The situation is simple: There’s a guy I needed to send $65 to for a service he was kind enough to render in advance of being paid. He had a Pay Pal (PP) account for me to use.

After I figured out how to transfer money to Pay Pal to pay the vendor, the vendor’s PP website wouldn’t recognize the transaction, sending me in an endless loop. Then I discovered that I had a “limited” account, so I took the required steps to verify my account information. I received an automated phone call with a confirmation number and used it to verify the account. Apparently all was well, but the vendor’s PP website still wouldn’t accept payment, even after both the bank and PP verified that the measly $65 I needed to pay had been transferred to my PP account.

(I might mention here that I’ve used PP in the past but stopped using it because PP had become notorious for phishing schemes and other scams.)

However, PP did remember my e-mail account. One of the problems was that I kept forgetting my password after each failed attempt to pay my vendor so I had to re-set it several times.

So now I was at the stage where I had verified the account with the confirmation number. And I had successfully transferred funds from my bank account to my PP account.

But what’s this? Apparently my account was still “limited”.

I went to try to figure out how to “unlimit” it but . . . what’s this? It seems PP had “randomly selected” my account for a new security check!

All right, I could do that, but I had to be at my home computer in order to look up my bank routing number. I did so.

But what’s this? PP now wants me to specify two security questions out of a quirky menu they provide. I selected my father’s middle name and my sainted grandmother’s maiden name because I always remember the answers and the spelling is certain (unlike my first pet dog’s name which I spell a couple different ways and the name of the hospital I was born in which has changed names a couple times)

I answer these questions…but what’s this? Ah, PP now wants me to change my password again (and confirm the new one).

Whew! I grit my teeth and do so.

But what’s this? Apparently there’s a problem with my user name that requires a new password.

At this point I have no idea how to get past the PP gatekeepers to even find out how to remove my restrictions so I can just pay the stupid $65 that I’ve been promising my faithful and patient vendor.

I tried again the next day using a helpful invoice my vendor sent. This duly took me to the PP site but didn’t do anything except show me my account balance: $65.

Now I noticed that my account was “verified” but still “limited” so I figured I’d try at least confirming my credit card account, which may have been an old one. However, PP also wants a photo ID and a bank statement of some kind . . . which are not going to be happening from my location in Cairo, Egypt. Nevertheless, I started in on the credit card. I looked up my Visa number, expiry date, special code and entered the info. PP then wanted me to go to my bank account where they had put a “test amount” with a 4-digit code. I went to the bank account online and found the test amount but, naturally, no 4-digit code.

I tried to go back to PP but the webpage had expired (after only 3 or 4 minutes) so I had to go back in, change my password, enter new security questions (same as the old ones) and start over. In the meantime, I had received two additional e-mails from PP telling me my password was changed and my security questions had been changed.

And so it goes…and endless series of password and security question changes, bank verifications and other nonsense.

Here’s how Pay Pal describes my account status:

 What can I do while my account is limited?

• send money
• withdraw money from your account
• close your account
• remove a card
• remove a bank account
• send refunds

I can’t imagine I went through all this folderol the first time I opened a Pay Pal account to buy some trinket from Ebay.

Am I missing some key piece of information? Maybe I inadvertently selected the “Extract gold doubloons from Fort Knox” option and thus have understandably tighter hoops to jump through. Perhaps Pay Pal is punishing me for jilting them a few years ago. Possibly even this moment some fiendish phishing felon has discovered my grandmother’s maiden name and is secretly slipping spondulics out of my savings.

I wondered what my sainted grandmother would have advised. She passed away before there was Pay Pal, before there was Internet, before there was online banking, before there were personal computers . . . practically before there were even electrons.

She knew about checks though. So I got hold of a party traveling from Egypt to the US, wrote a check, put it in an envelope and asked them to mail it from Tucson to Phoenix.

That’s what I call a dang pay pal.

Question:

(click image to enlarge for better readability)

The problem here is that, in fact,  none of the answers is correct, although the test developer apparently thought it should be “b”.

See, while ‘qualified’ can indeed mean “trained” or “skilled” or “having the appropriate credientials for the job,” in this particular context it means nothing of the sort. Rather, it is being used more like “counted” or “reckoned as” or “having the quality of.” It has nothing to do with skill.

The question itself is a bit awkward since it’s not quite how a native speaker would say it but this passage is presumably a real quote from a magazine article so some leeway can be given. Normally one might say something like “Well, that X doesn’t really qualify as “Y” — in other words, ‘qualify’ means “meet the standard of.”

Here’s one from a Technical Writing final exam:

What are 3 ways to avoid sexiest writing?

This could have been a mere typo. More likely, the test author didn’t understand that “sexiest” and “sexist” mean very very different things.

In the question above, “sexiest’” isn’t a grammatical use but one could understand a sentence about “sexy writing” and why it should be avoided.

“Sexist” writing on the other hand would be something on the order of “Let’s make sure we send the right man for this job,”  or the use of “Miss” or “Mrs.” instead of “Ms” or even “He got busted by a male grammar cop.”

In spelling, sometimes the e‘s not the i‘s have it.

From my listening post in Cairo I’m a little more concerned that I’ll get caught in the middle of an uprising or worse, a monstrous traffic snarl, but I can’t help but hear bits of news about basketball players wanting to sit out the season because they want more money.

Or maybe it’s greedy owners not content to just have one luxury yacht for each family member.

Either way, I have never understood how the American sports-going public can even think about putting up with this sort of folderol.

A few years ago I was actually hoping and praying that the millionaire baseball players and owners would cancel a season. In fact, I even wrote an opinion piece for the Arizona Republic about it.

“The problem is that we have an economic death spiral here. Owners need butts in the bleachers and pay players royal sums to attract the butts’ owners.”

Did you ever hear of triple A-league baseball players going on strike? I reckon if the major league millionaires and owners canceled a season, fans could just turn to the minor leagues and enjoy a level of athleticism not all that far from the Bigs.

Of course the reason players can command multimillion dollar salaries–and that’s not even counting endorsements and the fact that they get to be thugs in cities around the country for free–is that the fans are willing to pay exorbitant ticket prices and ridiculous food and beverage tabs at the stadium, ballpark or arena.

“Even if your friendly neighborhood power forward plays only six years, it would still take your school psychologist or teacher 160 years to catch up.”

If the fans as a group got together and said, “Look, we’re having enough trouble just buying gas for our cars and maybe going to a movie matinée, so you millionaires who could buy a car with the money you make in just about a half hour, you go ahead and sit out the season and we’ll use the money we save on concession stand nachos to pay our rent this month or buy books for our kids at school.”

You guys are mad at Wall Street? Save your breath. Why not put your efforts where it will actually make a difference. Occupy the Millionaires Fight Club.

Remember Howard Beale.

 ____________________

*I know it’s not technically a strike, but when a season is cancelled because players want more tattoo bucks…that’s a strike, even if the owners are scroogy SOBs.

PS…let me know if you would like a copy of the Republic article.

The other day one of my Skypemates and I were fooling around with some new icons in the latest version and, purely by accident, we came across several, um…”undocumented” icons.  These are little cartoon icons that don’t show up anywhere on the menu.

Now, there’s a term in the software business for bits of secret code embedded in a program or DVD: “Easter eggs.”

These are harmless yolks inserted in the program that appear magically when certain key strokes are made, yielding a gag reel or nerd-amusing game.

For example, typing (smoke) yields a little guy smoking and (rock) sends out a head-banging rock ‘n roller. Now try typing (drunk).

Note that you have to type in the word with the parentheses.

There’s another one so deliciously improper you’ll have to write me privately. Send a note to jveedsATaol.com and I’ll reveal it.

Of course, I suppose this is old news to veteran egg hunters. Frankly, I haven’t Googled the matter to find out whether there are dozens more. Sometimes it’s better not to know.

Like when I figured out how to advance to the upper levels of PacMan.  The whole thing was ruined for me when I found out that the “cheats”  had been figured out long ago and were actually published.

I suppose I’ll have to eventually do the search and find out what secret icons we missed.

But sometimes it’s nice to just let serendipity happen, walk through the world with the eyes of a child finding colored eggs under bushes, making a conscious effort not to read all the reviews of a movie before going to see it, not doing an Internet search of your new dating partner to see if he’s a beau or a beauzo…

…in short finding the Easter eggs of someone’s personality.

You: Wha’?

Me: Yeah, I’ve been hearing about these librarians all like running amuck trying to take over Tripoli and searching for that Qadaffi guy. Shouldn’t they be looking for missing books and hunting down library book scofflaws?

You: (sigh). Libyans. Not librarians.

Me: Wha’?

You: They’re Libyan rebels, not librarian rebels.

Me: Oh. Never mind.

—————

In memory of Emily Litella

2. Always park on the street in the direction of traffic. (It’s a $25 ticket in Erie PA though I got off with a courteous warning in Glendale AZ.)

3. For Sunday breakfast at a restaurant, do whatever it takes to arrive before 8:30am. (8am to be safe). Otherwise marauding hordes of zombies willing to sit semi- lifelessly in the waiting area staring at the floor for a half hour to 40 minutes will take over the joint.

4. When watching TV, be prepared for an onslaught of law firm commercials for class action lawsuits against a variety of prescription drugs.

5. When watching TV, be prepared for an onslaught of commercials for prescription drugs with bizarre, scary side effects, usually including possible death and/or vomiting.

6. Pay attention to left turn lanes, especially after 10pm. Paradise Valley AZ charges you more than $200 for failing to make your left turn properly…even from an otherwise deserted roadway with no oncoming traffic.

7. Sometimes it seems like the only difference between corruption in an Arab dictatorship and corruption in US politics is that the dictator gets deposed. The US politician – say, an ex-governor – goes on a speaking tour and collects $100,000 per event. (One Arab elected official said “Sure I gave out the best government-subsidized housing to my sister’s family. What was I supposed to do…give it to a stranger?” See? That’s just being honest. An American official might chirp “Corporations are people too!”)

8. Don’t expect to eat dinner out after 10pm unless you want to be the folks that close the place down.

9. You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant*.

10. If there are four cars or more at a fast-food drive-through, park your car and go inside to order. (Invariably one of the cars will be ordering enough food for a scout troop or frat party and might even be taking orders via cell phone. Actually, that’s exactly what Saudi students do in the line at a McDonalds–pronounced MAKdonalds–but at least they’re inside.)

 11. There’s a good chance your favorite bistro from a year ago is closed.

 12. There’s no need to pay more than $4 for a bottle of wine at a grocery store. (Wine names now sound like Big Hair rock bands–Double Dog Dare, Cardinal Zin, Little Black Dress, Chateau La Feets.)

13. US stores have about 40 brands and types of toothpaste stocked on the shelf. Pick the absolute cheapest unless it’s formulated from Vegemite or arsenic.

14. If everyone ignored the Kardashians, they might go away.

15. Naaaah!

17. But it was a good thought.

———-

*ceptin’ Alice

You are asking yourself: “What can I do to keep this faithful correspondent from leaving the States again?”

Simple. If you know of any specific positions, tips or leads that would save the Saudis from another year of my Middle East shenanigans…

…pass them along to me at the e-mail below.

Here, I’ll make it simple.

Just ask around and see who needs an accomplished and versatile teacher or writer and is willing to pay enough to keep the wolves from the door.

What will you say to your friends or colleagues?

You will say: He is equally comfortable churning out mouth-watering ad copy and technical white papers. He can do audience-grabbing executive speeches (like he did for a major aerospace corporation) or funny radio scripts (like for the Arizona State Fair). He proofreads and copyedits like a maniac (like he did for several Phoenix newspapers and marketing agencies). Feel free to paraphrase.

You want humor? You will make snorting noises and lose control of your sphincter. You want heart-rending? You will check into the hospital and beg for a transplant. You want dry and boring? Sorry. Try the hack next door.

And what about teaching, you ask? Boy, did you come to the right place!

He tames unruly youths in a single bound; imparts sage writing tips faster than a speeding bullet; flies through the air with the greatest of ease (without tights). Two out of three are more or less true. Pick ‘em.

In short, he teaches English, Business Writing and Rhetoric (along with Reading and Grammar, but no ‘Rithmetic).

He brings an invaluable international perspective. And is willing to relocate to your fair city.

But enough dilly dallying. Let’s see how we can save me from another year in the Magic Kingdom.  I’m ready to get to work and appreciate your tips, hot leads and especially any job offers.

Just jot a note to jveeds@aol.com to get the ball rolling.

Oh, and feel free to pass this article along to whoever might be interested.

.

.

.

.

.

_________________

*Beck, to his radio audience on Monday:

“I’m not saying God is, you know, causing earthquakes. I’m not not saying that either. “What God does is God’s business. I have no idea. But I’ll tell you this, whether you call it Gaia, or whether you call it Jesus, there’s a message being sent. And that is, ‘Hey you know that stuff we’re doing? <laughing to himself> Not really working out real well. <laughing uproariously to himself> Maybe we should stop doing some of it.’ <laughing>I’m just saying.”

He doesn’t say which part of the “stuff” we’re doing ought to be cut out…maybe the tsunamis…but he then proceeds to mention, as an aside, that he has super-secret, uber-important information about Hezbollah and radical Islam that apparently is available only to him and then launches a full minute of a pointless extended metaphor about “buckling up”  and “keeping arms and legs inside the car.”

To get the full effect of his moronicity, you have to hear the self-satisfied chortlng (there is no better word that I can thnk of ) that accompanies his commentary.

FYI: the term “moroon” is used courtesy of Bugs Bunny, as in “What a moroon!”

Click here to hear a typical chirper.

The new law goes into effect immediately though enforcement will not begin for another two weeks to give owners time to disable the devices. A 150 Saudi Riyal fine ($40 US) will be levied for every violation and offenders will receive notification at their next ATM transaction, just like any traffic fine.

“These things are un-Islamic, useless and just plain annoying, annoying jedn,” (very annoying)  a spokesman for the King said. We’re pretty sure no one in the 7th century had one for his camels and we certainly don’t need them now.”

Imams throughout the kingdom applauded the ruling.

“People don’t mind getting up for the 4:45am Fajr prayer, but they don’t need the annoyance of these devices going off at all hours, disturbing their sleep and disrupting domestic tranquility just because car washers are trying to make a few riyals at 5am,” said Al Rajhi Mosque imam Abdullah Abdulrahman ibn Abdulmajid ibn Abdulkareem. “The harsh chirping or squeaking noises can be heard for blocks away and the resulting lack of sleep causes the faithful to lose concentration during prayers.”

It is expected that chirping remote keyless entry devices will be added to the ban shortly.

“What, they’re not content to just have flashing lights! They have to hear where their SUV is too?” added a highly placed ministry official who spoke on condition of anonymity.

“It’s really a quality of life issue” said a leading political observer in Riyadh who spoke on condition of anonymity. “The 135 SR billion ($36 billion US) in social benefits just announced were a bit abstract for the average Saudi to fully get on board with. This new law hits home where it counts…in the bedroom.”

_______________________

According to the New York City Police Department,
car alarms are actually making the crime problem worse
because false alarms are so common that people simply
ignore them. And the director of the criminology center
at the University of Pennsylvania, Lawrence Sherman, 
who spoke on condition of anonymity, said,  
"No study has demonstrated that they reduce auto theft."

Apparently, my newswriting background has inadvertently
caused me to create a piece of satire that looks alarmingly
like the real thing, at least according to a couple
sources who said "Boy, you must be feeling pretty good
about this new law!"

A town went nuts last Wednesday night

…in a way that’s completely, utterly different from the rest of its Middle East and Africa neighbors in turmoil.

The occasion: The Return of the King. The town: Riyadh, 6-million-strong capital of Saudi Arabia.

I went to a professional development seminar after work in the  Al Mughrizat district just northwest of the city center and later a small group headed downtown to a Turkish restaurant we all like.

Little did we know that all hell had broken loose in Riyadh.

King Abdullah had returned in the afternoon and every youth who can drive was out—in a city where nearly 60% of the population is under 25.

It seems the kingdom had arranged for tens of thousands of pictures, billboards, banners, electronic signs and what-all to be hung or displayed throughout the city. I’m not kidding…tens of thousands.

Along with thousands of green flags.

The traffic was worthy of a sports minded American city, say Pittsburgh or Philadelphia after an NHL or Super Bowl championship.

Saudi youths hopped up on adrenaline, Barbican* and the prospect of a three-day weekend were not content to simply cruise fashionable Olaya St.; they had to hang out the windows of their cars, waving flags, draped in flags, jumping around on the roofs of the cars with flags  and running up and down the highways…with flags. Youths near Prince Sultan University–a favorite strolling spot for locals–actually ran into the streets from sidewalks as though to storm the cars.

You could see by their faces that there was no malice intended; just boyish exuberance.

(However it was disturbing to see 5-year-old girls and boys sitting on car windows while the drivers cavorted in traffic in the traditional Saudi way.)

What should have been a 40-minute drive home took about three hours

The Arab News modestly reported:  “As the evening wore on, hundreds of smiling Saudi youths took to the streets.”

Watching these maniacs smiling youths in the street of any other country and you’d have thought they were high. I’d say there was zero chance of that here and little prospect of violence or personal harm other than traffic accidents.

The Faisaliah tower (aka Mall with the Ball) was lit up like a, um, December 25 tree with bands of green lights and a green topping (below left and right). The Ministry of Interior building (aka Alien Space Ship) had hundreds of yellow light streamers completely encircling it. Only the Kingdom Center Tower (aka Bottle Opener) remained oddly unfestooned.

As part of the celebrations organized by the government (headed, of course, by the King) to mark the King’s return to the Kingdom, citizens found out Wednesday morning that all public sector employees, including humble, hardworking English teachers would get a special one-off holiday on Saturday (the Saudi equivalent of a Monday).

I’m advised by a trusted local source that it’s customary when one of the inner circle of  high level al Sauds returns from an extended leave to give the workers a day off, put up banners and run congratulatory front-page stories. Something of this magnitude is very unusual. 

Arab News: “In appreciation of the unprecedented joy and happiness shown toward his recovery, the king unveiled a series of measures for the benefit of citizens estimated to be worth SR135 billion ($36 billion).”

It’s hard to believe that the King simply welled up with joy Wednesday morning as he flew in from his rehabilitation locale in Morocco, saw the preparations being made (by his own people) and said “Gosh, I’ve got to show some appreciation for this. Prince Sultan, hand me the royal checkbook!”

No, there’s something else going on. Here it is.

This was not about welcoming back the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques King Abdullah.

With the domino uprisings going on all around the Middle East and Africa this Welcome Back love-fest was a carefully orchestrated effort on the part of the monarchy to bolster its base of support.

Now, you just can’t trick, manipulate or bribe 20-year old thobe-clad lads into staging a massive street party to demonstrate support for the government. But you can create conditions, starting with a three-day no-school weekend.

The King’s return had undoubtedly been planned for quite some time. He left his New York hospital in December, was recuperating in Morocco and was due back any time he chose. Back in early December no one knew the magnitude of Tunisia or that Egypt, much less Bahrain and Libya would follow. So as the Egyptian revolution unfolded in January the King and his counselors must have been worriedly conferring to see what they could do to batten down the hatches and head off any thoughts of dissent in the KSA.

As I have said elsewhere, the Kingdom may not be immune to an uprising but it’s in pretty good shape for four reasons, one of which is the likeability and good favor the king is held in.

The other reasons are: 1) vast oil wealth, 2) a powerful conservative religious establishment, and 3) a youthful population that is, as one commentator put it, “culturally resistant to change.”

Still  there are those pesky Shiites making up as much as a third of the population in the oil region of the Eastern Province (10-15% overall) and a government would be crazy not to be examining all possibilities.

So the King announces a massive public welfare program, gives everyone in the public sector a day off and plasters the kingdom with pictures of the smiling monarch. No billboard, bridge overpass, government building or public square is left unadorned. (Actually, I did find exactly one billboard.)

Like I said, you can’t make teenagers, young adults and grown men drive around madly, letting their toddlers hang out their car windows, waving flags, chanting, dancing from their car rooftops like high school cheerleaders and carrying on like…well, high school cheerleaders. But you can create the conditions in which a street party could occur and let the people’s natural good feelings about their king and country emerge in a show of solidarity to the world.

For this was not about welcoming back the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques King Abdullah. This was about nationalism and making a statement to the world that Saudi Arabia, the birthplace and foundation of Islam, is not like the surrounding regimes with their autocratic tyrants, corruption, decadent women tramping around sleeveless and oppressed citizenry.

“See how we love our king!” really means mahfee mooshkela — no problem here.

_____________________________________________________

*Barbican is a non-alcoholic malt beverage, typically flavored with apple, lemon or, ugh, peach.