another amazing Christmas gift

While the following still falls into the “craptastic” category of my two previous Lame Gift picks (see Deer Rider and Mangroomer posts), I have to admit… if I had a trailer hitch, I would so have one of these on it. I gleefully bring you Hitch Critters:

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Also available in Bass, Duck, Bad Dog, Horse, Black Widow and Wild Hog (riding a Harley). There are a number of vendors selling these items, but CoolStuffExpress was the only one with an image caption that reads “Surrenders quicker than the French army.” Also, the appropriately placed “Ouch!” with arrow pointing to the, uh, ball hitch attachment area.

Damn, I wish I had a truck.

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Oh, the weather outside is frightful

Not around here. No. It’s been unexpectedly pleasant, actually. But I’m preparing for the Milwaukee weather, and it will be typically chilly.

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At least it doesn’t look too snowy. And, joy of joys, the closer hotel found a room for me! Thank you thank you thank you, Printer Rep With Contacts, for pulling that trick for me.

The online printer that I’m using to print my Christmas cards has my order status listed as “problem” but I’ve not yet heard back regarding what the problem is. (taps fingers nervously as the 25th creeps closer and closer.) I’ve been prepping jobs for print for more than ten years! For a time, it was MY job to fix OTHER people’s files for print! What could the problem possibly be? How long will this delay my order?

(hours pass)

Okay, I finally called the printer. They say the bleed wasn’t set large enough. I double-checked my files, and I had actually set the bleed to DOUBLE their specifications. Whatever, they made an adjustment at their end and are proceeding with the job.

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I found out earlier today that friends are having to put down a beloved pet. It took them a long time to reach this decision, to be so very sure that the dog’s quality of life had crossed over that invisible line, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. My heart goes out to them.

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about this trip for work

Some of you have asked about these “press checks” that I go on; what they entail, and why I’m so freakin’ tired when I get home.

I work for a company that, among other things, prints a few million catalogs multiple times a year. Before you get all up in arms about how many trees we kill to do this… yes, we know. We have taken a number of steps to try to ensure a minimum consumption of resources. We work directly with our über-green paper mill (the folks who actually MAKE the paper we use) to find an adequate balance between post-consumer recycled content and virgin fiber to create a clean enough sheet that our product colors appear accurately to you, our customer. That paper is FSC-certified, which means that the trees which are killed for our paper are “responsibly” harvested, and that the chain of production from tree to certified paper mill to certified printing plant is never broken. We shifted to a lighter-weight paper that uses fewer resources all around, and results in a thinner catalog which in turn requires less fuel to deliver to your mailbox. And, we print our catalogs at a plant in Milwaukee not only because they are committed to environmentally sound practices but also because they are close to the paper mill and that, once again, means decreased shipping fuel consumption.

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Me with a roll of catalog paper.

But, ah, they’re in Milwaukee. So three times a year, weather and schedule permitting, I head out to Milwaukee so that I can see with my own eyes the catalog pages as they come off the press, and approve of the color of those products being shown. These press operators know what they’re doing, don’t get me wrong. But seeing a page layout on a computer screen or on a laser print or as a Kodak color proof is one thing. When that page is combined with 31 other pages on a signature zipping through a high-speed offset printer at blinding speeds, suddenly the color of the orange yoga mat on page 4 weighs very heavily on the color of the blue sheets on page 28. And if the pressman needs to add yellow to the mix to get that orange yoga mat just right, it’s going to knock those blue sheets into green and then we’re going to have some unhappy customers. As a representative of the company paying for the print job, I’m there to determine and approve the compromise.

The drag part is this: I’m not a big fan of compromise. I want that yoga mat to be bright tangerine orange, and those sheets to be perfectly sky blue.

Also a drag: those presses run 24/7. The press operators work in 8-hour shifts, but I’m the only rep from our company. So when a run needs to be approved at 1 pm, it’s me (and our lone print rep) on site to sign off on it. And at 5 pm, and 8 pm, and midnight, and 3 am, and 5 am, and so on. Except that 5 pm run broke a plate, so the 8 pm got bumped to 11 pm but the midnight is running on another press so it’s still on target but it’s running really well so they’re going to hit the 3 am at 2:30 instead… For five straight days I live my life an hour at a time. Sleep is hosed by the second day. I try to catch a nap whenever there’s a long enough break. I change my clothes around midnight, in order to keep track of what day it is, but my mind becomes putty and I still get confused. Somehow, our print rep manages to keep a smile on his face even though he’s running on the same crazy schedule that I am. Perhaps because he isn’t the one making any decisions. :)

I usually stay in a hotel that is only a mile or so down the road, but there’s a convention in town and they’re booked solid. Instead, I’m staying at a Radisson about 9 miles away. The advantage is that it’s across the street from a shopping mall, so I can squeeze in some last-minute present hunting. Also, they have a much better breakfast menu than the place I usually book. The disadvantage is the increased distance to the plant when I’m making that tired, middle-of-the-night drive.

My friend Alison has lent me the first season of Firefly to watch during my down time. I wonder how far in I’ll get?

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Santa Claus has got a hot rod sleigh

Yesterday, December 1st, was the official start of the annual Christmas-season self-buying moratorium. This means that neither I nor my friends are allowed to buy any non-essential items for personal use until after Christmas presents have been exchanged. For those of my more recent friend acquisitions, oh yeah, I’m serious. Sure, go ahead and buy yourself that pretty little whatever you’ve been eyeing… but know that someone may have picked that same item out for you for Christmas, and you have now SUCKED ALL JOY out of the “giving” part of a gift exchange.

This means that I am, sadly, forgoing a DSW boot-shopping excursion during a DOUBLE POINTS promotion. Hey, rules are rules.

But I had to make one small (1:24) exception. I was at the local hobby/craft store, spending too much money on party décor and crafty stuff, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature ‘rod that could smoke eight tiny reindeer. I honestly planned to leave it on the shelf until after Christmas, but then I noticed the price tag. All of the other models in this line were priced between $20 and $23, but this one, just this one box, was marked $13. That sure sounds like a “sign” to me. Now that I have gotten it home and seen the bag of parts in the box, it would appear that my idea and their idea of “minimal” gluing seem to differ. 46 assembly steps. Which doesn’t count me altering the girl on the door decals to be more “classic pinup” and less “cheap whore.” But I look forward to putting it together… eventually. Maybe after the holidays. Because I got very little accomplished this weekend (um, by the way, my local municipal recycling center CLOSED for long-term construction so I’m driving around with tubs of single-stream commingled in the trunk of the car until the rattling reminds me to go to one of the OTHER recycling centers). I’ll need to play Advanced Organizational Skills this week because I am theoretically leaving on Sunday or Monday to head to Milwaukee for work (missing Amy’s birthday AGAIN), and that is going to seriously eat away at my holiday-prep time. Erin’s cocktail party is the very night that I’m scheduled to return, so all shopping/wrapping for that social circle needs to be done before I leave. I will be in no condition to operate anything as sharp as a Scotch tape dispenser when I return.

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making a dent

Hmmm. I was going to see timber tonight, but there’s been a change of plans which suddenly frees me up, on a night when all of my couple-y friends are traditionally doing their own couple-y things.

Frees me up to do what?

Well, I could straighten up the house. Goodness knows it needs it. Okay, I’ll get to that as soon as I finish this post.

This post about… dentists. I am dreading an upcoming, still-unscheduled appointment with a new (to me) dentist. And here is the long, boring history of why:

My childhood dentist was Dr. Akelian. He was gruff and never gave any painkilling shots, then called me a crybaby when I cried in the chair. Also, his big fat fingers were salty. (I’m giving away my age, there.) An all-around unpleasant experience. Since he was the only dentist I’d ever known, I assumed that all dentists were like that. Dad was lax about making sure that my sister and I had our bi-annual visits after mom left, so from the ages of 10 to 16 I simply avoided the dentist’s office entirely.

When I was 16, and my sister was 22, she needed some dental work that couldn’t be avoided and found Dr. Veenstra. It had been so long that I knew I’d better go, as well. I would like to crown this man King Of All Dentists. His demeanor was so pleasant, and at my very first appointment, when he asked who my previous dentist had been, his hygienist looked alarmed and said “Dr. Akelian is still practicing?!” which gave me great satisfaction to hear. I knew that man was a monster! Dr. Veenstra complimented my teeth and never made me feel like I didn’t floss enough or wasn’t brushing correctly. I left Dr. Veenstra’s care eight years later, only because I left New Jersey.

My first dentist in Boulder, Dr. Baer, was a little scary from Day One. He never did anything threatening, but I didn’t like having a 6pm appointment with no other people in the building. No receptionist at the desk, no hygienist to assist… just me and a stocky man I’d never met. I sensed that perhaps he wasn’t the best choice when he lost count while doing my bitewing X-rays, and had to redo a few. At the time, I’d been experiencing an achy jaw which he informed me was the annoying presence of my wisdom teeth. However, they hadn’t yet broken the gumline, though I was 24 at the time, and they should have surfaced years earlier. He suggested that I wait until they emerged so that the extraction would be a simple in-office procedure instead of surgery.

Shortly thereafter, I received a glowing recommendation for Drs. Murphy & Brown, (now North Boulder Dental) so I took my films to their office and sat myself down in a chair. Again, lovely people. Every single person in that office was as polite as can be, and I remember that the panoramic X-ray they took (because Dr. Baer’s films didn’t actually show my back teeth) cost $60 because they were so very concerned about my paying for it out-of-pocket due to the 5-year coverage limit of my insurance. When the pano was developed, it was clear even to me that my wisdom teeth were never going to emerge because all four were impacted.

I don’t remember the name of the surgeon who removed those four aching teeth, but I remember that he called on a Saturday to check up on me, and that “conscious sedation” was one of the more pleasant experiences in my life. This is why people get hooked on drugs.

Alas, my out-of-network “80% of reasonable charges” covered only about 30% of the bills, so I had to move on.

I don’t even remember the name of the next office, let alone any of the dentists. It was one of those deals where you see a different doctor each time you go. I never built a relationship with any of them, and they occasionally contradicted each other’s diagnoses. “You need a crown on that tooth.” “I can’t even find a cavity in that tooth.” “This tooth has been worked on so many times, we should just pull it.” “We would NEVER pull a tooth we could work on! Which dentist suggested that?!” I did not mind leaving them when I moved to Westminster.

On my mother’s recommendation, I started seeing Dr. Yeats at Comfort Dental. At first, a very nice man. He didn’t tell me that I wasn’t flossing enough. He reprimanded the billing chick who didn’t want to honor the Comfort Dental coupon. He, oddly, wasn’t concerned by the yet-again-broken filling in “that” tooth. He gave me a cleaning, priced out a crown for a different tooth, and sent me on my way. My first crown was a pretty bad experience. The temporary was too high, but I was assured that a. my gums were swollen from the work and b. the real crown would fit better. It didn’t. After the initial fitting of my gold crown, I had to go back twice for additional filing before I could get my bite back. And still, Dr. Yeats was completely ignoring the broken filling. I played along. A year later and I needed a crown on a different tooth. The temporary crown fit this time, but the porcelain crown was again too big. And again, I had to go back for adjustments. When they filed the porcelain down to the base metal that the crown is formed on, they had to resort to filing the tooth above before I got my bite back. Also, the crown is slightly narrower than the tooth was, so I keep getting food stuck in between that and the next tooth. I floss a LOT. I asked if this was just how things went with crowns, and Dr. Yeats told me that “99% of the time they’re fine, but when there’s a complaint it always seems to be the same clients.” I’m sorry, did you just INSULT me because YOUR work is shoddy?

It’s now been a year since my last visit, and that broken filling isn’t fixing itself. Megan and Joe gave me a glowing recommendation for Dr. Sniegowski, who is actually COVERED by my crappy insurance plan, so as soon as I raise up the courage (or develop actual pain) I’ll make an appointment. Wish me luck!

Okay, time to clean up this chaos in my kitchen.

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