Livingston, I Presume

Not decorous

I seem to have spent an inordinate amount of time talking with telephone customer service reps this week. First it was the health insurance company--the standard practice of denying an acceptable claim in the hopes that you won't notice and they can pocket the money--then it was the new veterinary care credit card we got for the cat. (Don't ask. Just be scared to know that my cat now qualifies for enough credit to buy a used car or perhaps a very nice living room set.)

The credit card call was mildly amusing, as it was the second time I've had to call them to figure out just what my name is. The first card arrived bearing the name "Ritter N. Rosenleaf." When I called the after that particular miscommunication, the rep's first question to me was, "Can I have your name, please?"

The question of whether they wanted my actual name or the one they were trying to give me was of course relevant at that juncture. We settled on my credit card name, and went about trying to correct it. The friendly man assured me that the name had been changed, and he wished me a pleasant day.

Two weeks later, I received a card for "Ritter N. Rosenleaf-Ritter." Now that's hot. I'm right up there with Boutros Boutros Boutros Ghali. We'll see what my new name is when the supposedly corrected card shows up in a week or so.

But really, today presented the biggest challenge in maintaining my decorum in the face of the hapless customer service rep. I have long distance through a company called Pioneer. They offer ass-cheap long distance, even to international destinations, and so they get my business. Whenever another company calls to try to get me to switch, I just ask, "Can you beat 5 cents a minute to the Czech Republic?" After they finish asking what state the Czech Republic is in, they usually acquiesce that no, their company cannot beat that rate. The downside to this cheap service is that it is also, well, cheap. The call quality is not great--though better than Skype--and sometimes calls mysteriously refuse to go through.

So it was today as I attempted to call some friends in Edinburgh. I finally got frustrated and called the Pioneer Customer Service line. I explained the problem and was met with this response: "How were you trying to call internationally, ma'am?"

For some reason, that struck me as the funniest possible way of figuring out what was going on. I got this mental picture of someone sitting by the phone, willing it to dial Scotland. Like, "Please, please, please, won't you call my friends in Edinburgh? I'll wipe off your earpiece if you call Gillian!"

Suppressing some giggles as well as my urge to say that I was trying to call internationally using only my pinky toe and my burgeoning powers of mental telepathy, I said something about using the international dialing code 011 plus the country code for the UK and the city code and number. There was a pause while she took that in.

"And what country is Scotland in, ma'am?"

Needless to say, I'm still waiting to talk to my friends.

Near miss

There were sighs of relief in our house when I got the text message that Conrad Burns had cancelled his plans to film a campaign commercial at my husband's place of employment. The thought that our junior senator could in any way use my husband--and worse yet, my child, who attends preschool there--in his last-ditch effort to hold on to his job is loathesome. My husband had promised to boycott any attempts at happy group shots, but I'll admit I was worried. And I don't think it's right to put employees in that position. But I'll shut up now, before I get us into trouble. No harm, no foul--at least as long as those plans stay cancelled.

I also apologize for the extended bloggy silence. Connery seems determined to keep me in a permanent state of semi-defeated exhaustion, and it *is* the slow news season. Obviously, the terrorist plot foiling in the UK is huge, but it just makes me depressed comparing Britain's seeming ability to keep abreast of these things to the fumblings of Dear Leader. It's not that I'm the leader of the Blair fanclub or anything, but I did always feel that he at least is not stupid and/or mean.

I'll close by saying that I am counting all my available blessings that I am not flying anytime soon and that I won't have to worry about transporting breast milk anytime soon.

My little adult

We were having a little DQ last night when I was reminded just how closely Connery listens to us, and just how easily he absorbs linguistic nuance. He was getting a little frustrated trying to spoon up some last bits of sundae, and I asked him what was wrong.

"I'm just trying to get these f*ckin' peanuts," he grumbled.

Oh my. Now where would he have learned how to use *that* adjective?

In Defense of Bozeman

NB: A version of this first appeared as a column in Tuesday's edition of Business to Business, a monthly publication of the Bozeman Daily Chronicle.

Bozeman-bashing seems to be in vogue this summer. In his farewell column last month in Business to Business, Parker Heinlein lamented the creeping big-ness of Bozeman and cited a battery store as the last straw in his exasperation with what Bozeman is becoming. He’s not alone, at least if the blogosphere is to be believed. On Internet sites from BobcatNation to New West, posters decry the loss of Bozeman to roving hordes of yuppies demanding McMansions to live in, chain store to shop in, and Starbucks to drink.

Maybe if I lived in Bozeman, I would be joining the angry mob, too. As it is, I find myself somewhat bewildered by the venom heaped on a town I consider still friendly, accessible, and convenient. Sure, it’s not all those things all the time, but compared with other places I’ve lived or worked, it ranks pretty high.

I just can’t see the downfall of an entire city’s culture and lifestyle based on the national chains it attracts or the irritation of the afternoon commute—or even the number of new residents who show up. Given the alternative—which many a shrinking Montana town can demonstrate—I’ll take the growth.

I’d much rather witness the debate over whether a new high school should be built with or without a performing arts space than take sides in the divisive rancor over which undersubscribed neighborhood school should be closed. Or which rural schools should be consolidated.

I’ll take a few downtown stores that fall squarely outside of my income bracket, if it means that part of Bozeman continues to thrive. I’d rather have to hunt for parking spots there than face the acres of free parking—is there anything sadder?—in a dying downtown like the ones you can see in far too many communities in Montana.

Even the traffic doesn’t ruffle me unduly. The worst traffic in Bozeman is no match for some of the places I’ve called home, and at least here I can look at the mountains while I idle.

I understand the fears of longtime Bozemanites that their town could become a place they don’t recognize in 10 years—it may be a place that they will say they don’t recognize now. Nobody wants Bozeman to become Denver or Salt Lake or Spokane. As a lifelong Montanan who took a decade-long break from Big Sky Country before moving back, I agree. I don’t want Montana to become Colorado.

But I also don’t want it to be the place that everyone has to leave when they graduate high school or college because there are no decent jobs, a situation for which Montana has long been known. Growth can’t guarantee good jobs, but neither can a lack of it guarantee that a place won’t change. Towns that aren’t retaining their residents and aren’t attracting any new ones must endure shuttered stores and schools and the decline of needed services such as medical care.

If it’s a choice between growth and slow demise, I’d rather fight with traffic and contend with a battery store any day. Besides, no one can say Bozeman is completely yuppified at this point. At the very least we’ll need that stand-alone Starbucks and some Indian takeout to make that claim.

My solution for the Westboro "Baptists"

(I mean, besides the obvious one where the loving Creator that I understand to exist smites their leader with a well-placed lightning bolt, preferably directly into his anal cavity.)

I was appalled but not in the least shocked to read in the paper this morning that they are planning to picket at Phillip Baucus's funeral. This event is tailor-made for them: Interest is high because of the family name, and the media will be out in force. This is where my solution comes in--if the media will go for it. Here's my plea:

Don't cover these thugs. Ignore them completely. Ignore their hatred, their bigotry, their utter insanity. They have done nothing so far that is worthy of national attention, and I don't see them starting now. Rise above the easy story and, if you must cover the private grief of the Baucus family, do it in a respectful and honorable way. Let them picket, with their disgustingly hate-filled and utterly illogical signage and statements, but don't give them the satisfaction of getting national or even local coverage. Every second of air or print or 'net time that is devoted to their cause is a victory for them--by which measure I guess I could say they've beaten me today.

But I'll take the hit if it convinces even one other person to ignore the shameful spectacle these "Christians" intend to mount.

Another tragic loss

Not a week after I have to say something nice about Senator Baucus, I find myself writing about him again. The death of his nephew, Phillip Baucus, in combat in Iraq is a tragedy, and my heart goes out to the Baucus family. I think it's fair to say that there aren't many members of Congress* who have a close relative facing down deployment, and the fact that Max has never once, to my knowledge, trotted out his nephew as some kind of campaign ploy or political football speaks well of him.

I understand from the articles about Phillip Baucus that he was a stand-up guy. A newlywed. A Bruin. A musician. What a shame that his potential is now lost to a war started under false pretenses. I hope his family can find some peace.

*Bloomberg informs me that South Dakota Senator Tim Johnson and Arizona Senator John McCain have kids in the military. Brooks Johnson has served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Jimmy McCain joined the Marines this summer.

Edited to add: The New York Times summarizes the service records of the relatives of other U.S. senators, adding helpfully that "(a) White House aide, who requested anonymity because his information was preliminary, said Wednesday that he knew of no top Bush administration official who had a relative who had served in Iraq and Afghanistan."

Hooray!

It's raining. Hard. Great buckets of it. I imagine it pelting the fires that have been making people flee their homes and filling the valley with smoke. Even though we have not yet replaced our gutters, I am happy.

Rain, rain, come and stay! Don't leave here for days and days!

Yes, I'm a little giddy with the cool. I'll try to relax and get back on task now.