © dnaumoidSo….how is it possible for the day to be soooo busy before 7:30 in the morning? 

Incredibly, the Dog’s human managed to sleep all the way through till nigh unto 5 a.m. which of late represents some kind of record.

It’s been raining all night; thunderstorms and more rain predicted. Still…at 5:00 it’s relatively cool, which is an unfamiliar mercy. “Relatively,” though, is a relative term… 😀

Human slams around getting dressed. Dog barks: someone’s in back. Grab a steak knife, peer out the back door, and…by damn! There’s New Pool Dude out there,

Holy mackerel.

Well, you can’t blame him for wanting to get through the day’s pool jobs before the sun comes up, that’s for sure!

Bridle up the Dog: out the door. 

Even though it’s relatively(!)(?) cool, the air is SOOO muggy and warm it’s a swamp out there.

The cops are buzzing Gangbanger Central to the north of us…never a good sign. Is it safe to forge ahead? Hm. Consider the options:

  • Delaying the doggy-walk means canceling the doggy-walk, because it will soon be too hot to stroll around outdoors.
  • Proceeding with the doggy-walk means taking one’s chances with the Drama of the Day.
  • Heading south from the Shack means skirting the park, which at this hour will be overrun by idiots with their dogs off the leash, risking a dog fight.
  • On the other hand, any bums who chose to sleep out in the rain last night will be getting out of bed (as it were) and stumbling around. If this has meaning, I dunno what it is. Other than that I need a German shepherd, not a 23-pound corgi.

Oh WTF: into Upper Richistan it is!

The cop copter is north of Gangbanger’s Way, which suggests the scene of the drama is either north of the canal (meaning they’re after perps) or right along the canal (meaning they may be trying to locate a candidate for drowning or they may be chasing a perp who’s lurking in or near the canal). In that case, it’s relatively safe on the surface streets here in the ’Hood. Maybe.

Dogwalk is mercifully uneventful. Most of the Five Ayem Horde are absent, presumably staying in because of the wet weather. Good. We cover a couple miles and return to the Funny Farm without getting rained upon, kidnapped by a fleeing desperado, or questioned by suspicious cops.

WonderAccountant, who kindly hired on to do the bookkeeping that I’m getting too senile to manage accurately, is supposed to come over today to tackle this month’s chore. Despite sleeping most of the night, I’m bushed (at 8:30 in the morning) and wish to go back to bed.

Ah: on the calendar: W.A. “early afternoon”…thank the heavens!

Yesterday it was off to a new Dental Type, blowing away the afternoon. Orthodontist…alas, not a candidate for New Dentist. She says the titanium stake in the upper jaw is NOT infected. Therefore the eye thing does not signal a more serious issue. Probably the injury that instigated the eye cyst was the slicing up of the nose to remove the suspected melanoma.

That’s something, anyway.

She recommended an actual dentist, not too far away. I may call that one and make an appointment to get acquainted. However, I’ve already established an acquaintance with the WonderAccountants’ dentist, who as far as I can tell is excellent.

The Baltimore dude who came out West and bought our beloved long-time dentist’s practice does not make the cut. Not by a long shot. Interestingly, when you look him up online locally, it appears that he’s opening a bunch of offices on the west side, apparently with the intention of recruiting low-income patients on welfare.

Is there a REASON why there’s never a dull moment around this place???????

Dental Insurance in Retirement…or No?

Since retiring from my job at Arizona State University, I’ve gone bare when it comes to dental insurance. It’s a risk, obviously: betting on the “not come” rather than the “come.” My teeth have always been excellent. My mother died in her 60s; her mother died in her 40s, and her grandmother also died fairly young: hence, one could lay a bet that I will outlive my teeth.

I retired at about the same time a dear friend did. She and her husband chose not to enroll in the state’s plan for dental insurance. Why? Well….

The Arizona state dental plan doesn’t cover everything. For $8.52 a month, Cigna tells you you’re insured but actually covers very little; at $35 a month, the “premium” plan it actually covers things. Their fee schedule is so complicated that She Who Is Not an Accountant can’t even begin to figure it out, but it would appear the coverage doesn’t apply to everything. But following my friends’ logic, I chose not to sign up for Arizona’s retiree dental plan because my friends — one of whom was the head of the Arizona Department of Gaming, fairly large in the Bigwig Club — calculated that over a predictable lifetime, most of us would end up paying the same or more in insurance premiums than we would pay out of pocket for typical old-folks’ dental and orthodontic care (including extractions and all the other fun and games that come with decreptitude).

I’ve been retired since December 2009. So let’s start at January 2010… This is August 2022: about 12.6  years, hm?

At $8.52 a month, one year on Cigna’s low-rent plan would cost you $102.24. By now, I would have paid out around $1,288 for retiree dental insurance, on the cheap. But of course, you KNOW that if you really need dental insurance, that amount of coverage will be a drop in the bucket; so if you’re gonna buy the coverage, you’d better buy the top of the line. And that, by now, would have cost me $5,292.

AND not all dentists will accept the state’s insurance plan. Nor do those figures take into account services that would not be covered under the state’s plans. Also it’s worth noting that some of the stuff I’ve needed has been covered, to a degree, by Medicare and Medigap.

At this point, I’ve probably spent somewhere around a thousand bucks on the Adventures in Dental Science. So compared to the price of retiree insurance, probably the cost is six of one, half-a-dozen of the other. But I haven’t had to bicker with any providers. AND…it must be remembered that many providers will not accept the low-rent coverage one gets from the State of Arizona. So for the amount I’ve paid, I’ve retained my choice of providers. And that, it develops, is big.

Very big.

Also very big is the fact that not everything appears to be covered on the State’s plan, meaning that a fair amount of one’s Adventures in Dental Science are likely to be paid for out of pocket. How much might that be? Difficult to calculate. But even a small figure would cut in to the value of the premium-supported insurance scheme.

***

By now, I’d guess that over the past couple of years I’ve spent about the same as or a little more than I would have shelled out to Cigna for dental, what with the present Adventures in Medical Science. However, that may change as things get worse.

Or as they get better…

Our extended amalgamated family’s beloved dentist, Dr. D. was forced to retire for medical reasons. He sold his practice to a guy who moved here from Baltimore.

This fella has taken over and, as of course he should, is now doing things his way. Not Dr. D’s way. He’s canned all of Dr. D’s excellent dental assistants and office staff (or maybe they all fled?). And I see he’s building an empire of low-rent offices over on the West Side: exploiting the impoverished set.

I’ve now seen the guy several times. And truth to tell, I don’t like him. Nor do I trust him.

Evidently for good reason, come to find out.

He told me the stake another practitioner — an orthodontist specializing in rather eccentric restorative work — had installed in my upper jaw was infected. He would like to take that thing out and…what? Rebuild it? Put in a fake tooth? A bridge?? Argha!

Not to say…innaresting.

So…couple weeks ago I got a referral from another medical doctor to an orthodontist, who herself specializes in these sorts of shenanigans. Today, I finally got in to see her — coincidentally, on the first day the damn tooth hasn’t either hurt like hell or ached vaguely.

She shot a set of X-rays. Inspected them. Let her assistant inspect them, apparently by way of pedagogy but in fact putting another set of eyes on the scene.

Then she showed the X-rays to me and said, “Look. There’s no infection around this thing at all.”

“Why,” quoth I, “does it hurt?”

“Because,” quoth she, “the implant is too long. It’s grinding against your lower teeth. Especially when (as indeed is my habit) you clench your teeth.”

She picks up a handy-dandy little whizzer and, zzziiip! Drills off the upper surface of the crown.

And…

By damn! Now my jaws fit together straight! The teeth do not whack each other when I close my mouth. And the implant does NOT hurt.

So…uhm…howcum the Philadelphia Wonder didn’t notice that?

***

She fixed the damn thing in under ten minutes! Probably under five, actually: all she had to do was polish the excess porcelain off so that the fake tooth FIT, same as all all the other teeth in that part of the upper jaw.

The bill was a couple hundred bucks. A far cry from what I would have spent on Cigna’s dental insurance over the past twelve and a half years.

Unfortunately, she’s a specialist and so doesn’t do routine dental maintenance. But she gave me the name of a colleague, whom I intend to track down next week.

 

 

 

Scamarama!

Wow! In the past few weeks and months, I’ve been the target of scam after scam after scam!

Latest: a Paypal scam.

In comes a message from PayPal saying I charged up a piece of furniture for something over $900. Uh huh.

You understand: we closed that account months and months ago. As in “enough time for my former business partner to go back to graduate school, earn a master’s degree in psychological counseling, complete an internship, and open her practice as a shrink.”

The months, thus, translate into years. At least two or three years.

Trying to reach a human at PayPal is damn near impossible. After running round and round and round Robin Hood’s Barn, I finally did get ahold of a fella with a pleasingly exotic accent. He says the problem is hereby solved: the fake charge is disallowed and the account is closed.

Right. I’ll believe that when I see it. Or when I don’t see another notice of a fake charge.

You know, there are mailing lists organized by age. That’s how AARP knows to start hustling you to buy a membership, the minute you hit about age 62.

My guess is that some list now shows me as pushing 80 — which (can you believe it? I sure can’t!) is pretty close. Thus the various bad actors know there’s a good chance enough of my marbles have slipped away that they can scam me easily. Hence the endless stream of telephone scams.

I’ve stopped answering the phone — either land line or iPhone. Almost every call is a hustle of one sort or another.

And yeah: I do know about the National Do-Not-Call List…har har! They just ignore that. They know nothing will happen. The numbers they appear to be calling from are spoofed, so even if you were to call the feds and complain, it wouldn’t matter: you couldn’t provide the information needed to track them down, even if they were calling from within the US (which they probably aren’t).

With the iPhone, you can block all incoming and set the thing to let only selected callers through. But I still haven’t been able to figure out how to use the complicated damned thing. As devices go, it’s just brain-banging.

This PayPal stuff spooks me. I’m afraid that if I refuse to pay for the phantom furniture, they’ll wreck my credit. This is one reason I posted a narrative of the little saga here at FaM: If Paypal starts harassing me for the supposed charge, I’ll have a record of when it happened and a public statement that it’s fraudulent.

Basically consumers are pretty much defenseless against the barrage of soliciting and scamming phone calls. It’s virtually impossible to block them without blocking access from legitimate callers. And look it this involved rigamarole Verizon recommends to us!!!

Seriously, guys? Who has time for that kind of BS?

I’ve stemmed part of the tide by blocking calls from area codes where I don’t know people. The Phoenix metropolitan area, for example, has three area codes: 602, 623, and 480. Blocking calls from area code 623 cuts down significantly on the harassing advertisements…but it has a BIG (and obvious) downside. One of my doctors’ offices is in the 623 area code: they can’t get through to me on the phone. Same is true for anyone in 480. Or 520 (Tucson). Or 213 (Los Angeles). Or 415 (San Francisco), 408 (San Jose), 510 (East Bay), 562 (Long Beach, Whittier, Norwalk, Lakewood, Bellflower, Cerritos, southeast Los Angeles County and a small portion of coastal Orange County)…. That is a WHOLE lot of friends and business acquaintances who are cut off from reaching you by telephone. I give out an email address whenever I can, but the truth is, most people don’t quite grasp the problem.

And the problem, apparently, is that as you advance in age, you become a juicier and juicier target for telephone scammers. Before I started blocking area codes and some local exchanges, I’d get as many as ten or twelve calls a day from crooks pestering me.

The 21st Century…Dante would’ve loved it!

PayPal: It Never Goes Away

Trying to send a complaint to the FTC. Their website form apparently “sees” some character in this disquisition as a disallowed weird character, even though nothing out of the ordinary appears in it. So…Here’s an effort to get it to them by posting it here and asking them to come over and take a look at it. Wish me luck, folks!

§

Some time ago, my business partner and I closed the PayPal account for our business, The Copyeditor’s Desk, Inc., since she was beginning a new career and I had decided to get out of the technical editing trade. Recently, I have been getting statements from PayPal to the effect that hundreds of dollars in billing have been racked up on the supposedly defunct PayPal account, for the purchase of furniture from some outfit I’ve never heard of. I have tried twice, using addresses from PayPal’s website, to straighten this out, but it’s impossible to reach a human being at PayPal. Now today in comes another demand for payment of something in excess of $800 for a purchase neither of us ever heard of. Below is a copy of the email I just sent to PayPal, presumably into the ether.

“Into the ether” indeed: when you send an email to the contact address given at PayPal’s website, it bounces right back with an “invalid address” message. Please investigate. And if you would, please, inform these crooks that they’re not getting any money out of me.

Below: message sent to PayPal email address (billing378579@gmail.com) requesting cancellation of fraudulent charges on closed account:

***

billing378578@gmail.com

Okay, see the BS below? This is a fraudulent charge to a PayPal account that SHOULD be defunct and that we have tried to close, apparently without luck. We closed our business, The Copyeditor’s Desk, Inc., some time ago and are no longer doing business through PayPal.

Apparently some swindler has charged up hundreds of dollars worth of furniture on that account. I attempted to contact your people and clue them that no such charges were made by us, and that the account should be closed. Apparently you either have no people or none of your people care whether your customers are scammed.

I am forwarding this email (plus my requests to you to shut down that account and negate this fraudulent charge) to the U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Federal Trade Commission.

Once again: CLOSE THE ACCOUNT for The Copyeditor’s Desk Inc., Millicent V. Hay, Victoria Hay, or Vicky Hay. DO NOT HARASS ME FURTHER WITH FRAUDULENT CHARGES.

Sincerely,

Victoria Hay, Ph.D.
Former director, The Copyeditor’s Desk, Inc.

I would appreciate some help from someone who is in a position to bring a stop to this fraud. Thanks for your attention.

Victoria Hay
vickyhay@mac.com

***

There seems to be no way to reach a human being at PayPal. However, their business is essentially a form of banking and so should be regulated by U.S. authorities. How does one go about submitting a complaint to the relevant regulatory agency? And what IS the relevant U.S. regulatory agency?

§

I don’t expect to get far with this call for help to the banking regulators, even though PayPal is regarded as a type of banking operation and even though they have offices on US soil.

Don’t do business through PayPal, folks! They are totally, bullet-proofedly untouchable. You can’t reach a human for love nor money. But meanwhile they’re wrecking your credit by letting crooks rack up false charges on an account they refuse to close.

What WERE we thinking?

Ever look back on events in your life and think…well…

WTF?

And wonder…

Why did I do that?
Why didn’t I do this?
Why didn’t I wait?
Why didn’t I hurry up?
Why didn’t I do b instead of a?
What the HELL was I thinking?
Or was I thinking at all?

Here I am, today, diddling away the morning playing pointless computer games: the mind on autopilot. And while the brain roams pointlessly, yea verily on true autopilot through the empty silicon labyrinths, various memories and various long-gone puzzlements come to mind.

The weirdness of it, Life: the very weirdness of it.

Quite possibly the weirdest experience that comes to mind was the time my father and his bit*h wife (then a.k.a. the sweet, socially active, nice church-going future wife) showed up in our living room to share some Big News with us.

They wished, said they, to get married. (My mother hadn’t been dead a year…but that was OK, because at 70-something my father didn’t have all that much time to waste.) Would I give them my blessing?

Uhhhh….

If he had come to me or called me on the phone and said i’ve met this woman here at the Institute [by this time he’d sold my late mother’s and his home in Sun City and ensconced himself in a brand-new life-care community] and we get on really well. To make it legal and forestall any gossip, we’re gonna get married, I would have said “Fine! Congratulations! Good for you, and many happy years for both of you.” And I would have thought that was all I could say, because what he chose to do was none of my business. And I knew he would have thought it was none of my business.

But PLOP down on the living-room sofa and ohhh here we are in love, may we have your permission to get married?

W-h-a-a-a?

I was so nonplussed, I didn’t know what to say. All I could think of was “Congratulations! May you have a long and happy life together.” Even though I strongly suspected the whole idea was stump-dumb stupid. I barely knew the woman — if I had known her better, I would’ve yelped Are you crazy??!!???” But that was outside the realm of experience just then.

Today, from the vantage point of experience (a goddamned Mont Blanc of experience!!), I know what I should have said.

Ohhhh I’m sooo happy for you! Congratulations. And…uhm, by the way…

Why don’t you wait a year? You’re still relatively young. Why not just be an item for a year, so you can get to know each other better before you make the giant leap to living together…and, forgodsake, to making it a legal contract?

But of course that’s not what I did say.

What I said was “Duhhhhhh…. Yeah, sure, that’s cool. Congratulations. How wonderful for you both.”

Jayzus! Pass the bong, willya?

What WAS I thinking then? I wasn’t thinking anything. No. Nothing.

In the first place, of course, I didn’t know the bit*h in question. If I had, I might have registered some response. This was only the second or third time I’d met her.

In the second place, I did not then and would not today consider it to be any of my business to advise my perfectly rational father on his personal life. But if he’d asked and I’d had a clue and I’d possessed about 10 years’ more life experience, I suppose I would have hollered RUN, DADDY! RUN!!!”

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down,
And still somehow
It’s clouds’ illusions I recall.
I really don’t know how…
At all.

 

 

Arrividerci, Costco

B’bye!

Welp, I’ve pretty well decided that I’m done with Costco.  The reasons: various.  They range from the microscopic — personal experience, mostly — to the macroscopic: the plague and the cost of gas.

Let’s start with the last…

Costco shut down its centrally located store some time ago.  This means that everyone who lives in the North Central, mid-town, Encanto, and Coronado districts has to drive halfway to Timbuktu to get to a store. There’s one store that’s sort of central, at Grand and about 33rd Avenue, but that’s a LONG way from my house, and it’s in a dangerous part of town where I would prefer not to drive at all, to say nothing of getting out of my car and walking across a gigantic parking lot. Plus it’s a “business” outlet, leaving one wondering how much of the regular housewifely products are available there. The two stores that I’m most likely to visit are equally remote from the North Central area: one in Paradise Valley and the other up the freeway halfway to freaking Prescott.

Driving in Phoenix, as I’ve no doubt groused here more than once, gets more and more miserable as the roads get more and more crowded. The place is Southern California Redux, only drivers here don’t drive as well as California drivers do. Every time you get in your car, it seems, you watch someone do something breathtakingly stupid — and they’re aggressive about it. Road rage is commonplace, apparently because so many people drive around hopped up on drugs. And, no doubt, because driving in the Phoenix area is an intensely frustrating activity for everyone, stoned or sober.

For that reason, driving halfway across the city’s increasingly crowded, annoying, and dangerous roads to buy a few household and grocery items grows increasingly counterproductive as the days go by.

Driving gets increasingly expensive, too — as it no doubt does everyplace else. This morning we’re told the average price of gas here is $4.44 a gallon. A month ago it was $5.04. At that rate, it’s prohibitive to drive outside your neighborhood for errands that can be accomplished locally. Personally, I don’t think you save all that much in buying at Costco — in fact, sometimes you probably spend more there than you would at other stores. But when you add in five bucks a gallon for the privilege of fighting your way across the city, the drive alone becomes prohibitive.

So the question arises: why drive halfway to Timbuktu when you can buy the same or similar products at the Sprouts, the Walmart, the Safeway, or the Albertson’s right in your neighborhood? Or order the stuff online?

For that matter, you can order Costco merchandise online, thanks to a local shopping service called Instacart. Set up an account with them, and all you have to do is go to their website, pick out the loot you want, upload payment, and voilà! Within a couple of hours, a runner shows up with the loot you ordered — and they’ll even haul it into the house for you.

For the nonce, I’ll probably keep my Costco membership and order through Instacart. This will allow me to continue to buy tires and the like there…maybe. Most everything else, though, will be purchased closer to home, at Sprouts, Albertson’s, Safeway, Walmart, and AJ’s.

The immediate cause of my rage at Costco just now is the fact that they suddenly decided to decline my debit card.

Costco won’t accept American Express, my credit card of choice; Instead, they force you to use Mastercard or Visa. I’m not interested in juggling any more mailed-in statements and payments than absolutely necessary, so I use ONE charge card. And that card is AMEX, because of the superior service they provide. Mastercard will drive you bonkers just trying to reach a human being, and the effort will get you nowhere. American Express hires, at least for the time being, actual humans who know what they’re doing.

So when I’m in Costco, I have no choice but to use a debit card — or, I suppose, to write a check.

But I no longer carry a purse around, largely because of the risk of theft in the parking lots at shopping centers near my house, and because hauling a purse from place to place is a damn nuisance. I carry a metal case of cards that will fit in a pocket. Period. Since women’s clothing generally has minimal pockets, hauling a checkbook and a pen everywhere I go is next to impossible.

So: don’t take my card, and you don’t take my money. How hard, dear Costco, is that to understand?

The last time I was there, I killed an hour roaming around the store, dodging crazed fellow shoppers and filling up a shopping cart. Waited in line at the checkout (and, as usual, waited and waited and waited and waited). Finally got up to the checkout. Forked over my debit card, and was told it doesn’t work!

Huh????

They threw me out with no purchases, all that time utterly wasted.

Furious, I drove straight to the credit union, which happens to be on the way toward my house from that far-flung Costco outlet.

The CU staff studied my debit card, looked it up, and said nothing was wrong with it. They had no idea why Costco would reject it.

So, apparently there’s not a thing I can do to fix that.

Other, of course, than buy merchandise elsewhere, thankyouverymuch.

And, though it’s going to be a nuisance to buy things I normally buy in bulk (such as paper products) at places like Sprouts and Walmart, the truth is local stores do carry most of the products I habitually get at Costco.

And then some. Sprouts has freshly prepared meals — mostly made with real, whole foods, not canned and frozen junk. The Walmart Neighborhood Store has the paper goods and cleaning products. AJ’s carries the dog’s food as well as top-of-the-line fresh produce and gourmet items. The Safeway has everything else, albeit at premium prices.

I may keep the Costco card so that I can send Instacart runners to pick up the (very few!) things I can’t get elsewhere. But that won’t last long. You don’t really know what Costco carries unless you visit the store fairly often. So within a few weeks or months, Instacart won’t be an effective option for buying there.

While Costco has more than enough customers to keep itself in business even after I quit spending vast oceans of money there, one does wonder: what is the point of deliberately driving buyers away?  Why make it hard to buy from your stores?