I like it when pancakes happen.
I like it when pancakes don’t.
I could use one to chisel a map in,
But I won’t.I like it when pancakes steeple.
I like it when pancakes slant.
I’d make pancakes for all of the people,
But I can’t.I like it when pancakes given.
I like it when pancakes got.
You may think that by pancakes I’m driven,
But I’m not.
No, really. I mean, they’re just pancakes.
Bene scribete.
A funny little anecdote for the week:
Last month, just before Christmas, a former colleague from my DoD days sent me an eBay listing for these nifty little Android pocket computers (pack-of-gum-sized things that plug into the HDMI port of a television), bundled with a wireless handheld keyboard+mouse device. The asking price, incredibly enough, was only $11 (with free shipping!).
Now, I didn’t have any explicit need for such a thing, but come on, $11? The handheld keyboard thingy alone was worth that. Yes, it seemed too good to be true, particularly as the seller was in China, so the shipping alone would seem cost-prohibitive, but his feedback was 98% positive over 500+ transactions. Maybe he’d less-than-legitimately obtained a crate of them, and was trying to palm them off as quickly as possible? I thought about it for a couple days before curiosity got the better of me, and I decided that sure, I’ll take a gamble for $11. I placed the order, and got a tracking number for the shipment the following morning. Cool.
Fast-forward a few weeks, and a package from China arrives in my mailbox. It’s a padded envelope with the android computer clearly declared on the customs label. Inside of that envelope, however, was not a little android computer.
Inside of that envelope, was a piece of string.
The bald-faced audacity of it was too amusing for me to really get upset. I expected I might get nothing, but there was just something delightfully bizarre about the seller actively taking the effort to ship me a piece of garbage from China in a tracked package.
I looked back up the eBay listing, and found that it had been taken down, and the seller’s account suspended, so they’d obviously already gotten word of the scam (I imagine the seller must have utilized a pay-for-review service to generate all the positive feedback on his account). Since I’d payed the seller’s PayPal account, I was referred to them to get a refund.
PayPal’s dispute resolution system is heavily automated, but my transaction had simply gone through my credit card rather than my own PayPal account, so it didn’t show up in my history for me to act upon. As such, I used the general web form to explain this and the situation in general, ensuring I provided my transaction ID.
I received an automated response an hour or so later telling me to select the transaction on my account history and file an automated claim. Awesome, they didn’t bother to actually read what I wrote. I responded to the e-mail, reiterating the situation, and the next day I received a response saying my claim was escalated to PayPal. O.K., cool.
A couple days later, I got another canned e-mail saying that the dispute had been decided in my favor. They would gladly reverse the charge – just as soon as I returned the “item not as described” to the seller and provided them with a tracking number showing I did so. Ah-ha! So this was the core of the scam – the seller is banking on this policy (and the obtuseness of dealing with PayPal in general), in conjunction with the item’s just-low-enough price, to make it economically nonsensical to pursue the refund when it requires paying for the return shipping. A pretty clever scheme, I have to admit! Obviously not one I was going to play along with, though.
The e-mail address they had sent this request from obnoxiously did not accept replies, so I sent my response to first one they’d been using. I (politely, I promise) explained that I did not feel sending a piece of garbage back to China was a reasonable course of action, that enforcing this policy would only perpetuate scams like this, and that if we could not work around it, I would simply have my bank rescind the charge.
(I could have simply pointed out that the return ‘address’ they gave me – nothing more specific or meaningful than “Beijing, Beijing, Beijing, China” – was not exactly one I could ship to, but you know, principles and all.)
A couple days after that, I received a canned response informing me that they were still waiting for me to send them the tracking information for the return shipment. Good lord.
Tempted as I was to just go to the bank at that point, I decided to give them one more chance, and called the support number. Naturally, I had to wait on hold for over forty-five minutes before anyone answered (all the while listening to a recording of someone touting how much easier and more convenient using the automated online dispute system would be than continuing to wait on the phone).
When I was finally connected with a person and gave him my dispute ID (I could hear him mumbling the words of my last e-mail to himself, so they did indeed receive it and add it to my case before ignoring it), it took all of about thirty seconds for him to go over the situation and put in a payment reversal, which I had an e-mail confirmation for as soon as I got off the phone. Funny how much smoother things go when there’s actual communication happening.
Ah, well. Caveat emptor and all that, I suppose. (>^-‘)>
Oh, and a final note: I received one more e-mail from PayPal a few days afterward, asking me if I would have any interest in taking a short survey and providing feedback about my recent experience with their transaction dispute process.
Why, yes, PayPal Yes, I would.
Bene scribete.
Looking for some classic Christmas entertainment to liven up the holidays? Of course not – you can find that anywhere.
Looking for some crazy Christmas entertainment to crazy up the holidays? Well, then, might I prescribe a double dose of Finnish reindeer drama?
Behold the magical insanity that are these films:
Reindeer DramaYou can’t always strike gold when absently perusing Netflix, but sometimes, you might strike…reindeer?
Don’t strike reindeer, though. That’s terribly rude.
Reindeer Drama: Part -1After seeing the second movie, tracking down the first became a necessity.
It does not disappoint.
They really do need to make more of these (if for no other reason than these reviews are always bringing in web traffic… (>^-‘)> ). Get on it, Finland!
And to the rest of you, have a wonderful Christmas!
Bene scribete.
Freshens your breath, so you don’t have to
I’m always slightly, unavoidably offended when companies don’t capitalize their own brand names. Primarily because proper nouns have free rein to eschew orthographic decorum, and their specifics take precedence over propriety. Which means I also have to write them that way. Which is wrong.
You’re making me do language wrong, brand. But that’s on you. I’m not taking the fall for that.
The most untenable, however, is when the second letter – oh, the second letter! – of the name is capitalized when the first is not. Ever tried to start a sentence with ‘iPhone’? It’s the worst.
Stop it, brands. Just stop.
Bene scribete.
There was once a pumpkin – an evil pumpkin. It was so evil that, when passing it by, people would say, “Hey, look at that pumpkin, Jim; I bet it’s evil. Rotten to the core.”
(Everyone who passed by it did so with a man – or, in one case, a woman – named Jim.)
One day, a spider approached the pumpkin. Apparently, it was an unreasonably enormous spider.
“Pardon me, Mr. Pumpkin,” the spider began, all politeness, “but I wonder if you might tell me why it is that you are such a dastardly fellow. Do you resent that holes were carved into your face? Or perhaps that your innards were torn away to make a pie?”
The pumpkin did not respond, for it was a pumpkin, and pumpkins cannot speak in the slightest.
(“Then why can the spider talk?” I hear you asking, but I shan’t be answering such silly questions.)
After a time, the spider said, “Oh, I see how it is. You are not evil – simply rude,” and left the mannerless squash behind.
A day or two later, the pumpkin was paid a visit by a little mouse (that grey blob is a mouse – I promise).
“I bet you’re not so evil,” the mouse burbled in its squeaky little voice. “I bet you’re just lonely, sitting here on your porch all day without anyone to keep you company.”
So the mouse curled up next to the pumpkin and remained with it all day (what a sweet little mouse).
Until, that is, a cat crept forth and snatched him up.
“Thank you once again, Sir Pumpkin,” the cat purred around the mouse’s tail as he dangled from her jaw, crying for help.
The pumpkin might have shed a tear, were that something a pumpkin was wont to do, but alas, it could not move an inch to save its new friend.
The cat lay down before the pumpkin and ate what she would of her catch, then set his remains within the pumpkin’s jagged mouth. “Were it not for you, I shouldn’t get away with nearly so much.”
In the final hour of Halloween, when all the children had gone home and the streets were empty, the pumpkin so vile it would eat its only friend sat alone on its porch, beneath a doorbell unrung and candy untouched.
“But I am not evil…” the pumpkin finally murmured aloud, making a proper liar of me, but not a soul was around to hear it.
And it was absolutely right – for, you see, pumpkins, as it turns out, are secretly fruits, which on the whole tend to be much more magnanimous than their strictly vegetable brethren. Unless, of course, we’re speaking of durians, which are little if not sin and corruption condensed into fruit form.
Cats, on the other hand, usually are evil, but I think that’s why we as a society appreciate them.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is: don’t be so quick to blame inanimate plant matter for acts of malice when there’s a cat in the vicinity. What are you, a crazy person?
Have a happy Halloween, everyone.
Bene scribete.
Put chalk in your hair, kids
Saw this…thing…in the store the other day. “Hot (h)wezz”? What…why would anything be called that? It sounds like, well, Spanish slang for something filthy. What—what does it mean?
I have a habit of taking pictures of weird products, so I did just that.
Then, when sharing my photographic incredulity with others, I was promptly informed that it was “hot hues”…just, you know, spelled stupidly. Ohhhh.
…that’s not nearly as funny.
Anyway, the moral of the story is: don’t spell things stupidly, or they might end up sounding…let’s say…implicitly unsavory.
Bene scribete.
This person had the right idea.
Use them.
Bene scribete.
A little while back, I had the distinct pleasure of serving as editor for Kirk Watson’s fantasy adventure, The Woodlander. Watson himself pitched the novel as “The Most Dangerous Game” meets Fantastic Mr. Fox, and after jumping at that hook, I found it to be a pretty apt encapsulation!
An animal tale for an older audience (teens and up), the story focuses on a downtrodden squirrel named John Grey – a reporter whose cynical disposition and snarky quips are reminiscent of a hardboiled detective of ’30s pulp, and an immediately likeable protagonist for it. Six months after a terrible tragedy divested John of his will to write, a strange encounter outside a tavern prompts the squirrel to pull himself together for one more assignment, but when his investigation takes him to the less savory parts of town, he quickly finds himself a part of the story he meant to report.
Well-written with plenty of action, humor, and heart, this is a book I would gladly recommend even if I had nothing to do with it. (>^-‘)>
The Woodlander is the first volume of The Grey Tales series, and is currently available for 99¢ on Kindle – a tough deal to beat for a full-length novel of this caliber, so take advantage of it while you can!
And don’t forget to check out the author at http://thegreytales.com/
Bene scribete.
If life hands you lemons, say “Thanks, life!”, ’cause lemons are good!
–Emmy
Somewhere in a field of snow
An ermine scampered to and fro.
She was a small but steady thing,
And Emmy was her name.With fur as white as table salt
(Her tail-tip the only fault),
She zipped unseen along the ground
Whose color was the same.Now, Emmy served a magic cat –
But, oh, let’s not get into that.
We’re merely speaking of her quest
To find her favorite fruit.She’d buried one just months before
Beneath the forest’s earthy floor,
Yet now the turn of weather was
Impeding her pursuit.She dug right here and dug right there
Until at last a yellow glare
Revealed itself to her within
The endless sea of white.A squeak of joy escaped the throat
Of Emmy the triumphant stoat;
She snatched the lemon up and couldn’t
Wait to take a bite.She licked her lips and closed her eyes
And sank her fangs into her prize,
But when the juice beset her tongue,
The ermine was distraught.Without another sip she frowned
And tossed the fruit back to the ground,
Then turned and sulked away and grumbled,
“Stupid bergamot…”
Floobing bergamots.
Bene scribete.
Money is the universal shortcut. You can get just about anything with it. Sometimes for a lot less than you’d think.
In my line of editing work, I come across a lot of want-ads for ghostwriting. Now, I can look the other way when it comes to surrogate writing in certain scenarios – you’re a not-so-eloquent public figure who needs the notes and rough drafts for your topical book or memoir worked into something fluid? Sure, O.K. But I’m talking about ghostwriting for fiction. Things like: “I need a sci-fi novel written. Preferably something to do with space exploration. Need it to be around 70,000-80,000 words. Must sign NDA and forgo copyright. I’m willing to pay up to $500.” (No joke!) It shouldn’t come as a surprise that there would be a few people out there with that kind of audacity, but I see a dozen of these a day. And what’s even crazier – these listings get a ton of responses!
It’s a little hard to believe. I can’t see the appeal to either side of this arrangement. Does anyone really love the writing process itself so much that they’d be willing to undertake the grueling process of producing a novel for pennies an hour, only to forsake any rights and claims to their own creation upon completion? Is anyone so desperately enamored with the idea of being known as a writer that they would be satisfied with the hollow “achievement” of putting their name on someone else’s work? Apparently the answer is a disturbingly frequent yes on both accounts – it’s a big industry. It baffles me. It really does.
If I’m being entirely honest, I suppose I would consider ghostwriting a novel for someone if I were offered an absurd amount of money to do so (financial freedom to pursue other projects is nothing to take lightly), but these jobs are being offered at too comical a salary to be considered “just work”. I could never quite comprehend the sentiment behind the other side of the table, though. If you want to be a writer then, you know – write! At the very least seek a co-author if you need help with a specific book. I simply can’t see fiction-ghostwriting as something that has any reason to be a thing – particularly not as big of a thing as it is.
But I’m curious to hear others’ thoughts on the matter. Have you ever had experience with ghostwriting (from either side)? Would you ever consider it? Am I taking crazy pills?
Bene scribete.
(Want to win a free signed copy of the non-ghostwritten The Amber Ring? Check the link for details. No entrants yet, so your odds are sitting at 100%!)
Writin' Fish 