Hello, I’m Veronica
The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.
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That’s (Not) the Spirit!
In the latest Skytrax airline review, Spirit Airlines received an overall rating of 3 (out of 10). Not so good, eh? I’d love to debate that grade with those who fly Spirit. But what if those travelers also learned Spirit received a mere 4 for “value for money”. Value for money? This is an airline that touts itself as “the leading ultra-low cost carrier in the United States”! Have we been duped?
One of my family members flew Spirit earlier this week, and from her I learned the extent to which a business model can go “no frills”. I thought Spirit simply attached a fee to everything outside of the ticket itself. It’s more convoluted than that. Best example: Spirit’s checked bag fee starts at $30 (paid at time of booking), increases to $35 (before online check-in), then to $40 (during online check-in), then to $50 (at ticket counter), and summits at $100 (at gate). Pack carefully too, because an “overweight bag” begins at forty pounds (not fifty), and the fee-on-top-of-the-baggage-fee for overweight begins at $25.
Here are some other gotchas with Spirit; enough to consider your nearest emergency exit. Choosing a seat yourself runs $50 and up (not so unusual with the airlines these days). Carry-on bags that can’t be jammed under your seat cost you $55. Boarding passes are $2 if printed at a kiosk; $10 if printed by an agent (must be premium-weight paper, huh?) Unaccompanied minors are an extra $100 each way. Finally, the drink you’ll need to survive this a-la-carte menu starts at $3, even if it’s plain ol’ water. And don’t forget to press the flight attendant button or your beverage will never, ever arrive.
All of the above might read as criticism, but it’s apparent the Spirit model works for enough passengers to keep their planes in the air. If you choose to fly Spirit you are – ideally -a person traveling alone, carrying only one bite-sized piece of luggage, and you don’t mind where or with whom you sit on the plane. You also don’t care about comfort, because Spirit proudly reduces legroom to create “more seats for less airfare”.
I waged a little fares-war to see how Spirit’s “bare fare” stacks up to the competition. I chose five of Spirit’s larger-city destinations and compared those fares to the next lowest carrier. Here’s what you pay if you book a one-week round-trip flight from Denver starting April 15th:
- Chicago – Spirit: $108, Next Lowest: $117
- Atlanta – Lowest: $167, Spirit: $270
- Dallas – Spirit: $78, Next Lowest: $86
- Phoenix – Lowest: $130, Spirit: $150
- Los Angeles – Spirit: $91, Next Lowest: $138
Percentage-wise, the best deal is to Los Angeles, where you only pay 65% to Spirit vs. the next lowest. But are you going to fly all the way to the coast with a bag that fits under your seat? Not likely, so add another $55. Whoops – Spirit is no longer the lowest-cost option.
I’m not necessarily throwing Spirit under the bus here (even though a recent DOT report showed they had the highest number of complaints per-passenger among major U.S. airlines). I’m not saying they don’t care about you the customer (even though my sister-in-law took three hours and five agents/supervisors/managers to get her storm-delayed flight re-booked). I’m not even saying Spirit doesn’t run its business above board (even though the FAA recently slapped them with a $375,000 penalty for false advertising and refusal to reimburse customers).
What I am saying is do the math and know what you’re paying for. Don’t be duped.
I’ll conclude with a bit of irony. Three years ago my overnight flight to Florida was cancelled because I couldn’t connect through Houston on account of bad weather. But I simply had to get to Florida by the next morning. After exhausting all options the counter agent informed me my only option was out of another airport an hour’s drive to the north, and the only option out of that airport was… Spirit. And I’ll be damned if Spirit didn’t get me to Florida the next morning – right on time. So there you have it – I’m a fan of Spirit! Er, that is, after exhausting all other options.
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Sounds Good to Me
At the movies last weekend, as we waited for the lights to dim, two women were having a conversation in the row in front of us. What struck me was not what they were talking about, but how they sounded. Their voices projected loud and clear above the quieter chatter of others in the theater. Yet they were talking normally, neither straining nor raising their voices. It’s like they had built-in megaphones.
I find that fascinating about the human voice. With one person the words come out all velvety and smooth, like honey-dripped taffy. With others it’s all cymbals and brass band.
Take “Debbie” on the current season of television’s “Survivor”. If you watch, you know who Debbie is (the self-proclaimed uber-intelligent “Brain Tribe” member). But even if you didn’t know all that about Debbie, you’d recognize her voice in a heartbeat. There’s just something about her combination of accent, volume, and non-stop blah-blah-blah.
When I hear voices like Debbie’s, I’m spirited back in time to high school speech class. Midway through that semester so many years ago, our teacher brought in an “alumna” to demonstrate public speaking at its most refined. I’ll never forget it. Our guest spent several moments standing quietly in front of us; eyes closed, breathing deep, as if preparing for a long delivery. Then she simply said:
“Thank you for the plums. They were delicious.”
That was it. That was her entire speech. But I was utterly spellbound. The way she delivered just two lines: enunciating each word completely, starting and finishing each sentence smoothly, captivating her audience with her words as well as her body language – was the total sensory experience. I could hear her eating those plums. I could see the juice dripping down her lips. I could even taste those plums myself (and they were delicious). To this day it is one of the most powerful moments of speech I have ever witnessed.
The accents in the Southern states – i.e. Virginia or South Carolina or Georgia – are similarly spellbinding. I remember touring a plantation house once when I was a teenager, and our guide was a short, heavy-set black woman who possessed one the softest, sweetest voices I had ever heard. Her words were so calming and mesmerizing I found myself falling asleep on my feet, jaw dropped. I hope she realized that was a compliment, because I can still hear her voice to this day.
The Irish accent is even more affecting to me. Male or female; on the Emerald Isle or watching the movie “Brooklyn”; there is something utterly captivating about the Irish spin on the spoken word. It is soft and fluid, with subtle twists of pronunciation and emphasis. It’s like an audio massage. I could listen to the female Irish voice for hours on end (just as my wife could listen to the male equivalent. Hate you for that, Colin Farrell).
Since I am neither Irish nor a resident of the South, nor even a refined public speaker, I settle instead for using words that simply sound nice. Search the Web and you’ll find lists of “the most beautiful words” or “the sweetest-sounding words”. Here are some of my favorites:
- cashmere
- cinnamon
- chimes
- dulcet
- effervescence
- grace
- lithe
- mist
- murmur
- rhapsody
- sapphire
- serene
Don’t those sound nice and velvety? Don’t they bring just a tinge of comfort, or conjure up images of the nicer things in life? To conclude, some of us may not possess the most pleasant of pipes (like Survivor Debbie). But at least we have some sugary words that can bring us a little closer to that honey-dripped taffy.
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I Need A Fix
Home improvement gets a lot of attention these days, thanks to HGTV programs and the do-it-yourself draw of Home Depot and Lowe’s. Home maintenance however, lurks gleefully behind the scenes. Home maintenance demands your attention regularly, whether you want it to or not. If you’re a home owner, you’re a home maintainer. It’s the gift that never stops giving.
Last week our kitchen garbage disposal finally got the best of me. It’s kinda-sorta worked for several weeks now, but the occasional drip-drip below the sink (and why is it just occasional?) and the uncomfortably loud grind of its teeth had my disposal practically begging to be replaced. So I finally completed the task, but not before discovering some unexpected wiring and plumbing as a bonus.
For me, that’s how it goes with all home maintenance projects. Something breaks. I assess the situation and decide how long I can put off the fix. I don’t wave the white flag until I find all of the work-around options I can think of. Then, at last I purchase the parts and round up the tools, take a deep breath and dive in. That’s where a project gets really interesting, because there’s always more adventure in the repair than meets the eye.
When I wrote about my smoke detector assault a couple of weeks ago, the fact remained that I had ten outdated detectors still to be replaced. Amazon Marketplace came to my rescue. One mantra for modern times is “you can buy anything on Amazon”, and home maintenance projects back up that claim. I matched my ten-year-old smoke detectors to photos and details on Amazon and instantly purchased a whole box of the exact same little devils. But what looked like an easy project became anything but. It wasn’t until I replaced the first one that I realized the ceiling mount on the new units is slightly different than what I already have. So instead of just clicking in the new units, I also get to replace each ceiling mount, including the electrical wiring.
Perhaps you’re one of those who pays someone else to do your repairs. You figure, cough up the money and the job will be done a lot sooner (and better) than through your own effort. Much as I want to walk that road, my conscience always gets the better of me. I grew up with a father who basked in the curiosity of home maintenance and improvement. He just about lived for any kind of fix-it project on his weekends. His own upbringing – including a hand in the construction of his own childhood home – gave him the confidence to even take on the projects he’d never done before. Hence one summer my brothers and I found ourselves digging trenches and piecing together PVC pipe in our front yard as we constructed a massive sprinkler network. I’m not sure I even knew how to turn on the sprinklers before that.
Twenty-five years of home ownership would suggest I’ve evolved into a home maintenance expert. Nope; just not built that way. Even the most routine project still finds a way to confound me. Whether I’m replacing the guts of a toilet, rewiring a light fixture, or addressing the next water crisis (and there’s always a next in that department), I cut myself a break by assuming the project will not go as planned. That’s a good strategy for those of you just getting into the fix-it game. Beware the phrases “easy to install”, “replaces in minutes” or “requires no tools”. It will never go down as simple as swapping the old for the new.
Here are five home repair mantras worth memorizing. One, your project will require parts or steps that were not part of your original plan. Two, your project will involve words and gestures that are not typically part of your vocabulary. Three, double the time you need to complete your repair (actually, triple it). Four, the previous installation was not done perfectly – and you will suffer because of it. And Five, you will worry for days or weeks after your repair, wondering whether you got it right.
Yesterday – utterly mocking this topic – my coffeemaker called it quits. I worked on it for over an hour to no avail. Broken coffeemaker and no morning joe? Makes me want to call the repairman from here on out.
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Winning the Big One
U.S. News & World Report just ranked Denver and Colorado Springs high on its list of “best places to live” in America. Apparently the job market, cost of living, and quality of life in the Rocky Mountains leaves little to be desired. To add to the accolades, the Broncos just won the Super Bowl.
Before you say “Honey – pack up the kids! We’re moving to Colorado!”, you must pause if you’re a sports fan. Sure, that Lombardi Trophy is shiny and new and will feed Denver’s ego for the rest of the year. But it sure is lacking for company. If the State of Colorado had a trophy case for professional sports, the Lombardi would almost find itself in solitary confinement. Sequestered. You might even feel bad for it.
Denver wasn’t even supposed to win this Super Bowl. Fans from North Carolina (and frankly, anywhere outside of Colorado) never gave us a chance. But we’re used to it out here. Denver and Colorado are perpetual underdogs when it comes to sports championships.
The Super Bowl win got me curious, so I spent a few hours researching Colorado’s professional sports franchises (Wikipedia is my new best friend). I desperately wanted to use the phrase “a list of championships a mile high“. Far from it. To be honest I had to dig deep to find any noteworthy performances.
To spin it positive, Colorado might earn your envy for being one of only thirteen states where the four major professional sports are represented. whoop-dee-doo. The last time the Broncos won the Super Bowl was last century. The one and only time the Avalanche (hockey) won the Stanley Cup was 2001. The last time the Rockies (baseball) won the World Series was never. But at least the Rockies made it to the World Series . The Nuggets (basketball) started play in 1967 and fifty years later we’re still waiting for a spot in the Finals, let alone an NBA Championship.
To add a miserable exclamation point to Colorado’s track record, the Nuggets will once again miss the playoffs this year (it’s a tradition), the Avalanche are battling a half-dozen teams for the very last playoff slot in the Western Conference, and the Rockies… well, the Rockies haven’t even begun the new season yet they’re projected to finish in last place in the National League. Go COLORADO!
My Wikipedia search – ever more desperate – moved on to college championships. Colorado’s six D1 schools have accounted for a grand total of one football championship in their entire un-storied histories (Univ. of Colorado, 1990). None of these schools have come anywhere close to tasting college basketball or baseball glory. But then, mercifully, we have hockey. On the college ice the Centennial State shines. Denver University and Colorado College have combined for nine hockey championships; the most recent in 2005. I need to become a better fan of the puck.
If you’re reading from California, Massachusetts, Texas, or Florida, you feel none of my pain. Each of you can account for five, ten, even twenty professional or college sports championships in the last fifteen years alone. But if you’re reading from Georgia or Washington D.C., you’re pitching the proverbial championship shutout. You have my sympathies.
On the heels (hooves?) of the Broncos’ Super Bowl victory, Peyton Manning hung up his cleats for good – a justified decision. But Peyton’s backup just signed with the Houston Texans. In fact, several marquee Broncos have already left the state for other (better?) teams and higher salaries. Sigh. Back up the truck boys; the Lombardi Trophy is heading to another state soon. Let Colorado’s next sports championship drought commence.
So go ahead sports fans – move to Colorado. But I suggest you follow soccer. The Colorado Rapids have only been kicking for twenty years and they’ve already made the finals twice and won the whole thing once. Go RAPIDS!
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You’ll Find This Alarming!
They came for me quickly, in the deep of the night when my defenses were completely down. A coordinated attack as I slumbered. Theirs was no slow, stealth-like movement of sentries, but a full-on guns-a-blazin’ ear-splitting blitzkrieg. Who was this ruthless after-hours enemy, you ask?
My smoke alarms, of course.
Smoke alarms sit quietly on the ceilings of your bedrooms and hallways. They rest there upside-down like giant aspirins, waiting for a reason to blow their horns. They smugly advertise themselves as safety mechanisms (“you need us, pal”) but don’t be fooled. Even as I type they’re plotting another one of their coordinated onslaughts.
I have ten of these little monsters in my house: three upstairs, three on the main level, and four in the basement. In the dozen years we’ve lived here our smoke alarms have never – not once – alerted us to actual smoke or fire. Sometimes they chirp their once-a-minute beeps, demanding their failing batteries be replaced. Other times they sound off in pain as the static electricity of nearby lightning fills the air.
Lately it’s gotten worse. Now they’re making unreasonable demands, exploding in unison for no reason whatsoever. It always starts with one and then the others join in quickly. It’s downright deafening. A symphony of sirens more ear-splitting than the cannon fire of the 1812 Overture.
Their latest invasion came last Friday, in the wee hours of the morning. As usual they attacked without warning. The general (oh yes, I know which one he is) commanded one of his basement infantrymen to sound off, and per design as soon as one opened his mouth the other nine joined in with obnoxious harmony.
The net effect of this audio jolt was a magic trick. I levitated off the bed at least a foot – still horizontal, still under the covers (my wife missed an opportunity to wave her hands with a flourish and say “ta-dah!”) But shortly after returning to earth my brain kicked in to fully 5% of capacity and I was on the move. Alarms screaming, dogs barking, feet pounding, and no smoke or fire anywhere to be seen, I clapped my hands over my ears and dashed to the garage to grab a ladder. Then I climbed to the nearest little devil and ripped his battery out. Then to the next one. And the next. Hurrah, I was winning the battle! Or so I thought.
After dismantling four of these buggers it occurred to me the batteries-down approach was having no effect. All alarms continued their gleeful shrieks, and no amount of screaming obscenities would shut them up. Then it dawned on me: batteries or not, my alarms were still feasting off the house current. I dashed back to the garage, threw open the breaker box door, and triumphantly killed the circuit. Better. But six of ten still wailed away on battery life.
The remainder of my counterattack was the beginning of the merciful end. Each time I yanked out a battery, the siren would weaken to a pathetic moan and finally die away. I’m not saying it was music to my ears but you get the idea. After I dismembered Number Nine the sirens stopped entirely. And thank goodness for that. Number Ten – the general – sits seriously high up in the two-story stratosphere of our family room. It takes the full height of my extension ladder and tippy-toes to bring him to his knees. So I left the general with his battery, but fully detached from his regiment. He all but waved the white flag.
The following morning, as I surveyed the carnage hanging from my ceilings, I wondered how I could bring this war to an end once and for all. I decided to take down one of the dead bodies and have a closer look. Just as I was about to crack open the plastic cylinder for the autopsy I noticed the following words, printed in raised lettering around the edge:
“REPLACE THIS DEVICE BY YEAR 2012 TO AVOID MALFUNCTION”.
Seriously? Smoke alarms have a shelf life? Apparently the joke’s been on me for the past four years.
The general’s still up there and I swear I hear him laughing.
About Me
The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.
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