Crazy Crap Item #82: The part where I am remiss in recording my travels

Here it is, almost June, and I've yet to recount any of my adventures in New York.

New York, you gasp. Heavens to betsy, whenever were you in New York, Kay?

See, it was so long ago, you don't even remember I went. But let me fill you in.

I have a number of friends in the Big Apple, mainly through my connection with what we like to call the Northwestern Mafia East (NME) -- friends from my grad school days who went to make their fortune in Gotham after graduation.

The main purpose of meeting was a visit to my good friends Monsieurs Czajka (Chris) and Boudreaux (Jonathan, but commonly referred to as Jdog). For those who do not know him, Mr. Czajka is a tarot-card reading, PBS-website-creating, "Little House on the Prairie" fanatic from upstate New York. We met at NU during a production of Sunday in the Park with George. Jdog is a DVD-reviewing, paint-by-number-painting, classic sitcom fanatic from Cajun country. Together, they're one of my favorite couples.

Jdog has been in ill health for some time, and I was honored to be their first "recreational" guest since before the troubles. Jdog, still in recovery mode, is limited in terms of his ability to cavort, so the goal was to produce mayhem and hilarity without taking the subway during rushhour, venturing out into rainy weather, or habituating nightclubs, opium dens or other generally overcrowded environs.

I'm proud to say that we succeeded in both the fun-having and the crowd-avoidance.

Here's the blow by blow:

Thursday

-- Trip to the airport, courtesy of Eamon (who couldn't join me due to work conflicts).

-- Arrived at Queens, about 6pm, just in time to receive a gracious greeting from Jonathan and welcome Czajka upon his return from work.

-- Dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant, the site of my hosts' first date some 10 years ago. Inexplicably, this was their first return visit. Bad memories? All I know is, my ricotta cheesecake was quite good.

-- After dinner, Czajka queried as to the state of their pantry, since Jdog and I would be staying in the next day and would need lunch. Jdog responded, in a morose tone, that they had only "Lean Pockets." This led to a weekend-long running gag, in which any inquiries about what one would eat were responded to with a mournful intonation of "Lean Pockets," sometimes followed by a sigh.

-- Once it was determined that Lean Pockets did not constitute a fitting luncheon for a guest, we sidetracked to the grocery store to pick up some tasty odds and ends, including an Entenmann's "Louisiana Crunch Cake." Jonathan took exception to the pastry (and lobbied strongly against its purchase), pointing out that lacked both any authentic connection with Louisiana and anything that crunched. Czajka tersely pointed out that they couldn't very well just call it "Cake."

-- At the grocery store, we made perhaps the best purchase of the weekend, a packet of adhesive jewels of all shapes and colors! Big city glamour, for the low, low price of $2.69!

Friday

-- Off to work for Czajka (his last day of work before a luxurious two weeks off).

-- Left to our own devices, Jdog and I amused ourselves with their vast collection of DVDs. Jdog announced it was guest's choice, and I selected the 1938 film Nancy Drew - Reporter, starring the irrepressible Bonita Granville. The amusing elements of this film are too numerous to recount, but I think my favorite moment was when Nancy and her sidekick smuggled an old-tyme camera -- complete with flash powder wand -- into a jail, then tried to surreptitiously snap a photo of an inmate. Hilarity.

-- Next, we watched The Libeled Lady (1936), a pleasing but somewhat draggy madcap comedy starring William Powell, Jean Harlow, Spencer Tracy and Myrna Loy. It was no Thin Man, but it amused.

-- After naps, we greeted Mr. Czajka upon his return from the salt mines, who brought in tow Michael Shattner (aka Mr. Shittner, aka La Shattner). Mr. Shattner is also a member of NME. He is a cello-playing, cat-owning, half-Canuck actor.

-- The plan for the evening: order in Thai food and screen the original film version of The Posiedon Adventure. Czajka and Jdog were shocked -- shocked! -- to learn Michael and I had never seen it. They, of course, own the DVD. If you are among the ranks of those of us who have never seen the film, by all means, partake liberally. While watching, we decorated ourselves with the aforementioned adhesive gems. I slayed Mr. Czajka by placing a line of blue gems running down my cleavage, and noting, "They draw the eye down." We were also vastly amused to note that the Maureen McGovern song made famous by the film -- the one with the lyrics "there has to be a morning after" -- is actually not entitled "Morning After," but instead goes by the title "The Song from The Poseidon Adventure." I am not kidding.

Saturday

-- Early arisal! We're due for an 11am brunch in Midtown with other members of the NME, including Mr. Shattner, Mr. Curtis Moore (he directed me in a production of Nunsense), Mr. Tom Mizer (formerly Steve of the roadshow version of Blue's Clues and my former classmate in Literary Theory), and Ms. Nicole Roberts (daughter of actor Tony Roberts and successful voiceover actress in her own right), along with various romantic partners.

-- Then we repaired to Nicole's glamorous 20th floor Manhattan condo, and played a variety of board games, including Uno, during which it was underscored again and again how sexual the spewing forth of playing cards is. During our visit, Nicole received delivery of her brand new Urban Rebounder, which she immediately demonstrated for us.

-- Once the fun broke up, Jdog headed home, and Czajka, La Shattner and I strolled to a lovely sylvan park to soak up the unseasonably summery weather. On the way, we indulged in Eamon's new game of creating new -- and hilarious! -- movie titles by replacing one word with "anus." I'm still proud of Raiders of the Lost Anus.

-- Next, we retired to a small wine bar for drinks and cheese so as to prepare us for...

-- "Confessions of a Prairie Bitch," the stand-up-cum-tell-all-memoir by Alison Arngrim, better known as Nellie Oleson on Little House on the Prairie. And just when we thought evening couldn't get any stranger, we had drinks with Alison herself after. We suspect she hepped up on goofballs. She jawed our ears off, but in a way I found nearly impossible to follow. But her act was hysterically funny. I also managed to get a wonderful signed photo, with a personal note to my sister that referenced a running gag from our childhood that involved Nellie Oleson's mother. Priceless.

Sunday

-- After the unending mayhem of Saturday, we opted for a quieter itinerary for the Lord's Day. We spent a leisurely, lolling morning, then headed out to the various open houses in the neighborhood. The boys are looking to buy an apartment, so we needed to take a tour of the Queens real estate market -- in all its stinky, cramped glory.

-- Afterwards, we ambled over to Forest Hills Gardens, Czajka's fave neighborhood, which was once home to vaudeville stars, now a sylvan retreat lined with pseudo-Tudor mansions.

-- That evening, Mr. Shattner joined us again for yet another evening of DVDs, starting with "Hello, Hollywood, Hello," a fabulously horrible documentary about the world's largest cabaret show, which ran for almost 20 years in Reno's MGM Hotel.

-- Next came "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane," that masterpiece of overblown gothic decrepitude. This led led to the perhaps the best quip ever: as Joan Crawford complained of hunger while knitting furiously, Jdog ventriloquized: "I'm going to knit myself a porkchop!"

-- After the film festival, Jdog went to bed, and Czajka, La Shattner and I stayed up till 3am playing "Name that Tune" with the Show Tunes channel of Czajka's on-demand cable radio (and I pretty much mopped the floor with it).

Monday

-- As I was leaving later that afternoon, we kept our schedule light, planning but one Mario Party game to fill our day. Much to everyone's surprise, I won, which allowed me to indulge in a favored tradition, the triumphant shout, in faux Japanese accent, of "Daisy the weenah!"(My character is named 'Daisy,' and she had a Japanese accent in an earlier edition of the game ... it's long, inscrutable story).

-- Then it was home again, home again, jiggedy jig!

Crazy Crap Item #81: The part where the turnip truck rolls back into town

As you may recall, I recently posted about some clearly fishy maternity discount dealie and the rather slimy interaction I had with one of its reps.

Well, nearly a month passes, and some random individual decides to comment on my posting. To save you the trouble of clicking over to it, I'll repost it here:

That is completley fake. I have used Maternity Card and it saved me over 9 grand on my bill. Maybe you are one of the competetors hmm? Look at how many complaints Dell has against their company a DAY (around 17,000) and 76 in 36 weeks is that what you said? Big woop. I called them and NONE of them were members of the Maternity Card and they were all resolved. The BBB is a NOT a state or government organization. They are a PRIVATE organization and did you know Dell pays over 30 grand a year to keep themselves on there? The BBB is a scam and so are you.

Oh, dear! I've been caught!!! My clever ruse of blogging about the daily doings of a lazy freelancer in order to launch an attack on my competitor, the fine and unimpeachable folks at Maternity Card, has been exposed!! How will I ever continue with my scammy activities of writing about my 4-year-old neighbor and recording the witticisms of my bearded husband? The shame! The scandal!!!

Crazy Crap Item #80: The part where Roxi and I ponder the nature of sidewalk compliments

Young Roxi, my good friend from my FastWeb days, shares a passion with me: crazy long walks. During these walks, we survey the city landscape and speak of many things.

Just yesterday, she joined me to walk to the Cornservatory to review a show. As we strolled, I boasted that a drunken drifter had called me "beautiful" during my stroll to meet her at the Thorndale El stop, and that this had pleased me. She noted that a wino on the El platform had commented, as she sashayed past, "There goes a pretty lady," and that she was equally gratified.

We mused over the fact that we found compliments from winos, drifters, and homeless men as uniforming charming, whereas similar advances from a be-suited businessman would make us uneasy.

I guess it's because it's clear the wino will have neither the means nor the clarity to solicit one's digits, dig for info so they can demonstrate how much you have in common, or pursue you in any way. And typically, these wino-based compliments are not accompanied by a solicitation of funds. That's what so charming -- they just want to admire your feminine beauty. There's something so pure and honest in that.

Crazy Crap Item #79: The part where we share a Hollywood moment

With all the recent talk of insurance woes and baby-having, I'm put in mind of an amusing incident from a month or so back. Since I'm no longer a spring chicken, I've some concerns about the actual possibility of the baby-having. To see what our limiting factors might be, Eamon and I went to a fertility specialist for a sort of preliminary consulation. We spoke of many things -- invitro, declining fertility with age, our health histories, adoption, egg freezing -- but through it all, one nagging issue weighed on my mind.

As we left the clinic, I turned to Eamon.

"The doctor. Bob Balaban."

"Oh, yeah. Dead-ringer."

Trust me, you don't want to discuss your ovaries with Bob Balaban.

Crazy Crap Item #78: The part where I peek inside the world of derby

As I mentioned previously, last night Eamon attended a meeting of the local roller derby, where he serves as head of stats. Today, he has this insight to share:

eamon: in derby, whenever someone says something that you agree with, instead of saying "i agree" and adding to the noise, you raise your clenched right hand up in a sign of solidarity.

I'd like to see the UN adopt that procedure.

Crazy Crap Item #77: The part where Eamon plays coy

Last night, in my duties as freelance theater critic, I had opportunity to attend a storefront theater called the "Cornservatory." See, they do comedies. Corny comedies. So instead of "conservatory," it's called "cornservatory." Get it?

Anyhoo, my beloved husband did me a solid by picking me up after the show, as he was in the neighborhood attending a roller derby scrimmage. Apparently, the jauntily wacky sign announcing the presence of the Cornservatory amused him. As I got into the car, he said in a tone of dignificed reverance, "You were at THE CORNSERVATORY," as if to say "you were at the Met." Then, as I recounted how awful the show was, he kept interjecting, "Really? At THE CORNSERVATORY??" in a tone of shocked dismay. It was funnier than the entire show.

Crazy Crap Item #76: The part where I learn a new word

Poop-singing (püp-seeng-eeng)

Def.: The labored style of singing in which the performer likes s/he is producing a nice, solid bowel movement each time s/he opens her/his mouth

Example: The strained tenor engages in fully realized performances of poop-singing, particularly as he reaches for the high notes.

Source: Nicole Hudson, by way of Chris Czajka.

Crazy Crap Item #75: The part where I bemoan the crushing difficulty of my life

I'm working on a project for a new client, The Teaching Company. I'm writing long-form brochure copy for their video-taped enrichment courses on subjects from history, philosophy, science, the arts, etc. My task today: view lessons on art history about the collection at the Louvre. And get paid to do it.

Nice work, if you can get it.

Crazy Crap Item #74: The part where I witness a prodigy in action

As I have mentioned before, James, my young neighbor, is one-and-one-half years old, yet he has long dazzled me with his feats of wonder. Just yesterday, I learned of yet another trick he has added to his arsenal. When he feels his mother is talking too much and not paying attention to him, he says "Blah, blah, blah," accompanied by little "talky talky gestures." Hilarity.

Crazy Crap Item #73: The part where I come to terms with being a big musical theater dork

How do you know you are a musical theater dork? When one of your closest friends has this dream about you:

shatty: you were in my dream last night
kay: so what did i do in your dream?
shatty: well!
shatty: we were both VERY excited to listen to the newly released, remastered version of the original cast of MACK & MABEL
shatty:(i don't believe such a thing really exists)
kay: well, why wouldn't we be excited?
kay: MACK & MABEL
kay: i mean, come on
shatty:we shared headphones (the old school kind that go over your head, not the newfangled little ones on wires)
shatty: and listened to "Look What Happened to Mabel"
shatty: and we were disappointed
shatty: we shared a look (no words)

If you don't understand why this conversation makes me a musical theater dork, then you are clearly not one.

Crazy Crap Item #72: The part where it becomes clear that the lawn needs mowing

Due to the recent rash of lovely weather, I've been forced out of doors. I wander into the backyard, rubbing my sun-dazzled eyes and shielding my pasty skin from the sun.

In the past, I've general avoided the out-of-doors. As a still somewhat new homeowner, though, I've discovered the charm of being out where the people are with gardening. It helps that I have highly amusing neighbors, and puttering in the garden gives me the chance to learn all about cowboys and such.

And thankfully, the previous owner was quite an avid gardener, and left us a substantial stock of perennials, some of which I suspect are older than my husband. These include crazy-spotted tiger lilies, pre-historic ferns, and some wonderful vintage roses. Over the last 2 years, I've learned to augment this wilderness with carefully placed annuals and such, very few of which have immediately died, I'm surprised to report.

So this weekend, I took advantage of the sunny but temperate weather and did some major dirt-diggery. This entailed:

* a visit to the local garden store (cannily named "Gethsemane Garden Center") to purchase tons of potting soil, wee annuals and herbs

* planting a lovely new five-tiered cedar planter given to us by Roxi, which resembles a rather florid Aztec ziggurat and is now the envy of the neighborhood

* clearing new beds that were covered by flat concrete fragments and plugging in my excess abundance of annuals

* using aforesaid concrete fragments to create an attractive border for our walkway

* foraging under the porch and in a heap of dirt in the alley for many attractive chunks of rock and concrete to create a makeshift walkway in from our back gate into the alley and a rock garden in a patch of dirt by the fence.

Such duties of garden beautification are solely mine. So what, you may ask, does Eamon do? Well, naturally, he is the lawn mower. But what with the fact that spring has only just sprung, he's yet to jump in to the world lawn-mowery just yet. Which was fine, until a generous cluster of rainstorms caused our back lawn to grown in an unprecendented burst of fecundity. And then he was sick with a fever all week.

So now, as you may guess, the corn is as high as an elephant's eye in the Daly backyard.

And thus it was when, just as I was winding down my gardening duties yesterday that young James, little brother to Jack, came toddling into my backyard. He's 1 1/2 years, and freakishly advanced for his age. I think he diapers himself.

Anyhoo, this was his first solo stroll out his parents gate and through ours, and he made a beeline for me as I stood, hose in hand. Jack, amused, looked on.

A few steps into the lawn, and he froze with a look of sudden fear. He turned back to Jack, and held his hand out to him for help.

That's right. Our lawn frightened a toddler.

It's time to mow.

Crazy Crap Item #71: The part where I make a new friend

Eamon just shaved off all his facial hair.

Kay, meet Eamon's upper lip. Eamon's upper lip, this is Kay.

Crazy Crap Item #70: The part where Jack takes a day off

We've all heard about Jack, my four-and-a-half-year-old neighbor. I wrote about him here. And here. And here.

Jack is fond of costumes. Typically, he roams the neighborhood dressed up as a builder, or Superman, or a fireman. Lately, though, the craze is for cowboys. Wearing his cowskin vest from last Halloween's Woody costume (from Toy Story fame), he rustles imaginary cattle all up and down Norwood Street. In fact, his preschool teacher just informed his family that he can no longer wear his cowboy boots to class, as their slippery soles are a hazard for fast-moving four-year-olds.

Well, yesterday afternoon, when I threw off the surly bonds of gainful employment and ventured out into the yard to bask in the youthful hijinx of my wee neighbors, I was surprised to discover that I barely recognized young Jack. He was wearing a sort of junior-version cabana shirt, khaki slacks and some very nice velcro sandals.

I commented on his sandals, and he replied, "I'm taking a day off from being a cowboy."

Crazy Crap Item #69: The part where I play Florence Nightingale

Eamon is ailing. This doesn't happen too often, but when it does, it's a whopper. He came home early from work the other day, popped a thermometer in his mouth, and discovered he had a fever of 103. (And yes, he made lots of jokes about being "hot blooded, check it and see.")

When Eamon gets sick, he behaves a bit like the family cat, hiding under the couch until he feels better. It's very frustrating for those of us who tend to feel all nurtur-y. He won't eat, won't be coddled, won't be tempted with delightful palliatives.

But today, he finally humored me by letting me prepare him some lunch. A peanut butter samitch. And milk. In bed.

I prepared said meal, and delivered it to him, setting it gently on his chest as he lay prone. He tried to reach for it with his tongue, and wailed for me to put it in his mouth. Which I did. "I wanted it rare," he grumbled.

I think he's feeling better.

Crazy Crap Item #68: The part where I didn't just fall off the turnip truck

Dear friends, Eamon and I are subject to insurance woes. As a self-employed freelancer married to a web programmer at an ultra-tiny company, we don't qualify for group insurance. So we've made recourse to buying our own, which, besides being expensive, is subject to all sorts of crazy exclusions. Like the cost of baby-having, which is a subject that's been on the table for some time. After just learning that we've just reached the point where we may be covered by our policy's maternity rider(which requires a 1-year waiting period prior to actual baby-having), our policy has been CANCELLED, a distressing situation which I am currently appealing. (Say some affirmations on my behalf, please.)

Anyhoo, I am not one to be blocked by petty obstacles, so in the face of adversity, I've decided to research my options. And lo and behold, I come across a company called "Maternity Card," which promises all sorts of fantabulous discounts on baby-having such as I only dare dream of. Well, I am skeptical, but put in my info to learn more anyway.

When I receive two email follow-ups by the very next morning, I am suspicious. In my experience, only scamsters are eager to provide such stellar service to inquiring prospective customers.

Before I even get a chance to review said emails (and their voluminous attachments attesting to the remarkable FABULOUSNESS of this service), I receive a phone call from their rep. As I am hard at work writing a fact sheet for a client (and I have not yet reviewed aforementioned emails), I do not pick up.

Within seconds, I receive an email with the subject heading "I tried to call you." This seems fishy to me. Why such diligence, unless you are trying to sell me a bill of goods? I skim the email, and I notice this postscript: "PS Because of the volume of inquiries we receive on a daily basis, we are able to keep files open for only a limited time."

I believe this is what is termed as the "hard sell." And friends, I'm not buying.

So canny web-researcher that I am, I head to Google and enter +"Maternity Card" +Scam.

And, oh, the riches I found.

Dearies, it's a scam. On message boards all over the Internet, burned mothers-to-be and their partners tell a tale of woe and broken promises. And the Better Business Bureau has logged 76 consumer complaints against the company in 36 months. Yikes.

Well, that's enough for me, so I opt out of future emails, and for good measure, reply to the rep the following message:

I've done some research on your company and have decided not to pursue this option. Please do not call me again.

Within minutes, I receive this rather lengthy -- and incorrectly addressed -- missive:

I certainly understand that reading a posting or negative info on the web is something to weigh before you make a decision to buy a product or service. But, before you make your final determination as to what is in your best interest, I would like to share with you some information that I believe you would want to know.

First, in virtually all of the cases that we see on the internet where a person posts negative information about our company that individual is either anonymous OR one of our competitors or both. We know for a fact that our competitors are actively creating negative postings under anonymous or false names or sometimes just using initials. And, we are not the only on-line victim. In the last year it has become a common business strategy. Unfortunately, there is NOTHING we can do to stop this practice.

If you are genuinely interested in getting all the facts, what we CAN do is give you 3rd party sources that can be independently checked and verified. We stand publicly behind our product and unlike our anonymous detractors we want you to be fully informed. For your review, see the following:

· An ABC News video news story that profiles a recent Mom's experience about MaternityCard.com
· A CBS Market Watch article that gives examples of how we help Moms save thousands of dollars.
· Our Certificate of Guarantee that offers a better than money back promise.
· A Wall Street Journal article about our company
· And, a research article by Ken La Pensee, MPH, PhD explaining the challenges of "Mom's in the Middle” and MaternityCard.com
· Grace Report “Helping Uninsured Woman Pay OB’s for Pregnancy Care” by Robert L. Michel
· 4 testimonials from happy clients

Duncan, we have literally THOUSANDS of enrolled clients. And, yes, like all companies we are going to screw up or not perform as we wish sometimes. So that is why we have put in place a BETTER than money back performance guarantee to protect ALL of our clients. Our motto is “if you have to deliver so should we.” And, we ALWAYS honor our guarantee.

And, finally if I’m sounding defensive well, I DO take this personally. If you've ever been lied about it's very frustrating. We have NO way to refute these rumors except to give you all of the facts so you can have the opportunity to make the most informed decision that is in your best interest.

If after looking at the above you still feel that the postings or web info you read is more credible, we certainly understand. Just let me know your decision.

Thanks...

Once I'm done wiping the laugh-tears from my eyes, I respond thusly:

Wow. You've clearly written this letter before. And my name's not Duncan.

Believe it or not, this guy's so hungry for a sale, he responds again:

Sorry, copied and pasted. Yes, it is a pre written letter. When your competitors go online and start trash talking you, all you can do is have a response with accurate resources that will let you make a wise and accurately informed decision. If you still don’t want us to help you RISK FREE, even before speaking with me, I will be glad to close your file. I just hate to see someone pay more for their pregnancy than they have to.

Good luck and call me if you change your mind.

At this point, part of me wants to clarify that it wasn't his "competitors" that "trash talked" him, but rather, former clients in forums. But frankly, I've got an insurance company to fight with, so I need to let this rather amusing tete a tete wither on the vine.