I can remember pretty clearly when my mom came upon a meditation in one of her books, which recommended having someone read and record it for later listening. I was there when she asked my dad to record it for her, and told him that he had the most soothing voice she had ever known. I was maybe twelve years old, and I was deeply touched by that. So my dad busted out the audio equipment and recorded his voice over some of my mom’s favorite soothing music: the original score to the movie Somewhere In Time (Side A), and the one from Out of Africa (Side B). With bonus Claire de Lune, and one or two other classical pieces.

The original intention was for her to listen to it during radiation and chemo treatments, but she ended up listening to the tape fairly often while meditating at home, when sickness would wash over her. My dad bought her a top-of-the-line Sony Walkman, and went through a fairly exhaustive list of earbuds to get some that would comfortably fit her rather-small ears. (As a side note, this Walkman-and-earbuds combination was elevated to Deeply Cherished Possession status for me after my mom died in ‘92. When they eventually started malfunctioning, I’ll admit there were more than a few tears shed. I currently own a set of yellow “sport” earbuds solely because I researched and found that they are the only model Sony still sells which are of the same design my mom used.)

Somewhere along the way, my dad asked me to dub a copy of the tape, just in case it got worn out or eaten by the deck. So, for years, I’ve had a copy of this tape (with my own writing on the label), but for a mixture of reasons (A. I was a teenager who didn’t like classical music, and B. I don’t think I was ready to listen or understand) I never listened to it. Several years ago, when my dad passed away and I was going through his house, I found the original tape, which has my dad’s handwriting on the label. I filed it away in a safe place because, having just lost my dad too, I really wasn’t ready to listen to it.

At some point last year, I popped it into my tape deck and fast-forwarded through to see if I could hear any narration — just to make sure I wasn’t cherishing a tape of two movie soundtracks — and I didn’t hear anything but classical overtures. I was a bit crestfallen, and decided to put the tape away for another time.

Yesterday, while packing up my stuff to head to Sacramento to visit Rebecca, I decided to listen to it in the car. About five minutes into the music, a voice came in. He spoke confidently and clearly, and in soothing tones. He was reassuring, peaceful and loving.

But I couldn’t tell for sure if it was my father’s voice. And that hurt.

I listened to all of Side A, thinking all the while “naaaaawww…is it?!” Because this voice sounds higher-pitched than I remember, and…honestly, I don’t remember my dad being from Fargo, North Dakota. So I kept listening, and imagined that maybe this was a pre-recorded meditation that was included with my mom’s book (did they even have that back then?). And I started just listening in a way that allowed me to be there with my mom while she healed herself. And I cried in traffic.

When it flipped to Side B, I got ready to listen for nuances in the voice, to again try to place my father’s voice. And for just a minute, I again decided it wasn’t him. But then, a few sentences in, I heard a few familiar pronunciations, and the phrase “unlock the door” was what sealed it: this was my father’s voice. My twenty-plus-years-ago Dad, a man who did not yet know what it was like to have battled cancer with the love of his life. A man who did not yet know the feeling of telling his children their mother would die. A man who did not yet know a decade without her.

And I realized that I probably just never heard my dad speak at such great length before, especially in those “pleasing tones,” and especially not when he was only 40 years old. He was always a casual conversationalist, quick with a laugh, and prone to clearing his throat in a distinctive way. Maybe I was listening too closely for the laugh, and that’s why I didn’t recognize him. But there it is, clear as day: this is my father, speaking to my mother, leading her into peaceful and loving contemplation. It’s a beautiful thing to hold on to, and to almost participate in, years after they’re both gone.

Now I’m eager to head home, to dig my tape deck out of the closet and dub these recordings into MP3, to share them with my brother and sister, my aunt, and my uncle. My love to you all.

Most of the debates I get into lately seem to be with people who share a common thread in their logic. The specter of “socialism” looms large and scary; redistribution of wealth (or anything that resembles it) is an abhorrent notion; the word “entitlement” is used with dripping disdain for the needy and/or infirm. Plus, they’re often Christian. But fuck that “brother’s keeper” shit.

We rule. America, FUCK YEAH! We kick ass, and freedom is the BEST! If you don’t agree with such-and-such, then you must hate FREEDOM! You point the finger at companies that make money, so you must hate capitalism! Go live in a socialist country, comrade.

Americans are the best people on Earth! But I don’t trust any of them to refrain from leeching off the system. Fuck those assholes. I’m not gonna let my tax dollars form a big teat for them to suck on. Eat shit, poor people. Get a job. DIAF and GTFO.

But yeah, America RULES! We kick ass, and we spread freedom to the countries who need it! But man, I sure don’t trust the government, those evil fucks are trying to steal all the power they can get their hands on, so they can create a permanent ruling class, and ultimately enslave us all. Michele Bachmann told me so.

For what purpose, I have no fucking idea. But that whole “free healthcare” stuff they do in Canada and England and France and every other industrialized nation sounds like evil just waiting to happen. Either that, or it’ll bankrupt us. Because I don’t trust our government to do anything right. But America IS THE BEST.

Honestly, my dream right now? Bring back the “lady” and the “gentleman.” Because really, the world of political discussion is taking on a decidedly “YouTube comments thread” patina, and it’s turning my fucking stomach. The only rational political discussions I ever have anymore are with people who already think like I do. That’s not good.

Yep. That’s my mom.

There will likely be more comments in the thread, and I’ll update this post accordingly. I just wanted to share this before the day is out:

Starting with my friend Peter’s message that accompanied the video, here’s the conversation that ensued. A couple of other tangents also happened in the same comment thread, but I’ve only included the conversation in which I participated:

You, right there, YOU might be a conservative person and I heartily applaud your views. But, if you’ve been swallowing bullshit from lying sacks of shit like Michael Duvall, I really have to wonder what kind of misguided, riddled-with-conflict-of-interest horseshit you’ve gotten used to being spoon-fed throughout your life.

I know that Democrats also get caught with their pants down, but the balance seems to be heavily tipped toward the Republican party, and has been for years. I don’t care so much that he was screwing around. I care that he was screwing around with a lobbyist for an energy company, and that he’s the vice chair of the Committee on Utilities & Commerce.

I’m working on a new website. Our designer made a really nice design for the client. In the “About Us” section, they’ve got a page for each member of the organization. The design features two photos of the person:

1. a professional mugshot, which goes in the right sidebar
2. a more candid “action” photo, something that shows the person is a human

Apparently, the client didn’t hear the word “candid,” so each of the “action” photos is just another close-up face photo. Their clothes are more casual, like they’re having coffee with an old friend on the back porch. Most of them are looking out-of-frame with a smile on their face, as if they’re chuckling at something vaguely amusing.

The effect, really, is that they look like they’re gazing lovingly at the other photo of themselves in the sidebar.

See, I kinda live on a major thoroughfare in Oakland. Pretty much every night of the week, I can count on a loud, belligerent drunk walking down my street, shouting obscenities to no one in particular. Or a jilted lover (or, y’know, similar) loudly badmouthing that ho what did her wrong. Within a week, I bought a table fan. Needed the background noise.

But the thing that got to me was happening during the day. From somewhere in the neighborhood, there was…a whistling. Every five seconds or so, there was what sounded like the squealing of worn out brake pads. At first, I thought maybe it was one of those rotating vent pods that you find on the roofs of older buildings. I can see a bunch of them from my window, but none of them seem to spin at the same frequency as the whistling. I thought about walking around the neighborhood to look for the source…but what would I do if I found it? Offer to go up to someone’s roof to lube their vent? Ehh…not in this neighborhood.

Then, I thought maybe it was a retarded child in the neighborhood. It really did sound as if a person was just sitting around on a porch, whistling every 3-5 seconds, and only during daylight hours. But, I thought, nah, that just can’t be. What parent would let that happen? I dunno, I never quite dismissed the notion, but I didn’t see it as very likely, either.

I did feel a little better one day, when I parked my car in Berkeley, had my windows rolled down, and I thought I heard the same noise for a minute or two. Made me think it was maybe a type of bird that was nesting somewhere nearby. After that, I just kinda ignored it for a week or so. I did, however, figure out that it was coming from up the street, rather than down the street as I had first guessed. One day, while walking home from the BART station, I clearly heard it coming from a particular street.

About a week after that, I finally found out exactly where the whistling was coming from, and it exceeded all of my expectations for awesomeness. Ladies and gentlemen, the whistling that I hear on my block, every 3-5 seconds of every single day of the week comes from…

Johnie the Watermelon King.

I shit you not.

Johnie (apparently, he’s the king of watermelons) has a small shop down the street. It’s a fenced-in lot with a tiny building the size of an outhouse, and a party tent. Under this tent, on any given day, you will see three or four old black men sitting around a folding table, shootin’ the shit, waitin’ for someone to come along and buy a watermelon. Look a little closer, and you’ll notice that one of these gentlemen, every time he breathes out, contorts his face just a little bit. His jaw juts forward a little bit, his tongue goes up to the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth, and his exhaling breath becomes…a whistle.

At first, I thought, maybe he’s just trying to get people’s attention, so they’ll buy watermelons. Hell, I even thought that maybe he owns the auto shop next door, too…so maybe he’s trying to fool people who stop at the traffic light that they need a brake job. But, alas, he even does it when the gates are closed and he’s just sweeping up in the back.

Either way, I figured I’d at least be happy to finally know. But jesus, how cool is it that it’s coming from the frickin’ watermelon king?

Now, the truth is, as soon as I saw her walk out with that binder, I was ready for her to flip to a few pages and start telling me things I didn’t know. I thought, “finally, someone who’s not going to talk to me like I’m a child.” Well, for those of you who knew anything about Betsy before now, my sincerest apologies for being such a ridiculous optimist.

As you’ll see in the video, Betsy didn’t even have any post-it notes on any pages. She had no intention of reading anything from that binder, and I’m honestly surprised there was anything but blank pages in there. It was a prop. She is a patronizing, condescending panderer, and Stewart was an absolute saint for not tearing into her like he did with Jim Cramer.

The thing about props — like Betsy’s big binder — is that they either need to support your cause, or you really need to not bring them. Because if they don’t support your cause, then there’s a very strong chance that they will destroy your credibility if the people you’re talking to are paying you any mind.

To be fair, I’m glad she brought that binder, because she did teach me something that I needed to know. In her words, “the really scary” parts reside between pages 425 and 432. And because I’m a skeptic, I’ll assume that if Jon hadn’t mentioned the page numbers, Betsy wouldn’t not have mentioned them. But since the page numbers were mentioned, she made a big show of flipping open her huge binder, ruffling to certain pages, and then reading exactly none of what was on those pages.

“Let me tell you what it says,” came from Betsy’s lips several times, but she never once read anything of substance. She would look directly at Jon, or at the camera (god I hate that, she cares more about presenting the “right face” than about the integrity of the things she’s saying), and would spout opinion.

“…the first time I read it, I wrote ‘disgusting.’ See? ‘Disgusting.’” Well, that’s great. But I’ve read page 432, and I don’t see it as “disgusting,” I see it as an extremely rare situation in which a doctor will get a minor ding to their “quality rating” if the patient decides to change their mind about their advance directives, or if the advance directives are not carried out as the patient directed. For those of you reading this, go ahead and read the bill. No patient will ever be forced into anything, and no patient will ever be put to death. No patient will ever be refused treatment if their advance directives say one thing and they decide to do another. The whole section has nothing to do with “death panels,” has nothing “scary” or “disgusting.” I do see that doctors will be paid for consultations regarding advance directives and life sustaining treatments, and I do see that a doctor’s quality rating will get dinged if the patient’s documented wishes are not carried out as prescribed. But Betsy and other politicians are doing everything in their political power to take relatively innocuous “penalties” (which will be very rare) and make them into not just straw men, but bogeymen, and try to scare us into submission. This is much more about hurting Barack Obama’s chances at re-election, than about protecting American citizens.

Early in the interview, when they were talking about advance directives and end-of-life consultations, Jon said “Although, the language is ‘life-sustaining’ procedures.” Of course, the first word out of Betsy’s mouth was “no,” but I counted the phrase “life sustaining” ten times from pages 426-433. It’s the topic of the section. It’s what it’s all about! I’m sorry Betsy, but your credibility is hurt merely by your speaking. That’s not a good sign.

With all the hullabaloo and rigamarole over the healthcare reform bill, there are mixed feelings all around. I’ll stay out of the political crap for now, and try to keep this brief:

If your parents are currently not deceased, and you are anywhere near my age (within ten years, let’s say), I want you to start planning, now, TODAY, to talk to them about writing up a Living Will, and a regular old Will.

My father died nearly four years ago. His first and only heart attack. One day, while I was at work in Baltimore, I got the phone call from my brother. Dad was just…gone. Some random, idle Thursday, I found out I’d never hear my father’s voice again.

Talk to your parents NOW.

My dad didn’t leave a Will. It caused heartache that you couldn’t imagine, and you can read about it in the archives of this blog. My brother had been trying to convince my dad to draw up a Will for nearly a decade, even bought some software to help the cause. For whatever reason, it just never happened. I’m sure the fear of even thinking about one’s own death can be crippling, and can cause a severe flight response.

I know some of you have parents who are similar to mine: maybe they’re simple folk, from a different time and place. Maybe a little bit of redneck in ‘em? Or maybe just a little more salty and real than most people these days. That’s great, and it’s part of why we love them so much, but it also probably means they’re stubborn. Seriously, if one decade of trying to convince my dad to write up a Will was unsuccessful, you’d better fucking start now.

I watched my mother slowly die from cancer. I’ve been living without her for seventeen years. My father died when he opened a door and entered a room. I’ve been living without him for four years. And I miss them so much, it still aches. Now, here’s the thing: I’ve seen a number of you write, on Facebook and elsewhere, things like “thank god I haven’t had to have those difficult discussions with my parents yet.” And each time I hear a new person say it, a very large part of my heart weeps for how much time you’re wasting.

Now, I don’t have any personal experience with “advance directives,” which is a fancy term that means “creating a legally binding document that tells the world what I want to happen if I can no longer speak for myself.” A friend of mine had to deal with this recently: his father — whose state of health was semi-unknown, but let’s say he was doing just fine — fell from a ladder one day, hit his head, and went into a coma and hasn’t come out. Now, ask yourself: what would you do? What could you do? Do you have any idea how to answer either of those two questions?

Just, please, talk to your parents. There will be tears. There may be yelling and denials. There may be jokes about immortality. That’s great. Laugh, cry, yell, and then get them to do something about it. And make sure they know they can change their minds whenever they want. If, today, your dad says “hell no, pull the plug on me if I’m ever a vegetable,” he might have some kind of existential epiphany next week that makes him change his mind. He can do that. Same thing with your mom, or your aunt or uncle (who are sometimes kinda the closest thing you’ve got to parents…ask me how I know) no matter what their wishes might be.

Part of the reason it’s hard to have the conversation is that we don’t really know what we’re supposed to put in a Living Will (not to be confused with a regular old Will). So, it’s probably smart to talk to your parents about consulting with their doctor. If at all possible, accompany them.

I don’t know, I guess that’s all I’ve got to say. Thanks.

But here’s the thing: even though I was raised on mass quantities of TV and movies on cable, I haven’t been “a TV-watcher” for the better part of a decade. I go to movie theaters when I can, and I occasionally flip on the TV for something specific. But I’m not a channel-surfer, I don’t have any specific shows that I MUST be at home to watch, and I generally only watch a TV series when it’s available on DVD.

But I’m recently single, after a long-term relationship didn’t work out the way I had hoped. There’s a lot of silence and empty space, and I figured I might want to sign up for TV service before I drive myself completely mad. Sure, there’s a bunch of crap on TV, but I figured I could find the diamonds in the rough, and make do.

So, I called DirecTV to talk to someone about it. And talk we did, for about ½-hour. The prices seemed higher than I liked (especially since HD service is $10 more per month, and isn’t mentioned until you start the process of signup). But I decided to go for it, and take the deal they were offering. The woman who walked me through it told me there was a 12-month commitment, but that I could cancel my service within two weeks of activation, paying only for what I’d used. Well, I thought, at least there’s that. Odds are, I figured, I’ll just enjoy the service, and that’ll be that.

Of course, after speaking to the DTV rep for ½-hour, she told me (after beginning the sign-up process) that I had to call my local provider, Consolidated Smart Systems, to create my new account. Grand. I did so.

Cut to one week later, and  I’m really disappointed at the preponderance of complete dreck that’s on all 200 channels. I like movies, I like high-quality TV shows, I like comedy…but, in one week, I wasn’t able to find enough of any of it to justify the monthly cost.

So, I did what any right-thinking individual would do: I called Consolidated Smart Systems to cancel my service. And then, I called DirecTV, since Consolidated Smart Systems is apparently unable to handle cancellations. After a handful of infuriating voice-activated prompts, I got to a DTV rep. She had a thick accent, and seemed to have no earthly idea how to wrap her head around the notion that anyone in this world would be disappointed with 200 channels of pure HD bliss. I explained to her that it turns out I’m not much of a TV person, and that the service (while exactly what I was promised, and worked just fine) was a bad fit for me. Now, I’m not exaggerating when I say she couldn’t understand. She responded as if I hadn’t spoken. She read from scripts. She offered little discounts. When that didn’t work, she told me that she could cancel my service, but I would be responsible for a cancellation fee of $20 per month, for the rest of my 12-month commitment.

“What?”

I related to her that I was told I could cancel my service within two weeks, and I’d only be billed for the service that I had used. Her response was that, no, I had only 24 hours to review the service after activation. Of course, I started to get irritated, and told her what I’d been told when I signed up. She tried offering me “deal sweeteners” again. I asked to speak to a supervisor.

Now, when I ask to speak to a supervisor, it doesn’t bother me when someone asks “why?”. My response was honest: “Because I don’t believe that you and I are understanding one another. You’re doing a good job of trying to offer me things to retain me as a customer, but this is a service that doesn’t work for me, and I need to cancel it, and I need someone to honor what I was told when I signed up.” But, even with this explanation, she refused to transfer me to a supervisor, telling me that I had not given her a reason. It took another five minutes to convince her to transfer me

I was placed on hold for another 15 minutes, and someone on their end dropped the call, presumably when trying to pick up. Now, I’m a guy who understands one very important thing about customer service: you’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re a belligerent asshole. But, at this point, my composure was waning.

I called back, and spoke to a nice, well-intentioned — albeit very young and inarticulate — dude who, again, tried to offer me deal-sweeteners to keep me on-board. I told him I’d already explained my situation to a previous CS rep, and that I’d been hung up on (or accidentally disconnected) while being transferred to a supervisor. So, I asked him to transfer me as well. He did, and was reassuringly “shepherded” my call while performing the transfer, presumably to allay some fears. I appreciated it, and regained some faith in humanity.

The “supervisor” who picked up my call was clearly under 20 years of age, was definitely chewing gum, and — if I were to hazard guess — was likely perturbed that her lunch break at the mall with her girlfriends had been cut short for this bullshit customer service call.

A few minutes later, she disconnected the call while I was mid-sentence. And seriously, honest to god, it wasn’t a “belligerent customer” situation. If anything, I was being way too polite. There was no reason for her to hang up on me. But the one thing I got from her during the conversation was this: the only option she was offering me was to cancel my service, take the $20/month penalty, and write a letter to the billing disputes department. I’d have to commit to ending my service, commit to paying $20/month for twelve months to even have the opportunity to dispute anything at all. That’s my recourse, I can take it or leave it.

So I called back, and I spoke to another person, and learned that each of these people work in what’s called the “Customer Retention Department.” This last guy I spoke with was very understanding, very apologetic for all I’d had to deal with, and had a very good understanding of the Golden Rule. And he gave me everything he could: the address for the billing disputes department; the badge numbers for all the CS reps I had spoken with; assurances that my letter would result in investigation and response.

Of course, I put all the information in a text file, didn’t quickly save it, and my laptop randomly shut down shortly thereafter, because the battery is (apparently) now kaput. Being busy at work, and with other things, it took me a couple days to get up the energy to call them again.

So, this is just big, big rant to say this: I can’t recall a single instance, in my life, of ever getting a desirable result from “writing a letter.” Tomorrow, I’ll boil this blog post down to a reasonably cordial letter to DirecTV. Will report back if anything ever happens. If I haven’t heard from them in a month, I’ll make a short post about it. This one’s long enough.