C. Dodd Harris IV, the mind behind the mask at Ipse Dixit, foolishly tries to reason with an airline in This Must Be That "New Math" - It seems that, according to Airline Logic™, my offer to surrender my seats on two flights - which they could then sell again - was some sort of trickery on my part to get a cheaper fare.
I resolve to save all logical arguments for businesses that can understand them in 2003. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

FUNNY ADVICE

Hilatron, the space-age robot that runs blogatron, gives us a primer on How To Be A Customer - During the course of my time on Earth, I have spent a certain amount of time being someone who provides customer service of one kind or another, mostly in the form of standing behind a counter and fetching things for people and helping the people to pay for the things. Being on the dealing-with-customers end of transactions has taught me a number of things about how to be a good customer. Most of these things were learned using a method similar to the concept of negative space: I learned what to do by seeing innumerable permutations of what not to do. It seems to me that many a human must have had similar experiences, and yet, I am consistently amazed by how few seem to have actually learned anything. If you are one of the unschooled, I present you with the following tips and techniques to help you be a customer.
I resolve to be a better customer in 2003. The robot behind the counter might have a ray gun!

Laurence, the space-age polymer that runs Amish Tech Support, wonders why every blogger has an Amazon and/or PayPal link, but they all shy away from such a crass experiment in morbidity as the Amish Tech Support Dead Pool? - Scoring is by a declared death, announced in the media. Vegetative state brain death or vanishing entirely does not count. You will receive 100 points minus one point for each year of age of the individual.
I resolve to win my fair share of the giant Hearse O'Prizes in 2003. Bring out yer dead!

Fred, the space-age wonder drug of Fragments From Floyd, recounts for us the bizarre (yet, supposedly true) story of one man's battle with the elements in Down the Slippery Slope - The Rest of the Story - In a last twilight of consciousness before total indifference consented to defeat, I spotted an old shovel under the steps. I was able to reach it, though by this time I was not very well able to feel it in my frozen fingers. With considerable force, I busted through the ice enough to rough it up and expose a little of the wood underneath to give a wee bit of traction. Each step was one small step for man, one small step for man. I was grateful for each one I conquered, as if it had been an Alpine peak. At the top of the steps, I fumbled in the dark for some time with the key in the door lock and it occurred to me in my growing stupor that maybe I was even at the wrong house. The world was under a New Order for the last few hours, possibly under control of the White Witch of Narnia. I wouldn't know for sure until I got inside this door.
I resolve to never read this again in 2003. It makes me homesick for Maine. AS IF!