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As most of you know, I’m British. And as such, I generally try to keep a pretty stiff upper lip about things. Not to whine unduly. And when I do whine, I try to whine at the person or people who are at the root of my dissatisfaction or unhappiness, or in the case of “things” that unsettle me, at the person or people who can actually do something about them. Thus my recent encounter with Highmark Insurance, who abruptly cancelled Mr. She’s Medicare Advantage plan because of “your failure to pay your bill for several months.” Big mistake. By the time I’d finished “whining” at them, I’d gotten matters corrected, his coverage reinstated and backdated, and an abject and fulsome apology from the Assistant to the CEO. The next day, I cancelled Mr. She’s Highmark Insurance, and signed him up with UPMC. A petty revenge, perhaps, but sweet nonetheless.
I bottle it up; maybe for too long.
If I begin to recite that in my head, hostilities are imminent.
I wish you’d met my Dad. “bottling it up” was something that he was incapable of. A trait I think he did his best to pass along. And yes, probably for too long.
Great poem. Dryden really was a genius. Some may confuse it with “Archy and Mehitabel” but that’s on them.
Sorry. I know my frames of reference are weird. But, they are what they are.
Your definition of “saucy little minx” seems to be a bit different from mine.
Well, ummm, perhaps my definition of “haha” is different from yours also.
James Gang: “Wintertime is a razor blade that the devil made it’s the price we pay for the summertime.”
Probably not.
Ouch. You got me.
This sounds like a precursor to “The Little Drummer Boy” that we had fun with last week.
St. Agnes’ Eve is January 20th, Inauguration Day every 4 years. Closer to a true Midwinter day in the Northern Hemisphere.
The weather here has been inconstant and muddy. No snow. No particularly good freeze, just endless sleety drizzle and mud. If it’s going to be winter, we should at least have winter, and not 50 shades of cold mud and penetrating damp.
Yes, I think you’re right. I took my own little rant on that subject out before I pressed “publish.” Similar message; entirely different presentation. LDB sets my teeth on edge. I think of ITBM as LDB for grown-ups.
I think that might be the most beautiful poem in the English language. I managed to nail the date, last year: http://ricochet.com/589922/archives/quote-of-the-day-lucent-syrops-tinct-with-cinnamon/
I love this part. Last week I tore apart the local Fedex staff who, for some inexplicable reason, thought it was a good idea to treat me abysmally (the best explanation I have is anti-white racism). I was incandescent. Occasionally it is nice to have a fight against idiiots just for the sheer deliciousness of it. Judging by your posts, I know you agree!
Boy howdy, do I ever. The only thing that gripes me is the amount of time I have to spend sorting these nitwits out when I could be doing something more relaxing.
I’ve written many letters for others, both in my personal life, and at work, where I was often tasked by others with writing to troublesome software vendors or incompetent bureaucrats, even outside my own area of responsibility, when someone wanted to be sure that their communication would be noticed and that something would be done about the matter at issue.
Some choice passages from my second letter to Highmark’s CEO:
They cried “Uncle” shortly thereafter, in a phone call which basically ran:
So much winning!
Lovely. And can be true for each one of us.
You do understand She that I worked in Rio Linda for 15 years and detest Rush Limbaugh because he himself lied about Rio Linda. When he first came in 198? (4) Sacramento to work at KFBK Radio, he got lost in the outskirts of town and passed through Rio Linda, and saw a car in a driveway on blocks. Which he immediately designated Rio Linda was a hick town. And he hasn’t shut up about Rio Linda since.
And we were not LIARS, because we either lived or worked in Rio Linda. It’s a pretty little rural town on the outskirts of Sacramento, you’d probably like it, sheep farmers, chicken farms, etc. Some really nice homes and ranches.
I worked in social services and when we had our 25th anniversary of being there, we invited Rush to the party. We even sent him a T-shirt we had made up. He did not acknowledge the invitation, nor sent a thank-you for the shirt. Of course the motto on the shirt stated “We’d rather work in Rio Linda” stamped across an outhouse.
A number of my readers have sent me messages–three by text, one by courier, and one by telegram–to ask me to weigh in on the Rio Linda controversy.
I confess that I’ve been distracted recently by classical Cambodian poetry and the theory of Supply and Demand as expressed in tabular form by Israel Kirzner, and it seems that I failed to notice when the Rio Linda debate caught fire.
I hope you all will give me a few days to catch up. My plan is to find out first what Rio Linda is, and then who Rush Limbaugh is, and finally to feed all the data into my computerized climate change model, running on my IBM Portable PC, and let you know the correct opinion on this urgent subject.
Yes, sweet Kay, I do understand that. But Rush Limbaugh, in one of his previous incarnations, was “Jeff Christie,” a Pittsburgh DJ I listened to in my misspent youth, and who I still have a soft spot for. (In addition, a former Ricochet member, and the only person I’ve ever known who was actually from the same “Cape Giradeau” area as the Limbaugh family says he’s a really good guy, so there’s that).
To be clear, I was, in no way suggesting that RL folks are liars. I was just riffing on Rush’s humorous (I think) position that sometimes people in CA take themselves too seriously. Sorry if that was not clear.
This controversy is exploding…positions being taken, positions being attacked, events far outpacing my ability to keep up. (I have, however, completed some of the basic research. It turns out that Rio is a city in Latin America somewhere, and Linda was born and raised in the Philadelphia area, and was in my Social Studies class. Who knew?)
It occurs to me that this would be a good occasion for some of you who have become overly dependent on reading my analyses on every new national issue to spread your wings and jump out of the nest, so to speak. Study the issue thoroughly, using the Think method which I’ve taught you, and reach your own conclusions.
Evening She,
My wife if from Bicester, near Oxford, and it is true that it is not a cold, but it has a shorter day. The sun or more accurately the light starts late and if you could see the sun it would barely rise above the horizon and then by 5 it is dark. A short, damp, cold (no central air just gravity heating), day, dimly lit. Winter in England would encourage more drink, or at least listening to old tapes of the Goon Show.
Triple like, minimum.
And of course, my favorite:
A likely story. Let me hear you pronounce it (kidding).
Yes, it’s easy to forget, in view of its relatively temperate climate, that the UK is North of all the 48 contiguous states, and that the days do get much shorter in the winter. Mr. She and I spent the Christmas holiday there in 2001, and there were still roses blooming in the garden of the lovely old bed-and-breakfast we stayed at, but it was no warmer inside than outside, so yes, drink! And not just tea. And wool!
Granny disapproved of The Goon Show, so my memories of it are from records (Mum loved “I’m Walking Backwards for Christmas”). Granny had a soft spot for the more respectable side of Harry Secombe, though, and we were allowed to listen to him.