Media Relations

Hey, Fox News, I don't watch you very often. Granted, I try not to watch cable news, period (because I don't want my brain matter to start dripping out of my tear ducts). But I needed a few news snippets for work and I paid you a visit. And you showed me this.


Riddle me this: Why this is the front page of your site today during the prime net browsing hour of lunch o'clock? Cats wearing wigs and other dumb inventions take precendence over uhm, I don't know, the breaking news banner at the top of the screen? What else could possible be more important than cat wigs? How about anything. I'll give you a few suggestions.

• Community Planning meeting
• Awkward moment for other Taco Bell customers when a dude totally flies off the handle after getting an incorrect order
• An interview with Bernie Madoff's jail guard about his meal options

I know that the fact that CAT WIGS are, apparently, destroying the reputation American ingenuity and hard work. I know that journalists are being laid off left and right, but I don't think that gives you clearance to let the intern take a stab at writing the cover story.

And remember to live by your motto and be Fair and Balanced. Dog wigs are a dumb idea, too.

For the moribidly curious, here is the article that is the target of that cat wig image.

Caroline's Recliner of Rage

I like to think that I am pretty polite. I never send food back. I never ask for a manager. So, I feel slightly bad about this.

Last summer, a few of us went to Houlihan's for dinner on our way to play putt putt golf. The food was okay, but the service was pretty rotten. We asked that the menu items that had been forgotten be removed from the bill, and told the manager about the poor attitude of our server. I took it to the Houlihan's website the next day and complimented the manager for her efforts and mentioned the dour, rude server. This was July, maybe June, so seven months ago. I never received a response from Houlihan's, so I had pretty much forgotten about the incident.

Then this gem arrived in my inbox today: (Note to those hoping for a coupon, I have removed the promotional code and legal jargon from the image)


And I kind of exploded. I decided to take them up on the offer to let them know how they "handled" my issue. The following is my response:

"To Whom It May Concern,

I recently received a response to some feedback I submitted online, and I was even more put off by this correspondence than my initial unsavory experience. I'd like to respond to the "tell us how we did" portion of this correspondence and explain to you why I am even more reluctant to patronize a Houlihan's restaurant again.

While I appreciate the discount offer, I find this correspondence extremely offensive. My initial comment regarding the service was submitted in June or July of 2008; at least seven months ago. I assumed that my feedback was lost in an abyss. Your correspondence, which generalized my feedback as "sometime in 2008" makes me feel as though my opinion is of no importance to the Houlihan's corporation. Frankly, I would have rather never had heard anything back than to get an e-mail seven months later.

The delay aside, I don't really care for the sarcastic tone ("Hold the sugar coating, please" and "you didn't beat around the bush"). This type of language is unprofessional, berating and in my opnion, inappropriate. Additionally, I mentioned several positive things in my correspondence, so I do not appreciate being told how harsh and seemingly rude I was. The letter makes no attempt to issue an apology to the customer, but only informally "thank" them for their feedback.

And, worst of all, there are no instructions as to how to redeem the $10 discount. I assume that I would print out the image of the "thank you" note. I do not think it's appropriate to present a coupon to a server that proclaims I gave them a harsh review. It seems degrading to the customer, the employee, and the manager who I assume must approve the discount.

I will not be redeeming this coupon. I will not be visiting another Houlihan's. I hope that you find this feedback valuable. "

No more Houlihan's for me. Which is too bad, because their flash fried asparagus is tasty. Maybe I'll get a response from them in 2010.

Winners Never Quit

I quit improv a week or two ago. Well, I quit the group I was in and I haven't been going to ComedyCity, so I am completely out of the scene. I simply can't handle improv right now, for a lot of reasons that extend beyond my comfort level of discussion for something that is broadcast on the internet. Just because I quit doesn't mean it's gone forever. It's like my English professor always said, dumping your significant other to focus on school: "It [sex] will still be there in May." I'll be doing Thunderdome 4 this summer, so I can't say that I have abandoned it completely. Just yet. We'll see.

Last Monday, I quit my job. Unlike improv, I have to replace it if I want to you know, eat. I've accepted a position as a writer / editor / web marketer, which will be a nice change of pace from technical writing. I hope that this will open new doors for me. I enjoy technical writing, but the job market isn't spectacular, especially for permanent positions. I've really wanted to get into writing for the web. Oh, did I mention that I may get to write about lingerie? And children's toys, handbags, mace, watches... it won't get old. I hope it works out. Dear lord, switching jobs in this economy isn't a fantastic idea, but it had to be done. Layoff talk, my contract status - it was very unstable. Let's hope this gamble pays out big time.

And for tonight, I have quit stuffing and mailing wedding invitations because my fingers are dry. That wedding is soon.

Yes, lots of changes. Most of which I believe in.

Sellivision

When we moved into the "new" house, Kyle bought a fancy HDTV. I was moderately opposed to the idea, but he was persistent and did it all on his own, and there it was. He got a deal that came with a free XBox360, which I was convinced we didn't need. We have a Wii, which I can count as some form of exercise. Our new DVR is full of science and cultural shows, so I at least feel good about watching the pretty colors and treat the television as an educational tool. And the XBox has a zero enrichment factor on my life. Wait, well, now we can download movies through Netflix, so I take that back. Yeah, it's fun, but it keeps me from doing the things I really want to (and frankly, should) do.

I was really into Grand Theft Auto 4. Then we got Clementine and I got over it and started focusing on other things. I was working on some writing projects, including a new blog about hideous couches and a play about a married couple who study baboons. And then on Friday Kyle bought a new game, Civilization Revolution and that all came to a screeching halt. This game is more addictive than cigarettes laced with crack and dipped in heroin. It's pretty much the smae old Civilization game of yesteryear, nothing too fantastic, but there's something fun about simulated global domination. This game must be stopped so I can return to my productive burst. Hmm... Production. That's what my Zulu civilization game needs to win...

Oh, yeahhh....

These postcards went out awhile ago. I of course forgot to send a few because I was missing addresses. Less than five months away, which sounds like a lot, but when I think that it's just on the other side of the winter, I realize its not. I have a dress. I have a reception venue. Need to book the church and you know, the legal aspect of the marriage. But it's on.

And I made this:
http://carolinewedskyle.googlepages.com/

I'd show you my spreadsheets for guests, RSVPs, and food options, but that might be too much. Planning a wedding is fun and not nearly as stressful as most people make it out to be. Then again, I'm not like most people and I can let the little things go. We're getting married, not a royal figure. It's going to be simple, and that's all I wanted.

Gobble Gobble

This Thanksgiving, we're doing things a little different. I've gone back to St. Louis for the grand feast every year since I left for college. Now that I have a house of my own with a decent fenced backyard, my mom, sister, and the two dogs are goin' Kansas City way. I'm not sure how four humans and four animals will do in this small house, but hey, as long as the house doesn't explode, I will consider the whole thing a win.

Potential Onion headlines for my circumstance on the most delicious of all holidays:

• Mother Gives Thorough Inspection of House, Daughters Appearance Within Thirty Seconds of Arrival
• Family of Four Realizes Two-on-Two Family Turkey Bowl is Lame
• Area Woman Tired of Being Told She "Throws Like a Girl"
• Dog Perfects Hiding Under Table, Catching Crumbs Technique
• Thirteen-Year-Old Girl Hides in Bathroom for an Hour To Text Friends During Family Gathering

But seriously, I'm really happy that they are coming to visit and that both my family and Kyle's family can be together. I come from a small family, so it's always nice to have some new faces gathered at the table. I get to spend it with my old family, and my new one too. For years, Kyle's dad invited a homeless man he had befriended to dinner, which I thought was really touching, if not also a little awkward during the dinner conversation. He helped the guy get a job and an apartment... the true spirit of Thanksgiving.

Now I just hope my mom behaves and goes easy on the wine.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Catventures

So, I never got to finish my other cat story about Grover, and here I am, with another cat story. Today's my birthday. Hooray! Federal holiday, so no work for this kid. I got a kitten last year from Kyle's parents as a gift. And this year, what did I get? If you guessed a homeless cat, you're the winner!

We've been having the "should we get another cat?" debate since we moved to our own place. Ultimately, we decided that we should wait until after the wedding. And of course, two days after we decide this, Kyle discovers a poor homeless cat hanging out near the door of his office, craning its neck for the bits of warmth that flowed outside when the door was opened. It was desperately thin and dirty and probably the most pathetic creature we've ever seen. After thinking about it all day, he went back and rescued it from the cold rain, luring it away from the warmth of their illuminated sign with tuna. She let us swaddle her in a blanket and feed her tuna, she purrs and seems to like people just fine. Unfortunately, we have to keep her in the garage until we know she is disease and flea free. But that's a lot better than darting from recently turned off car to door drafts.

We tried not to get attached to her, and I took her to the vet today, praying I wouldn't have my heart broken on my birthday. While she has fleas, motor oil in her fur, and worms, she's otherwise fine. She weighed in just under 4 pounds, which is frightening because Grover is 14 pounds. She has pretty blue eyes and I think she'll be a good companion for old G-Rove.

She doesn't have a name yet, but I suggested Miss Pam Beesley, after the character from The Office, because, she was found in an office. Also, Miss Beasley is the name of our friend's cat, a beast unaware of how to groom herself and frequently winds up with sticks, leaves, and Wal-Mart bags matted in her fur. Other names I have considered: Garbage (another Office name, when Dwight tried to give Angela a feral barn cat), Gertrude, and Gladys. We're thinking she needs a good orphan/old lady name.

I'm officially implementing a no more pets as birthday gifts policy for the house. Instead, I'd like a baseball bat to go hunt down whatever jerk decided to dump this cat in a business park.

Update: We named her Clementine. She's gained over half a pound since she's been with us.

American Dreams...

Yesterday I completed a dream. After work, I took a little me time and grabbed a latte and a copy of the newspaper. I always annihilate the crappy old Star crossword puzzle, the Cryptoquip, the Word Jumble, and the anagram game but I usually can't do the New York Times crossword puzzle past a few on Wednesday. Monday? Oh, I rock it. Tuesday? I do well. Wednesday? I get a few. My Mom is a certified crossword master who easily completes the Sunday version, so I am ashamed of my limited ability. With an hour until my appointment, I decided to try the NYT puzzle anyway. Low and behold, I did THE WHOLE THING. On my own! In a matter of minutes, none the less. I felt like a certified genius.

I was quickly humbled when I read in the introduction that the puzzle was written by an eighteen year-old college freshman as a part of Teen Week. It's kind of like being proud of yourself for doing the junior word jumble or Slylock Fox when you're 25.

On a completely unrelated note, the Phillies are going to the world series, thanks in part to a homerun by Matt Stairs, a veteran player who was once on the Royals roster. I loved Matt Stairs, mostly because he was so fat he didn't look like was capable of playing co-ed beer league softball or even bowling. Matt Stairs probably got teased in gym class as a kid, and he grew up to be a mediocre MLB player.

The above picture is supposed to portray CC Sabathia and Prince Fielder, two other large and in charge players, who according to The Onion, keep seeing each other as a giant hamburger and hotdog. I really hope that Stairs is traded to the Brewers so the fat guy trifecta can be complete.

I'd love a Matt Stairs jersey, but he is traded so often, the sweatshop probably can't keep up with him. I always check Straight Cash Homey (hilarious blog about people wearing the jerseys of poor players Mental Floss's Ethan Trex) on the off chance that someone has one. Matt Stairs gives me hope that someone as "old" out of shape and tall as myself can become an Olympic gymnast.

Moral of the story: follow your dreams. You too can do an entire NYT crossword puzzle and leave it on the newspaper pile to impress the next ruffian, and you can play Major League Baseball (and you won't even have to get in shape)! Ah, America.

My One Political Post

I don't like to talk about politics. I shouldn't make fun of John McCain's physical appearance. Well, I guess I shouldn't mock the appearance of anyone, but especially not the elderly. Or you know, a real war hero.

But, I have to say this. Watching the town hall style debate last night, all I could think about was the fact that John McCain moves like a robot. I know, war hero. Five and a half years in a Vietnamese POW camp (thanks for that, John). Can't move his arms above his head. But he looked like ASIMO out there. He kind of talks like one too.

And he overused "croneyism" and I wish he would stop saying "my friends". Robots usually appear friendly so they can earn your trust and friendship. Then they siphon the oil out of your car when you aren't looking. Or, in this case, probably Iraq.

The Cat in the...

This is our cat, Grover. It's absolutely ridiculous how much we love this small critter, but when you are light years away from having kids, you need something to talk to in a high-pitched voice.

While we aren't here to watch Grover when we're at work, most of his big adventures include naps, snacks, and the occasional housefly. As Kyle says, his intelligence level is somewhere between a radish and a solar powered calculator you get at the dollar store. Little did we know that Grover would have the most adventurous week of his life when he moved.

A few weeks ago, I was working on trivia upstairs in the large shared room we've always called the Newsroom (because that's where everyone kept their desks). It was after 11 at night and there was a strange chirping sound coming out of the weird closet that houses the upstairs air conditioning unit and the vacuum that only kind of works. Grover is all about getting to this closet and attacking what we both think is a large insect. He's not exactly known for his hunting skills, but I figured I should let him get it. I cracked the door just enough for him to use his paws to fully open it and get the damn bug. I go back and sit down and work again. It took Grover two or three minutes to open the door wide enough for him to get inside the closet, but there was no need for him to go in, because it wasn't a cricket, or a mouse, or anything that I thought it could have been. It was a bat.

Yes, a bat. A huge, pissed off bat was now flying around the room, crashing into the ceiling, and heading right for me. I learned a very important lesson about myself that night: I am a screamer. Forgetting the cat, my purse, and shoes, I flew down the stairs screaming for Kyle. Oh how I screamed. He thought there was a burglar or rapist in the house. He went and collected my purse and the cat, and we all had a terrible night's sleep. The cat wanted out of the bedroom. We wanted the bat out of our house.

This was happening just two days before me move out of the house. Seriously? It was really tempting to just shut the door upstairs and hand the keys over to the next tennants and tell them "The front door sticks a little and, oh yeah, there may or may not be a living bat upstairs. Good luck!" But, then there was the issue of the belongings in the room and the whole rabies thing. We called animal control and private pest companies. Animal control wanted me to take off work and hang out in my bat house all day and wait for them to show up. The private companies wanted to set traps and humanely catch the beast. I really didn't care if they pulled off its own wings and shoved it down its throat, as long as it wasn't in the house anymore. Ultimately, the cost of both options seemed ridiculous, and we decided that it was time to just deal with it ourselves.

So Kyle, my brave, valliant fiance, left work to go deal with our intruder. He went into the room armed with two tennis rackets, a towel and a box and faced the bat. He chased the bat out of the closet and it perched itself on a vent on the ceiling. Unable to pry it from the vent, he had to unscrew it and drop the whole vent, bat and all, into the box. He covered the box with the towel and booked it outside. I was on the phone with him the whole time this was going on.

Kyle thought he might have hurt it when the vent fell and tried to coax it out. Not wanting it to die slowly by baking in the sun, he tried to help the poor creature out of the box, and the beast opened its red eyes and barred its disproportionately large fangs. At that point, Kyle took a souvenir photo and left it on the side of the house.

Sure, when you see it playing dead in a box it looks rather harmless. A little mouse with wings. Aww, how adorable... and terrifying. I'm convinced that bat has shape shifting capabilities and grew about two feet when it was FLYING AT MY FACE. We're talking about fangs here, people.

Grover was still extremely curious about the strange, mythical creature that was lurking upstairs. He wanted its blood. He wouldn't let us go upstairs unless he led the way. He walked around, belly to the ground, ready to pounce. These protective instincts were coming from the same cat that couldn't finish off a moth a week before. Still, it's rather comforting that when you care for an animal that it is willing to stick up for you.

There's another half of the story to be posted later.