In the running for the FUBAR award-Synovus

Synovus, a Georgia bank services holding company, that provides 'back-office' work for a chain of small (and I suspect badly-managed) banks, including one I have the dubious pleasure of banking at(and a proud recipient of TARP money, besides!).

I was instructed in February to change the password to a business account access page--12 to 24 characters, combine numbers and letters, etc.

I dutifully comply, and all is well. Until today...

I type in the password, and can get no more than 8 characters into the little box.

Hmm...call the bank, get Synovus's phone number, go through their phone tree(of course no person answers--it's a friggin' bank!), leave a voice mail, check my watch(working on deadline, this has burned half an hour), head off to tasks that must be done by end of the business day.

Phone rings at the post office, and Polite Lady finally understands after I explain it to her three or four times(check my watch again), and she explains that the password is only eight characters long, no need to mix letters and numbers, why was I using such a long password?

I explain that all worked well until today, and Polite Lady leaves me an alternate password to work from.

I ask her, 'How was I supposed to find out about this change? I'm not on the telepathic frequency of the folks at Synovus, obviously! Why am I doing my job and yours as well? This is the third time in two months I've wasted hours on Synovus screw-ups. I'd like a call from your manager, please.'

Still waiting for the call.

Head to the bank, make a deposit, tell the branch manager what happened, and she plays Sympathetic Lady, who will never pass the word on that their vendor is screwing their customers.

After all, since the Treasury gives them all the free money they could ever want, why bother with keeping customers? Hell's Bells, we just get in the way!

Of course, the public relations folks have the insincere linguistic drill memorized. Check out the first paragraph for a chuckle.

Shame is, if Congress would just let these clowns fail, other banks run by people who might give a rip could get going.

But we live in a culture where failure is rewarded, and thus guaranteed.

Is this a small matter? Maybe. Multiply it by several thousand similar instances a day, and one wonders how long the road to recovery will be. Geithner can spew cash with a firehose, but until the culture changes, nothing changes.

Masters Week, the gift of a true hero

Were I King of the World, I would ban rugby and declare Golf the official sport of Earth.

Like all Utopian efforts, it would backfire, but it's a fond thought, no?

So, short of that, let every family teach their children of America's true hero of sport and life: Bobby Jones.

He achieved at the highest levels, always as an amateur, retired from competition, and devoted his remaining forty-one years(many of them in the throes of illness) to improving the world and every life around him. Amongst his contributions are the development of Augusta National, and founding the Masters.

Modesty, loyalty, and industry characterized his life, and we owe him our thanks for allowing those magical Sunday afternoons every April, when the world stops and holds its breath for the final nine holes, awaiting that crucial birdie putt as the sun begins to drop behind the trees.

As we find our way back to sanity, let's fire Denis Rodman and LeBron James, and reinstate Bobby Jones and his ilk to the true hero status they deserve, and we need.

(And, further, were I King, I'd require a return to persimmon!)

Amidst the gloom, a truly positive development

This courtesy of Mish Shedlock.

The cultural rot has driven the economy over the cliff, and this article is a sign, that on some level, for some families, things might be turning for the better.

Especial attention to the final couple of lines of the article!!

It was the compulsive consumerism that fueled the bubble, and only a turning away from that way of life, and an embrace of a life that emphasizes thrift, value, sobriety and community will lead us out of the woods.

Last night, we were standing in the parking lot of our church, and my seventeen year-old-son was expressing his frustration with the place. His complaint essentially focused on the conspicuous consumption culture that took hold in the last five to six years: 'Look at all these SUV's!,' says he. 'It's just excessive.' He knows that the consumerism is a symptom of the parishioners' narcissism. (I was sooo proud of him--he gets it!)

I've got nothing against SUV's--they're wonderful things, like all things, bought for the right uses and reasons. I'm a stone capitalist, and the last thing we need is Pelosi and Obama deciding what cars can and can't be driven.

I just know that greed is the cancer of the soul.

When I'm Eighty-Five...

...I hope I'm close to the condition of my golf partner from this week.

Eighty-five, I kid you not, and insisted the group play from the back tees on a very tough course he had never laid eyes on.

He played the round at bogey golf all the way around the course. Missed only two fairways all day. Chipped and putted like nobody's business.

He drove it past me several times, and I felt relieved when I found my ball parallel to his other times.

A fabulous day.

A fabulous game--nothing like golf in all the world!