Saturday, December 12, 2009

Giving It The Old College Try

On Tuesday there was a school shooting at Northern Virginia Community College, and as much as it pains me to say this, having attended a community college myself, it is quite obvious that it was perpetrated by a community college student.

Based on the evidence available, 20-year-old Jason Michael Hamilton was angry at his math teacher for his grades, so he plotted and planned his revenge. He bought a high-powered rifle from the local Dick's Sporting Goods the day before exacting his revenge, most likely going home to continue stewing about his plan while living in his parents' basement. The next day, he slept in, then went to the school. At 2:40pm, he burst into the classroom and walked towards the teacher's desk at the front of the room. He silently took aim at his teacher and fired, but missed. The teacher yelled for the other students to exit quickly and call the authorities, then hid behind her desk as he fired again. Then his gun jammed so he threw it on the floor and gave up. MSNBC noted in their article that "a more experienced gunman might have been able to overcome the jam." He walked into the hall and sat in a chair waiting for the police, calmly following their orders without resistance.

Thankfully, we ended up with a slacker who poorly planned his massacre, failed to learn how to properly use his weapon, and gave up the second something went wrong. It's kind of like reading an article in The Onion.

The other thing that struck me as odd were the quotes mentioned in the Washington Post article:

Police treated the incident as an "active shooter" scene and entered immediately, said Sgt. Kim Chinn, a Prince William police spokeswoman.

"I can't say enough good things about the way this was handled," [school provost Sam] Hill said.

Prince William Police Chief Charlie T. Deane said, "It had the potential for something much worse."

"At the end of the day, when I go home, if everyone is safe, I know I did a good job, and that's what happened today," [Campus police officer Anthony] Mellis said.
Yes, you arrested the shooter and nobody was injured or killed. But did you really keep everyone safe and have a chance to utilize your recent training? No. The shooter's poor aim, the shoddy craftsmanship of the gun, as well as the shooter's disappointing work ethic were the only life savers here. Stop patting yourselves on the back. You did your job, and you did it well, but this won't be a TV-movie lauding the heroics of the Prince William PD.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Rider Insurance, or How To Fail At Customer Service By Arguing Over $1.65

When Tara and I recently purchased our new [to us] motorcycle, we opted to be signed up at the dealership for insurance. We were quoted a price of $162 for a year of full liability coverage, and the salesman assured us that going with this company, Rider Insurance, was the way to go. He signed us up online for the policy, we paid our premium, and, thus, it began.

The policy was written with myself as the primary and Tara as a secondary rider. Within a week, I received two insurance cards, both in my name, and both with the same bike listed. They were identical, all the way down to the VIN. I called up Rider Insurance to ask why in the world I would need two cards, while Tara, however, would need none, and to experience what their website promises, "affordable motorcycle insurance and great service with no hassles."

Some informational background: Rider Insurance, based in Springfield, New Jersey, was founded in 1971 by Harry R. Bleiwise. A passionate motorcycle rider himself, he sought to bring the same atmosphere of friendship and loyalty to insurance. Since its founding, Rider has grown to service not only New Jersey, but Pennsylvania, Ohio, and West Virginia. While still serving as Chairman, Mr. Bleiwise now has his permanent address in Boca Raton, Florida.

The first person I spoke with was a gentleman by the name of Evans Bierre (or Pierre?). I explained my issue, only to find out that the real issue was not that I had two cards, but that I had been signed up for a policy with two bikes, both sharing the same VIN. How this could happen, I do not know.* He said he could go ahead and submit to have the second bike removed, and quoted me the change in price. I then asked about adding Tara as the secondary driver. He said that she was already on there, but that she wouldn't receive her own card. I asked if he could provide me with any documentation showing that she was, in fact, insured by this policy. He refused. Then he begrudgingly admitted that Tara need not be on my policy at all. It seems that as long as she and I live under the same roof, she is fully insured under my policy as long as I have given her my permission to ride the motorcycle. He resisted my urgings to go ahead and note my permanent permission. He said I would be receiving a reimbursement of $102.00, but he would need to submit one change today and the other the following day, so he would go ahead and give a call to confirm everything once he had finished all the changes.

This call remained calm, for the most part. He was hesitant to give me some of the information I was looking for, especially in regards to Tara already being covered by my sole coverage, but for the most part, it was fine.

The next day, I receive a voicemail from Evans stating that he has gone ahead and processed the changes, and I will be receiving a refund check in the amount of $73.35. This upset me. Now for some math!

If the base policy for Me, Tara, and the same bike twice equals $165 (including 10% multi-vehicle discount), then without the 10% discount we're at $180. Taking off one bike leaves the policy for the two of us at $90. Taking Tara away means that my policy should be roughly $45.

This is ignoring the fact that Tara is under 25, meaning insuring her is more expensive than insuring me. If we take that into consideration, then the premium drops even lower. Even pro-rating the week's worth of insurance Tara had had by that point totalled only about ninety-six cents.

And so I was understandably confused (and, admittedly, aggravated) at having to call back again. This time, calling during the 30 minutes I had for lunch, I spoke with Blanche. She was kind, and I was kind in return. I explained the situation, the assurance of $102, and that all I was looking for was a reimbursement of that amount. Blanche explained that the amount I was getting back was correct. After a great deal of pushing, she said she could go as high as $100.35. While closer to my goal, it was still short of what I had been promised. As she 'haggled' with me over how much of my money she would be willing to give back, I asked her for some hard figures, because, frankly, the math wasn't adding up. She quoted me a price of $60 for my policy alone, and Tara's at $135. That's not a mis-type. She said that the breakdown of our $160 combined policy was $60 for me and $135 for Tara. I refused to budge, becoming more and more aggitated as the call progressed from the thirty minutes I had allotted to me for lunch, and into the fifteen minutes I had allotted for my break later. Increasingly frustrated with the lack of answers and the fly-by-night mathematics being employed, I gave her three options:
1. Refund me the $102 originally promised.
2. Refund me the $135 quoted for Tara's policy.
3. Refund me the entire policy of $165.
Prior in the conversation she had told me that her supervisor, Tracey, was not available. I said let's go higher, but Yolanda, Tracey's supervisor, wasn't available. She tried to tell me that, because this policy began at the dealership, "I'm going to need to transfer you over to our Dealership group". I refused, explaining that I have nothing to do with the dealership and that my business with them ended when I drove my bike off of their lot. If Rider Insurance has an issue with the dealership, they can call them and request reimbursement for the the $1.65 they're now trying to withhold from me, but I refuse to go over all of this again. At this point though, in response to the ultimatem and the possibility of a cancelled policy, she said "Can I put you on hold and get a supervisor?" I agreed, but only on the terms that I be on hold for less than 2 minutes, having already spent upwards of 10 minutes on hold during this 40 minute conversation. After 5 minutes on hold, I terminated the call and called back. I don't remember who I got, but after demanding to be transferred to a supervisor and being on hold for an additional few minutes, I terminated the call again. Calling back again, I reached Evans. My buddy, my pal, the man who had started this mess of a customer service nightmare. The first words I told him were "Do not put me on hold or I will cancel my policy". I then explained that I was angry and frustrated with the company after spending far too much time on the phone with Blanche. In response, he said "Hold on" and put me on hold. When he came back, he argued that violating my wishes to not be put on hold was necessary to get the story from Blanche. I told him that he had quoted me $102.00, that I demanded one of the three options listed above, and that I wanted a response now. He said that Blanche had gone to run it past the supervisor in Dealership, Odalys, and that he would have her call me back with a response. I gave him Tara's number and my wish that she call Tara first (so Tara could either demand the full amount or implement the cancellation of our policy) and then call and leave a message for me.

I was fuming. An hour or so later I received a message from Odalys stating that I would be receiving the full $102.00 back and apologizing for any problems I had experienced. She had failed to call Tara first, but I let it slide.

And then I began the waiting game. Either Blanche or Evans had stated that it would take 3-4 weeks to receive my refund. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

Two days ago was four weeks.

Yesterday I called. I began by trying to reach Odalys, who had been so kind as to leave me a message before, but only got voicemail at her extension. I tried the main number and spoke with Kay, who haughtily told me that refunds actually take 30 to 45 days to process, but that mine *cheerfully* was ordered to be processed yesterday! She coughed, then contiued. That means it could go out today, tomorrow, or even Monday. I asked why it should take so long, especially given that it was their error. She coughed and snapped, "Will you hold on a minute? I have to get a drink of water" and put me on hold before I could reply. Upon her return, she said that it was just company policy. A manager could have fast-tracked it to go out sooner, but they didn't. In fact, she pointed out, the change wasn't even inputted into the system until the 10th, despite the assurance from Odalys on the 5th of November that I would be getting the $102.00 back. So I asked Kay for some names. She told me that the company is made up of two departments, Customer Service and Dealership. Kay, Blanche, and Evans (as well as Ianda, who I spoke with later) are all the ground-level employees for Customer Service. Tracey is a supervisor in Customer Service. Yolanda is the manager of Customer Service. Yolanda's equal on the Dealership side is Odalys. Above them is the director Diane Karpinski, and beyond her is the president Lauren Belfiore. The company is owned by Harry Bleiwise, but apparently he has little to do with the day-to-day operations. When I began asking for extensions and email addresses, Kay became nervous and said she would have to confer with a manager. Again, against my wishes, she put me on hold. This time, I hung up. I called back and reached Ianda (pronounced EE-anda), who I presumptuously mistook for Yolanda, thinking that I had finally, through some chance encounter with serendipity, reached a person of importance. She, too, refused to give me extensions or email addresses, putting me on hold. But this time there was music, so I decided to give it a chance. Lo and behold, a few minutes later, I had reached the mythical Odalys.

She recalled my situation and expressed some kindness regarding everything. I expressed the main points of my mission: to find the contact info of the people in charge, to find out how two bikes with the same VIN could be added to a single policy, and, of course, to get down to the rock bottom truth about what exactly was taking my refund so long to arrive. The refund had been ordered, she explained, pointing out that it was just company policy to wait 30-45 days. I failed to ask why it hadn't been deemed a top-priority, and she, understandably, failed to point out that rushing it could have ever been an option. She had no answer for the VIN problem either. She stated that it was just human error, and we all make mistakes sometimes. I responded that it seemed like it was human error on the side of the dealership, but that we had been assured at that time (as well as on the phone with Kay) that upon receipt of a policy via the internet, it would be looked at by an underwriter (who Kay had said could be individually identified). She stated that online policies were automatically entered into the system without any sort of perusal, and that no such fail-safes existed. As I tired of her ceaseless excuses and her annoying habit of changing the subject whenever presented with a question she couldn't/wouldn't answer, I focused back to trying to complete my "family tree" of the hierarchy of Rider Insurance. She refused to give me any email addresses or telephone extensions other than her own (odecicco@ridewithrider.com and *228), only going so far as to confirm the [what turned out to be a mis-] spelling of "Belfiore". She was hesitant to even give me her email address, later stating that she had broken company protocol by sharing it with me, although she then, confusingly, stated that company policy with regards to a complaint was to request the complaint in writing, either mailed or via e-mail. She said I could email her any complaints I had and that she would forward them along to the higher-ups. I pointed out that, due to this particular conversation and my dissatisfaction with the forseen results, the possibility existed that it would be critical of her as well, and asked her point-blank whether she would be editing my letter for content, or even grammar, before passing it on. She said "I can't say either way", refusing to guarantee that my complaint would reach her superiors unadulterated. I responded that I, understandably, was not comfortable with this scenario and that I would prefer to get in touch with them personally, without being forced to go through a biased middleman. She repeatedly refused, unconvincingly backtracking to say that she wouldn't edit my correspondence. I again expressed my discomfort and she refused any other options.

In the meantime, having grown bored with the unending back-and-forth and repeated circular arguments I was being forced into, I began checking out Facebook. On a whim I searched "Odalys DeCicco", finding who I can only assume was the person on the other end of the line. I told her that I was on there and asked if this was her picture, with the black hat and the silver necklace. She said she didn't remember what image she had chosen to serve as her image to general public. Feeling confident that I did have the correct person (based on her own admission of the uniqueness of her name, and later confirmed by her membership as a fan of the "Rider Insurance" Facebook page), I pointed out that her close-up photo had been cropped in such a way as to also showcase another female's cleavage directly behind her (image below). She said she was not comfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. I apologized and we ended the call shortly thereafter.

So here we are a month after we began. I'm still waiting for my refund. I've spent hours on the phone dealing with a company whose Customer Service Department is painfully ineffectual and doesn't even have a system for handling complaints. They refuse to allow contact to their upper management, fail to give consistent responses to questions, and seem to make up and subsequently break company rules to serve their own purposes. It's been terrible. I want to cancel my policy, but by considering how hard it has been to get them to give me a refund so far, I feel like trying to get the rest of my money back would be an effort in futility, so I shall simply carry my policy until it expires, maximizing on all opportunities to take advantage of the services offered. Perhaps they will even succeed in keeping me around by finding a way to make ammends for the hours of anger, frustration, and time wasted. But in keeping with Rider Insurance's philosophy of friendship and loyalty, I have taken what information (however correct or incorrect) I have received and I have compiled this [possibly] helpful little guide to recognizing and reaching your friendly Rider Insurance staff:

The email addresses other than Odalys' were guessed based on the format I found for other employees, [first initial][last name]@ridewithrider.com. There also seems to be a format for the phone extensions: 21x for the higher-ups, 22x for the Customer Service, and 24x for Dealership, although another employee mentioned that the organization isn't quite so rigid.



* This is a vehicle insurance company. Each policy is going to have, at the very least, a person and a vehicle. Doesn't it seem like the most basic rule of thumb for these policies would be "Don't allow either the same person nor the same vehicle to be listed twice". Example:

1. Person A with Vehicle X - OKAY!
2. Person A and Person A with Vehicle X - NO!
3. Person A with Vehicle X and Vehicle X - NO!

I understand that once you get to the point where you're insuring multiple people for the same vehicle (which apparently isn't necessary, either) or multiple vehicles to one person it can all get a little convoluted, but shouldn't there be some sort of fail-safe? "If [VIN] = [VIN]: Reject"?


***
Sources:
*
http://www.state.nj.us/dobi/division_insurance/solvency/finexam_rpt34509rider.pdf
*
http://www.insurancenetworking.com/issues/2008_63/insurance_technology_business_analytics_data_management-12591-1.html?pg=2
*
http://www.ridewithrider.com/

Overheard at Work

Two of my coworkers were just discussing the merits of various kinds of cigarettes and cigars, coming to a unanimous conclusion.

"But menthols, they just remind me of high school. People not inhaling and just blowing the smoke."

"...and that's why nobody who smokes menthols can be doing it for the flavor! That's why I smoke cloves and cigars. They have flavor."

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

I am Awesome

I recently looked back through my many blog entries and as I read musing after musing, wonderful insight after wonderful insight, I realized something profound:

I am an amazingly awesome person.

It hadn't really struck me before, but somehow I've had thrillingly genius viewpoints about everyday things, and my writings about them remain interesting and intriguing. Not all of them, of course, but so many that I just went on reading and reading, late into the night, my mind being blown over and over by how vastly superior my writings are in real life to how I imagined them to be. How I managed to become this fabulous writer is beyond me, but somewhere along the way I replaced sad, introspective me with unequivocal genius I am today, spreading wit and awesomeness throughout the world. It truly makes me feel bad for not updating more often, like I'm withholding something from everyone else. The inner-workings of my mind should be shared with all.

The trouble is work. It's too distracting, not only during the block of time from 8am to 5pm that I'm paid to be there*, but in the off-time as well. I get home and I'm completely drained. I have no time to catch up on current events when I'm home, and at work I have breaks between calls (which would probably amount to a substantial chunk of time) but it's divided into uselessly small increments. I'm repeatedly made aware of a new call by a beep in my ear. You know who else had beeps in their ears? Smart people in Harrison Bergeron:

And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.

And you know what? It works. Knocks the thoughts clear out of your head. I can't even write a decent email at work because it takes me 8 tries to write a single sentence. By the time I finish, I've forgotten how it began. It's terrible. Nothing like spending years learning how to think, only to get a job where it's frowned upon. Today I spoke with a customer who was on his second payment and 10 days past due. He was telling me that he can't pay until the 5th of the month (at 20 days past due), and that it will stay this way unless we change his due date. I explained that he wouldn't be able to change the due date until he brought the account current. He dismissed it and say it was all our fault and that this was how it would be paid. I kindly pointed out that he would be accruing additional interest, getting phone calls every month, and that being that late early in the loan would put him at higher risk of being reviewed for repossession later. We went back and forth until he yelled at me for being "rhetorical". I asked him what he meant and he said "You just keep repeating yourself over and over."

Now mine is not a confident intelligence. As he went off on my rhetoric, I took the opportunity to verify my inkling that he was misusing the word**, looking up the definition online and then pointing out that "rhetorical" is not a synonym for "redundant". I gave him that benefit of the doubt while I looked it up, though, thinking that maybe, JUST MAYBE, this man who can't make his second car payment knows some obscure archaic definition. But he didn't. And I was right. And I mentioned it calmly as an aside. And he asked for my supervisor.

But it was a small victory and I relished in once again reminding myself that I am the Lord and Master of my humble phone line. I bow to no one, and no one dares approach my throne.






*Which I don't begrudge them for. They're paying me for my attention and mad collecting skillz, and during those many mindless hours, I am their indentured servant, plowing their fields and getting only the smallest share of the crops to take home.

**At least he didn't say that I was being so "ignorant" to him. Oooh, I hate it when they misuse ignorant.

Ragin' Ranch Discussion

Hi, Dan,

I was going to drop off an empty bag of 'Raging Ranch' potato chips while on break, because I figured the visage of a hot pepper wearing shades and playing guitar (you could tell he was playing and not just posing.....there was a musical note above it) might be an inspiration. But the area downstairs and all those people I kind of know but not really scares me, and I didn't see you (you may be off today, or hiding behind some pillar).

Anyway, maybe next time.

Andy [Andy's Last Name]

***

Mr. [Andy's Last Name],

Tales of your kindness abound, but having never been on the receiving end of a tangible gift, I took them with a grain of salt. Your tale, however, shows me that the Andy [Andy's Last Name] of myth and legend exists.

Let us begin with the gift in question. Some might say that the lack of chips within the bag demonstrates selfishness, but I disagree! Chips would merely take the focus away from the object of value (i.e., the bag itself). If the chips were good, they would become the new focus. If they were poor in quality and flavor, they would detract from the enjoyment of the bag in which they came. It's a double standard, as good chips do not benefit the bag, but that is simply the way things are.

A cynic might also point out that while your intentions give evidence of a "potential" kindness, the lack of empty bag on my desk counteracts this claim. "We cannot revise history to show only our intended actions," they might say. Again, I disagree with them. It is often said, although generally in jest, that "it is the thought that counts," and I feel as though this scenario exemplifies that adage. Your description, while falling greatly short of the current exchange rate of one thousand words to a single picture, still gives me a reasonable idea of the image, allowing me to understand the humor, and nuance, of the "Ragin' Ranch" guitar-playing pepper.
In conclusion, I wish to thank you for your intended kindness. I will likely join the ranks of your faithful fellows, praising your good name to others.

Sincerely,

Mr. Awesome

***

Had I left the empty bag, questions would abound about as to why someone left something that gave the impression of trash on your desk, which you would quickly discard not having a priori knowledge, of my email. And had the bag still been full of chips, it might have implied some sort of unhealthy admirer relationship. Which may have been even more unfortunate on your end when the realization came that it was myself and not some young, attractive, female.

Presuming that would be your 'thing,' of course. I wouldn't care, nor would I judge if it wasn't.

So in my view, the only alternative option here is to have left a partially eaten bag of chips. That does sound like a pretty good option for future reference, but given my current state (slightly under the weather/flemmy/etc) it may not have been seen as a gift abounding with generosity but a clear act of maliciousness.

By logical deduction, there was only one real choice.

Andy [Andy's Last Name]

***


Mr. [Andy's Last Name],

I agree whole-heartedly with your list of options. They are indeed the "inside the box" default options, and of them, you chose the best available. That said, let me put forth a new, potential solution to this sensitive situation, which would, ideally, maintain focus upon the image in question, as well as make the gift-giver's identity well-known to the receiver.
I propose that if this situation should rear its awkward head again, the ideal solution is to cut the front of the bag out and mount it upon a makeshift frame of white paper. This would be delivered with a hand-made card stating your intentions, as well as disclosing your identity.

Sincerely,

Mr. Awesome

***

Must the paper be white? By my estimation, the essence of the image would be captured best when offset by a black backing.

Otherwise, I do wholeheartedly agree with the perfection and succinctness of your thought,.

Andy [Andy's Last Name]

***

Mr. [Andy's Last Name],

Whatever color best compliments the image should be used. White just seemed to be the easiest to find.

Sincerely,

Mr. Awesome

Thursday, October 1, 2009

7 in Human Years

In November of last year, Tara and I toyed with the idea of getting a dog. For me, this meant researching every possible breed of dog I might be interested in. My ideal theoretical canine companion for years had been summed up in the description "a dog who loves me and hates everyone else". Beyond that, I wanted a good looking dog, medium to large build, with short hair. I started keeping my eyes open for dobermans and boxers available on PetFinder.com. Tara, on the other hand, did what she does best, which was to look at puppies online and fall in love with each and every one.

We kept our eyes open, waiting for the day when the perfect puppy would be available. We emailed about a few, but missed out each time. Then, while in training for my new job, I happened across a listing on Petfinder. There were 7 puppies, which they had named by the days of the week, in Youngstown, OH. Two of them had rottweiler like coloring, and the rest were different, one brindle, one looking like a collie, etc. At my first chance, I called the pound and was told that they were all from the same litter, boxer-german shephard mixes, and of the two with the rottweiler coloring, one was male and one was female. Tara had requested a female, so I asked the gentleman if he could hold the puppy for us. He said he could only hold it until 7:00pm, adding that it was a kill-shelter and that if somebody came in to adopt the puppy and he turned them away, it would be on us if something happened to the puppy due to us failing to come by. With the guilt trip hanging over my head, I assured him we would be there, and we filled out the paperwork over the phone to save time when we got there.

Getting there in time would be no small feat. I got off work at 5, Tara around the same time. We were living in the Highland Park neighborhood of Pittsburgh, so by the time I got home from work it would be 5:30 or 5:45. Google Maps puts the trip to the pound at one hour and 30 minutes. Add rush hour traffic into the mix and it was going to be close.

After work, Tara and I hopped in the car and booked it to Ohio. We turned into the pound's parking lot, just as the dashboard clock turned 7:01, and hopped out. The lights were out, the door was locked, and the last employee was getting into his minivan. We stopped him, telling him that we had a dog on hold, that we drove all the way from Pittsburgh, blah, blah, blah. He reluctantly let us into the building and took us into the holding area where the animals were kept, and found our beautiful little puppy. She was only five weeks old, weighed 5 pounds, and fit in my cupped hands. As we stood there, holding and fawning over the cutest little thing in the world, the man pointed out that, unfortunately, we wouldn't be able to take her since it was too late to do the paperwork. I quickly informed him that I had done it over the phone with the other gentleman. He looked at me incredulously, but went into the office to double check.

Upon finding the paper, he tried to thwart us again, pointing out that all dogs need to be fixed
before they can be released, but then retracted the statement due to her extremely young age. Three weeks older and it would have been a mandatory trip to the vet, but her youth was our saving grace. We paid the $42.50 adoption fee (borrowing .50 from the pound employee) and carried out our newest family member.

We hadn't planned ahead, so we stopped at a Target on the way home. I carried her in my coat and we picked up some food, a harness, a leash, and some toys. People ooh'd and ahh'd at her, although the best reaction was from a father who replied, to his daughter's cooing about how cute our puppy was, "they get bigger."

But for now, she was still just a tiny little puppy. The first few nights, we tried to teach her to sleep in her crate, assuring each other that we wouldn't give in and be those people who let their dog sleep in the bed. But after hearing her whine and cry and bark, we relented and allowed a third member into our bed. She romped here and there. She was so small that she couldn't make it up the steps into the apartment on her own so we would have to pick her up and carry her. In the mornings, she would run around and "help" us get ready. When I would take my morning constitutional, "Puppy", as we referred to her, would curl up in the crotch of my pajama pants.

She was "Puppy" for quite a while. We didn't want to give her a name prematurely, only to find it unsuitable as she grew up. Before long, however, we felt that we were familiar enough with her personality to begin thinking of a proper title. Nothing seemed to fit. She was cute and feminine in her beauty, yet too stoic and proud in her stance and coloring for a name like "Tulip" or "Sunshine". And we hoped her to be large, another issue with cutesy names. Add our hope to come up with something similar enough to "Puppy" that it wouldn't be a huge jarring change from the sound that we'd [temporarily] found for her. In the end, Tara came up with it.

"What about Abby?"
"That's a good one."
"We could give her a middle name, too. Like Winters. That's got a nice ring to it, Abby Winters. Do you like that?"
"Yeah, that's nice. Sounds familiar, though. Doesn't that sound familiar?"
"Kind of, I guess."
"It does. Where do I know the name Abby Winters from??"

We kept the name, despite the fact that a quick Google search solved the mystery of where I knew the name from [nsfw].

Quickly, we started noticing Abby getting bigger. She was able to make it up the steps unaided. Not only could she keep up with us on walks, but now she was outpacing us (not to mention pulling!). Where she could once walk under our coffeetable without taking notice, she became distinctly aware of its presence after hitting her head time and time again. Her first toy was a small foam PNC-football that she could barely fit her little puppy teeth around. Eventually, though, she lost her baby teeth, and her new fangs were more than enough to tear the poor little football to shreds.

Just as our little puppy changed, our family grew as well. A new kitty, the distinguished Admiral Goonie-face of the S.S. Polyphemus, joined our clan, as did the canine expatriate, Jack (whose name was changed from Jacques as he went through the immigration station). We moved from our ritzy one-bedroom apartment in swanky Highland Park, to our monstrous house. As we worked to build it into a home, Abby and the other pets stood beside us, supporting our move and helping to make our household a warm one, full of love. Here's to it continuing for many years.

Happy First Birthday, Abby!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

G-20 Update

I found it!

At least, I think I found it, after a minutes minutes perusal. A site that is providing me with constant updates of the protests, including a twitter feed! YAY!!!!

http://indypgh.org/g20/