I normally feel sorry when the web swarms around something they want to make fun of but in this case it’s fully justified. If you’ve read about scammers who prey on eBay innocents, you’ll get a kick out of this meme.
A scammer tries to get someone to send him a $2000 PowerBook to the UK with a promise that funds put into a phony escrow account would be released upon delivery. Smelling something phishy, especially when a check on the registered domain of the escrow site doesn’t look legit, the seller goes along. These type of scams usually end up with the seller sending off a legitimate item only to never hear from the buyer again.
The scammer is usually overseas so there is no legal recourse. This happened to my neighbor where someone in South Africa saw his posting for his Volvo, offered to buy it and even sent a cashier’s check for the amount plus $3000 extra for shipping. Because it’s an overseas bank, it takes several days to clear so in the meantime, the scammer’s asking my neighbor to send the car off for delivery and also to wire the “shipper” $3000 real dollars. My neighbor had never heard of the bank which drew up the cashier’s check and grew suspicious. When he asked for further proof, they trail went cold. Of course the cashier’s check finally bounced.
But what really makes this a gem is the whole time this is going on, he is posting comments on a newsgroup asking for advice and basically getting egged on by the community. By marking the package as a $2000 computer, this forces the scammer to have to pay something like $200 in customs fees. Posters in London see the thread and check out the delivery address (a barbershop/internet cafe) and even go in for a haircut to stake the joint. The members of the bulliten board track the Fedex tracking number and someone even visits the shop at the time of delivery to try and get a snapshot of the fuming owner as he realizes he’s been had. The didn’t get the shot but they did go into the internet cafe and left “p-p-p-powerbook” on the screensavers.
Poor ol’ Cory at boingboing posts long and lengthy about the frustrations of getting a cell phone in the UK with “no credit.” Why can’t the credit agencies put their heads together to come up with a global rating system so that us trans-national workers can move freely about and immediately begin contributing to the local economy? I work with a bunch of ex-pats that have relocated from the UK and they all got shafted on their mortgages and car purchases because they essentially didn’t exist as far as the local banks were concerned.
I too had a funny experience when I tried to open up an account at Bank of America in Berkeley. I walked up to the teller with a wad of 10,000 yen notes that I had earned as English teacher and said that I wanted to open up an account using this as my initial deposit. The teller said that I couldn’t exchange foreign currency without an account. When I pointed out the flaw in their procedures and asked for an exception, she stuck to her guns and directed me to the Wells Fargo branch across the street. “I know they will exchange your currency even if you don’t have an account. Why don’t you go there, change your money and come back here? I’d be happy to help you then.” Needless to say, I never made the trip back to BofA and ended up banking with Wells Fargo for over 10 years.
Last weekend we drove up to Concord, MA for my 20th high school reunion. Middlesex School is an independent boarding school that was founded in 1901 where I lived and learned from age 14 – 18.
The campus was designed by Olmstead, the same fellow that laid out Central Park, and is just as beautiful now as I remember it. The four years I spent there were the foundation of my education and schooling.
An innocent request by one classmate to check into rates for a banquet at the local inn evolved into my somehow organizing the class get-together for Friday evening. In the end it all worked out and those in attendence had a great time sharing stories about what we’ve been up to the past 20 years and what we’ve heard about others that didn’t make it.
As always, Alumni Weekend fell on a spectacular New England Spring day and groups of us wandered around the campus poking about our old haunts. Some places hadn’t changed a bit and others were radically upgraded or new all together. There’s two new dorms, one named “the new dorm” and I guess waiting the label from a particularly generous alumni. There’s also a brand new science center that is topped by an observatory. Everyone agreed that the athletic center can hold its own to any Manhattan health club and the new Student Center in Ware Hall (with it’s floor to ceiling glass windows) is a welcome change to the old student/faculty center that was known as the “Stu/Fac.”
The addition of wings on some of the dorms was done so subtly that only careful examination revealed the difference in brick tone (and redeemed my sanity). It was strange to walk into the old BP dorm where I lived on the top floor in a shared suite with others in a “quad” and see how much they’ve changed things around. Not only have they broken up all the odd-shaped nooks and dormers that used to make it so den-like, they’ve also sub-divided the whole floor into a series of singles. The old wooden staircase are gone, there are safety rails everywhere, and as of a few years ago they’ve put locks on all the doors. As my old dorm master said, they basically took the front door down, replaced the building, then put the old front door back on. Time rolls on I guess – I’m now sounding like one of those crusty old Alums lamenting the good old days.
It was great to bring Zoomer & the kids out to see my old school. I’ve always wanted to share this part of my life with them. I hope they got at least a sense of what it was like to spend time here. Tyler jumped right in and had a blast with the other kids. Tyler and Chloe got along grand which prompted her father John to say, “they’re getting along better than we ever did!”
The rainstorm last night brought down many of the cherry blossoms from the tree that overhangs our driveway onto my car. As I drove off to work and sped down to work this morning I left behind a flurry of blossom petals in my wake.
The car behind me must have thought I was heading home after an Indian wedding.
It’s been a grueling curriculum at St. Matthew’s Little Leisure this year. Tyler’s pre-K class covered a letter each week. The first week was the letter “A” and they worked on crafts that used apples, colored in construction paper cut in the shape of an “A,” you get the idea. After 26 weeks of that, they moved onto numbers and picked up the pace a bit and covered a number each day. On Tuesday, Tyler was home sick with a stomach ache (he slept it off) and he subsequently missed the number five. Today he was back in school and they covered the number six and they had Tyler make up his exercises on the number five.
Unfortunately, this confused Tyler on the order of the numbers – he thought they were teaching him that the sequence was 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 5 – which I had to straighten things out with him tonight as I put him to sleep.
Imagine the chaos this would have caused if he went through the rest of his life with these numbers the wrong way around – all because of a stomach ache!
Flash, the name Tyler gave our trusty green Honda Odyssey served as our chariot for a shopping run to a huge outlet mall about 30 minutes away in Pennsylvania. We only go there a couple of times a year and I think we now have it down to a science. We head out as early as possible and time it to arrive about 10 minutes after opening. After securing a good parking spot that allows for rapid, clean lines of escape, we head inside and plunge ourselves into the major stores we want to hit that day. Momentum was pretty good but we got way-laid at the Marshall’s (pictured above) which was fascinating because the household goods and toy sections were like an attic for failed consumer goods. The 3 foot pepper mill, the porcelin statuette of a cherub playing soccer, the gigantic Pallela pan, cooks for 40 – these were the things that stores just couldn’t move and one can see why!
Tyler picked up a pair of “scooter red” Keds, Julia a fresh pair of flower-patterned spats, Zoomer got some shirts and a funky pair of floodwater-hemmed jeans, and dad got a bunch of short-sleeved shirts for the Summer and a nice running shirt to make up for the 2002 World Cup Brazilian soccer jersey that was melted down in the dryer.
We got home late and I now understand the seething disgust reserved by parents for the man that drives the ice cream truck. We hadn’t even gotten dinner organized yet when his plinkity-plink sugar-high melody could be heard warbling it’s way around our corner. The kids immediately started moaning and frowning their entire bodies in an attempt to soften our resolve that they were not to spoil their appetite despite the fact that the entire block of kids were lined up outside the truck for their jet pops and crazy cones. The truck had parked itself strategically in front of our house and the melody played itself over and over as the ice cream man served up one treat after another, the tune was almost mocking us, as if to say, “come on, don’t be such a prude. . . .it’s just ice cream after all. . .” I have to hand it to the kids though, once the truck motored away (this time at top speed, not the tempting crawl when it first came to our block) they finished all their vegetables without too much fuss.
So we moved on from Sean’s birthday party with it’s clown/magician and pinata to a celebration for Theo’s Christening which featured the beautiful spread you see on the right. Small talk centered around the usual suburban topics, schools, property taxes, those in the neighborhood that totally bug you with their attitude of “competitive hapiness,” beating you over the head with how wonderful their life is while you node, smile, and try not to show them that you’re checking your watch.
The last engagement of the day was a birthday party for Claire, one of our neighbors. We arrived just in time to watch the 130th running of the Kentucky Derby where we cheered on Smarty Jones to a win. What made things especially sweet is that someone in the room had worked for Roy Chapman’s auto dealership and said it couldn’t have happened to a nicer man. I’m told that the horse was nearly put down awhile back when he cracked his skull on the starting gate resisting a start. They stuck with him though and even though he’s not from a thoroughbreds pedigree, the horse made a startling recovery and has now gone on to be the first unbeaten winner of the “Run for the Roses” since Seattle Slew in 1977.
After the race, we all enjoyed sipping cool ones to wash down some local pizza smothered in some smokin’ picante sauce that Dave brought back from a recent trip to the Carribean while everyone told stories about how much trouble they got in when they were kids.