Yes, extended warranties can save you money

BUT the hassle can be a serious investment of time and effort

Back on November 1^st the unthinkable happened: a fire broke out in the dryer. Aside from a vague burning odor, I was clueless until the buzzer went off. Opening the door I was immediately greeted by a billow of smoke and a torrent of wispy still-burning ashes.  

So what to do? Panic, of course. My first impulse was to get the situation rectified before Husband woke up from his nap. Fortunately he was really tired from yard work. I had time to do some online consumer research and poll the nearest stores for the desired model. As fortune would have it, Lowe’s had it on sale. It was in stock and could be delivered the next day. I gave them a card number. It was over. I started to breathe again.

That evening, realizing I could never hide a major appliance delivery, I confessed. Husband was astonishingly calm. The dryer was, after all, on extended warranty. It would simply be replaced. Wha-a-a-a-t?? OMG.

I called Lowe’s to cancel everything. Not that easy. I had to show up in person and have my card run before they could credit it back. Off and running.  The guy in appliances remembered my frantic phone call and directed me to the service desk up front. The clerk there was clueless, but after a bit of back-and-forth with Appliances, it got handled.

Then, since the place where we bought the now-smoldering dryer (Best Buy) would still be open for another hour, I next dashed over there. And that’s where it started.  

At this particular Best Buy, the Major Appliance Dept. is managed by a wholly owned subsidiary but run as a separate company. And they had absolutely no idea what to do. Customer Service, however, gave me a number to call to schedule repairs. Couldn’t we skip that step? The dryer was obviously beyond all help. Perhaps, but they needed to hear that from an authorized representative. Okay.

Bright and early Monday morning I was on the phone. The first opening available was Tuesday. A week from Tuesday, that is. Between 12 and 4. My hamper runneth over.

By 4:45 on the appointed day, the man finally showed and pronounced the dryer dead at the scene. So what’s next? He’d make his report. I should get a call sometime tomorrow.

The call came. I was issued a confirmation number to take to Best Buy along with the sheet of paper the repairman gave me. Off and running.

Again, blank stares at the major appliance dept. So I got in line at Customer Service. When it was my turn, I discovered I should’ve been in the Geek Squad line. When my turn came again, the agent took me back to Customer Service, explained things to a girl who was still helping someone else. I waited. 

When my turn came, she called back the Geek who then called someone from Major Appliances and the three conferred. Ah! First, they needed to pick up the remains of the old dryer. Then I could get a new one ordered. Are you freakin’ kidding me??

Another hasty conference. Ah! I could go to another store where appliances are handled directly by Best Buy. They could exchange the new for the old on the same day. Road trip.

The line at this store was only 5 deep, but when it was my turn I found the agent had never handled anything like this before. He called the supervisor, who was also training everyone else manning the counter. Bit by bit, the procedure got pulled together. Soon I was sent off with an appliance salesgirl to select from models deemed comparable to our burnt up Whirlpool.

So here’s the thing: what you get is a credit equal to the price of the old dryer.  Said charred hulk was purchased in 2003,  so guess what. Still, you don’t get a clothes dryer for just under $200 these days, though you must also consider extended warranty renewals which totaled $170. Anyway, another Whirlpool was chosen and delivery scheduled for Friday – exactly 2 weeks after the fire.

Bottom line:  (finally!) The deal is worth it if (A) you have sufficient time and energy at your disposal, (B) there’s a laundromat within 5 miles, OR (C) you have an ample supply of underwear.

But don’t think I didn't have many a fond thought of the Maytag that Lowe’s could’ve delivered immediately.

The Cuckoo’s Calling, by Robert Galbraith

(Of course, we all know by now that’s just an ill-advised pseudonym for J. K. Rowling…)

Hulking, disreputable-looking private eye Cormoran Strike is pretty much at the end of the road. His gorgeous girlfriend has kicked him out for the final time, he’s out of clients, he’s deeply in debt, and his prosthetic leg is giving him hell. As he contemplates living in his office, up the steps to his door comes comely and competent Robin, sent by a temp agency that assumes he wants to replace the departed secretary. Strike neglected to tell them he simply can’t afford one anymore.

Unnerved by the unexpected appearance of a pretty girl eager to work for a private investigator, Strike excuses himself to the back office. After pulling himself together, he marches back out to explain the mistake. But in the meantime, Robin has organized the desk, straightened the reception area, taken a few phone calls, and ushered in a well-heeled client.

Robin continues to make herself indispensable as Strike launches into his new case: the death of a supermodel, known informally to her cohorts as “Cuckoo,” that the police have ruled a suicide. Her brother hires Strike to prove it was murder.

J. K. Rowling

And so we enter both the glamorous and seamy side of London’s fashion scene. Interwoven subplots carry us off in all directions: family secrets, legal conflicts, suspicious friends and fans, scandal, etc. Rowling, as we well know, knows how to blindside her readers!

But the end is satisfying, even though issues remain unresolved with Robin’s fiancé. After all, it wouldn't be realistic if things were too tidy!

I would have to say that it’s a romping good read, even though the magic is missing. I never felt as pulled into this adventure as I was into Hogwarts. But then, there will never be the equal of Harry Potter.

Honoring Our Veterans

It began as Armistice Day on 11 November 1918

Soldiers of the 353rd Infantry near a church at Stenay, Meuse in France. This photo was taken at 10:58 a.m., on November 11, 1918, two minutes before the armistice ending World War I went into effect.

It was a day that marked the end of World War I, the most widespread and destructive “war to end all wars” ever known.

Capt. K. J. Fagan, USMC

Then came WW II, which saw even greater mobilizations of soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen. (Pictured are my father-in-law and uncle, both of whom served in the Pacific.) So in 1954, as yet more aggressions were fought in Korea, the word “Armistice” was replaced by “Veterans” and it became a day to honor American veterans of all wars. Of course more conflicts followed and are continuing with no end in sight. By now we understand that the only war that will end all wars would require the annihilation of all living things!

You can supplement this bare bones history on the well-written webpage of the U. S. Department of Veterans Affairs. You’ll find this holiday went through many more twists and turns than I’ve recorded here.

Cpl. Ralph T. Odle, USMC

But the point is: it seems that it’s always the best of us who die for the rest of us.  Young, strong, brave, disciplined and highly trained above any normal standard, they serve and suffer while we bake our apple pies, tweet, and idolize sports figures and Hollywood stars.

But this is the day to honor our warriors, and indeed we must. Now and forever.

Don’t forget to put out your flag.

Why all the pain and side effects for the sake of health?

And I’m talkin’ totally a-symptomatic here!

Several years ago, due to a mis-read echo-cardiogram, I ended up in the care of a cardiologist. Even though the threat proved bogus, I was thereafter locked into quarterly appointments (with specialist co-pays!) that involved all sorts of tests, x-rays, radioactive injections, scans and readings “just to be sure.” Can’t be too careful, after all. Balderdash.

AND anyone in a cardiologist’s care must swallow 4 (count ‘em) 4 antibiotic pills one hour before a dental appointment. For most of us, only one produces rather miserable side effects. Imagine the all-day ickyness following four.

And how many of you have endured a colonoscopy? Just the two-day prep is pure hell. Then there’s the recovery from the anesthesia. Granted, colon probs are rampant in the population. But if it’s not in your genes, and you have zero symptoms, WTF? Once was enough for me, thank you.

Don’t even get me started on mammograms. It’s been proven by now they cause more potential harm than benefit (surprise, surprise) but it’ll be another generation before the insurance companies accept that.

For a lot of us, flu shots can bring on low-grade fevers, but this is one thing (except in a few catastrophic cases) that the preventive benefits for a whole year far outweighs momentary discomfort. I never miss one.

But in the main, it occurs to me that we spend a heck of a lot of time being sick in the name of being well.

Epic Snowball Fights

My fave is the international snow war staged by Coca Cola® at the Olympic Village 3 years ago. But the biggest on record involved 10,000 Confederate soldiers.

Of course it’s still autumn. And all my northern friends and relatives are plastering their Facebook pages with idyllic foliage photos just to make me crazy. I swear one of these years I’m going to totally freak and start painting palm trees.

Now here comes the December issue of mental_floss with all these esoteric snow stories and I’m doomed to yet another season of homesick misery. And it’s only October.

Anyway…what caught my eye is an article entitled “Most Epic Snowball Fight Ever” with illustration to match – both uncredited. But here’s the gist of the story:

Southern soldiers, driven far from home in the cause of battle, were seeing snow for the first time. It didn't take long for them to discover the possibilities. Things came to a head on January 29, 1863 in Virginia’s Rappahannock Valley. With a two-foot snowfall impeding action with the Yanks, an intramural snowball fight unfolded.

It started with the First and Fourth Texas Infantry Divisions launching a sneak attack on the Fifth. Then the Texans united to spring an assault on the Third Arkansas. Each vanquished unit joined forces with their vanquishers to take on yet other units. Soon the snow battle was raging out of control, escalating to snow covered rocks and cannonballs.

Needless to say, commanding officers put an end to the fun, and snowy warfare was henceforth banned in all Rebel camps.

But the best snow battle in my lifetime was that epic Coke event at the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics. You gotta watch it! A Canadian athlete gets a Coke knocked from his hand by falling snow. Thinking it was a nearby group of Swedes, he fires one off. The conflict quickly brings in France, Russia, USA, Japan, South Korea and Jamaica. It’s an unimaginable blizzard of snowballs flying every which way. Pure genius on the part of Coke’s ad agency. Cracks me up every time.

 

Okay (sigh) time to go water the flower beds.

Support Your Local Hole-in-the-Wall

Totally unique and unexpected treats await you!

Just across a two-lane blacktop from our subdivision is a most unremarkable strip center. It runs maybe half a block past a convenience store with a couple of generic gas pumps.

At one end is the immediately successful family donut shop, famous for jalapeño kolaches. Next in line – and dominating the strip – is Koala Kare, our grandson’s after-school venue. Then comes a mani-pedi salon, Vinny’s Pizza, and a dental office. It all ends against the neighborhood’s jogging path.

Not until two days ago, when my daughter-in-law was stuck at work and I had to run pick up the boys, did I discover Vinny’s. At first I was simply grateful they were there - just walk a few steps from the daycare and order pizza. Quality doesn’t matter in a feeding emergency.

But…surprise! The pizza was outstanding. The sauce tasted homemade, the cheese was real, and the crust? OMG. Not that artery-clogging deep-dish pan variety. Not the cracker-textured thin crust. And not just the traditional stuff, either. It was the lightest, fluffiest bread ever.

My point is this: don’t shy away from unlikely places in favor of the chains. Yes, I know it’s nice to order online and know exactly what you’re getting. No surprises. But every now and then, why not be surprised? Where else but at some highly individualized Mom&Pop will you find specialty subs called “Just Don’t Give A Ham” or “Bacon the Law” or, for heaven’s sake, “Vinny’s Knuckle Sandwich?”

You want an all-meat pizza? Check out the “4-Getta-Bout-It:” pepperoni, Italian sausage, Bacon, and ham. Got a weird kid that only wants a plain cheese? Let him chomp on a small “Cheese Outa My League” with mozzarella, provolone, parmesan, ricotta, and feta. You won’t find that at your average Pizza Hut.

So, all you stick-in-the-muds, get out there and explore. Try that little place on the corner. You might find something wonderful that exists nowhere else.

A Tribute to the Bum

The sports world lost a great coach and colorful character October 18

Bum Phillips was a huge part of Houston life in the 1970s and remains a favorite to this day. A moment of silence was held for him at Reliant Stadium last night before the UH-BYU game. After going through quite a number of videos and articles, I found the NFL webpage to be the most complete. Below are verbatim segments:

Bum Phillips, the folksy Texas football icon who coached the Houston Oilers during their Luv Ya Blue heyday and also led the New Orleans Saints, died Friday. He was 90.

Born Oail Andrew Phillips Jr. in 1923 in Orange, Phillips was a Texas original in his blue jeans, boots and trademark white Stetson -- except at the Astrodome or any other dome stadium because he was taught it was disrespectful to wear a hat indoors.

"Mama always said that if it can't rain on you, you're indoors," Phillips said.

Phillips loved the Oilers and when coaching the team in the 1970s, he famously said of the Cowboys: "They may be 'America's Team,' but we're Texas' team."

Fans loved his no-nonsense demeanor and were entertained by his often blunt comments.

"Football is a game of failure," Phillips was quoted as saying. "You fail all the time, but you aren't a failure until you start blaming someone else."

Among his best Bumisms: "There's two kinds of coaches, them that's fired and them that's gonna be fired." On Miami Dolphins coach Don Shula: "He can take his'n and beat your'n and take your'n and beat his'n." On Campbell's inability to finish a mile run: "When it's first-and-a-mile, I won't give it to him."

(I remember an ad he did a few years ago for the Houston Chamber of Commerce: “What’s the best time to visit Houston? Any day that ends in a ‘Y’!”)

Phillips played football at Lamar Junior College before joining the Marines during World War II. After the war he went to Stephen F. Austin where he played two more football seasons before graduating with a degree in education in 1949.

Phillips picked up the nickname Bum as a child when his younger sister couldn't pronounce brother correctly and it sounded like bum. He embraced the nickname and was quoted as saying: "I don't mind being called Bum, just as long as you don't put a you in front of it."

"Bum is gone to Heaven," son Wade Phillips tweeted Friday night. "Loved and will be missed by all -- great Dad, Coach, and Christian."