We had a recent run-in with Verizon. See, we’d been running Vonage off our cable modem for well over a year, but the phone quality was really starting to deteriorate. Maybe it was the cable connection, maybe it was Vonage, I don’t know. But when Verizon came at us with DSL and phone as a combo, we were ecstatic. See, for years I’ve wanted DSL but it is not available where we are. Too much space between homes, too far from the phone company’s nearest station or whatever. But technology came to the boonies…or so we were led to believe.

I jumped on a combo offer that would have gotten me phone and high speed internet for a bit less than my cable modem/Vonage setup. Fantastic!

 Or not. A month after I placed the order, when Verizon was supposed to hook up our high speed, they let us know they couldn’t offer the service. I was informed by email, sent after 9pm the night before it was supposed to be installed. Needless to say I was pissed because my cable was due to be shut off, Vonage was already cancelled, and I was stuck.

So I called Verizon and got a grudging apology from a kind of bitchy customer service rep. When I explained that they were really screwing me she said, “yeah, like I said, sorry.” When I related that the package I had selected offered some substantial discounts, I asked if they would still honor those discounts.

Rep: No.
Me: Excuse me.
Rep: No. There’s no discount for the phone package if it is not bundled.
Me: But I was supposed to get phone and internet for $55 a month. Now you’re telling me I get phone for $50.
Rep: The high speed and phone bundle has never been offered for $55 a month. $59.95 is the price.
Me: O…K…I mean I have the email right here…well, that’s neither here nor there. The point is you totally did a bait and switch here. You offered me a deal on services you can’t provide and now I’ve cancelled my other services and you won’t even offer a discount.
Rep: The bundle discount must have been on the price of the high speed service.
Me: So, that’s it?
Rep:……….
Me: You realize you’re forcing me to cancel my Verizon service.
Rep:……… 

So…talk about being total douche bags and NOT doing the right thing. I realize that Verizon has a total monopoly on all the lines in my area. In the past I got around them by using other phone companies. It always astounded me that I could get cheaper (and better service) from a company like MCI that was leasing the lines than I could get from Verizon…who owns everything.

Well, in the end I went with the cable triple play offer that brings phone and high speed through a new cable modem and so far so good. We’ve also got TV back to the great joy of the kids…but that’s another post.

Did I hurt Verizon by cancelling my account? No, not really, but it did feel good. And ultimately, if they keep screwing up in the servicing world, and if they keep squeezing their customers to keep the shareholders happy, they won’t last. It would be a huge, long fall, but I’ve seen it happen to a number of other telecom giants for all the same reasons.

By the way – just to throw some more chum in the water, I am not the only person who experienced the old bait and switch at the hands of Verizon. A friend who runs a small business went through the exact same thing. He got the same promise of service, switched his phone and committed to switch his internet to Verizon (and he, too, was offered all for $55 incidentally) and they never showed up for his connection date. When he called to question them about it, he was told they couldn’t provide service and he never should have been allowed to sign up. Nice, huh? Now he’s in a fight with Verizon, and in the process has discovered several of his customers who’ve gone through the same thing.

 So maybe our numbers aren’t that small. Maybe the bait and switch and screw the customer mentality is a standard Verizon business practice. Who knows? It looks pretty bad to me. All I can say is I’ll be happy to sign on to the Class Action when it comes around.

Tomorrow I embark on a voyage to the land of my people. And here’s the snapper. I’m bringing the boys. Yup, I’ll be riding in Mom’s backseat with my seven and four year old. Tell me that’s not brave. I’ve got some books. I’ve got my iPhone. We’ve got a stack of DVDs. Maybe I should have read some headphone reviews. Sometimes there’s nothing better in a crowded backseat than some kickin’ earbuds. I love’s me some rockin’ tunes, especially when we switch from live action Inspector Gadget to the cartoon version. Of course, if we switch on the Super Hero Squad I’m going to be all over that…and if anybody wants phones on I’ll be reaching for a phones splitter.

One of my big brush with fame stories is when I met Mitch Easter when we opened for The Velvet Crush about 15 years ago. It’s a funny story because he was this long-haired older dude I didn’t recognize and he was so super cool while the guys from the band (it was a trio that Mitch had produced, but he was playing fill-in guitar on tour) were complete a total a-holes. The drummer in particular was a dick, stoned constantly, about 9 feet tall, 90 pounds and wearing some sort of massive boa. And I think he would have benefited from adult acne treatments.

Anyway, I was talking to Mitch for a while about the showmanship of heavy metal concerts. He was particularly impressed by Glenn Danzig. He’d recently seen Danzig and was blown away by the complete spectacle. It was a hilarious conversation to have, particularly when I discovered, a few minutes later, who he actually was. I couldn’t believe I’d just been talking smack with the guy who recorded Murmur.

Many people do the vanity Google. You’ve probably done it too. You know what I’m talking about, you type your name into a search engine and see what comes up. Well, about once a year I take it  step further and do the band search. And once in a while I actually turn up an archived review or some other nonsense that I never saw before. I’ve even found a few random new fans who came across records I worked on in a dollar bin at a used CD shop or something.

So I’ve decided to give back to a couple of those lesser known bands that meant so much to me a few years ago. I mean, I’m not talking about Tanya Donnelly (my big crush) who is now a flippin’ doula. I’m not talking about any of those Seattle bands like Tad (that dude has to be hawking phentermine at this point). I’m talking about Fig Dish and Cuppa Joe and Flop and Standard Fruit. Some of them were signed, some were not, but none got real huge.

Today let me mention Case Scott and the Creeps. Casey Scott did a sort of post punk blended with crotch rock. She was awesome. Really awesome. Skinny and crazy looking and singing songs like No Sharp Metal Objects and Creep City. She was on Capital Records, I think, but she never really got big, which was wrong. I mean, I never really liked Patti Smith, but I think if Patti Smith actually made good music, she would want to sound like Casey Scott.

The song of songs for me, though, was probably something Casey herself would have considered atypical, a ballad called 7th of November. The attitude of the lyrics was all Casey Scott and just…damn damn damn awesome, even though the music was a simple 4 chord progression, one of the great 4 chord progressions – the same one as With or Without You. But so full of balls.

I don’t want to be cruel, I don’t want to be cruel, I don’t want to be cruel.
I don’t want to be cruel but I don’t want to let you fool yourself into thinking everything’s cool ’cause everything’s not cool.

Casey Scott, if you ever do the vanity Google, I just want to let you know that your music moved me as a DJ, as a listener and as a musician. Back in the day when I was still on target for rock stardom I used to have this thought in the back of my mind that I would find you and lure you into a duet or something. Maybe some sort of weird ass Songs For Drella type of collaboration. sorry I didn’t make it, but if I did, you were so on my short list. I hope you’re still singing, wherever you are.

who’d like to change his clothes into a uniform?

No? Don’t know the old protest songs. Well, kid, keep wearing your wife beater tee and you sideways baseball cap. Keep doing 60 on our little country street, blasting Eminem and Slipknot. Keep coming home with new dents on that ridiculous import with the Battlestar Galactica spoiler. Keep shooting nasty looks at the neighbors who shake their heads at your pathetic, juvenile display.

Pretty soon getting an auto insurance quote or polishing your spinning rims will be the least of your worries. Pretty soon the cops are going to get tired of cutting you breaks. Pretty soon your teachers and counselors are going to write you off. Pretty soon your parents are going to throw your delinquent ass out.

Then what are you going to do? You going to try and run with the big boys or are you maybe going to turn your wife beater and baby banger kicks in for a pack and a bayonet. Gonna put some decent kids’ necks on the line while you try to figure it out in the big boy sand box?

Please.

I wanna see him. I wanna wish him luck. I wanna shake his hand, wanna call his name, put a medal on the man.

Many years ago when I was doing college radio I remember having conversation with a good friend about punk rock. We agreed that punk rock was great because it never really changed. There are different styles and you can always slip in some ska, but overall, punk rock is punk rock. Thematically, politically and stylistically you pretty much knew what to expect from, say, a punk rock show.

And then something really awful happened. First you had the crossover acts like Green Day. They were, at one point, of of the all time great 90s era punk bands. And when they grew up and started branching out I couldn’t have been happier. But then Disney got involved. They started pushing these pseudo punk bands through their various outlets – movie soundtracks, TV shows, Disney radio, etc. And it wasn’t just Disney, but they are an easy target for pointing fingers.

I say pseudo punk because they had the three chord energy all right, but there were two big problems with most of these acts.. First, the singers did this whining little kid voice thing that was really irritating. Second, they sang sappy love songs and lamented third period math. WTF? Joe Strummer must be rolling over in his grave.

I see these kids with their iPods cranked to Bowling for Soup or Good Charlotte and I can’t help but wonder where we all went wrong. The entertainment industry screws everything up. Even punk.

But there is hope. You can make a difference. Go out there and find some of the great punk rock records and go to school…old school. Yeah, there’s the Ramones and the Sex Pistols and The Clash, but check out Black Train Jack or Face to Face, The Descendants and All, NOFX and The Mr. T Experience, Elastica and Magnapop. Seriously, you won’t be disappointed.

All this chatter about texting and shorthand and related non sequitur nonsense has led me to a real puzzle. What about monks? I mean, I have been told that some of these guys are going around with digital cameras and mp3 players and cell phones…yes, even cell phones. I’m sure we’re not talking about the vow of silence dudes. That would just be too bizarre, even if they got one of those free texting plans.

But the regular, less orthodox monks who occasionally kick back and have a little light discussion about what type of rope makes the best robe belt, or whether an old school straight razor is better for shaving the cranium than a five-blade name brand with disposable cartridges.

I wonder if these guys are sneaking around with iPhones, downloading apps and texting their brothers. Somewhere it must be happening, right? Probably in some particularly lenient temple. Even so, though, there’s got to be a lot of quiet time in a place like that. And even if they allow a little time for chat, you know it’s got to be quiet and meditative. So if one monk is texting another monk a little humorous anecdote about enlightenment or the afterlife or whatever, and the second monk responds LOL…you know he’s probably not actually, literally laughing out loud, right.

So, is that a lie. Seriously. Wouldn’t that kind of screw up your whole karmic balance?

That sounds like the subtitle to Highlander Part 6, doesn’t it?

Thinking about phones and texting reminds me of something I saw at dinner. We went to a kid-friendly establishment with a deal on kid meals and had a pretty good time. While we were waiting for our food, I noticed a girl who was maybe 18 at a nearby booth. She had long, straight hair, and one hand against the side of her head. Her elbow was bent and she leaned on it. It was a perfectly common pose, a young girl on the phone.

At least, that’s what I thought. There was something odd about the way she spoke, the tilt of her head. I have both witnessed and experienced the cell talker phenomenon. Even if they are sitting right across from you in a restaurant booth, the talker will avoid looking at you as mucha s possible while they chat. There is an exception for guys (and possibly gals) who make a deliberate call to their significant other trying to get out of some prior engagement so they can hang out with their friend. In those instances, the guy (or possibly girl) will usually make frequent eye contact with the friend, since they are usually getting a phone reaming and require moral support. 

Anyway, this girl was not looking away, but rather was making regular eye contact with her dinner companion (a woman, possibly her mother) who had her back to me. There was something unfamiliar to me in this combination, the phone hand to ear coupled with dinner companion eye contact did not seem right. And then I realized what was going on.

The girl was not on the phone. Yet her hand was in phone position, against her head. Two fingers to her temple, her hand fisted, but in a sort of open way. Almost like she was holding an invisible phone. Everything about her posture suggested a phone call, with the exception of the aforementioned companion-eye-contact.

It was like a nervous tick. Or a habit born of such frequent repetition that it becomes unconscious behavior. It was really a little troubling. I mean, I’m not suggesting she wasn’t a perfectly nice and sweet young lady. Surely she is just lovely. But this need to mime phoning, like some bizarro telecommunications security blanket or something…I don’t know. It was weird.

So many people are looking for quick weight loss tips. Here’s one: lose the phone. At least for a while. I know it is only a few ounces, but it’s a start. And if nothing else, breaking the holding habit will free up your arm to do something mildly athletic.

Like curling.

Since I’ve been doing all this writing about old time radio shows like Harry Lime and The Shadow, and the late, great Orson Welles, I am reminded of another interesting old time…well, event I should talk about. While working on my undergraduate thesis I got very involved in the study of literary hoaxes. That’s a whole other topic, but this line of research eventually led my to the Geritol quiz show scandal in the late 50s. It was discovered at that time that Producers on the show were giving answers to preferred contestants. There were investigations, some lives were ruined, and none of the rich bad guys suffered.

In the mid-90s, Robert Redford made a movie about it all. And, actually, its a very good movie. I know this because I researched the events and watched a number of documentaries about the scandal while I was in college. Several years later, I caught the film on a movie channel and thoroughly enjoyed it (Rob Morrow’s atrocious Boston accent aside).

At the time, Geritol was the sponsor, and had a reigning national tonic to help you age better, lose weight, stay regular, cleanse your body, heal everything, cure zombie-ism, lube your chassis and anything else you wanted it to do. They wanted drama. They wanted characters you could either love or hate, characters you would tune it to either cheer for or against. They sanctioned the producers to manipulate the contestant pool to heighten drama and weed out the less desirables.

They had a long run with Herb Stempel, a brash, working-class Jew from Brooklyn who could virtually sweat on command. John Turturro is fantastic in the role – trust me, I saw a lot of interviews with this guy. The real kicker, however, is when they lassoed Charles Van Doren, product of one of America’s great literary families, and a popular Columbia University professor, and made him an American folk hero.

If you haven’t seen it, you should. It’s a thinky movie, sure, but it’s also true. It’s all true. It reveals a dark but persistent and very, very real aspect of our popular culture. And if you think anything has improved since the 50s…think again.

My love of Old Time Radio began with The Shadow. Back in my college radio days I got on some mailing lists with catalogs of esoteric recordings. These were back of ‘zine catalogs, mouse type on a single photocopied page with handwritten corrections, send a SASE for a copy of the pricelist kind of things. Within a year or two of my dawning interest, all of this back page stuff pretty much disappeared along with the ‘zines, moving onto the Internet. Sure, it was the early days, but it wouldn’t be long before those types of classified ad pricelists by mail were a thing of the past.

Anyway, in one of these catalogs I found a couple of inexpensive cassettes that I bought for long drives, going to gigs or back and forth between Boston and New York. It was the beginning of an insane collection, but most things big have to start out small…or, at least less big.

One tape I got was War of the Worlds. The other had a couple episodes of the Shadow. Classic, early episodes after the Shadow show format changed from a Tale From the Crypt style show to the more recognizable Lamont Cranston, man about town, version. The first season of Lamont Cranston as the shadow starred Orson Welles. And it was magnificent. Truly, truly, like a couple of Ambersons.

It was dark and moody and less comic-booky than the later seasons. In ran up through the 50s, so there was plenty of time for evolution. In fact, some of the later seasons, long after Welles left the show, were among the most enjoyable to listen to. They were more polished and often better written, if a bit safer or tamer. Radio seemed to go tame and lose a lot of its edge after World War Two. The same goes for movies and even a lot of music, I think. The woo hoo 50s really did end up begging for the 60s.

But in the late 30s, the world was on the verge of massive conflict and the tense energy pervaded all media. Thus, when I first heard the Shadow some 14 years ago, hissing out of the cassette player in my car, it was truly extraordinary. Radio show sponsors in those days were coal and cigarette companies, shaving cream and hair tonic peddlers. Latter day phisoderm and little blue pill merchants, maybe, but who cares. And a couple years later, they’d start asking all good Americans to buy War Bonds and follow the rationing rules.

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

The Shadow knows. Ha ha ha ha ha!

[brought to you by Pennsylvania's finest anthracite, Blue Coal]