US Cell Phone Companies Are Screwing You

Note:  These prices are for an android smart phone.

In the UK, I currently pay £10/mo (approx. $15.50) for all the minutes, text, & data I need. I don’t have a contract, can just not top up when I don’t have the money, and they’re no overage charges (it just won’t let me make a call if I don’t have money on it).

In India, I paid about 800 rupees (approx. $15.80) a month for minutes, text, & data.
Of those 800 rupees, the data was 99 rupees for 1 month – that’s enough data to leave my data connected all the time, check my email regularly throughout the day, etc, for a whole month… and it cost me less than two dollars. This included a few international calls, which I don’t make on my UK phone (without the calls to the US, it was closer to 300 rupees, or  $5.95 a month).  Same deal – I don’t have a contract, no overage charges, etc.  I also had service everywhere.

In the United States, to get a basic phone and text contract with Verizon it would be $39.99.  But, because I have a smart phone, I would have to pay an additional $30.00 a month for data.  Plus taxes and fees, we’re talking over $70.00 a month.
Furthermore, because I already own an unlocked phone (allowing me to just pop a SIM card in whatever country I’m in), I cannot actually use Verizon.
My options are limited pretty much to TMobile (which charges an additional fee to not use their phone, or at least did when I researched it earlier, doesn’t offer data on their pay as you go, but you could get a 10¢/minute package for $100 and it was good for up to a year), Companies That Market To People Who Don’t Speak English, and Walmart Family Mobile.

What I ended up doing when I was in the US, was going with Walmart Family Mobile, who uses the TMobile service anyway.  It was $25 to get it started, plus about $54/month after taxes and fees.  And it was just text and phone, because I never got their data to work – though they do have data, and I suspect it was mostly my phone that was the issue.

So let’s do some math here…

	India	United Kingdom	US – Verizon Basic Contract	US – Family Mobile
Per Month	$15.80	$15.50	$70.00	$54.00
For 1 Year	$189.60	$186.00	$840.00	$673.00*

* Includes $25 set up fee.

Dear People in the U.S.:

You are getting royally screwed by cell phone companies.

They provide worse service, coverage, and product than India or the United Kingdom.  They force you to buy data plans you do not need even if you just want to use the wifi on your phone.  They up the data plans so you get a supersized data plan even though you don’t need a data plan that large so they can make more money off of you.  And, when you pay money for your phone, that phone can only be used on the company you have a contract with – you can’t bring it over to another company.  Not to mention that if your company is providing very poor service, you’re stuck with them for two years.  You do not have a leg to stand on, as a customer.  You can’t speak with your wallet by going somewhere else, so cell phone companies have no real incentive to a.) provide decent service b.) keep their prices down.
And they’re getting away with it because you’re letting them.  Because you continue to renew your contract because you think you’re saving money on a contract.  You’re not.

If I lived in the UK for four years, I would still pay less in those four years combined than what you pay for just one year.

Just thought I’d share that bit of cheerfulness.  Think on that before you sign a contract in the US. Not that our current structure allows you to have any other options.  They got you pretty good, didn’t they?

STOP SOPA

If you’re wondering why so much of the internet is “dark today”, this is why.

I was unable to find a guide for someone who does not self-host and does not have the plugin capacity that self-hosters do.  But, I support stopping SOPA.

You can watch this video for more information.
and Take action here.

January 15th Housekeeping

One year ago today, I was on a plane to India.  Deciding to do that remains one of the best decisions I’ve made in my soon-to-be twenty six years.

Luke in Chania

Six months ago today, I was awkwardly getting to know Luke. It feels like much longer than that, and if I’m asked I sometimes quote longer unless I sit down and count the months.  We basically lived together this summer and we’ve done a fair amount of travel together, so everything feels a bit condensed.  But! Luke! I’m glad you’re in my life! Here’s a picture of him looking mysterious, with the ocean adding a bit of angst unintentionally.

To commemorate the first, this is my favorite entry from the past year traveling, on the experiences surrounding my twenty fifth birthday.
And this is my favorite photo, from my descent on my day hike to Triund, overlooking the foothills of the Indian Himalayas.
This one is a close second, from my picnic on the Blasket Islands with Candace (the same shot without my foot).

To commemorate the latter, I actually uploaded all my favorite pictures from Greece.  I usually choose a handful from each location that were solid shots, or memorable in some

Me & Rose

way and only those end up on Flickr – I take hundreds.  You can view the Greece photos here.

Also, some twenty-seven years ago today, my friend Rose was born.  Which is enough for January 15th to be memorable without all that other stuff – Happy Birthday, Rose!

Meanwhile, these term papers are due tomorrow. Just… about… done… I hope…

Earning a Certificate in International Banking BS

It’s crass to talk about money.
Which I find a bit foolish, because what takes up so much of our thoughts and worries? I’m sure if our thoughts and worries were presented in pie chart form, it’d average to look something like this:
With adjustments for individual variations, of course. Some of you might have so much money you don’t give it any thought. Some of you may work a job or attend a school that consumes significantly less of a percentage of your thinking time than getting laid. Whatever, this is not a scientific measurement, it is pure conjecture of mental priorities.

Anyway.  In this entry, I shall be crass and American and talk about funds.

Believe it or not, I’m actually quite good with money. I was reflecting on this recently, wondering how the hell that happened considering how blatantly I ignored my father’s attempts to force me to save my childhood allowance. Up until recently, I’ve only over withdrawn my account once and that was because a shop charged me twice by accident when I used my debit card to pay for something. After that, I started using my credit card for just about everything and paying it off every month. One bill, one account to actually worry about and no interest rate because I paid it off every month. Plus, this system racked up awards rather nicely, not to mention doing wonders for my credit score.

Banking in the United Kingdom hasn't changed much since Mr. Banks made his dramatic exit.

But it doesn’t work in the UK.
Banking is one of the places where I notice the cultural difference the most. It’s also where I find it the most frustrating, because it can potentially be the most detrimental.

Here, credit cards are rare and the system for accepting charge is different.  Most people use debit cards with a chip in them – a chip that none of the US accounts I know of use. If you’re at a pub or a shop, you’ll input the card into the machine, then input your PIN number. If you are using a US card without a chip, if you’re lucky they will know how to handle “swipey cards.”
(Bartender: “I don’t know how to do swipey cards.”)
Then they swipe it and they will actually check your signature, which is not inherently a bad thing. It is irritating, however, when they don’t believe you’re you because you sign it “[First, Middle Initials] [Last name]” instead of your full legal name. This was, for the record, after they had already carded me for an item that you have to be sixteen years old to purchase. So I’d already shown them an ID and they were still questioning my identity.
I suppose, over all, it’s a good thing that the culture here does not rely on credit cards as much as they do in the United States. When a British friend stares at you, confused that the card you just used is not actually linked to real cash but instead linked to a line of credit, this can bode nothing but good things for the debt situation of the individual British citizen.

But, to the banks. It took me over a month to get my online access to my chequeing account set up. In the meantime, I moved, so I went into the bank to change my address. She handed me a handwritten form. I’m not joking. Someone had handwritten this form and then photocopied it. Then she didn’t even update my address, so two weeks later I had to go back in and spend forty minutes in the bank talking both to a bank representative on the phone and the teller to get my addresses updated.

In the United States, when you deposit a check into my (free!) checking account, you insert it directly into the ATM machine. The machine scans your check and emails you a receipt, which includes a copy of that check. They’ll usually let you access a portion of that cheque until it clears, which is rarely more than 2-3 business days.

In the United Kingdom, you handwrite all your account information on both a receipt and the deposit form. When they take your deposit to your (very much not free) account, the only receipt you get is one you’ve written yourself. (Do they not have people accidentally writing the wrong account number down on the slip all the time? I get so paranoid about that and worry that they’ll take a cheque that represents ALL OF MY POOR STUDENT MONEY and deposit it into someone else’s account.) You physically stand in line. You hand it to the teller, who confirms the amount and stamps you slip. It then takes 5 business days, or one week to clear a cheque.
In the meantime, it will show up on your account, taunting you. Your account balance will include the amount of the cheque itself. It’s only if you click through several pages of the online system where you notice that no, actually, you have no money. Not only do you have no money, but because you thought you had money, as indicated by reading your bloody account balance, you now owe something stupid in overwithdrawn charges.

And then there’s the whole system of currency exchange. In our gloablized world, with so many transnational executives, students, diplomats, whathaveyou, it is absolutely ridiculous how long it takes to transfer funds between international accounts. Or how much it costs. How much money do I loose to the ether of exchange rates and transfer fees? I should be able to go to any bank, anywhere in the world, give them the account information to an international account and say: “Please transfer funds here without asking for my first born child.” That’s not possible though, so every time you have to get money from bank account A it involves transferring it to bank account B (because A doesn’t do international transfers) and then transfer it to bank account C in the other country. Or maneuver paypal to the best of your abilities. However you do it, it’s a pain in the ass. You get as good as you can at limiting or managing these fees. You get creative – how can you do this and pay the least possible amount in fees? But it really should not be this difficult or expensive. Money in a digital world is the same as other digital information: a series of binary information that means something because we give it meaning. Numbers on a screen that sometimes, but doesn’t have to, transfer into hard cash. Hard cash is an outdated concept, anyway. Banks (at least in developed countries) need to catch up with this.

In the meantime, I am supplementing my degree in Creative Financial Management with a Certificate in International Banking Bull Shit.
This is, unfortunately, a program without a professor, syllabus/guide, or an end date on the horizon.

12 Goals for 2012

1.  Practice yoga at least four times a week. Even if it’s just sun salutations.
2.  Finish my computer program for Hindi.
3.  Make more time for my spirituality.
4.  Find employment in my field.
5.  Visit three non-United Kingdom places I have never been before.
6. “Do” my local (Brighton/London) tourist stuff.
7. Write more.
8. Read 100 books.
9. Be less judgmental. At least try to be aware of when I’m being judgmental.
10. Do the best I can do with this degree. Aim for with distinction!
11. If I doubt my ability to do something this year, I need to do it, or at least attempt to at the best of my ability. Even minor things – exercise related, for example.
12.  Be more aware and involved with politics on all levels.

Next year at this time I’ll reflect and see if I accomplished all of the above to my satisfaction… I don’t know, I’m kind of hard on myself, so we’ll see.  What are your 12 for 2012?

On Writing

How most of my actual writing happens: by hand

It is amazing the sort of things you can come up with to do besides writing term papers.  My room is clean.  My papers are re-filed.  I spent several hours researching the Pembroke Corgi and figuring out how much money I need to save before I can get a pet (which, of course, won’t happen until employment).  I figured out the logistics of flying from the UK to SFO, renting a car and driving it back to DC for a wedding in June while hitting up the major southern sights on my to-see list (No, I can not afford that. Remotely. But I know how I’d do it).  I have explored the bowels of the internet – and when I say the bowels, I mean truly, the bowels.  There are things I never really needed to see that I cannot unsee.

All that aside, I’m actually nearly done with them.  A final revision and the citation formatting for both of them and a conclusion for one of them.  This is possibly the least stressful week-before-major-term-paper I have ever had (knock on wood, I haven’t gotten my friend’s comments on one of them yet, I might have a frantic weekend ahead of me).  I feel so ridiculously adult and responsible, I don’t really know what to do with myself.

It’s largely because I got so much work done before Luke arrived, knowing there’d be three weeks without even cracking a book.  Though, in truth, I did do some reading while Luke was here.  That last week of his visit while we were in the UK, he was a bit sick so we did not do much – on New Year’s Eve we were both fast asleep.  I hope that’s not an indicator of the rest of the year, or I’m old before my time.

I’ve had a fierce bought of homesickness lately.  It only took a year (almost to the day) of traveling for it to really sink in.  Part of it is due to the term papers, I think.  I just want a 9-5 job, an apartment of my own, in Washington D.C., with my yoga studios, my community of friends, and maybe a pet.  It’s very much a grass is always greener, because I’m sure if I had all of those things I’d be day dreaming about living abroad.

I really respect Buddhists, or at least the ones who actually manage to live in the present, because it’s something I struggle with.  I’m always planning a few steps ahead, focusing on the next move, getting things together for what I want my life to be like.
Meanwhile, my life is chugging along, doing its living thing while I’m six steps ahead doing my planning thing.  When does that stop?  When I’m dead? (And do I plan that, too?)

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much I really love writing.  I love the process of weaving together thoughts, each bit interconnected and integral to the other.  One of my life’s goals is to publish something – anything, on any level.  I don’t mean Write The Next Great American Novel.  I meant maybe write that Pleasant Short Story That Gets Published In a Magazine In Ohio.  Or whatever.  But I’ve put it off, for a long time.
When I was a child and into my early teens, I wrote so many stories.  I started novels, poetry, etc.  I wasn’t that bad, especially for my age.  But I couldn’t grasp it.  I couldn’t put my finger on the pulse of what it meant to live, I couldn’t translate that to a character, to an experience, to a story.  I figured I needed to live for awhile, so I put the pen away.  I stopped writing fiction around sixteen.  A rare exception was when I applied for a Uuniversity that wanted a piece of fiction for my application.  As a result of reviewing this application, I had a very enthusiastic (and surprised, I think) AP Lit teacher who from then on told me every time I saw her to not stop writing.
But I did, sort of.  I got wrapped up in primary sources and theory and other academic pursuits.
There’s a key to academic writing and it’s in the organization.  Every academic paper is – or should be – structured the same way.  I could write out one bare bones outline and use it for every paper.
Introduce.  Thesis statement. *[Topic Sentence Support Thesis Statement / Evidence / Interpret & Analyze / Topic Conclusion] repeat from *. Conclude, reiterating at least one point from each paragraph.
There you go: your paper key.  If you did it right, I should be able to read the thesis statement and the first sentence of every paragraph and know exactly what you said and how you said it.
(This is, coincidentally, how you read text quickly: you deconstruct the paper to its bare bones outline mentally in order to be able to discuss its topic effectively without spending three hours slogging through it.)

But I digress.
The point is that academic writing is similar to but not the same as fiction.  And I’ve been thinking a lot about writing fiction again.  You know, in between everything else I’m doing for graduate school.  Because there will always be an excuse.  I’m too busy, I’m to tired, I’d rather watch the telly or read a book or go for a hike.

It’s strange.  When I was a child and I wrote all the time, I decided that I needed to live awhile before I wrote.  I wasn’t living, not really.  I was a lot more introverted back then, and wrote many a journal entry infused with woe and how books were my only true friends.
But now, I’m living.  If you went into a time machine back ten years and told fifteen year old me all the shit I’ve done, she would not believe you.  I have the sort of CV that exhausts me to write it all out.  I’ve fallen in love.  I’ve had my heart bruised and battered, though perhaps not broken.  I challenged myself in college.  I reinvented myself.  I learned to love myself.  I’ve traveled the world and been so much farther than fifteen year old me conceived of.
Now I’m living and the excuse is that I never have time.

I was listening to a podcast on one of my walks earlier this week – APM’s On Being, if you’re curious – and the interviewee quoted someone else.
“You have to show the muse you’re serious.”
This struck me as the writer’s version of my own philosophy:  You are responsible for your own happiness.  The core of it is pro-activity.  Nothing you want in your life is going to happen unless you make it happen.

It is, perhaps, time to get serious.

Off-Season Blues

Lighthouse at Chania's Old Habor

27 December 2011 village outside of Chania

I had a bit of the off-season blues during our stay in Crete.  We were here from the 23rd until the 27th, with four nights and about five days.  The only particularly touristy thing we planned to do was go to the Palace of Knossos (think the Minotaur).  Their three years out of date website said they were closed on Christmas Day and the day after Christmas.  Because it is three years out of date and the Palace is two and a half hours away, we called the morning of the 24th before we left.  A curt man informed us that it was closed, but when we asked he said they’d be open on the 26th.  On the morning of the 26th, we called before we left and someone who sounded very much like the same man said they were closed.

We chose Crete because we figured that even if everything was closed, there was enough natural beauty to entertain ourselves for a few days.  But we weren’t counting on pretty miserable weather – chilly and rainy – not the sort of weather one willingly goes out into for a trek.  It wasn’t silly of us to miscalculate on the weather, either – our hosts even commented that they hadn’t had such a miserable Christmas, weather wise, in the six years they lived there.
Our car tour through the hills, while  beautiful and worth it, was tempered by the fact that we couldn’t really see the views through the mists and it took going to six petrol stations to find one that was open.
That being said… it is a lovely place to get holed up in.  The orange orchard behind the guesthouse has provided us with fresh squeezed orange juice every morning of our stay.  I had a bit of fun in the kitchen – turns out I can do a lot with some fresh vegetables, good olive oil, and cheeses.  And I’ve caught up on my trash reading enough that I’m actually mentally ready to switch back to thinking of theory.  Or just thinking in general, really.
Chania and Crete are gorgeous.  Somewhere between the coast of Maine and Italy as far as geography goes.  I want to come back here and do some trekking, but I think it will be a bit before I get to it – Greece, like most of Europe, does not hold the financial appeal of India and Nepal and other parts of Asia for such things.
This was my first non-family Christmas and I am not sure how I feel about it (still).  It was probably more relaxing than any family time could be, though I did miss them.
I grew up with kind of ridiculous Christmases.  The Christmases of my childhood included stays at my grandparent’s farm house in rural Maine.  We traveled over the hills and through the woods to arrive at a white farm house built in 1801.  Its door was red, with a Christmas wreath on it, and every window had a candle in it.  Inside, there was a large Christmas tree and nativity scenes hidden in nineteenth century bread ovens.  There were three hills to sled down and a pond that could be cleared and skated on.  One year, a neighbor drove us around in a horse drawn sleigh – other years I just attached my grandparent’s black lab to a sled.
That was where Santa Claus visited.  I never realized just how Hallmark my holiday season was until then.  And it wasn’t perfect – I know the same family bickering went on, I know that I was probably an obnoxious little child (I distinctly remember a scolding my Grandmother gave me the day after Christmas when I was four – it stands out because she so infrequently raised her voice to me).  But that’s the holiday I grew up with.  And it’s shifted and changed quite a bit as we’ve grown, but a degree of magic leaves with Santa.  And then another degree of magic leaves when your family scatters to the four corners of a country, or passes away… you can carry the Christmas spirit all you want, and it makes a difference, but it never seems to meet the standard of your childhood.
Luke and I spent Christmas consuming the Greek Strata I improvised, mince pie and pudding, and mulled wine.  We watched The Muppet Christmas Carol, which remains my favorite holiday film of all time, and lots of Doctor Who.  We exchanged our gifts and nommed on a Lindt Santa Claus (there is something gratifying about biting the heads off of chocolate creatures).  It was quiet and low key and we never left our cute little apartment.
And we were in Crete, with each other, which was awesome.
But next year I want family and stockings and Christmas Dinner.

Numbers for 2011

In 2011…

I was on 16 planes, rented 6 cars, rode a long distance (3+ hrs) bus 17 times, a long distance train 6 times, and used public transit in 7 different metropolitan cities.
I was in 8 different countries total.
I spent 25 days hiking in 4 different countries.
I visited 13 UNESCO World Heritage Sites, 17 palaces, castles, or manor houses, more than 25 sites of religious worship and the number of museums is too high to think about.
And I read 133 books this year (excluding books and articles for my course).

I think I need a nap.

Meteora

Meteora means “suspended rocks” (or something along those lines) in Greek. The term works, but it doesn’t quite describe the oddity of the landscape. It’s as if someone cored bits of the moon and replanted them in rural Greece. Then sometime around the 1500s, the Greek Orthodox Church decided it was an ideal location for twenty six monasteries, not to mention numerous caves for hermitages halfway up the rock pillars. Presently there are only six remaining monasteries (two of which are nunneries) and the last hermit left in the early twentieth century.

The monasteries themselves are atop of these cored moon bits and getting to them is an uphill, winding process involving lots of steps and switchbacks. On our first day, we found a guide in the manner of a local stray dog who enthusiastically bounded ahead of us on a leaf-covered, largely unused path (it appears most people drive to these sights). This same dog reappeared throughout our time in Kastraki, the village at the base of the Meteora where our guesthouse was. (If it was feasible, I would probably come home with a menagerie of the friendly stray cats and dogs we have encountered.)

A few of the monasteries have little museums, all of them have museum shops and charge 2 euro for the pleasure of viewing whatever they have to offer, which is sometimes little more than the view and a chapel.

My favorite was the Moni Agias Varvaras, a nunnery of the four we visited. It was the most peaceful and homey of the four, I could genuinely appreciate the appeal of living there. The view was magnificent, even through the mists, and the chapel was well cared for and infused with that sense of spirituality that is sometimes palatable in places of devotion, even to the visitor.

The village of Kastraki itself… well, it clearly illustrated that this is the “off season.” We stayed in a lovely guesthouse with a kitchen and a great view of the Meteora from our room. It was not the sort of place that would be in our budget in season – we even had a fireplace. But finding groceries in a largely closed down village on a weekend proved difficult. When we ate out, it was usually just us in a large empty restaurant. Greece is a ghost town in the off season, but I would hate to deal with the crowds that I imagine exist in the summer. Sharing the sites with half a dozen (or less!) other people is much more preferable.

An Introduction

Caryatids of the Erechtheion in The Acropolis, Athens Greece

One of our first encounters with Athens was a middle aged man in a business suit spray painting the side of a building.
Graffiti is everywhere – admittedly, we are staying in a <25 euro / night hotel room and you don’t exactly find those prices in the posh neighborhoods, but the amount of graffiti is still striking.
We arrived late at night an spent the following day adjusting by touring the Acropolis, the museum and the Theater of Dionysus.^* I had yet another moment, sitting in the shadow of the Parthenon where I was very much aware of how blessed I am to have had this year. Never let it be said that I am not grateful for the opportunities I have had this year. Deciding to leave for India back in June of 2010 is probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. I didn’t leave until the following January, of course, but the decision triggered applying for graduate school² as well as about seven months of world travel.
The Acropolis, at one point, probably offered the same sort of gut punch that that Taj Mahal and the Angkor Temples offer. The sheer awe of man’s accomplishment. I must say it falls a bit short in its ruined state – like the ruins in Italy, its current state is more of a testament to the fragility of our great civilizations. It makes me wonder about our own. How many of our buildings, our institutions, are built to withstand the wear of time? What will be left of us in a thousand years?
So many of the ruined sculptures and reliefs are filled in with modern plaster to give the viewer a better idea of how the original sculpture once was. I prefer the other style – where the bits of sculpture they do have are held where they once were by metal platforms and you have to fill in the rest with your imagination. There’s a lot of both here in Greece, when I see a complete figure it’s a novelty. Even a complete face is notable, and I have yet to see a male figure with his bits still intact. Poor guys, that does seem to be the first thing that goes.
[As a side note, Luke and I are sitting in a cafe in Delphi overlooking the Corinthian Gulf and I am halfway through my second glass of wine so if things get fuzzy from here on out, I blame the 1/2 L jug of local white wine we ordered at three o'clock in the afternoon.]
When we left Athens, I noticed that our somewhat grimy neighborhood had orange trees growing through the little plots of the pavement. Orange and olive trees are quite common – it is possible I have olives embedded in my shoes simply by walking through the Delphi archeological site earlier today.
Once we got out of Athens on our five hour bus journey to Kalampaka, the country opened up into sparsely populated rolling hills that provide a plausible landscape for the ancient Greek myths.
I can completely picture the heroes of old walking through this landscape, fighting their great (and often foolish) battles underneath these trees, in these valleys, or on the mountain tops: the myths suit the landscape, or perhaps the myths themselves are a layer of the landscape.

1. As a student at an EU university, I have free admission everywhere. It’s pretty bad ass.
2. It remains to be seen if this was actually a good decision. We’ll see after my grades post.