Techno-rant

Haven’t you always wondered where all your extra time and money goes?  I’ve been thinking about all our grownup toys like iPads, cell phones, and DVRs. With all these minions working for us, we should be ahead of the game. They all promise the savings as something to help our day-to-day living. Although I am no techno geek, I am a disciple at the altar of technology. I have all the basic equipment and a kid who keeps me current. Why aren’t I showing more savings, in time and money, now that I have so many things to do my thinking, shopping, bill paying, taping?

I think I’ve figured it out.  Maybe it was the $275 billed from a satellite TV company when I cancelled after the one month trial and before the year was up, even though I never got a signal. (The two holes drilled into my stucco by the installer continue to haunt me.) Or maybe it’s the $179 about which I fought for eight months when I, fool that I am, tried to do my part to reduce e-waste by fixing my own hard drive.

Have you gotten it? Does it sound familiar? I’m sure it does. You probably have a couple of title fights in your past, each complete with a file of backup paperwork the size of a novel and carrying memories of abusive (or, on the other hand, clueless) sales assistants, boxes sitting in the dining room for months (so as not to let it fall off your own personal radar), and mounds of money, retained by companies, faceless voices from the void of a phone line, punishing you for your stupidity for purchasing their product.

But I rant. Let me try to sound more logical. The ironic thing that has come to me like a blast of fresh air is this: we buy things to save time and we spend double or triple the amount of time trying to fix the deed, losing money in the process. Most of the time, it’s pretty clear-cut, such as my hard drive incident. A friend gave me a computer when she upgraded and we both knew there was no warranty left on it. When it crashed, I called the company and paid by the minute for the tech department to tell me I needed a hard drive. I ordered it and was told I had a 16-day money back guarantee. Okay, so when I got it and called the technical department, as instructed by the guarantee paperwork, the voice told me, after an hour on and off hold, in a heavy, impenetrable Indian accent, that he couldn’t help me because my computer was not under warranty. What?

Now, if it wasn’t happening to me, and if there wasn’t a lot of money at stake, and it wasn’t my money, and I hadn’t listened to an hour’s worth of hold music, and it wasn’t the second time in a year this type of idiocy happened to me, well, I would have actually LMFAO.

But it was happening to me. In other words it was personal. The way I see it, outside forces are entering the privacy of our world by our invitation and doing terrible things to us. And we are paying them a lot of money to do it, at a price low enough to purchase, yet too high to walk away from and call it a loss. And, in doing so, we allow them to steal our precious time.

So how do we correct this paradox and still surf along with everyone else in the 21st century? I mean, I love to purchase online and by phone. It makes my life easier. And we live in a world of immediate gratification, one for which, to my dismay, I have been inadvertently grooming my daughter.

Here is where we must take charge. We punish the offenders. We tell everyone we know to tell everyone they know not to use (fill in the blank). We pick and choose whom we buy from and what we buy, and learn to grow some patience about getting a few things. It beats learning it the hard way when you have to call the same number for eight months for a refund. One more thing: cut the cord. Oh, yes I did, and I’ve gone a blissful 8 months without any conversation with a cable company.

And if you get into a firefight again, repeat after me – “small claims court”.

 

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A Good Day

I am told signs from the other side are all around us but people don’t recognize them. This is one of my experiences:

This was one of many first days of school. The year before was so traumatic for Little E. But this year, she did a total 180 degrees. She was jazzed, got the teacher she wanted, had a nice friend in the same class, ready to be a fifth grader.

Her song was from American Idol, the one they played when they show the clips of who got kicked off – “Had a Bad Day” by Daniel Powter. And we have always called it her song because of when it shows up. While picking up the balloons at the florist at 8:00 a.m. on her birthday party morning, it was playing. Again the same day when we were in the Paint-a-Dream with the girls. I know it was popular but the timing was always interesting, coming up at unique but clearly appropriate moments.

I told her I would walk her to class but she just wanted to be dropped off to meet her friend. As she jumped out, I warned her that there will always be ups and downs. (“I know, mom, I know” cue eye roll.)

I turned the wheel to pull out and the song came on. I almost stopped to catch her when I figured out it was probably for me this time, telling me she will be okay this year. Then I thought about who would be trying to tell us these things. Who would use that song? It could be my dad. Never into music since Glenn Miller, quirky cute songs like that appealed to him. Or it could be Grandpa Mike, who waited years for a granddaughter after so many boys, only to die suddenly when she was 18 months old. And it could even be my mom, who obsessively worried about our futures. No matter, the message is always at the right time and taken to heart with a nod to the heavens.

American Idol has been gone for a while, and the song is now old. But it still shows up just before we realize we really need it. It is my touchstone to slow down – to stop, look, and listen for the other signs I’m missing because I am racing through my life.

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An Open Letter to my Daughter’s School District

I am a college graduate with a good secure job so I feel that I have an objective view, although how objective can anyone be when the conversation involves your own child? So I ask that you excuse my passion.

My daughter is not high risk or learning disabled. She is personable and bonded with her teachers, enough so as to get them to occasionally let her off the hook for things. She worked harder at avoiding work than doing it. She was at times bored. She doesn’t care for sports. She speaks English and she’s smart but not a self-starter, nor a high achiever, unless it is in something she passionate about. So where does she fall? Through the cracks, that’s where.

The ultimate goal of California high schools is to pass the CAHSEE (California High School Exit Exam.) It was mentioned frequently in the taped school updates on my answering machine at the end of the day. I think my daughter got 100% or close to it her sophomore year and she celebrated. While it always feels great to get a perfect score on anything (and I gave her some time to enjoy it), I told her that she is getting her perfect score on the lowered expectations of other people. I said she should aim higher than getting a great score on an exam that rewards the testers on being able to pass the maximum number of kids with a minimal amount of knowledge. Her goals should reflect the best of her.

I have nothing but admiration for the teachers. They work ridiculously hard for what they earn in money and respect. However, except for a few absolutely amazing ones, although all were very intelligent in their career choices, their knowledge of human psychology is lacking, and for that I blame the school district and the required prep courses for teachers.

You may say that teachers are only part of the equation and they need parents to work with their kids. And you may say you are doing the best you can with a minimal budget. I am a single working mother who has taken advantage of counselors, psychologists, paid tutors, used free library and museum offerings, made myself available at any time for homework or special projects, and driven everywhere and anywhere I could to help her, and I would do it all over again. Yet I feel I have dragged her through every semester for the last six years. I am exhausted but I will still admit I am not the perfect mother. Will you admit that you still have a long way to go?

I believe my daughter will go on to love education again, and I expect she will approach it with her own expectations, not lowered or compromised. She will survive your school, but is that the legacy you strive to leave?

 

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