I’m Officially a Twit

Well I did it, I joined Twitter. I don’t exactly get the point…I mean, it’s just Facebook minus EVERYTHING but the status message, right? Anyhoo…feel free to follow me– my name there is “vinylvillager” (Always the clever one, aren’t I?)

The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Grease

After I got home from my unexpected $600 tire change last weekend, I was fuming. Why on Earth would the exact same tire have a warranty if I bought it from the tire store, but didn’t have one because it came on my car?

I got back on Bridgestone’s website, found their customer service contact, and let me evil little fingers do the walking–rattling off a polite, but affirmative email to them letting them know how disappointed I was with their product, and how I was flabbergasted at their reluctance to stand behind the product.

And what do you know? They actually answered!

I got a phone call from a very helpful lady in Ontario. I explained the whole story to her (finding out, in the process, that the tire shop I used was NOT an authorized dealer after all). She explained that the car manufacturers buy the tires in bulk and do not pay or ask for a treadlife warranty. (Whatever)

Any-hoo, she wanted me to get the worn out tires and take them to one of their authorized places. I told her, even if they still have them three days later, all of them aren’t going to fit in my trunk, and I’m not sure I want the greasy things in there anyway. (I mean, my dry cleaning goes back there!).

The lady puts me on hold to talk to her supervisor. Comes back and offers me $175 worth of gift certificates to any Bridgestone/Firestone store. I would have preferred $175 in cash, but, hey, I’ll take what I can get. The gift certificates can be used for anything they offer–which means I can just have them do the 30,000 mile service I’m going to need in a week or two.

And that, my friends, is what customer service is all about. I was so disappointed in those tires that I would have NEVER given them another penny of my money. But they did what they could to make it right–despite knowing that I had already purchased replacements from a competitor, so next time I need a set, Bridgestone is back on the list.

Alls well that ends well.

It’s Always Something

If you’re like most people, the only thing you know about tires is that they are the black rubber things on the wheels of your car. You might have some vague notion about snow tires, and if you’re lucky, some clue on how to change one. (I do not…that’s what the auto club is for…I tried once, and my first car ended up on the back of a flat bed being hauled down to the dealership.)

I was once like most people, but unfortunately I now know a little more than I ever cared to know about tires. There are reasons for this. My very first car, a hand me down from my parents, came to me with mileage in the low six digits, a whole host of dings and dents, a tape player that didn’t work, and a cigarette burn or four. (It just dawned on me that my stepmother, that cars FIRST owner, was MY AGE when she got that car. And I got it just a few years later. Freak out moment going on. Breathe deep. In through the nose….out through the mouth.) Any-ole-how, that first car ate tires like Elvis ate a pork chop sandwich. I had it aligned. I always had the service done. But it was wrecked a time or six, and I think it was just never quite right after the first two or three.  At it’s worst, I literally had to get new tires every other oil change. Lucky for me, it took the most common tire size known to man, and a new pair of fronts could be had for under $100 bucks–installed.

After that car went on to the great dealership in the sky, I had two more cars and neither of them ever needed a tire replaced. Then came the first car I bought as a young professional. I bought it because it was cheap, nice looking, and a friend of mine had a great experience with the same model. Had I known anything about tires, I might have recognized that the car’s snazzy 16″ wheels were wearing Z-rated “performance” tires. The “Z” standing for “zillion” which is how many dollars you will spend keeping tires on such an automobile. Imagine my shock when my first set wore out when the car wasn’t even a year old. And in the 60-some thousand miles I put on that car, I had to get FOUR SETS of tires. At a minimum of $400 a change. And they always wore out at the worst possible financial time.  When I traded up to my next car, I budgeted that even though the payment was higher, my monthly outlay would decrease by the shear fact that I wouldn’t have to get new tires every year. And I was right. The tires had over 50,000 miles on them when I replaced the set, not because they were worn, but because of a flat.

The next car was a convertible. Not only did it take the dreaded “Z” tires, but the front tires were a different size than the rears, meaning they couldn’t be rotated. I got rid of that car before it ever needed a tire change, but I understand it would eat a set in 12,000 miles and leave you with a $700 bill for replacement. That dreaded expense was part of the reason I swapped the convertible for my current car, which rode on “normal” looking Bridgestones–similar to the ones I’d gotten over 50,000 miles out of on a previous auto.

Last week, I turned into a parking space, got out, and noticed that my front tires were BALD. Down to the tread-wear bar. “That can’t be!” I told myself. Not only were they “normal” tires, they had spent their lives inflated with nitrogen, been rotated three times, and never driven aggressively. I called the dealership.

“I don’t think they have a warranty.” the guy told me, “‘Sides, we aren’t a Bridgestone dealer, you’ll have to take it down to one.” (Howthey were not a dealer when I purchased a single replacement from them is lost on me.) I did some internet research. According to Bridgestone’s site, such a tire should carry a 50,000 mile tread-life warranty. I hustled down to the local tire shop. They agreed the tires were shot, called up Bridgestone to open a claim, and were told the warranty didn’t apply when they were installed as original equipment. What???

Sure enough, in the fine print of my warranty materials, the treadlife warranty only applies if the tires were installed by a one armed, one  horned, flying purple tire eater. (That may as well have been the case). So the tire shop fella shows me two options for replacement–one just south of $500 and one just north. I didn’t have time to get them changed then, but brought the car back the next day. A second guy pulls up my information.

“I don’t know why he offered you these tires, they aren’t gonna work on your car.”

Fan-friggin-tastic! What will then? The answer of course, was more expensive. And as usual, such an expense occurred at a completely inopportune time. But an hour later,  I rolled off with safe, new tires that carry an 80,000 mile warranty, an empty bank account, and some seething words for all parties involved.

My Crazy Mama–The Arsonist?

I come out of a meeting this morning to find a voice mail from my crazy mama. She sounded a little worried, and urged me to call her as soon as possible. This generally means that some eighth cousin twice removed who I’ve never met has an infected toe nail that I ought to be praying over. Or it means that she needs money (which she hasn’t gotten from me in years, but she keeps trying). So I call her back and engage in the usual chit chat about what the weather is like here (it’s ALWAYS cold, raining, snowing, too hot, too windy, or too foggy there—I could be calling her from the eye of a hurricane and she would swear I had the better weather). Then she says, “Do y’all have restrictions on burning there?”  I didn’t even know what she was asking. “You know, burning yard waste and trash and stuff.”  I explained that, for very little money, people came and not only took care of my yard, but would come every week to cart off my trash, so I wasn’t at all sure what the regulations on burning were.

“Well, I was burning some of these empty dog food bags, and there was some other trash out there so I burned it too. It was under control so I came on in the house.”

“Oh, God, where’s this going?” I thought.

“A few minutes later, I look out there and the whole building is up in flames.” The “building” is a ramshackle tool shed in the back yard that’s probably filled with tools, broken lawn equipment, and rats. No one has sat foot in it in years.

“So then ya got the fire department and the police out here, and those damned Ratliffs.” The Ratliffs–not their real name–have been mom’s neighbors for 25 years. They are a family that lives “down the road”  about six-deep in a couple of flea-infested mobile homes overrun with dogs, cats, and toothless wonky-eyed relatives. I suspect their family tree goes straight up. One in particular, Elvania,  has no hobby other than gossip. And by gossip, I mean making up ridiculous (but JUST plausible enough) stories on everyone and everything.  She’s been known to invent affairs based on nothing more than a car turning around in someone’s driveway, allege child abuse because she heard a scream while walking down the road, and has cast aspersions of fraud, sexual assault, battery, and wrongful death on practically everyone who has ever lived in the area.

Most of  her tall tales are taken with a grain of salt because everyone knows this woman is a bit “touched”. But last year, following my sister’s death, I fully expected I would get a call to bail my mama out of jail, because Elvania was telling stories about my sister.  I had to talk mama down more than once to keep her from driving down to the Ratliff’s flea bitten trailer and dragging Miss Ratliff out by her ponytail. I don’t even recall what the story was, but in runs in my mind that she was telling anyone who would listen that my sister was killed during a police chase. Of course it wasn’t true, and anyone who mattered at all would know that, but it was seriously only my calming words that kept mama from beating Elvania’s ass (or worse) last year. I’ve NEVER heard my mom so upset as she was then. EVER.

So, as the fire department put out the embers of Mom’s shed, “those damned Ratliffs” showed up and apparently Elvania reported to one of the firemen that she “seen her go in that shed and pour something all over everything”  This story is ridiculous on a number of levels, and the firemen apparently realized this. Elvania fumed that she was going to lodge a complaint with the city, that my mama was crazy (there’s the pot calling the kettle black), and heads were going to roll. All of which just renewed mama’s anger.

“If I was gonna set a fire, I’d go down the street and burn her damn trailer to the ground as long as I knew she was in it!”

Let’s just hope there isn’t a headline tomorrow that reads “Local Family and Twelve Dogs Perish In Fire. Neighbor Arrested.”

Monday Morning Mish Mash

1. Someone should have told me what I have been missing. Honey and I both had Friday afternoon free, and as we tried to figure out how we might spend it Honey said “Let’s go get a pedicure.”  Now, I’m secure enough in myself not to worry much about doing such girly things. I have been massaged, waxed, tanned, and groomed to within an inch of my life at times. But that line has always been drawn at a pedicure. What’s the point? I wondered. And now I know. My God…the little massaging chair, the little foot jacuzzi, the potions they poured on my rough and trollish feet. I would have been better off not knowing this…I’m not sure I can ever cut my own toenails again.

2. Saturday night, we had to go to a dinner party/fundraiser. It was a New Orleans-themed garden party held on one of the nicest pieces of property–one of those fine old homes on the sort of gorgeous, tree-lined street that everyone wants to live on. Their double-depth back yard was ringed in live oaks, magnolia trees the height of which I’d never seen before, and hundreds of blooming azaleas. The back of the property was anchored by an open garden house and I could just imagine it being a perfect wedding backdrop. And, oh yeah, I unwittingly ate alligator. Which was really good until I discovered what it was.

3. The weather was so nice (topping 90 this weekend!) That we spent Sunday afternoon having a picnic in Falls Park. (picture below) It’s a wonderful place that is always filled with people. Until a few years ago, a bridge went right over those falls. Millions were spent reworking the area, removing the bridge, and installing a pedestrian walk over the falls. Now the park is the centerpiece of downtown.

4. Last year it was bird flu, and now we have to worry about pig flu. Who knew pigs and birds even got the flu? And how the heck does it get transferred to a human?  It’s not from eating them–I worried myself into an ulcer after having some  bacon until TrailerParkBarbie assured me that my breakfast wasn’t going to kill me.(well, it might eventually, from hardening of the arteries and such, but Oscar Meyer isn’t going to give me pig flu.)Anyhoo…once again, we have part of the world running around in silly masks. Do those things work? I’m guessing no. Germs are tiny little things, and besides, those masks aren’t air-tight to your face so cooties can still get in around the edges, can’t they?

5. So the headline this morning blares that GM is axing the Pontiac brand. I’ve never quite understood why GM sells five different versions of the same car and just swaps out the grills and badges. I mean, most manufacturers build several models on the same platform, but GM doesn’t even TRY to make them any different. I mean, is there a reason you would buy a GMC Suburban over an idential looking Chevy one? Color me confused on why it took this long for them to realize the inefficiency of their system.

Bea Arthur–You’ll be Missed

I’m absolutely stunned to hear that Bea Arthur, most famous perhaps for her role as Dorothy Zbornak in The Golden Girls has passed away.

She will be missed!

Needful Things

When I was a child, one of my favorite weekend activities was visiting the Sunrise Museums in Charleston, WV. One was a children’s science museum and the other focused on art. They were housed in a pair of absolutely stunning stone mansions that had once been home to former WV Governor William McCorkle and his son.

Pictured above, the Children’s Museum, and below, the Art Museum (which, I might note, was home to an annual display of artistic Christmas trees)

Several years ago, the museums moved to the Clay Center. Governor McCorkle’s mansion, with it’s sweeping views of Charleston, is now home to the Farmer, Cline, and Campbell law firm. His son’s mansion, the former art museum, is now home to some very lucky homeowners.  Now, as much as I would love to have a house like either one of the Museums, the real point of this post is something once sold in their gift shops.

Along with gyroscopes (I still have one from there), astronaut ice cream (yummy!), and semi-precious stones and crystals, the gift shops sold gorgeous kaleidoscopes. The selection varied, some were cased in exotic wood, others in polished brass, but they were all exquisite. And they were all quite outside the reach of a 10 year old’s allowance.

I may not be able to buy one from the lobby of the Sunrise mansions anymore, but I still see the sort of elegant kaleidoscopes I longed for as a child from time to time. One of these days, I’ll break down and buy one.

TMI Tuesdays

It’s Time for another riveting episode of TMI Tuesdays!

1. Marriage and children aside, what has been your greatest accomplishment in life?

Lately, I feel like I  haven’t accomplished a damned thing. But, I suppose, given the nutcase that raised me, it was an accomplishment in and of itself just to grow up and turn out fairly normal. Probably not altogether a fair statement, since she wasn’t too nutty until I was already grown…but there ya have it.

2. Aside from healthy and happy children, what is your greatest ambition for the future?

Simply to make a difference.

3. If we were to enter your real name in a search engine, what would we find?

That I am an actor. That I am a painter. That I am an African-American football player. And that I am a southern gospel soloist. You would need far more time and patience than I have to find the real me.

4. Who is the most famous person you ever met (not just in the same room as, but actually spoke with)?

This sheltered small-town boy has never met anyone really famous. One of my best friends was an extra in the classic *snorts* movie “Waterworld” does that count?

5. Parents aside, who is your biggest hero?

My late grandmother was a remarkable woman, generations ahead of herself in terms of her attitudes. Easily the least judgemental, most open-minded person I have ever known. When life threw her a loop, she would dust herself off, make herself better for it, and leave the situation without any trace of bitterness or resentment. We could all stand to be more like her.

6. Someone once worked out the sexual version of Six Degrees of Separation – Celebrity A slept with B, who slept with C, who slept with D, making a sort of connection between A and D. Are you connected to anyone famous through six or fewer bonks?

Not that I am aware of. God, my life is dull.

Monday Morning Mish-Mash

1. I’m a little hit-and-run this morning. My spring allergies have given way to a nasty cold…and I’m just trying to keep myself drugged up enough to get through the day before collapsing into bed, which is where I really feel like being.

2. I hinted last week that there was another crazy mama story in the making. I’m having trouble getting the details…but Mama claimed that her man “hit her” in his sleep. At my house, we call that the perils of a queen sized bed, but in her mind it’s cause to phone the police. The police arrived, and from what I can gather, Mama indicated she was leaving and asked the police to see the Bedtime Batterer off of the property. The police quickly deduced that Mama was under the influence of something (i.e. she had been double fisting from her medicine cabinet, per usual) and confiscated her car keys. If she only had those angel car mats, she might have been able to argue that God was gonna be her copilot, but police snatched the keys and said they wouldn’t release them until she could present at their office and pass a sobriety test.

3. The first stop thing on my agenda for this past weekends trip home was a concert by Matt Savage, a 17 year old autistic pianist. The kid was awesome! He not only plays, but composes his own material as well…and the whole audience was in awe. He’s well known in certain circles, having performed with Dave Brubeck, on the Letterman show, NPR, and has performed at Birdland. If you are a fan of jazz or piano, check him out!

4. But of course, the whole reason for the trip was my stepmother’s 50th birthday party. The real gift I got her was buried in a goody bag of old-lady accountrements–Geritol, Rain Bonnets, corn pads, Day-of-the-week pill dispenser, and a matchbox Buick. About 60 people turned out to celebrate, and it was a great party..one that I, unfortunately can’t say much more about because A. my memory is foggy on it, thank you vodka, and B. I DO remember being told “This better not be on your blog Monday.” Although I swear I can’t remember what, exactly, that was in reference to.

5. While we are talking about WV, did you know that Fairmont, WV is the Pepperoni Roll Capitol of the World? Well…neither did I. If you’ve ever been to WV, you may have noticed that almost every convenience store sells pre-made Pepperoni Rolls. I can’t get them where I am, but usually have one or three when I’m there…but I never knew until today that this sort of pepperoni roll is somewhat unique to the area and was actually invented in Fairmont. Now, aren’t you glad to have that piece of useless knowledge? (seriously, they are GOOOOOOOD! If you are ever in WV, get one!) And if you don’t get to WV soon, take heart–one of the biggest bakeries is about to make them available nationwide!

Search Term Saturdays

I can only imagine the angst this guy was feeling as he arrived at the Vinyl Village searching for information on “small tic tac growth under head of penis”.  Listen, pumpkin, it’s not there to keep her (or his) breath fresh–so call up your doctor and get it taken care of. It’s probably nothing, and your doctor has likely seen it all before–no need for embarassment.