My favorite things (I)

I know, I know, I spin myself as the anti-consumerist. But what I really am is discriminating. Every now and then I try something and find myself unexpectedly amazed. So here's the current list of stuff & services I love: 

Ultimate Ears Super.Fi 4 headphones. Seriously. They fit perfectly, and the minute I put them on the outside world just faded away, leaving me with only the Scissor Sisters for company. And that was with the volume on my computer dialed down to level one. I can't even hear myself type, must less the people chattering away around me. 

Virgin America airlines. Such good customer service that if they didn't have seats on my monthly flight to NY, I'd probably reschedule. 

Monica at DS Newman salon. She cuts my hair such that it looks good even though I never blow-dry and only get it cut twice a year. I don't actually know how this is possible, but wow is it wonderful. 

Last.fm. All I'm listening to right now (other than my husband's DJ-ing on our home stereo, but I can't take him to work with me unfortunately). And their Android app works with no hiccups when I go to the gym! 

Le Creuset and Lodge cast-iron cookware. I have abandoned all other pots and pans. Also, these two are pretty much opposite ends of the cost spectrum, which amuses me. 

Facebook: slightly less evil than previously assumed

They switched back to their previous terms of service: http://blog.facebook.com/blog.php?post=54746167130

So I suppose I'll re-enable my account. Facebook is a convenient way to make myself findable. But ... will I ever upload very much info? Photos? Status updates? Comments on other people's messages? 

Probably not. And I'm starting to create backup methods to achieve the "make myself findable" goal. I've got a nicely-linked LinkedIn profile, and a brand-new blog on myname.blogspot.com where I'm planning to post just enough info to make it clear to anyone looking for me that they've found the right person, plus a way to contact me.... It turns out that no one owns myname.com, for crying out loud. Real Soon Now I'll get hold of it myself. 

Because given the economy, I want to be findable. I've already gotten a couple of emails from people asking about job leads, and if it all goes to pieces ("hope for the best, plan for the worst" - no, I'm not worried, just prepared) I might even want to send some of my own. 

Interesting times. 

Goodbye, Facebook

To anyone who's used to seeing me on Facebook, you may notice that I've suddenly disappeared. I'm one of the people who figures Facebook's new Terms of Service is unacceptable. Here's the guilty paragraph: 

You hereby grant Facebook an irrevocable, perpetual, non-exclusive, transferable, fully paid, worldwide license (with the right to sublicense) to (a) use, copy, publish, stream, store, retain, publicly perform or display, transmit, scan, reformat, modify, edit, frame, translate, excerpt, adapt, create derivative works and distribute (through multiple tiers), any User Content you (i) Post on or in connection with the Facebook Service or the promotion thereof subject only to your privacy settings or (ii) enable a user to Post, including by offering a Share Link on your website and (b) to use your name, likeness and image for any purpose, including commercial or advertising, each of (a) and (b) on or in connection with the Facebook Service or the promotion thereof.

Nope, I'm not OK with any of that (and here's the full details, plus news stories). 

When I deleted my account, the screen showed the following message: 

Your account has been deactivated from the site and will be permanently deleted within 14 days. If you log into your account within the next 14 days, your account will be reactivated and you will have the option to cancel your request.

I wondered briefly whether I'd miss Facebook. It was nice that a few people I missed had found me using it. But you know, I still show up on LinkedIn, which means that by extension I show up in a Google search. That's good enough. 

Good enough

“It’s ... pleasant,” said S. 

We sat, half-turned toward each other, on a deep couch in the back of the wine bar. The wine bar is like something out of a movie, although a movie I haven’t seen, something about the tech industry and hedonism and the valley and the magnetic attraction everybody around here feels for things that are “cute.” The wine bar is in an old adobe building, and the ceilings are low, and the waiters use phrases like “not too heavy on the fruit” without thinking much about it, and the upholstery is vaguely mahogany-colored. In the back room, where S and I sat, there’s a fireplace with a semi-sculptured mural above it and, at least tonight, a Real Fire burning in the grate.

“Me too,” I said, and sighed. “It’s pleasant.” 

We’d been talking about all the things that aren’t quite right, from work to geography to relationships. We’d agreed that it was hard to complain, because things are ... pleasant.

“We cook dinner,” one of us said, and the other nodded.

“It’s nice. Domestic.”

“I’ve been working out a lot.”

“Work’s okay.”

“I think I’m in line for promotion,” one of us said, and the one who hadn’t said it nodded in turn.

A while later, we paid the tab, hugged goodbye, and went our separate ways. I drove the short distance home, pulled into my usual parking place, and walked down the red-painted path to my front door. I slipped the key in the lock, turned it, and went inside: home. It felt good to be here.

And yet I wonder: is this underlying something the famous, originally unvoiced female complaint? Is this what fifties and sixties feminism was about, this lurking feeling that there’s something ... more ... out there, that “pleasant” isn’t quite enough? Don’t get me wrong, I know this is 2009; I know S and I have it better, far better, than did our forebears. I know that.

And yet. Things are ... pleasant.

And pleasant isn’t quite enough.

Dear Sprint: Your billing is deceptive and unethical. I'm never using you again. And I'm telling my friends.

To: dan@sprint.com

Hi. I'm writing to object to the way Sprint handles billing for closed accounts which are out of the contract period.

I was a satisfied Sprint customer several times over the past few years, but when I cancelled my account, Sprint charged me for an entire month's service even though I only used three days. I am now *very* unlikely to ever use Sprint again. I certainly wouldn't recommend it to a friend - even though Sprint had great call quality & data speed!

And no, not all your competitors do this. Verizon doesn't do this. I once cancelled a Verizon account (to switch to Sprint, actually!), and they very nicely prorated my final month. So the next time I want a phone, Verizon's on my good-company list. And because you didn't prorate that final month, Sprint isn't even a possibility.

I know Sprint's been working hard on improving customer satisfaction, and fixing this policy so that you prorate billing for a customer's final month - not just for me but for everyone who cancels - would be a pretty easy way to do it. Even if you're short on cash, is it really worth knowing that you're not on my shopping list the next time I want a new phone? It's pretty common for people to switch carriers. Don't you want people like me to switch back to you? I seriously doubt I'm the only person who thinks this is not OK.

My account number is [xxxxxxxxx] if you want to fix things. Although what I'd really like is a refund, AND an apology, AND hearing that you've changed this practice.

I'm very disappointed.

Sincerely,
I.E.