Caught In A Grecian Romance

Split at noon yesterday and headed for the coast. Left about 10 minutes before the Greece news popped. I’ve been calling it the Greek Romance, cause every time I hear about it I get that Lady Gaga song in my head:

Seriously. I mean, your moment of zen or whatever:

Miles from Athens or the electronic pit, it’s the Oregon coast. Hour and a half, my door to the sand. Climbed Tillamook Head. Counted rings on a felled sitka spruce – close to 200. Does that mean 200 years old or do they do two rings in a year? I can’t remember. At the hiker camp an owl hooted away, we found these old bunkers from the Rising Sun Terror days, some Italian tourists joined us looking out at Terrible Tilly. Then we hiked out and demolished a couple captain’s platters.

I miss creative mornings. Working the markets, fixing problems for my clients. I participate in the capital engine and I get to help people. It’s an awesome life. I should be shot for even contemplating complaining.

But there was something about Up at 6AM in Hillcrest, walk to Peets for a trad capp, fire a fresh horde of wordgame puzzles for someone to solve. Then drive to the office and write code until noon.

Grass greener. Try not be meaner. Breathe, be here not there. Summer days. This morning, I got away. Worked the open, then snuck off to one of the best coffee shops in the world for a macchiato, and more important than the macchiato, a deep breath or four and some playtime with the Mactop.

Communication Issues

As a customer I’m constantly frustrated that – even in this age of Twitter and Facebook and smart phones etc – I can’t have a conversation with a business on my terms.

Either I have a problem and they avoid communicating with me entirely, OR they’re shy and never send me information that I might want, OR they’re way too eager and insist on bugging me every other damn day about their ‘special deals’.

An example, one of many. Every summer I drive out east of Portland to the Hood River Valley to walk in the orchards and pick my own peaches, cherries and blueberries.

I would love it if some of the farmers sent me updates about their crops. Hey Jonny the cherry trees are blooming, here’s a picture. Hey Jonny, blueberries are ready to be picked. I would probably be encouraged to go more often, and talk about them with my friends, and I’d probably be willing to pay a premium for their fruit.

I would hate it if they sent me emails every day in the winter telling me about their ‘special deals’ on pickled beets.

As it is, I get no communication from my favorite farmers whatsoever. They don’t tweet and they don’t have my email address, and because of this we’re lost to each other. If I don’t drive out there this summer, we might never have another customer-business interaction, i.e. I give them cold hard cash for the stuff they make.

Somewhere between saying nothing and shouting about everything, there has to be a happy medium.

“I would like your email address, and if you give it to me I promise I will only email you 6-10 times a year, and only when it’s VERY important.”

Whoever is bold enough to ask that question, and has the integrity to keep the promise, wins.