still no comcast

It feels like someone stole our Comcast high-speed internet connection. Unlike before when connection was sporadic, now there is absolutely NO CONNECTION. It’s as if it died; it’s very eery. My husband did speak to someone yesterday, an appointment was made, but had to be canceled. So we’re starting from scratch again today.

Rather than call the national customer service “hotline,” I called the office number of the Auburn, Washington office as listed on the business card the technician gave me at the first appointment. I went through the automated service, pressing the appropriate buttons. The end result was that the computer “technician” reset our modem. That would be wonderful if Comcast’s computer can fix things, then there’d be no need for humans to try and solve problems which they have no clue about. I do feel for service reps who sit in an office somewhere other than where customers are, trying to figure out how to help them. They’ve no idea about the specifics, except that there’s a problem. Maybe customer service should be localized? I guess it’s cheaper to have call centers, frustrating for customers, but better for Comcast.

Well, I’ll check to see if resetting the modem did the trick. If not, it’s another call to someone, probably the national hotline again. I would call the technician who told me about noise interference the first time, but yesterday was his Friday, and his Monday isn’t until Wednesday. Patience is a virtue, isn’t it?

I’ll definitely ask to be credited for days when we were without  internet connection. Quite a saga so far, don’t you think?

counting to 100…hugmamma.

“woes again,” comcast

Just when my faith was restored in the “powers” that be, Comcast, “poof! the plug was pulled” once again. Just like that! No warning, whatsoever. So I called customer service this time, rather than wait for their call. The weather couldn’t possibly be at fault now, as it was a few weeks ago when we were experiencing snow and ice, not like the east coast, but enough to make me excuse Comcast for a couple of weeks. Mike answered. Now that I think of it, he may have been the one who commented on my blog the last time, and got the “snowball” rolling. Well, looks like it didn’t roll far enough.

I’m using my husband’s laptop which has its own connection, not with Comcast, obviously. As I indicated when I previously blogged about Comcast, their customer service reps are pleasant, and as helpful as possible given that they’re not even located wherever problems arise. They have no clue what’s causing our problem. They want to send a technician again. I’m a little wary, since their last one arrived after 5 p.m., and did nothing, but talk a good story about “noise” interference. But the next day, our internet connection was back on, and has been until a little while ago. Maybe the “noise” returned. And maybe there are magic wands floating around, and on that particular day Comcast happened upon one and “whoosh!” made everything normal again. But I guess the magic’s expired. I’m not sure how they’ll fix what they’re not sure of, this go ’round. Maybe Harry Potter will happen along. Hmmm…

As long as I have access to my husband’s laptop, I’ll keep blogging, and letting you know, once again, the ongoing saga that’s “Comcast.” Hope there’ll finally be a happy ending. Until then, if there’s any among you who can recommend other avenues to access the internet other than Comcast, especially here in Western Washington, I’m open to suggestions. The only up side to this otherwise frustrating situation, is that I’ll always have a topic about which to blog, COMCAST! Who knows? Maybe they like the PR, even if it’s not so good.

I think the demons of technology are overtaking us, as I blog. Maybe I’ll curl up with a nice book.

for comcast, no hugs this time…hugmamma

“witch doctors,” do you believe?

With Halloween just around the corner, I’m reminded of something that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I’m in the midst of reading Orson Welles-A Biography” by Barbara Leaming. Written with his complete cooperation, it really is “a dazzling, intimate portrait of a legend.” Never one of my favorite actors, I must admit that I’ve altered my opinion after reading 396 pages of the 630 page book. Welles was really the genius he was touted to be! Unfortunately his diverse talents overextended him physically and mentally, so that his failures were as huge as his successes, both personally and professionally. But I’ll leave that for another post.

Through a series of fortuitous events, 20-year-old, recently married Orson Welles made his New York directorial debut in the midst of this country’s Great Depression. In 1935, Hallie Flanagan, head of Vassar College’s Experimental Theatre Workshop, was appointed as national director of the Federal Theatre  project. As part of FDR’s Works Progress Administration, the FT was charged with providing work for the nation’s unemployed theatrical professionals. Because Flanagan “was not a member of the Broadway commercial establishment, but an academic with a taste for experimental and regional theater,” and because, by rule, 10% of actors, musicians, playwrights and technicians “could consist of theater people who had not been receiving relief, thereby ensuring the presence of expert professional talent to counterbalance the inevitable amateurs who found working in the theater more appealing than a government construction project,” Orson found himself among this elite class of professionals.

Charged with mounting a classical production, Welles, upon his wife Virginia’s suggestion, chose to stage   “an all-black Macbeth by transposing its action from Scotland to Haiti, a startlingly new setting with important artistic advantages, not the least of them the rich possibilities for music and decor. … Preferring not to anchor the action too firmly in Haiti he had in mind a mythic island more like the fantasy setting of The Tempest than any actual place. But as Orson saw it, there was a significant gain in realism as well: by alluding to Haitian voodooism the production could make credible the role of the witches that modern audiences of Macbeth often have trouble accepting.”

At Harlem’s Lafayette Theatre,  Orson’s Macbeth opened to a mixture of  gang members, respectable black bourgeoisie, and Manhattan’s chic downtown crowd. When the curtain rose on “the intricate jungle settings, piquant costumes, and sensuous lighting,” the audience broke into “wild applause and gasps of pleasure.” And the critics’ reviews were just as ebullient. Brooks Atkinson of The New York Times wrote with enthusiasm  ” ‘As an experiment in Afro-American showmanship the Macbeth fairly rocked the Lafayette Theatre, …If it is witches you want, Harlem knows how to overwhelm you with their fury and phantom splendor.’ ” The New York Daily News’ Burns Mantle hailed Macbeth as ” ‘a spectacular theatre experience. …the most colorful, certainly the most startling, of any performance that gory tragedy has ever been given on this continent.’ ”

In contrast, Percy Hammond of the Herald Tribune wrote ” ‘What surprised me last night was the inability of so melodious a race to sing the music of Shakespeare,…The actors sounded the notes with a muffled timidity that was often unintelligible. They seemed to be afraid of the Bard, though they were playing him on their home grounds.’ ” One of the African drummers, who accompanied the ranting of the three witches, made a voodoo doll in the critic’s likeness, hanging it in effigy and sticking it with pins. When told by the lighting director that Hammond was entitled to his opinion, the African replied ” ‘He’s bad man.’ ” Humoring the man over beer and pretzels at a local bar, Orson agreed to his drinking companion’s decision to put a curse on the critic.

“The African made one stipulation: the responsibility for Hammond’s death would be Orson’s alone. As a pretzel disappeared into his mouth, Orson nodded agreement. The rest of the company, Orson among them, watched with amusement as the voodoo practitioners blessed their drums before pounding on them backstage for several days. He barely gave it another thought until, shortly thereafter, he gasped to learn that Percy Hammond had just died.”

One of these times I’ll tell you about my “big-aunt,” who was a “Kahuna,” a Hawaiian witch doctor.

makes you wonder…hugmamma.