HinesSight

Qwest technical support produces gripes...then grins

I've had an interesting relationship with my off-and-on friend, Qwest.

Back in August 2007 I was writing an irritated blog post, "Qwest, I'm waiting for DSL...still waiting...," about how the communications company was stiffing my efforts to get broadband to our neighborhood.

Then in January 2008, after writing a pleading letter to the Qwest CEO, I got all ecstatic in "I'm the DSL King of the World!" I'd managed to get DSL installed in our rural south Salem area, freeing myself -- and many others -- from the frustrations of dial-up and satellite Internet.

I'm still going through Qwest ups and downs.

A few months ago I started seeing a lot of Qwest service truck activity going on along Liberty Road, our automotive and utility connection with Salem. Ever the optimist, I hoped that this pointed to improvements in our DSL service, which had been limited to 1.5 mbps.

My wife, ever the pessimist, thought that Qwest was just trying to keep its sometimes creaky phone service working. Turned out I was right.

One day in late April the phone rang. Someone from Qwest asked if I was interested in signing up for broadband. I told her that I already had it, but would sure be interested in faster DSL service.

"It's available in your area," I was told. "Sign me up," I said. For seven bucks more a month, I could go from fast to faster, 1.5 mbps to 7 mbps. Whooee!

More ecstasy. But after the upgrade was activated, agony. Intermittent, yet still seriously frustrating. The wireless connection to my MacBook would drop unpredictably, something that had never happened at the 1.5 mbps speed.

After trying the obvious -- unplugging the 2Wire modem, then firing it back up again -- the problem kept occurring. My Internet life would speed along much faster than before, then come to a complete stop for a minute or two.

Time for a call to Qwest customer service.

Predictably, the first thing I was told to do was unplug and replug the modem. "Been there, done that," I told the person I was talking to. But I did it again anyway.

DIdn't make any difference, naturally. Another call to Qwest had me being walked through a process that supposedly led to more power being supplied to the modem. Again, no difference.

This was all that Qwest technical support had in their bag of DSL dropped connection problem bag of tricks. I was told, "If this keeps happening, call Apple."

Ah, the familiar customer service brush-off.

Can't be a phone company problem; must be something wrong with your computer. Except, the dropped broadband connections hadn't occurred at the 1.5 mbps speed, only after the upgrade. 

Still, I dutifully used my AppleCare contract and phoned Apple after a few more days of being afflicted with Internet interruptus.

No suggestions at all.

Which didn't really surprise me, since I was pretty sure the problem lay with Qwest, not my MacBook. Realizing that I needed more ammunition to fire at Qwest technical support, I started running up some stairs to stare at the modem whenever my laptop's wireless connection stopped working.

In addition to burning calories, I learned some things. About half the time, the normally solid green DSL light would be blinking. Hah! Proof! No DSL, no wireless connection. Seemed like a smoking tech support gun.

But I didn't want to risk hearing "It's Apple's problem, not ours" again. So I turned on my wife's PC laptop and confirmed that when the MacBook Internet connection was down, so was her ThinkPad's, running Windows XP.

Time for a gotcha call to Qwest. I was looking forward to throwing my "It's your fault!" evidence at technical support.

However, it took me three phone calls, each time having to wander through a lengthy automated "press 1 for..." before I could talk to a real person. The first two calls, I was disconnected from the Qwest phone system.

Now, it doesn't inspire confidence in a communications company when they aren't able to keep their own customer service phone system working. The second time this happened I began to harbor conspiracy theory thoughts.

"Maybe Qwest does this on purpose, to weed out customers who have a nagging, but not serious, problem. If they keep calling back after being disconnected, Qwest rewards them with a repair ticket -- sort of like a Zen master who only accepts students after they've waited by the monastery gate in the snow for several days."

My third phone call to technical support, once I got a real human being, started with me saying as quickly as possible, "I've been cut off twice; if this happens again, you need to call me back. Right away, before I kill myself. Which wouldn't be good for Qwest public relations, when the news gets out that a customer committed suicide after being disconnected from tech support three times in a row."

(Or words to that effect. Sometimes I embellish my memories a bit, remembering what I wish I'd said.)

I then zeroed in on the blinking DSL light, repeating that fact over and over.

Must have made a difference, because for the first time I heard, "When you signed up for the upgrade, didn't someone tell you that your current modem might not be able to handle the higher speed?"

"No," I replied. "It would have been nice to know that, though."

From that point on, my Qwest customer support experiences turned from gripes to all grins. I was told that a new Motorola modem would be sent to me, how to return the old one, and the basics about how to get the new modem up and running.

The next day a UPS guy appeared in our driveway. Carrying a box. Which held the Motorola modem. Nice! Qwest had sent it overnight from Colorado. Maybe I should threaten suicide every time I call technical support about some problem.

I was worried that the installation process would be complicated. It wasn't. However, I'm more computer savvy that most people.

A lot of Qwest customers wouldn't have been able to follow the rather cryptic instructions I was given over the phone. Having a step by step guide in the new modem box describing how to get a secure wireless network up and running would save most customers quite a bit of head scratching.

Anyway, the Motorola modem gets along great with the faster DSL connection, which I've measured at about 6.0 mbps down and .740 mbps up. Qwest and me are on friendly terms again.

I just wish that on my first call to technical support, rather than my fifth, I'd been told that the 2Wire modem is known to not be able to handle the higher DSL speed I'd signed up for.

Wings of Wonder -- beautiful butterflies in Independence, Oregon

First off, if you're looking for a video that shows butterfly sex (and why wouldn't you be?) -- you've found it!

Disclaimer: there is a human variety of "butterfly sex," and there is the authentic kind, what butterflies themselves do. This blog post is all about authenticity.

Yesterday my wife and I took visiting relatives, my sister and brother-in-law, to a wonderful local attraction that we'd never been to before: Wings of Wonder in Independence, Oregon. If you love butterflies (and who doesn't?) this is a must-see if you're in the area.

For us rural south Salemites, getting to Wings of Wonder was just a short drive down Buena Vista Road, followed by a pleasant ferry trip across the Willamette River.

If you're arriving via the ferry, keep on going straight onto a gravel road (Willamette Ferry Street) when you get to the stop sign. There's no sign for Wings of Wonder at the intersection. Have fluttering faith, head on down the unpaved road, and soon you'll come to the educational center on the left -- which we were told recently became an official non-profit organization.

I'd never been to a butterfly exhibit. At least, not one where the butterflies are flying around within a large tropical plant-filled enclosure kept at 90 degrees. But my sister and her husband had been to four or five. They said Wings of Wonder was the best.

After being escorted in through double doors, to prevent butterfly escapes, and getting some instruction about how to conduct ourselves (such as "look down, some butterflies rest on the floor"), we spent an exceedingly pleasant 45 minutes or so admiring the wide variety of colorful butterflies.

Uplifting music is played, most appropriately.

Biggest thrills, both on the video: (1) Having a butterfly alight on my hand and stay a while, even though, so far as I know, I bear no resemblance to a flower, and (2) Watching a couple of butterflies have sex.

Which, before you get excessively excited and rush to my You Tube production, isn't very action packed. In fact, there was no action at all.

Either butterflies practice a form of tantric sex, a Zen variety of contemplative mating, or the male had died after doing his reproductive thing. I'll go with the first theory, being a happier option, but a Wings of Wonder employee seemed inclined to the second when we asked what was going on with the motionless entwined pair.

Enjoy the video.

Salem to Silverton: a trip from boring to charming

It's only about 28 miles from my house in rural south Salem to Silverton. But it seemed like light years yesterday, as we traveled from Oregon's stodgy conservative capital to a charming progressive small town.

Amazingly, Laurel and I had never been to the Oregon Garden, which opened ten years ago. With my sister and brother-in-law visiting from California, we were finally drawn to check out Silverton's prime attraction.

Well, let's say #2 attraction.

Because Silverton's Stu Rasmussen is the first openly transgender mayor in the United States, and he's gotten a lot of attention since being elected last November.

Including the possibility of starring in a reality show.

We'd headed to downtown Silverton after quickly touring the Oregon Garden by tram (snap review: Impressive! Beautiful! I want to return when we have more time to walk around and admire the amazing variety of plantings).

Having wandered through an antique store and an art gallery it was time for a caffeine pick-me-up. So after chatting with some locals who were ensconced at a table outside a Water Street coffee house, we went inside to fuel up with food and drink.

And were thrilled to see Stu saunter down the sidewalk and join the group. (He's impossible to miss, believe me.)

I felt like we were blessed with a celebrity sighting -- like when Laurel and I visit my daughter in Hollywood and see a movie or TV star in a restaurant.

Leaving, we conversed some more with the locals. First visit to the town in many, many years, and it took me about two seconds to realize that I really like Silverton's style.

Everybody we encountered was warm, open, out-going, and more than a little quirky. A wonderful counterpoint to Salem's much more guarded atmosphere. Part of the difference is due to small town/big town, but that isn't the entire explanation.

When I told the group that my wife and I were from Salem, one of the locals said, "That's a great place to be away from." I heartily agreed, expounding on my it's a nothing at the center of everything theory.

The worst-kept secret in Oregon? Salem is a boring town. I like to say that Salem is the amorphous undistinguished center between four interesting one-hour-away compass points. North is Portland. South is Eugene. West is the Pacific Ocean. East is the Cascades. And in between all these wonders? Blahville USA.

I want Salem to be able to elect a transgender mayor. I want Salem to be as diverse, artsy, progressive, and green as Silverton. I want Salemites to be as welcoming, humorous, and eccentric with visitors.

(One of the locals told us to be sure not to miss Silverton's Chinatown, which reportedly consisted of two doorways in the next block, one or both of which I believe led to a Chinese restaurant.)

Here's what a resident had to say about why he loves Silverton. After one visit, me too.

Motorcycling is as dangerous as you make it

As noted before, when people hear that I'm getting a Suzuki Burgman 650 scooter, the response often is: "But motorcycles are so dangerous!"

(The Burgman is as big and powerful as a mid-sized motorcycle, so I'll refrain from saying scootering in this post and stick with "motorcycling.")

Danger needs to be a consideration in everything we do in life. The risk of motorcycling certainly has to be taken into account by both aspiring riders and those who care about them.

But here's why I believe it's truer to say, "Motorcycling is as dangerous as you make it."

Before deciding to get back into riding, I studied motorcycling accident statistics (didn't come across scooter-specific data, which probably are mixed in with motorcycles).

They can be pretty sobering and scary.

Motorcyclists were 35 times more likely than passenger car occupants to die in a crash per vehicle mile traveled in 2006 and eight times more likely to be injured, according to NHTSA.

Here's the thing, though. Those figures are on average.

They include motorcyclists driving drunk or stoned, not wearing a helmet, speeding like crazy, lacking protective gear, unlicensed to drive a motorcycle, those who haven't taken a motorcycle safety course, and such.

Nobody wants to be average. Especially when it comes to staying alive and healthy.

So the most informative (and inspiring) web site I came across in my motorcycle accident statistic research was this one: an article by James R. Davis called "Beating the Odds Requires that You Act ABNORMALLY."

Must it be true that your passion for motorcycles requires that you end up dead or injured in a motorcycle related accident sooner or later? Of course not! So, how do you beat the odds?

Statistics are only true if the population behaves 'normally.' Let me explain...

A substantial number of motorcycle accidents involve a rider who has been drinking. So, if on occasion you drink and drive, you are acting 'normally' as to the statistics and they are more closely predicting what will happen to you. A substantial number of accidents occur when 'luck' runs out - you drive through a yellow light and a truck happens to run over you in the intersection. But many, if not most, motorcyclists rely on luck to get them through a ride in just such a scenario. To the extent that you rely on 'luck' you are acting 'normally' relative to the statistics - you are trying to insure that they are self-fulfilling predictors.

What DOES make a difference in statistical outcomes is BEHAVIOR that is at variance with 'normal.'

Davis then explains further what he means. Common sense stuff. And reflective of the idea that almost all motorcycle accidents are avoidable, capable of being prevented by the rider. Davis says:

The fact is that it is more dangerous to ride a motorcycle than it is to ride in a passenger car. The way to beat the odds is to BEHAVE in ways that decrease YOUR odds of being involved in an accident or being injured or killed if you are in one. In other words, you must behave 'abnormally'. (i.e., defensively, intelligently, soberly, with learned (practiced) skills, with protective gear and as if your life depends on it, because it does.)

Relying on luck (odds) is simply stupid.

Excellent advice.

When I was 16, way back in 1965, I got a Honda 55 trail bike. I took it to college and rode it my freshman and sophomore years. So that's about four years of extensive riding in both the country, where I grew up, and the city of San Jose, California, where I went to college.

I never wore a helmet. Nor any sort of protective gear. Had on shorts, t-shirt, and tennis shoes much of the time. The bike was way under-powered, top speed not much over 45 mph, if that. No leeway to get out of trouble quickly.

I laid the bike down a few times. Worst injury I got was cutting my knee when it fell over at low speed in a school driveway. I was lucky.

Now, I'm older and wiser.

I'm re-taking the three day Team Oregon Basic Rider Training course, even though I already have my motorcycle endorsement. I've gotten a great set of protective gear: helmet, textile jacket and pants, footwear, gloves.

And I plan to wear the stuff all of the time.

Motorcycling, and scootering, is tremendous fun. Also, Green, given the lesser environmental impact of two-wheeled motorized transportation (gas mileage, parking needs, and so on).

Don't let the perceived dangerousness stop you, if this is what you want to do. Just realize that while the risks are real, they can be much reduced by riding better than average.

UPDATE: Here's a link to another good article about riding a motorcycle safely, "Discover the Top 10 Motorcycle Safety Tips for Responsible Bikers."

Let loose the person you really are

I want to get as much mileage as possible out of the Suzuki Burgman 650 scooter that will be coming my way in a few weeks. And I'm not just talking about how much gasoline I put in the tank.

There's a lot of blogging possibilities with motorized two-wheeling.

So I've added a "scootering" category to HinesSight in anticipation of sharing fresh views of life as it will appear through my Shoei helmet.

Presently I'm in a philosophizing mode, because my main reason for wanting a maxi-scooter (meaning, a big one) is pretty darn profound: I want to let loose the Brian that I know I am, but often keep caged up.

Most of us do this. Could be everybody. For one reason or another we go through life acting one way outside, while feeling another way inside.

Sometimes this is appropriate. Civilization requires some stifling of impulses.

But often we simply get into habits of inauthenticity -- lazily allowing ourselves to become someone we aren't, a persona others have learned to associate with the name we go by, yet which leads us to say "I'm not that guy."

Breaking out of this self-imposed cage often is dismissed with a he (or she) is just having a mid-life crisis.

To which I respond: Hey, it's never too early, or too late, to have a life crisis. What is life for, if not crisis'ing? Doesn't Zen encourage us to live every day as if your hair was on fire?

And didn't another source of wisdom, namely me, expound scooterishly on my other blog upon the theme, "Follow your passion wherever it leads"?

Now, I don't want to over-philosophize my desire for a Suzuki Burgman. However, this is absolutely true: ever since I ordered it, I've felt different about myself. More, well, me. As I wrote before:

I realized that when I thought about getting on two motorized wheels again (I had a small Honda trail bike in high school and college, and a mid-sized Yamaha motorcycle about fifteen years ago) I'd feel a sensation of Oh, yeah, that's me!

Not that I'm a motorcycle or scooter. But that I'm the sort of person who enjoys riding one, who likes taking risks in the pursuit of fun, who has a bit of Brando in me.

This isn't you. I'm me. You're you. I'm just saying that each of us, you, me, everybody, knows where our passions lie.

Maybe they're precisely reflected in what we're doing, thinking, and feeling now. Most likely, they aren't. Because for good reasons, and also for not-so-good reasons, we often trade passion for something else.

Life is short. The universe is 14 billion years old. It will continue for many more billions. If we humans live to be 100, that's amazingly long by Homo sapiens standards. 

And astoundingly short by any sort of cosmic measure.

I don't believe in life after death. I don't disbelieve in it, either. There's just no evidence to support the notion that we keep on living after our last breath, so I assume that whatever I want to do with my life, it had damn well better happen in this one.

When people hear that I'm getting a scooter, a common response is the same as what motorcyclists hear: But they're so dangerous!

Well, yes. So is climbing Mt. Everest. Much more so.

The death rate has remained at one death for every 10 successful attempts to climb Everest for many years, the British Medical Journal report states.

Yet we admire people who contemplate the mountaineering risk-to-reward ratio, and decide to place their bet on living life fully, with 29,029 feet of passionate gusto.

Others set out to ride a motorcycle or scooter. Or whatever. Why? Because -- no why's required, though they can be supplied upon request.

Life can end for any of us at any moment, some moments being more likely than others (when I turned sixty last year, this decade'al birthday helped me realize that I'm getting uncomfortably close to the higher probability phase of life -- so I'm justified in saying, "To hell with a mid-life crisis; I'm signing up for an end-of-life crisis").

It isn't good to come to the end of the road and think, I wasn't really ever on it, not the way I wanted to be. The only path that really matters is the one that leads us to ourself. If we're rolling down that Way with our passion throttle open and a smile on our face, excellent.

Nothing more to do. We can't control how long the ride will last. Just how authentically we experience it.

Quality of life in allocating health care resources

Imposing title for a blog post. It may sound kind of boring, but before we die each of us -- more than likely -- is going to face the bioethical question, "What kind of life is worth living, and at what cost?"

Back in the 1980s I lived and breathed health policy issues. That was my job. Also, my passion.

Recently I got to reminiscing about the days when I worked with Portland psychiatrist Ralph Crawshaw and Senate president John Kitzhaber (who later became Oregon's governor) on a project that laid the foundation for the Oregon Health Plan.

Getting into spring cleaning, at my wife's urging I started going through some boxes in the garage that held old memories. Out popped some Oregon Health Decisions publications -- an organization that I helped found, and was executive director of for several years.

It had been a long time since I'd seen "Quality of Life in Allocating Health Care Resources," which I wrote in 1988 on behalf of a Citizens Health Care Parliament. Reading it with fresh eyes, I was amazed at how the issues Oregon and the nation wrestled with then are the same issues being debated now. 

Read the 23 page report and see for yourself. (It's a 1.4 MB PDF file.)
Download Quality of Life in Allocating Health Care Resources

Illustrating how the more things change in health care, the more they stay the same, here's how the report starts off.

Health care in Oregon and the nation faces critical choices. Many attempts have been made to cut health care costs, but spending in this area by both government and the private sector continues to increase much faster than growth in the general economy.

Left unchecked, the burden of rising expenditures for private health insurance and public programs such as Medicare and Medicaid will lead to a growing inability of low- and middle- income Americans to receive health care, and siphon off tax dollars that could be used for other pressing social needs.

The real tragedy is that even though this country spends a far greater percentage of its gross national product for health services than does any other nation, this had not brought us either markedly improved access to health services or better health. The United States infant mortality rate ranks 19th among industrialized nations, and 37 million people do not have private or public health insurance.

Even though I wrote the report, the passage of more than twenty years caused me to read it today as if I'd never seen it before. Here's a few lines that struck me.

The goal of priority-setting is not to limit health care benefits, but to assure that as many of those benefits as possible are made available to people. Resource allocation becomes a concern only when there is a societal obligation to provide the services to be allocated. There is no public outcry about the maldistribution of diamond rings in homes across America, since this is not considered to be a basic human need.

...Rescuers will spend vast amounts of money to save a person trapped in a well when logic argues that more lives could have been saved if that same money were spent differently. The point seems to be that whatever our minds decide, our hearts must be able to live with.

Like most Americans, I'm hoping that a viable national health care plan is going to emerge from Congress and the Obama administration soon -- looks like it could be this year. Whatever that plan looks like, it is going to have to deal with quality of life and resource allocation issues.

I'm proud that Oregon helped lead the way in finding solutions to our health care problems. And pleased that I was able to contribute to that effort.

I'm also happy to learn, via a Wikipedia article, that Portlander Dr. Ralph Crawshaw was still very much alive and kicking in 2005. It was great to work with Ralph back in my state health planning and Oregon Health Decisions days. He was a great guy and a marvelously energetic activist.

Craziness of creationists shown by 47-million-year-old fossil

Oh, Ida, it's so nice to meet a relative -- albeit a distant one. Really distant. As in 47 million years ago.

Scientists hailed Tuesday a 47-million-year-old fossil of an ancient "small cat"-sized primate as a possible common ancestor of monkeys, primates and humans.

Scientists say the fossil, dubbed "Ida," is a transitional species, living around the time the primate lineage split into two groups: A line that would eventually produce humans, primates and monkeys, and another that would give rise to lemurs and other primates.

I love the idea, better termed "reality," that my ancestors include all sorts of other creatures. Which, of course, isn't a strange idea at all, since humans obviously are animals. And animalistic.

There is, however, some controversy about whether Ida is part of the Homo sapiens family tree. Some scientists say the fossil is like an aunt from several generations ago. Others, that it is more like a third cousin twice removed.

Whatever. Ida still is a relative, and I'm glad she came to visit after so long. Forty-seven million years! Time for some inter-species togetherness.

Reality is so much better than fantasy, by and large.

Science is dedicated to learning how things really are. Religion casts its lot with imagining how things might be. Eternal life. A god who created the universe just for us. Heavenly delights offered in exchange for blind faith.

None of that makes sense.

So Christian religious fundamentalists fear reason, evidence, facts. Evolution threatens their irrational world view, where God created everything all at once -- or at least managed the design of creation with his divine will.

Over on one of my favorite blogs, Pharyngula, biologist PZ Myers has been punching holes in a creationist's arguments. I like the title of yesterdays' post: "I'll be condescending when condescension is deserved." 

Who should be intellectually condescending here? I think the side that presents the evidence, actually seeks out new knowledge to test their conclusions, and actually demonstrates some knowledge and scholarship deserves to be a little uppity and arrogant. It's the people like Peter Heck, who are utterly ignorant of the science, mangle what little they know, and actively mislead people about the evidence who might deserve a little condescension. My only reservation about that is that I tend to favor treating ignorant, lying twerps with open contempt instead.

Nicely said.

Today Myers ripped into Heck again, demolishing his ridiculous claim that there is no evidence for macroevolution (the emergence of new species) -- only microevolution (such as when a virus evolves into a new form, like swine flu).

When creationists argue that they believe in microevolution, but that macroevolution is dubious, they've got it backwards. Large scale historical change was confirmed and thoroughly documented in the 19th century! Darwin was a bridge, who explained how small scale, natural processes could produce the known variation between species, and the triumph of 20th century biology was to confirm and expand upon our understanding of how those changes occurred. Neither macro nor micro evolution are speculative. Neither one is lacking in evidence.

For sure.

Ida, who could well be my distant ancestor (yours too) is more proof of evolution. Now, we can only hope that believers in creationism and intelligent design will evolve into human beings who aren't stuck in the Dark Ages of anti-scientific fundamentalist beliefs.

Coach -- the biggest jerk ever on Survivor

I was so happy Coach (real name, Benjamin Wade) got voted off Survivor Tocantins this week. My wife and I have watched every episode of Survivor over the years. We've seen some real jerks, such as the infamous Jonny Fairplay and Randy Bailey.

But I've never screamed so often at the TV, Vote him off! Get rid of him! Don't trust him!

My wife and I couldn't stand Coach from the beginning. He's the most irritating sort of person: someone who blabs on and on about how truthful, upright, honest, courageous, and strong he is. I wouldn't be surprised if Coach also believes himself to be the most humble person in the world.

The Tao Te Ching warns:

When the great Tao is forgotten,
Kindness and morality arise.
When wisdom and intelligence are born,
The great pretense begins.

Given all of Coach's yogic posturing (both physically and psychologically), you'd think some of this Eastern wisdom would have soaked into his ego-encrusted head.

However, Coach mostly was clueless about how his incessant moralizing and holier-than-thou attitude was turning off his fellow contestants. On Survivor, as in life, people value genuineness over hypocrisy -- which is why I'm betting that JT Thomas is going to end up on top after tonight's finale.

There's quite a bit of evidence that Benjamin "Coach" Wade is an inveterate liar. For example, this piece about him. 

On Survivor: Tocantins, Ben Wade claims he must “surround himself with integrity”, yet according to one viewer of the hit CBS show, he has been caught in more than one lie recently including lying about holding the world’s record for a solo kayaking trip. No record has been recorded on either Google or Wikipedia.

Ben Wade also claims on his website that he survived a hurricane with mammoth waves and that at the top of a 30 foot wave, “God” spoke to him and saved him. The area he claims he survived the hurricane is the Mexican port of Portolabombo which according to the viewer, is not a hurricane ravaged area and has only recorded one tropical storm since 1939.

Ben Wade received his name “Coach” because he coach’s young girls soccer teams and recently he was fired from his postition because he reported to the school he worked for, that he was leaving to go for “cancer tests” when he was really competing on this season’s Survivor. He also claims that God has called him to do the show after he prayed about it.

The guy wears a large cross around his neck. He loves playing martyr (when he was sent to Exile Island this week, he made a big deal out of not eating or sleeping while he was there, and posed with his "Dragonslayer" staff in a Christ-like position).

But whether Coach subscribes to an Eastern or Western faith, the fact remains that he is a total jerk. People's voted-off interview with him proves it. One irritating excerpt:

You told a lot of wild tales by the campfire. So level with us — are you speaking truth or are you pathological liar?
I am probably the most misunderstood person in America right now. I can guarantee you two things: I’m not delusional or crazy. My reputation and my character have been assassinated … It has been a difficult road. I’m human and some of this stuff has cut me to the quick. But I remember two things to get through it: One, I am a child of God and no one can take that away. And I’ve got the character that has been forged by these triumphant victories and devastating losses.

Um, Coach, you didn't answer the question. So let's stick with "pathological liar." Judging from the first bunch of comments on the article, clearly most Survivor fans agree.

Jet lagging my way through post-vacation blues

I realize that life can't be arithmetic'ized. Still, every time we come home from a vacation I mentally calculate the value of a numberless equation:

All the rushing around to get ready to leave + dealing with all that has to be done when we get back - the relaxation of the vacation = how much reduction in stress?

I'm pretty sure the value to the right of the equals sign is positive. Meaning, the psychological benefit of a vacation is worth all the work involved in the pre- and post- days. But leaving Maui and returning to Oregon last Wednesday made me wonder, a bit at least, if that's true.

It was sort of a premonition -- approaching the west coast and seeing a once-tropical sun setting below a bank of dense clouds.

My gustatory brightness had started to fade quite a bit earlier in the flight. Hawaiian Airlines, to its credit, still serves free meals in coach. So I was pleased to see the meal cart heading my way a few hours into a flight that up to that time had featured a tiny bag of pretzels for sustenance.

"Turkey sandwich or pasta?" we were asked.

"Oh, pasta," I said with a smile. Quickly adding, with an intuition born from long meatless experience, "We're vegetarians."

"It's chicken pasta. Sorry."

Hey, Mr. Flight Attendant, you couldn't have been as sorry as I was. A fact you would have become well aware of if you'd hung around to hear the conversation between the two lunch-less vegetarians in 13 A and B.

"Good god, can't Hawaiian offer a vegetarian option on a five hour flight? The other passengers wouldn't suffer from not having meat for one meal. In fact, it'd be good for them. Whereas we pure-stomached souls would incur grievously hurtful dietary karma from the turkey or chicken Hawaiian was offering."

All the energy I used in griping made me even hungrier. Luckily, we'd made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before we left our Napili Kai room. Looking around the plane, we were the only ones I could see eating our own food.

Such is the cross we vegetarians have to bear. We live longer than carnivores (especially red meat eaters) but spend a good part of life staring glumly at menus that pretend we don't exist.

After getting home at 1:30 in the morning, and waking up earlier than I wanted due to my brain believing it was time to rise and curse the screeching birds that had greeted me the past ten sunrises, one of my first daytime sights was way more plant material than even a vegetarian wants to see.

The good news was that it must have been cool and rainy in Oregon most of the time we were gone (the rain gauge showed 4 inches of wet stuff had fallen). The bad news was that grass loves that sort of climate.

I'd mowed extra short before we left. Today I had to mow extra long, not wanting to traumatize the grass that had just spent two weeks growing the good life.

I gave the lawn a sign that the Big Bad Mower Man was back in charge by cutting it to about half of the extravagant height it reached while we were gone. Sunday I'll chop it down to regular size and do the trails that I didn't have time to mow today.

Two mowings in three days. A huge stack of saved-up mail, including a bunch of bills. Suitcases to unpack, wrinkled and dirty clothes to deal with, a pet rescued from "dog jail" to fawn over (that's her term: the Shaggy Dog Kennel calls it a Pampered Dog program, which, given the boarding bill, is a lot closer to the truth).

We also have a bunch of TV programs recorded on our DVR to get through as quickly as possible. Yes, coming back from a vacation can be hell.

Already, I couldn't help but see a news blurb about who got kicked off Dancing With the Stars on one of the episodes we missed. If we don't watch the Survivor shows soon, we'll learn what happened on those also.

[Note to potential commenters on this post: if you reveal what happened on Dancing With the Stars, Survivor, Lost, or 24 the past two weeks, you will incur horribly bad karma that will ruin the rest of your life. It'll be even worse than eating meat. Trust me -- though I admit that philosophically and theologically there's no reason to. But still, trust me.]

Our gripes about Maui

Sure, we've been on Maui for ten days, enjoying the great mid- 80's weather on Napili Bay while Portland, Oregon is 54 degrees and rainy today -- according to the Honolulu paper.

We check the mainland weather report daily, because our friends always lie about how nice it was back home while we were gone. "Oh, you missed some great weather. Sunny every day, didn't rain a bit."

Yeah, right, I think to myself, not wanting to let them know that I'm on to their Hawaii vacation envy.

But things are definitely not totally paradisaical here. We've accumulated some pretty serious gripes, which need to be aired before we leave.

Vegetarian eating. Yes, we realize fish live in the ocean, and people like to eat them while they're on Maui. Along with the usual meaty fare they're used to at home. Still, restaurateurs here need to throw us vegetarians a bone. Even better, tofu or tempe.

Laurel and I would have been happy to leave more dinner VISA charges in the pockets of Maui restaurant owners. However, there aren't very many that want vegetarian business. It's pathetic, the lack of non-fish and non-meat items on menus.

We ate twice at Mala Ocean Tavern.

Love the quartet of hummus, babaganoush, raita, and Greek feta (plus other stuff, including terrific grilled pita bread). Otherwise, it was Chinese and Thai take out for us, plus what we got at the natural food store in Kahalui after we got off the plane.

You can do better by us vegetarians, Maui. Hop to it, so we have more eating choices on our next visit.

T-shirt and trinket shops. Browsing up and down Lahaina's Front Street yesterday evening, we were struck by the sameness of so many of the shops. Most have the same t-shirts, the same cheap Hawaii trinkets, the same everything else.

It seems to us that some creative shops offering something different would be successful. Yet we noticed that the Gecko store in Lahaina is gone, as is the Endangered Species store at Whaler's Village.

These offered some different stuff. And they've gone out of business, apparently, while the same old, same old establishments carry on. Something is wrong here. Tourist tastes can't be that routine and predictable. Or, maybe they are.

Maui wowie. We've been to Maui many times. In the old days, every visit I'd hear a muttered "Want some buds?" or the like as my baby boomer, longish haired self trundled down a Lahaina sidewalk.

That always made me feel good -- part of the local drugscape, in a minimal fashion (very minimal, because I'd never respond). Recently, though, I've been ignored. Except for yesterday, when I heard a Maui wowie? as some local youths passed by.

Thanks, guys. But you need to do a more consistent job at making gray-haired flower children relive their 60's youth for a moment.

Screeching birds. Some people think that a Maui vacation is relaxing. Well, you should be in my bed (an appealing idea, depending on who you are) at 5:30 most mornings. That's when some annoying birds decide that it's vitally important to let every sleeping vacationer within earshot know that the sun is coming up.

I'd like to sleep another half hour or so. However, at 5:30 I'm too awake to go back to sleep, and too sleepy to get up. So I lie in bed for quite a while, mentally cursing the birds.

I don't understand how the Hawaii tourist industry allows those screeching S.O.B.s to stay on the islands. At the least, the birds need to be trained to stay quiet until at least 6:00 or 6:30.

Why the state legislature hasn't mandated that this be done is beyond me. And believe me, I've spent a lot of time the past ten days pondering this matter. Mostly shortly after 5:30 in the morning.

Ice cream on beach. Laurel has a special gripe of her own. When it's sunny, warm, and you've melted into your beach mat, the will power simply isn't there to get up and seek out ice cream.

We believe it can be purchased at a Napili Kai Resort snack bar that's a ways behind the beach. But Laurel never has had the energy to walk a couple of hundred feet when she's in her "melted mood" and find out.

So she sits on the sand and wishes that Maui had beach vendors, like those at a baseball game, but barefoot and dressed in tropical attire, who would appear whenever she wanted ice cream. And, naturally, give her some.

Well, those are the core gripes that we were able to come up with this afternoon while -- no big surprise!-- sitting on the beach.

To Maui's credit, it took us quite a while to come up with even a small number of gripes. Still, they're serious to us.

Sort of.

After ten days of staring at my knees, which have been staring at Molokai, nothing seems super-serious. Which is precisely why we enjoy coming to Maui so much, even given the gripes.

Meaningful Maui musings

I can't believe that I called a post from three years ago, "Meaningless Maui musings." I'm rectifying this error now with a change from "less" to "ful" in the title.

Because sitting on Napili Beach -- the lovely crescent in the middle of the photo -- for several hours each day offers plenty of time for deeply important ponderings about life.

Some of which, I'm pleased to see, are the same as my 2006 musings. I say "pleased" because doing the same things is a big part of what I love about returning to Napili Bay almost every year.

I call this an On Golden Pond sort of vacation. In that marvelous movie an aging couple spend each summer at their home on a lake called Golden Pond.

"Aging couple" isn't a phrase I like to use in reference to Laurel and me. But we're getting older, that's for sure. (Who isn't?) And our vacation preferences favor repetition rather than variety.

We know what we like. We have a great time on every visit to Maui. Why mess with success?

My daughter and her family came along for part of our 2009 vacation. Lazing on the warm, sun-soaked beach a few days ago, she said: "Dad, I've always made fun of you for returning to the same place every year. Now I see why. It's beautiful!"

I enjoy doing the same thing on Napili Bay and seeing how different it feels each time.

Life is continuously refreshing itself. It isn't possible to step in the same experience river twice. So I don't get bored engaging in my daily 30-minute sidestroke practice back and forth across the bay.

Quite the opposite.

Every day the wind is different, the waves are different, the clouds are different. Most importantly, I'm different -- my energy level, mood, thoughts inside my head, and such.

The way I see it, boredom only arises when we stop paying attention.

Life always is living, so long as we are. Feeling the energies of existence pulse inside and outside of me, like the waves that never stop washing onto Napili Beach -- sometimes gently, sometimes crashingly -- it's always absorbingly interesting.

Along with the recurring questions that Laurel and I discuss as we lie on our natural beach mats, observing our fellow vacationers as they pass by on the sand or play in the ocean.

Example: a ponder that we also pondered in 2006.

Generously-sized people in skimpy bathing suits glorifying the body God and McDonalds gave them, good or bad? Jury is still out on this question. More research to be conducted on the beach in a few minutes. Tentative answer: depends on number of rolls of body fat.

I need many more visits to Maui to come close to a definitive answer. The response that seems to be evolving for me is Go for it, girl! (teeny bikinis are much more evident on the beach than small Speedos -- which seem to be a European thing)

Why not? Flaunt it if you've got it.

And we sure have seen some older plus-plus-plus sized women doing just that. I admire them for saying to the world via their swimsuit choice, "This is me, and I'm just fine with it."

Which is what I like about beach behavior.

Grown-ups acting like kids. Kids acting like kids. Having fun. Not caring how you look to other people. Embracing your inner just do it.

Like they say, life's a beach.

More granddaughter photos -- can't help it!

OK, I've hit the blog post trifecta: three consecutive days of Maui granddaughter photos. Each evening I sit down at my laptop and think, "Really should write about something significant."

Then a voice inside my head screams, What's more significant than an oh-so-cute two year old girl who is the one and only offspring of your one and only child?

At which point I bow to inevitability, plug my camera's card into a USB port, and start downloading the newest pictures.

Here they are...

Me and Evelyn waiting to board the Sugar Cane Train. The Hawaiian fashion police weren't able to give me an Attire Ticket for not having a colorful enough shirt, that's for sure.

Insidious photographer that I am, I waited until Evelyn and her dad were going "woo-woo" before snapping the picture. I'm hoping that Patrick will pay me to replace it with a more flattering photo.

My daughter, Celeste, and Evelyn in a quieter Sugar Cane Train moment.

Evelyn's new beach friend crawled over to see her. She's a 14 month old from Portland. They shared toys pretty well. New friend brought a ball; Evelyn offered up her sand bucket and accessories for some digging fun.

I'm proud of this photo. Swinging photography is difficult, particularly with a point and shoot camera. Managed to capture Evelyn at the end of an arc. This was a pretty beachfront park, south of Kahana. 

Nice colors on the playground equipment. Evelyn fit right in.

Here's Patrick, Celeste, Evelyn, and me. Brown, brown, brown... gray! I'm pleased to be able to make just about everybody I pose with these days look much younger, by comparison.

Here's the Vos family by themselves, looking good -- as always.

There were some beautiful large trees at the park. This one had some real beachfront character.

Have to end with a Kaanapali sunset photo. It's required of every blogger who comes to west Maui.

Photos of Maui maiden and grizzled Granddad

I'm powerless. Am in the grip of an irresistible force of nature. Must obey!

Cannot blog about anything else until I post more photos of my oh-so-cute granddaughter, Evelyn.

It's what grandfathers are drawn to do by karma, destiny, kismet, fate. And especially... love.

I haven't seen Evelyn for more than twelve months. So it's been great to spend some Maui time with Celeste and Patrick's engaging two year old.

Usually being the doting granddad camera-wielder, I don't appear in many shots. But here's an iPhone photo of my daughter, Evelyn, and me.

This is Evelyn's first time at a beach. She's already learned one of the basics: getting buried.

Evelyn lives in Hollywood. With a smile like that, and being as cute as she is, I have a feeling she'll be discovered one day. If not, doesn't matter. She's got plenty of fans already. Such as, me.

My granddaughter is brilliant. Just two, and already she can read the newspaper (with Grandma Laurel).

Even more impressive: she can read it sideways!

The pool water in Maui is warm. But Evelyn still looks a bit surprised as she gets in.

Laurel's first thought when we went to a store after arriving in Maui: sand bucket. Excellent purchase. Evelyn likes playing on the beach a lot more than frolicking in the water. Her surfing lessons are going to have to wait, I guess.

 Hard at work shoveling sand. Being at the beach isn't all about play.

Grandma Laurel, trying to get the flower in Evelyn's hair looking just right again. Being at the beach is a lot about stylin.

Nice shot of Evelyn and her father in the pool. Patrick needs to remember this moment when his daughter is sixteen and calling him an idiot. Sweetness and swearing: both parts of raising a girl (as I well know).

My granddaughter bonds with a baggage cart

Today I saw my two year old granddaughter, Evelyn, for the first time in a year.

Proud granddad that I am, I'm pleased to report that within a few minutes of meeting up with her at the Maui airport I could tell that her good looks, charm, and intelligence are going to qualify her for a terrific career as an ...

Airport baggage handler. Well, they get pretty good tips, so she could do worse in life.

But I think Evelyn would be willing to work for free, given how much fun she had pushing the cart around. She took off the lei we got her pretty quickly, while the cart stayed fun all the way back to the parking lot.

Grandfathers aren't reliable judges of their offspring's offspring's cuteness. Still, I think anyone rating Evelyn's adorability grade would issue an A+ -- at the least.

I was thrilled to be present at her first dip in the ocean. Here she is, with her dad, wondering how much bigger this "pool" is than the one she took swim lessons in last year.

She seemed to have a pretty good time. I'm hoping to get her on my boogie board tomorrow and teach her how to ride some big waves. Seems feasible; she picked up quite a bit of Tai Chi from my brief lesson today.

Of course, Kung Fu Panda is her favorite movie. So it isn't surprising that Evelyn is primed for great accomplishments in Chinese martial arts.

And, baggage handling.

Time to panic about swine (H1N1) flu?

I'm trying to decide how concerned I should be about the potential swine flu (officially called H1N1) pandemic.

There's so many things to panic about -- the economy, global climate change, whether Jack Bauer is going to survive his exposure to a lethal bio agent and come back for another season of "24."

I've got to prioritize my anxieties. So where should swine flu reasonably place on a holy shit! list of potential freakouts?

I'd say, about halfway. Nearer the bottom at the moment; could rise considerably higher this fall and winter if H1N1 returns in a more virulent form.

Back in 2005 I got pretty worried about avian flu. My "Masks to protect against avian flu" post has been getting quite a bit of Google'ish attention recently. That scare petered out, which surely helps make many people suspect that the current swine flu excitement is similarly overblown.

Well, maybe. It's looking like the H1N1 strain is acting a lot like normal seasonal flu in the United States. However, that's no reason to relax.

Effect Measure is a good source of info on what's happening with the swine flu outbreak. It's "a forum for progressive public health discussion and argument."

One post talks about the overreaction overreaction. Meaning, we shouldn't overdo our reaction to what may seem to be excessive hype about a possible pandemic.

The irony is that the overreaction backlash will be more severe the more successful the public health measures are. If, for example, the virus peters out this spring because transmission was interrupted long enough for environmental conditions (whatever they are) to tip the balance against viral spread, CDC and local health officials will be accused of over reacting. It's another example of the adage, "When public health works, nothing happens." On the other hand, if local officials do nothing and things get worse, they will be accused of being slow.

Another post notes that normal seasonal flu kills an estimated 30,000 people a year. Swine flu could be worse. Not because it is more virulent, but due to the fact that it's a new strain and nobody has resistance to it.

Now take a bad flu season and double it. To each individual it's the same disease but now everybody is getting it at once, in every community and all over the world. In terms of virulence, it's a mild pandemic. It's not a lethal virus like 1918. But in terms of social disruption it could be very bad. If twice as many people get sick, the number of deaths could be 80,000 in the US instead of 40,000.

My suspicion, from what I've heard and read, is that swine/H1N1 flu isn't going to be a huge problem this spring and summer. Effective measures are being taken to limit its spread. Hopefully these will work.

But it might mutate into a more dangerous form, making next winter's flu season more worrisome than usual. Flu shots almost certainly will incorporate the H1N1 virus. If plenty are available, and most people get them, we should be OK.

Basic lesson, as pointed out by Effect Measure: government public health programs are important. Tax dollars spent in this area produce really useful (and lifesaving) results.

We are pouring tens of billions into infrastructure. I'm a big fan of high speed rail. But the public health and social services infrastructure -- good, job producing infrastructure -- needs attention and needs it right away because of this virus.