0603.6
11:37:23
Economic Catharsis, WEEKEND UPDATE
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So, as you may or may not know, I have a subscription to the The Economist the finest English-language news magazine on the planet. The Economist, being a weekly periodical on world political and economic events, is, by its very nature, a time-critical publication, and, as such, has a sell date on the cover, spanning a week. Normally, the Harding University mail office, in cooperation with the United States Postal Service, sees fit to deliver my subscription somewher on or after the end of said sell date.
Now, in the past, I’ve talked to the clerks about this, and they assure me that they make every effort to put mail into the box the day it is delivered, and I have no reason to believe that this was said in anything but good faith. This, of course, means that my mail is being handed with less than due expedience somewhere upstream. Now, honestly, I couldn’t really complain to them about this that much. I’m sure the postal service around here is accustomed to primarily dealing with periodicals of less urgent, monthly conent, like Southern Living, or Teen People — magazines, which, if they arrive a week after they are published aren’t horribly dated.
Today, at about 9:50 AM Central Standard Time, I opened campus mail box 13482, and found lying therein a copy of The Economist. It was dated February 25th to March 3rd. Also, it was patently obvious that it had been soaked by rainwater, and futhermore half the cover and pages immediately following were torn up. As it was immediately after chapel, the lines to talk to the clerks (normally to acquire packages in exchange for yellow slips and an ever-escalating scheme of indentity verification) were rather long, and so I waited there, in the line staffed by two full-time employees, not wanting to talk to a fellow student.
When I reached the counter, it took most of my morning’s energy not to yell at them. Of course, the fact that Dean Collins, who plays the role of Vice Principal at Harding University Middle School, was standing in the other line helped to calm me. I explained to them in a vaguely calm voice that while I was accustomed to receiving my mail three, five, and even seven days late, but nine days late and in such condition was wholly unacceptable, as I slapped the brutalized magazine onto the counter.
The lady who was working the counter — I don’t know her name, but I do enjoy recieving my packages from her, and she does a good job — didn’t say anything, but rather the other employee, a guy, whose name escapes me, examined it, and talked with me about it, ensuring that they do their best to get the mail into our boxes as soon as possible. He further went on to state that he sympathized with me about the sorry state of my copy of the Economist, and asked to have it, in order to show the postmaster.
Ah yes, the postmaster. I could have hoped for nothing better. In a way, I was almost jubiliant that such a heinous thing had happened, since I sincerely doubt that mere continued late reception of my subscription would have warranted such escalation. I thanked them both, gave them the thumbs up, and went about my business. The guys says he’ll get that edition back to me — it has the mailing label on it — but I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to use it for a future posterboard collage, much less read it, as it seemed that about half the pages were stuck together.
And now, for the fake news.
First, me, P. Diddy Burrows, Josh Hollis, and the rest of that crew has been hitting up the new coffehouse here in down late at night. It’s called the Underground, and while not undeground or even in a walk-out basement, it is in an abandoned storefront — probably furniture — in Searcy’s disused central core. I must say, it’s rather quality in its environs, has a rather large capacity at around three times the sqare footage of Midnight Oil, oh and also the house band is comprised of Dusty Hanes, Ben Davis (no, not the high school), and James Brown.
Friday night, I saw the Johnny Cash moive in the old (barely-)restored pre-desegregation movie house on the courthouse square. It was quite a quality movie, and the ambience of the theater dating from a similar era only enhanced the thing. I then proceeded immediately to said Underground (neither passing go nor collecting 200 dollars) where Grimey, High School and J Bizzle hit it up with their extended blues band (includding J. Witt on the drums, Kyle “Cash Money” Symanowitz on sax, and someone whose name I forget on the keys) before several other acts, most unsuited to the atmosphere — as it was open mic night and all. I actually ended up sitting with a bunch of Molly Morris’ friends, since they said hello first and I think they’re all most excellent. Left at 1, since you know, the party don’t start ’til I walk in, and I usually don’t leave until the thing ends.
Lazy Saturday,
woke up in the late afternoon,
called the Vantine just to see how he’s doing.
(Hello?)
What up Scott?
(Yo B-Lamb what’s crackin’?)
You thinking what I’m thinking?
(HP4?)
Then it’s happ’nin’
(But it’s not coming on ’til eight plus half-past.)
Let’s hit up the Stupid and talk to Luke Snodgrass.
No doubt this conversation will be filled with some goodness.
(Were the Sea Peoples aliens or just really ruthless?)
Crete, Egypt, Turkey, THE LEVANT
(Okay, let’s instead talk about our European jaunts.)
You got some gummy bears?
(Got this bag in the Stup’.)
Well give me some before I take them foo.
(Here, have these yellow ones.)
Yellow is the gummy Jews.
(Gummy ethnic cleansing is the best.)
True that.
DOUBLE TRUE.
(Some girls stole our seats.)
Luke S., what up sucka?
What you wanna do, Scott?
(TAKE ‘EM BACK, MOTHER******)
Yo, let’s bounce from this hizzy.
(The Stupid’s over-priced.)
Going back to Armstreezy?
(Let’s hit it up nice.)
Don’t want Mrs. Lemmons to get suspicious.
(Carrots and soy milk equal CRAZY DELICIOUS!)
…. Okay, enough of that. The Parentheticals are supposed to be Scott Vantine, of course.
Anyhow, ended up paying two pucks to see Harry Potter Four later that night, it wasn’t nearly as awful as I expected. I really have no interest in those books, but, hey, not much else going on.
Sunday, went to church, had lunch in Little Rock, got assigned to do some more humor columns.
That’s about it.
Now, in the past, I’ve talked to the clerks about this, and they assure me that they make every effort to put mail into the box the day it is delivered, and I have no reason to believe that this was said in anything but good faith. This, of course, means that my mail is being handed with less than due expedience somewhere upstream. Now, honestly, I couldn’t really complain to them about this that much. I’m sure the postal service around here is accustomed to primarily dealing with periodicals of less urgent, monthly conent, like Southern Living, or Teen People — magazines, which, if they arrive a week after they are published aren’t horribly dated.
Today, at about 9:50 AM Central Standard Time, I opened campus mail box 13482, and found lying therein a copy of The Economist. It was dated February 25th to March 3rd. Also, it was patently obvious that it had been soaked by rainwater, and futhermore half the cover and pages immediately following were torn up. As it was immediately after chapel, the lines to talk to the clerks (normally to acquire packages in exchange for yellow slips and an ever-escalating scheme of indentity verification) were rather long, and so I waited there, in the line staffed by two full-time employees, not wanting to talk to a fellow student.
When I reached the counter, it took most of my morning’s energy not to yell at them. Of course, the fact that Dean Collins, who plays the role of Vice Principal at Harding University Middle School, was standing in the other line helped to calm me. I explained to them in a vaguely calm voice that while I was accustomed to receiving my mail three, five, and even seven days late, but nine days late and in such condition was wholly unacceptable, as I slapped the brutalized magazine onto the counter.
The lady who was working the counter — I don’t know her name, but I do enjoy recieving my packages from her, and she does a good job — didn’t say anything, but rather the other employee, a guy, whose name escapes me, examined it, and talked with me about it, ensuring that they do their best to get the mail into our boxes as soon as possible. He further went on to state that he sympathized with me about the sorry state of my copy of the Economist, and asked to have it, in order to show the postmaster.
Ah yes, the postmaster. I could have hoped for nothing better. In a way, I was almost jubiliant that such a heinous thing had happened, since I sincerely doubt that mere continued late reception of my subscription would have warranted such escalation. I thanked them both, gave them the thumbs up, and went about my business. The guys says he’ll get that edition back to me — it has the mailing label on it — but I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to use it for a future posterboard collage, much less read it, as it seemed that about half the pages were stuck together.
And now, for the fake news.
First, me, P. Diddy Burrows, Josh Hollis, and the rest of that crew has been hitting up the new coffehouse here in down late at night. It’s called the Underground, and while not undeground or even in a walk-out basement, it is in an abandoned storefront — probably furniture — in Searcy’s disused central core. I must say, it’s rather quality in its environs, has a rather large capacity at around three times the sqare footage of Midnight Oil, oh and also the house band is comprised of Dusty Hanes, Ben Davis (no, not the high school), and James Brown.
Friday night, I saw the Johnny Cash moive in the old (barely-)restored pre-desegregation movie house on the courthouse square. It was quite a quality movie, and the ambience of the theater dating from a similar era only enhanced the thing. I then proceeded immediately to said Underground (neither passing go nor collecting 200 dollars) where Grimey, High School and J Bizzle hit it up with their extended blues band (includding J. Witt on the drums, Kyle “Cash Money” Symanowitz on sax, and someone whose name I forget on the keys) before several other acts, most unsuited to the atmosphere — as it was open mic night and all. I actually ended up sitting with a bunch of Molly Morris’ friends, since they said hello first and I think they’re all most excellent. Left at 1, since you know, the party don’t start ’til I walk in, and I usually don’t leave until the thing ends.
Lazy Saturday,
woke up in the late afternoon,
called the Vantine just to see how he’s doing.
(Hello?)
What up Scott?
(Yo B-Lamb what’s crackin’?)
You thinking what I’m thinking?
(HP4?)
Then it’s happ’nin’
(But it’s not coming on ’til eight plus half-past.)
Let’s hit up the Stupid and talk to Luke Snodgrass.
No doubt this conversation will be filled with some goodness.
(Were the Sea Peoples aliens or just really ruthless?)
Crete, Egypt, Turkey, THE LEVANT
(Okay, let’s instead talk about our European jaunts.)
You got some gummy bears?
(Got this bag in the Stup’.)
Well give me some before I take them foo.
(Here, have these yellow ones.)
Yellow is the gummy Jews.
(Gummy ethnic cleansing is the best.)
True that.
DOUBLE TRUE.
(Some girls stole our seats.)
Luke S., what up sucka?
What you wanna do, Scott?
(TAKE ‘EM BACK, MOTHER******)
Yo, let’s bounce from this hizzy.
(The Stupid’s over-priced.)
Going back to Armstreezy?
(Let’s hit it up nice.)
Don’t want Mrs. Lemmons to get suspicious.
(Carrots and soy milk equal CRAZY DELICIOUS!)
…. Okay, enough of that. The Parentheticals are supposed to be Scott Vantine, of course.
Anyhow, ended up paying two pucks to see Harry Potter Four later that night, it wasn’t nearly as awful as I expected. I really have no interest in those books, but, hey, not much else going on.
Sunday, went to church, had lunch in Little Rock, got assigned to do some more humor columns.
That’s about it.
7 Comments
GMT-0500 16:49:55 0603.6 (Mon)
Interesting coincidence, in my Near East History class we spent today talking about the Sea Peoples. All I can remember at the moment is that Sardinia was named [probably] after the Shardina!
GMT-0500 16:01:46 0603.7 (Tue)
I’m much more interested by the mail story.
(1) Where is the domestic printing facility found? Surely your copy isn’t flown in from England (or is it?), and so I’m curious if we can deduce where in the U.S. it’s coming from in the first place.
(2) How much does subscription cost? I imagine that it’s not cheap; you might want to consider writing in to The Economist’s editor-in-chief and ask him what portion of your money is going towards postage costs, and ask him to step it up a little bit (be it a newly-invented option for the consumer or be it a system-wide upgrade for all customers), charging you the quarter or two more it costs to get the magazine to you in 2 days instead of 7.
(3) I don’t understand why/how you could get angry with the Harding people for the condition of your magazine. Lateness, perhaps, but the condition, I don’t follow. Is your mailbox not shielded from the elements? Is their storage of letters not indoors? I imagine the answers are “Of course it’s shielded!” and “Of course it’s indoors!”, respectively, and so I can only say that the person to be blamed for the condition of your magazine would be, as you put it, “somebody upstream.” All’s well that end’s well, but I still feel you should have asked the Harding clerks to refer you to the postmaster (or whoever the next dude in line to talk to would be in a case like this) instead of brandishing the magazine in their faces and being upset about things. Then again, maybe I don’t understand at all and there’s something you know that I don’t that would make you suspect that they got it wet and not the higher-ups.
(4) I honestly think that magazine subscriptions are bogus, for this very reason. Back when I used to purchase Disney Adventures magazine in 3rd and 4th grade, I would religiously hunt for the newest issue at Marsh each month and buy a perfect-condition magazine. When Becky pointed out that I could save money by subscribing to the magazine for a year, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t. Only after I had subscribed did the horrible truth dawn on me — you get what you pay for. The slightly cheaper yearly subscription came with a whole load of issues:
– torn magazines
– water-soaked magazines
– bent magazines
– late magazines
– and, in one case, a magazine that never showed up
Each time this happened, I would buy a 2nd copy at Marsh, until I just couldn’t take it any more. That moment more or less coincided with me outgrowing the magazine, and so acting on both of these forces, I chose to not renew my subscription nor buy any more copies at Marsh. But to you, now, I would say this — why not buy each Economist at a local Borders or Barnes&Noble? I’m sure that they stock these magazines — I may even go investigate ours today or tomorrow or Thursday (if I remember) and confirm it. Not only would they stock it, but the copy would have to be new new new. And not only that, but you could personally inspect the magazine and buy one in perfect condition. Isn’t this worth the potentially higher cost?
GMT-0500 16:10:05 0603.7 (Tue)
Just thought you should know, I entered that last reply in using Notepad and Cut-n-Paste because one of your color palettes is really impossible for a typist. I took a print screen to show you. The issue is that the text font is way too light for the background color it’s placed on. Something needs to be darkened.
Click here to see the image of what my screen looked like.
GMT-0500 19:15:13 0603.7 (Tue)
Matt: Mmmmmm yais.
Nazz:
1. I didn’t yell at the Harding people, I was just upset (to the point of wanting to yell at somebody) and wanted them (as the only people I have the ability to interface with) to do something about it. They have, in fact, I recieved my magazine back today with a letter from the Assitant Manager, Randy, who I talked to. Look for a followup post later this week when I’m not studying like nuts for a conlaw test.
2. I’d have to drive to at least North Little Rock to buy a copy of The Economist; nothing in town carries it.
3. Hapefully as you might have noticed by a few changes to the front page, I’m slowly working on fixing and upgrading the look of this site. I agree about the CSS for blog/wine, though it’s not so bad for me since safari puts in system buttons: here’s what my screen looks like.
GMT-0500 20:55:17 0603.7 (Tue)
Ben — how much RAM do you have in your Mac Mini, and is it enough? I’ve read that the old standard 256 is intolerable, and I’m wondering if 512 is even enough to run OSX [esp. with the video card siphoning off 64 MB as it will in the new Mac Minis…].
GMT-0500 17:14:50 0603.10 (Fri)
Hey buddy, i would love to be your roommate but i have already decided to live at Milner’s house next year, so i will be off campus. Sorry bud. However, you can come and chill when ever you want
GMT-0500 16:35:14 0604.4 (Tue)
Well, you should read Harry Potter anyway. Back in the day, during a springtime trip to Gatlinburg with the old/cool youth group (remember that? We stayed in some mountain apartment thing?) I convinced Christie B. to read Book I and she finished it in about 2 days. Couldn’t put it down. Like me and soy milk. Do I know Vantine? I think we would be friends.