Hate to say it but just now I'm feeling just a bit like Ebeneezer Scrooge pre-Marley's ghost. It's not the true spirit of the holiday that makes me feel this way it is the big-box stores. Here it is, the Monday after Christmas, and I'm already dreading when the big-box stores, you know who you are so I will not point fingers, will decide that Christmas is started. With more than a bit of dread, I'm wondering if this year, they will really wait, until after January 1, to put out the Christmas Trees. I get a little sick of hearing "Chestnut's Roasting on an open fire" for the ten millionth time.
Take, for example, the currently dying year. At least one of the local big box store had its Christmas Trees out before the 4th of July. To them little inconsequential things like Thanksgiving and the 4th of July, and to a lesser extent even Halloween were simply not important. To them, it would be better if those were ignored by the ignorant masses. Masses who are desperate to give them their hard earned funds for whatever crumbs they, meaning the stores, decided to permit them to buy as Christmas gifts.
It seems that we, and I definitely include myself in the unwashed masses that the elitists who manage these chain stores mean when they deign to permit us their largess; are not considered quite intelligent enough to come in out of the rain, much less actually understand when a holiday, such as Christmas, should begin. Our task is simply to salivate over the rude crumbs they decide to permit us to spend money on while they simply laugh at us all the way to the bank.
What is worse still, they have somehow convinced the majority of the people that they, meaning the big stores, are Tiny Tim. We, the dirty rabble they permit to have their largesse, are actually Ebeneezer Scrooge. We have to be shown every year just how much, how long and how early we must give to small, helpless, corporate, Tiny Tim.
I would try to leave you with a word of cheer, but as it seems am become Ebeneezer, I leave you instead with the words of the great corporate Tiny Tim
God bless the dollars and dimes. God bless them, everyone!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Customer Avoidance Systems
Once upon a time not so very long ago, someone invented, H.I.V.R. and the world was good. People answered the telephone, and H.I.V.R. was used as it was intended to be used, to help you if all humans were already talking on the phone. H.I.V.R. was used to allow you to leave a message for someone who was away from their desk. It would allow you to connect to someone else who perhaps was at their desk without the need of hanging up and calling again. Then the BEAN COUNTERS got their grubby hands on it, and the world has been a darker place ever since.
Just what do I mean by BEAN COUNTERS? Perhaps the best definition of BEAN COUNTER goes something like this:
BEAN COUNTER, noun (descriptive noun) A bean counter is an illiterate antisocial accountant, incapable of interpersonal relations with other people. This person desires that all other people in the world be made to conform to their belief system. They have no regard for the rights of others when profit is to be made. They believe, cheating and stealing are correct and proper business practices, just as long as these practices produce profit for them or their company. These same individuals regard as the ultimate evil anyone who attempts to use, their methods, against them. P.S.: Please do not confuse BEAN COUNTERS with legitimate accountants. Most accounts are decent people who are simply trying to make a living and see to it that the people they work for are not cheated by the government.
As an example, quite a few years ago there was a family-owned coffee company. (Please note that I do not name that family owned company as this would identify the company which we will discuss next.) This family owned company sold relatively decedent coffee. (Coffee as good as it is possible to sell in mass market cans.) They obviously made a reasonable profit as a much larger company purchased this company primarily for the name. The very fist thing that the larger companies BEAN COUNTERS did was cut the quality of the coffee beans used. They changed the grind so that they could place less coffee in the can and told the public that this new type of coffee grind made just as much as a pound of the old coffee. What they did not tell the public was the new coffee tasted like somebodies boiled socks.
What was the result? Coffee sales plummeted. The BEAN COUNTERS used low-quality beans and replaced those with even lower quality beans then ground it finer making the brew more bitterly foul tasting. Today that once, proud, family coffee name is synonymous with crap coffee instead of quality coffee. P.S.: The moronic BEAN COUNTERS still do not understand and are trying to find crappier junk beans to offset the fact that fewer people can choke down their crap.
Now companies are doing the same thing with their telephone systems. I have to admit, I called a small company the other day and a human answered. I almost had a heart attack from the shock. Today in almost every case when you call a company which has more than, perhaps, a dozen employees, the first thing you will always be required to talk to is their customer avoidance system. Why do I call them customer avoidance systems? Try calling you telephone provider or the cable company and time just how long it takes you to get to talk to a live human. Worse yet, most of the time when you do eventually get connected; after going through at least five to ten levels of menu, and wasting anywhere from five minutes, to five hours, of your personal time, you will be talking to someone from Bhopal or Kuala Lumpur instead of someone in the good old USA. Some companies are actually trying to charge you for the privilege of talking to a human.
Why is this happening? In very simple terms BEAN COUNTERS. In the opinion, of the BEAN COUNTERS who seem to congregate at the top of many large companies it simply cost's too much to waste time talking to a customer. They often believe it is far better to make, what they call customer service, as unusable as possible.
Want a few examples. If your telephone company overcharges you; you will spend on the average of ten to twelve hours of your time trying to get this corrected. In most cases, you will be told that you must call a different department. No they can not transfer you, or if they do the line will hang up. When after several hours, sometimes several, days of waiting you will be told; no, the department that sent you here will be the only one who can help you. You need to call them back. WARNING: If you are five seconds late in paying them, they will turn your phone off! This is called customer service. P.S.: WARNING If your phone is turned off for late pay; first you must pay the bill then the late fee then the late fee to the late fee. This is followed by the reconnect fee. Then the late fee to the reconnect fee. After you have paid all of this you must wait, usually, three to five days for your phone to be turned back on. Incidentally this DOES include the invalid charge, often bogus charge, that you have been trying to get them to take off the bill. (Yes, I am talking about one of the large phone companies. Because they have attorneys on retainer, and I would be forced to, hire an attorney to defend myself from them, they must, unfortunately, remain unnamed.)
Unfortunately, much of this lies at the feet of the consumer as we tend to put up with this. Very few of us complain about this to the companies involved, partially because we believe perhaps correctly that the BEAN COUNTERS will ignore anything we say.
For those of you who do not believe, that you, yourself, are partial to blame for the condition of the customer avoidance systems in use today; I leave with this quote from what many people in the country think is one of our greater presidents.
"It is the duty of an elected official to ignore the will of the people when he believes that the people are wrong!" Senator from Massachusetts John F. Kennedy.
Perhaps the proper paraphrase is that of PT Barnum?
"You CAN fool most of the people all of the time!"
Just what do I mean by BEAN COUNTERS? Perhaps the best definition of BEAN COUNTER goes something like this:
BEAN COUNTER, noun (descriptive noun) A bean counter is an illiterate antisocial accountant, incapable of interpersonal relations with other people. This person desires that all other people in the world be made to conform to their belief system. They have no regard for the rights of others when profit is to be made. They believe, cheating and stealing are correct and proper business practices, just as long as these practices produce profit for them or their company. These same individuals regard as the ultimate evil anyone who attempts to use, their methods, against them. P.S.: Please do not confuse BEAN COUNTERS with legitimate accountants. Most accounts are decent people who are simply trying to make a living and see to it that the people they work for are not cheated by the government.
As an example, quite a few years ago there was a family-owned coffee company. (Please note that I do not name that family owned company as this would identify the company which we will discuss next.) This family owned company sold relatively decedent coffee. (Coffee as good as it is possible to sell in mass market cans.) They obviously made a reasonable profit as a much larger company purchased this company primarily for the name. The very fist thing that the larger companies BEAN COUNTERS did was cut the quality of the coffee beans used. They changed the grind so that they could place less coffee in the can and told the public that this new type of coffee grind made just as much as a pound of the old coffee. What they did not tell the public was the new coffee tasted like somebodies boiled socks.
What was the result? Coffee sales plummeted. The BEAN COUNTERS used low-quality beans and replaced those with even lower quality beans then ground it finer making the brew more bitterly foul tasting. Today that once, proud, family coffee name is synonymous with crap coffee instead of quality coffee. P.S.: The moronic BEAN COUNTERS still do not understand and are trying to find crappier junk beans to offset the fact that fewer people can choke down their crap.
Now companies are doing the same thing with their telephone systems. I have to admit, I called a small company the other day and a human answered. I almost had a heart attack from the shock. Today in almost every case when you call a company which has more than, perhaps, a dozen employees, the first thing you will always be required to talk to is their customer avoidance system. Why do I call them customer avoidance systems? Try calling you telephone provider or the cable company and time just how long it takes you to get to talk to a live human. Worse yet, most of the time when you do eventually get connected; after going through at least five to ten levels of menu, and wasting anywhere from five minutes, to five hours, of your personal time, you will be talking to someone from Bhopal or Kuala Lumpur instead of someone in the good old USA. Some companies are actually trying to charge you for the privilege of talking to a human.
Why is this happening? In very simple terms BEAN COUNTERS. In the opinion, of the BEAN COUNTERS who seem to congregate at the top of many large companies it simply cost's too much to waste time talking to a customer. They often believe it is far better to make, what they call customer service, as unusable as possible.
Want a few examples. If your telephone company overcharges you; you will spend on the average of ten to twelve hours of your time trying to get this corrected. In most cases, you will be told that you must call a different department. No they can not transfer you, or if they do the line will hang up. When after several hours, sometimes several, days of waiting you will be told; no, the department that sent you here will be the only one who can help you. You need to call them back. WARNING: If you are five seconds late in paying them, they will turn your phone off! This is called customer service. P.S.: WARNING If your phone is turned off for late pay; first you must pay the bill then the late fee then the late fee to the late fee. This is followed by the reconnect fee. Then the late fee to the reconnect fee. After you have paid all of this you must wait, usually, three to five days for your phone to be turned back on. Incidentally this DOES include the invalid charge, often bogus charge, that you have been trying to get them to take off the bill. (Yes, I am talking about one of the large phone companies. Because they have attorneys on retainer, and I would be forced to, hire an attorney to defend myself from them, they must, unfortunately, remain unnamed.)
Unfortunately, much of this lies at the feet of the consumer as we tend to put up with this. Very few of us complain about this to the companies involved, partially because we believe perhaps correctly that the BEAN COUNTERS will ignore anything we say.
For those of you who do not believe, that you, yourself, are partial to blame for the condition of the customer avoidance systems in use today; I leave with this quote from what many people in the country think is one of our greater presidents.
"It is the duty of an elected official to ignore the will of the people when he believes that the people are wrong!" Senator from Massachusetts John F. Kennedy.
Perhaps the proper paraphrase is that of PT Barnum?
"You CAN fool most of the people all of the time!"
Monday, December 13, 2010
Strange Days and Stranger Nights
Did you ever have one of those dreams? I often don't remember my dreams, but when I do I find few things, which relate to the ideas of Sigmund Freud. I have heard many people talk about how dreams predict things, or how they tell about our subconscious self. But, as for me, I find little correlation between my dream worlds and the real one we seem to live in.
I say, we seem, to live in because the endless debate as to which world is real continues. Do we live in what we perceive as the real world while our dreams are simply dreams? Or, is the, so called, dream world reality while what we believe is our waking world is, in fact, simply a dream? As my own dreams exist mostly unremembered somewhere inside my head, and the few which I do remember bits and pieces of are very strange. I devoutly hope that what I perceive as reality, truly is, reality.
Take, for example, my dream of last night. I don't remember all of it, only the strange ending. I do know that it was the last of my nightly dream state which was in progress just as the alarm called me back from my usual not too deep slumber. I am as sure that there is much more of this particular dream extending unremembered back into my subconscious as I am that I am currently engaged in sitting at the computer writing this.
I was standing at the counter of a strange building, and the female clerk was smiling across the counter at me. The building was square with windows on all four sides and a single door in one corner. Inside the totally open building, about six feet inside the dirty windows were the low counters which seemed to surround a mass of desks cast every which way in the square area confined by the counters. With a smile, she handed me several receipts and a flat box which held what I somehow knew to be paperwork. The box was about two feet by two feet. On top of this was another box about the size of a shoebox. Somehow I remember that I had come, to pay a bill. "You'll need this," she said as she handed me a small silver key on a medium size key ring.
Somehow I knew that this small key was to allow me to turn the power back on in my apartment. I remember thinking about how strange this was because this was definitely not the way any power company I had ever heard of turned off the power. What was worse, I was sure that I was not late in paying any bill, so the power should never have been turned off in the first place. I simply stood at the counter, realizing just how much of a robotic bureaucrat she was. While I don't remember the argument about the bill, I do somehow remember that it had been long. In this reality, the power company had the right simply to take the money out of my bank account without my permission. I had no recourse including a lawsuit against them. They seem to have taken out a late penalty which seemed to be over a hundred times the amount of my bill. My only choice was to pay the bill willingly or have another hefty penalty taken out of my account.
Resignedly I paid and walked out of the building. Somehow the strange dream got stranger at this point. As I left the building, I realized that I was standing at the corner of the building. Across the street was a police station. There were no vehicles parked in any of the parking spaces. I started to walk along the side of the building, and when I reached the corner, I turned left and continued to walk. For some strange reason, I continued along the side of building. At the next corner turned left again. Continuing my walk, I arrived at the third corner once again I turned and walked along the side of the building back to the corner from which I had exited the building. There sat my car.
The car was a white Lincoln Town car. Strangely it looked almost like a car which I owned over twenty years ago. I say almost looked like my car because it seemed to be sitting up on blocks and the doors were open and the trunk, but not the hood, was up. Without even seeming to move, I was standing at the open drivers side door. I looked in to find not only the seats missing but also all of the carpeting, dash and everything else other than bare metal. Both hands were still full of the packages which the functionary in the building had given me, and I simply sat them in the empty bare shell of a car.
Now the unreality of the situation increased as I pulled out my cell phone and pressed nine. I say unreality as the car was from the 1980's while the cell phone was from 2010. Back when I had that car, I did have a cell phone. It was one of the original brick type cell phones. They had just come out. I got one because I needed to stay in touch with my office in Dallas, and perhaps just a bit because I was a gadget head. In my dream, though, I was not holding a brick but a BlackBerry. Those few of you who remember the old bricks also remember that there was no mobile 911 system on them. While you could dial 911, the results were decidedly unpredictable. For one thing, there was no GPS system connected to the phone to tell emergency services where you were, and it was even unpredictable just who you could end up talking to.
In my dream, the call was answered by another bureaucrat who gruffly informed me that it was a felony to make a false police report and hung up. About this time, a couple of female cops, which I recognized from a TV reality show, as Dallas cops, pulled up and started to ask me what was wrong. It was at this point I realized I was sitting on the curb beside the stripped car and laughing. It was not the funny kind of laugh. While they waited another cop, this one male, ran up pulled his gun and yelled "get your hands up."
Without moving from my seated position, I simply looked up and said "just go ahead and shoot me," and I continued my insane laugh. It was at this point that the alarm on my phone went off, and I opened my eyes wondering if that cop had shot me or not. If the old saying is true, then the answer is obviously not.
One thing I do know about dreams is that sometimes, when we are very lucky, they can hint at, a story we may attempt to pen. Recording for others to pursue for their amusement. Is this particular dream, such a dream? Probably not, but who can truly say what the future will bring. After all, even Jean Dixon was wrong far more than she was right. Why do you think they named the Jean Dixon Effect, after her.
I say, we seem, to live in because the endless debate as to which world is real continues. Do we live in what we perceive as the real world while our dreams are simply dreams? Or, is the, so called, dream world reality while what we believe is our waking world is, in fact, simply a dream? As my own dreams exist mostly unremembered somewhere inside my head, and the few which I do remember bits and pieces of are very strange. I devoutly hope that what I perceive as reality, truly is, reality.
Take, for example, my dream of last night. I don't remember all of it, only the strange ending. I do know that it was the last of my nightly dream state which was in progress just as the alarm called me back from my usual not too deep slumber. I am as sure that there is much more of this particular dream extending unremembered back into my subconscious as I am that I am currently engaged in sitting at the computer writing this.
I was standing at the counter of a strange building, and the female clerk was smiling across the counter at me. The building was square with windows on all four sides and a single door in one corner. Inside the totally open building, about six feet inside the dirty windows were the low counters which seemed to surround a mass of desks cast every which way in the square area confined by the counters. With a smile, she handed me several receipts and a flat box which held what I somehow knew to be paperwork. The box was about two feet by two feet. On top of this was another box about the size of a shoebox. Somehow I remember that I had come, to pay a bill. "You'll need this," she said as she handed me a small silver key on a medium size key ring.
Somehow I knew that this small key was to allow me to turn the power back on in my apartment. I remember thinking about how strange this was because this was definitely not the way any power company I had ever heard of turned off the power. What was worse, I was sure that I was not late in paying any bill, so the power should never have been turned off in the first place. I simply stood at the counter, realizing just how much of a robotic bureaucrat she was. While I don't remember the argument about the bill, I do somehow remember that it had been long. In this reality, the power company had the right simply to take the money out of my bank account without my permission. I had no recourse including a lawsuit against them. They seem to have taken out a late penalty which seemed to be over a hundred times the amount of my bill. My only choice was to pay the bill willingly or have another hefty penalty taken out of my account.
Resignedly I paid and walked out of the building. Somehow the strange dream got stranger at this point. As I left the building, I realized that I was standing at the corner of the building. Across the street was a police station. There were no vehicles parked in any of the parking spaces. I started to walk along the side of the building, and when I reached the corner, I turned left and continued to walk. For some strange reason, I continued along the side of building. At the next corner turned left again. Continuing my walk, I arrived at the third corner once again I turned and walked along the side of the building back to the corner from which I had exited the building. There sat my car.
The car was a white Lincoln Town car. Strangely it looked almost like a car which I owned over twenty years ago. I say almost looked like my car because it seemed to be sitting up on blocks and the doors were open and the trunk, but not the hood, was up. Without even seeming to move, I was standing at the open drivers side door. I looked in to find not only the seats missing but also all of the carpeting, dash and everything else other than bare metal. Both hands were still full of the packages which the functionary in the building had given me, and I simply sat them in the empty bare shell of a car.
Now the unreality of the situation increased as I pulled out my cell phone and pressed nine. I say unreality as the car was from the 1980's while the cell phone was from 2010. Back when I had that car, I did have a cell phone. It was one of the original brick type cell phones. They had just come out. I got one because I needed to stay in touch with my office in Dallas, and perhaps just a bit because I was a gadget head. In my dream, though, I was not holding a brick but a BlackBerry. Those few of you who remember the old bricks also remember that there was no mobile 911 system on them. While you could dial 911, the results were decidedly unpredictable. For one thing, there was no GPS system connected to the phone to tell emergency services where you were, and it was even unpredictable just who you could end up talking to.
In my dream, the call was answered by another bureaucrat who gruffly informed me that it was a felony to make a false police report and hung up. About this time, a couple of female cops, which I recognized from a TV reality show, as Dallas cops, pulled up and started to ask me what was wrong. It was at this point I realized I was sitting on the curb beside the stripped car and laughing. It was not the funny kind of laugh. While they waited another cop, this one male, ran up pulled his gun and yelled "get your hands up."
Without moving from my seated position, I simply looked up and said "just go ahead and shoot me," and I continued my insane laugh. It was at this point that the alarm on my phone went off, and I opened my eyes wondering if that cop had shot me or not. If the old saying is true, then the answer is obviously not.
One thing I do know about dreams is that sometimes, when we are very lucky, they can hint at, a story we may attempt to pen. Recording for others to pursue for their amusement. Is this particular dream, such a dream? Probably not, but who can truly say what the future will bring. After all, even Jean Dixon was wrong far more than she was right. Why do you think they named the Jean Dixon Effect, after her.
Monday, December 6, 2010
A plesant evenings read
Like most people who dabble in writing, I started by being an avid reader of the works of others. I grew up on books which most of you have probably never heard of.
In the late fifties and early sixties, I read books like the Hardy Boys and Tom Corbin Space Cadet. Interestingly enough it is the lesser of the series, Tom Corbin, which in a very real sense, stands with us to this day.
Tom had a telephone in his belt pouch. Back then belt pouches were sissy, and the idea of a telephone which could carry with you, much alone put in a small belt pouch or pocket, was totally ridiculous. Telephones were chunky black things which had to be connected to an operator by a special set of wires. It was true that car phones did exist. They were huge things, which took up most of the trunk of a large car. They could only connect to another telephone by talking to the mobile operator. They did have a way to, ring, you if you were in the proper area, but there was no dial and they were an extremely expensive monster. The thing could cost several thousand dollars, and hundreds of dollars a month to use. Remember that this was in a time when a new car could be purchased for less than one thousand dollars.
In addition to the children's literature, I was captivated by things like 1984 and Robinson Crusoe. I even liked some things written by Poe, and like most kids I closely followed the adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.
One thing I have never been able to tolerate was Shakespeare. In college English, lit professors all seem to love Shakespeare. As I have never been overly fond of soap operas, or old English, my reaction to this was pretty well locked. I do understand why many people love Shakespeare it's just that I am not one of those lovers. What is annoying is that English professors who are in love with him seem to think that anyone who does not blindly agree with their worship is an illiterate heathen beyond any help. To them, we are obviously so stupid that we can not understand the material. The truth is that I do understand the material, quite well, in fact. I simply do not like having to deal with an antiquated style of English which is required to read it. Unfortunately, when the material is updated to modern times, the story is often butchered so much that it is only marginally recognizable.
My most recent foray into the world of Sir William was during a resent Shakespearean Festival at the local university. A friend was in town and wanted to see one of the plays. The play was "A Mid Summer Nights Dream". Try to get this scene. The play was performed in the style of Japanese Kabuki Theater retaining all of the old English dialogs. I found this decidedly strange.
Not everybody likes every writer and as far as I am concerned, that is the way it should be. If everyone liked exactly the same things, this would be a very boring world. Take, for example, the classic story told by Herman Melville, Moby Dick. I love the tail told by Melville. Unfortunately, I hate the writing style of Herman Melville. In a similar light, I love the western stories of Zane Gray but absolutely hate his writing style. After the fiftieth page, of reading about the sunrise over the far mountains, it gets on my nerves. I find I am almost screaming for him to get on with the story. Granted his colorful writing style is part of the lure of Gray, but there is such a thing as driving it into the ground.
So just what types of things do I like? Today, I find myself reading books by Webb Griffith, Tom Clancy, Nathaniel Lowell, Robert Heinlein, George Eliot, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling and many others. As you can see, my reading varies from classics to fantasy to thrillers and just about anything.
To me, an author must grab my attention in the very first paragraph, and I must be captivated well before I finish the first chapter. Often it is something simple, which grabs my attention. Occasionally an author will do something in the very first sentence which will almost make you groan. But, in the very next sentence they kick you in the pants by letting you know that things are decidedly not as the first seem.
One example of how an author can play with their readers is the opening as used in the book Quarter Share by Nathaniel Lowell, "Call me Ishmael." This is the exact opening line from chapter one of Moby Dick by Herman Melville. After this line, the only real similarity between these two books is that both of them are told in the voice of the protagonist, and both occur on board ships. One of the ships is an old Whaling Ship, and the other is a Star Ship, but both are ships none the less. You quickly discover, however, that the moniker of the protagonist is in a very real sense a statement by his dead mother.
One thing both of these authors do quite well is to bring to life the characters in their story. You start to care about what happens to the characters. The thing that all good writers try to do is make you care about what is going to happen to, the people they are telling you about. In a Christmas Carrol, you find yourself, starting to hope for a true villain Ebeneezer Scrooge. As is usually the case in literature but almost never happens in real life Scrooge becomes a good guy.
After all is said and done, especially at this time of the year, shouldn't we all wish along with Tiny Tim;
God Bless Us, Everyone!
In the late fifties and early sixties, I read books like the Hardy Boys and Tom Corbin Space Cadet. Interestingly enough it is the lesser of the series, Tom Corbin, which in a very real sense, stands with us to this day.
Tom had a telephone in his belt pouch. Back then belt pouches were sissy, and the idea of a telephone which could carry with you, much alone put in a small belt pouch or pocket, was totally ridiculous. Telephones were chunky black things which had to be connected to an operator by a special set of wires. It was true that car phones did exist. They were huge things, which took up most of the trunk of a large car. They could only connect to another telephone by talking to the mobile operator. They did have a way to, ring, you if you were in the proper area, but there was no dial and they were an extremely expensive monster. The thing could cost several thousand dollars, and hundreds of dollars a month to use. Remember that this was in a time when a new car could be purchased for less than one thousand dollars.
In addition to the children's literature, I was captivated by things like 1984 and Robinson Crusoe. I even liked some things written by Poe, and like most kids I closely followed the adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.
One thing I have never been able to tolerate was Shakespeare. In college English, lit professors all seem to love Shakespeare. As I have never been overly fond of soap operas, or old English, my reaction to this was pretty well locked. I do understand why many people love Shakespeare it's just that I am not one of those lovers. What is annoying is that English professors who are in love with him seem to think that anyone who does not blindly agree with their worship is an illiterate heathen beyond any help. To them, we are obviously so stupid that we can not understand the material. The truth is that I do understand the material, quite well, in fact. I simply do not like having to deal with an antiquated style of English which is required to read it. Unfortunately, when the material is updated to modern times, the story is often butchered so much that it is only marginally recognizable.
My most recent foray into the world of Sir William was during a resent Shakespearean Festival at the local university. A friend was in town and wanted to see one of the plays. The play was "A Mid Summer Nights Dream". Try to get this scene. The play was performed in the style of Japanese Kabuki Theater retaining all of the old English dialogs. I found this decidedly strange.
Not everybody likes every writer and as far as I am concerned, that is the way it should be. If everyone liked exactly the same things, this would be a very boring world. Take, for example, the classic story told by Herman Melville, Moby Dick. I love the tail told by Melville. Unfortunately, I hate the writing style of Herman Melville. In a similar light, I love the western stories of Zane Gray but absolutely hate his writing style. After the fiftieth page, of reading about the sunrise over the far mountains, it gets on my nerves. I find I am almost screaming for him to get on with the story. Granted his colorful writing style is part of the lure of Gray, but there is such a thing as driving it into the ground.
So just what types of things do I like? Today, I find myself reading books by Webb Griffith, Tom Clancy, Nathaniel Lowell, Robert Heinlein, George Eliot, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling and many others. As you can see, my reading varies from classics to fantasy to thrillers and just about anything.
To me, an author must grab my attention in the very first paragraph, and I must be captivated well before I finish the first chapter. Often it is something simple, which grabs my attention. Occasionally an author will do something in the very first sentence which will almost make you groan. But, in the very next sentence they kick you in the pants by letting you know that things are decidedly not as the first seem.
One example of how an author can play with their readers is the opening as used in the book Quarter Share by Nathaniel Lowell, "Call me Ishmael." This is the exact opening line from chapter one of Moby Dick by Herman Melville. After this line, the only real similarity between these two books is that both of them are told in the voice of the protagonist, and both occur on board ships. One of the ships is an old Whaling Ship, and the other is a Star Ship, but both are ships none the less. You quickly discover, however, that the moniker of the protagonist is in a very real sense a statement by his dead mother.
One thing both of these authors do quite well is to bring to life the characters in their story. You start to care about what happens to the characters. The thing that all good writers try to do is make you care about what is going to happen to, the people they are telling you about. In a Christmas Carrol, you find yourself, starting to hope for a true villain Ebeneezer Scrooge. As is usually the case in literature but almost never happens in real life Scrooge becomes a good guy.
After all is said and done, especially at this time of the year, shouldn't we all wish along with Tiny Tim;
God Bless Us, Everyone!
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