Have you ever tried to contact Netflix?
I hadn't before tonight, but I found a very frustrating experience awaited me.
Apparently quite some time ago, Netflix eliminated any way to e-mail them, and have only their 1-800 number to contact them about anything.
I just now wanted to contact support to file a request/complaint about the parental controls. If you haven't needed or wanted to use them, you haven't missed out. There is only a simple selection that is "R or below", "PG-13 or below", etc...
My initial problem is that even though I accept full responsibility as a parent for what my children watch, there are so many things on Netflix that appear to be a kids show but really aren't that visitors/babysitters can be confused. X-Men is a kids cartoon, but it can also be a Mature Audience/Adults Only cartoon. Imagine my kids surprise when the ask if they can watch an X-Men cartoon they found on Netflix, only to find themselves staring at very adult content that has no business being in front of children.
After researching and finding that Netflix will only accept phone calls, I called in to register my complaint. After holding for 7 minutes, I get on the phone with "Daniel", and explain my problem. I ended with the statement "It's a large enough concern to me that I am re-evaluating my membership and am considering closing my account."
Daniel responded "Can I get the name on the account?" I give him my name, and he says "okay, I have your account right here and am going to close it for you now."
?!?!
I told Daniel that I hadn't intended to actually close my account at this time, but that I was evaluating that option as a solution to my problem. He didn't care, he just wanted to get me off the phone, and if he had to close my account to do it, that was just fine with him.
So in the end, I didn't close my account, but I am even now seriously considering it. With all the garbage the kids can see even in the preview windows (look at some of the porn available under categories like "Drama", "Thrillers", and "Foreign" for examples), it just became that much harder to keep the filth out of your home. I have to decide if the benefit is worth the negatives of having it.
Once again, it is up to parents to monitor what is being displayed in their homes, no dispute. However, companies like Netflix could make this job a little easier, but they don't care and are more than willing to close your account if you complain about it.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Bitten by the nostalgia bug
I'm feeling very nostalgic today. I went to a funeral for a great man, and saw people I haven't seen for 20 years. Dennis was my scoutmaster when I was young, and I couldn't help but be swept away in the memories from my youth.
I remember that after scouts, all the boys would stay and play "night games" around his house, like hide & seek, kick the can, tag, or some variant of all of the above. He owned several houses all surrounding his business, so there was lots of space to play. We would play for hours, until late into the night. When we did finally get around to leaving, Dennis would often either give us a ride home or at least follow us as we rode our bikes to make sure we got home safely.
We also had adventurous campouts. They usually resulted in a boy named Brad Jensen getting hurt somehow. One of my personal favorites was when we went on a winter campout, and after we set up the springbar tents, we were riding tubes down a hill. Brad wanted to go even faster and higher, so he went farther up the hill, not paying attention to the fact that his path now took him directly into the tents. With everyone yelling at him to stop, Brad jumped on and laid as flat as he could, to pick up speed. He shot down the hill and as expected, straight into the back of one of the tents and disappeared underneath. We ran around to the front of the tent to see if he had come out the other side, and through the open door of the tent, we could see a Brad shape on top of the outline of the inner tube, poking up through the tent floor.
On another campout we went to the headwaters for the Duchesne Tunnel, a small shallow diversion reservoir. When we went, it was very empty because it was later in the summer. Dennis's son Tim, another boy named Matt & I set up our tent quickly, and waded out into the pond well in advance of the other boys. We walked carefully and found an underwater trench a few feet across, but very deep, running underwater across the pond in otherwise knee-deep water. We had jumped across the trench when the other boys led by Brad Jensen took off running towards us. We stood right at the far edge of the trench, saying "look, it's not deep at all!" With Brad in the lead, all the boys ran right into the trench, disappearing for a moment under the water before finding the edge of the trench and climbing out.
These memories and many more came back as I greeted Tim at his father's funeral. Dennis had taught us so many things that had made 'his' boys into men.
As I left his funeral, I drove through the old neighborhood again, looking at the houses where I had spent my youth, remembering old faces and places. It only seems like a lifetime ago because it really has been that long.
It made me realize that although I now call somewhere else home, I will always be one of those kids from the wrong side of the tracks in Provo.
I remember that after scouts, all the boys would stay and play "night games" around his house, like hide & seek, kick the can, tag, or some variant of all of the above. He owned several houses all surrounding his business, so there was lots of space to play. We would play for hours, until late into the night. When we did finally get around to leaving, Dennis would often either give us a ride home or at least follow us as we rode our bikes to make sure we got home safely.
We also had adventurous campouts. They usually resulted in a boy named Brad Jensen getting hurt somehow. One of my personal favorites was when we went on a winter campout, and after we set up the springbar tents, we were riding tubes down a hill. Brad wanted to go even faster and higher, so he went farther up the hill, not paying attention to the fact that his path now took him directly into the tents. With everyone yelling at him to stop, Brad jumped on and laid as flat as he could, to pick up speed. He shot down the hill and as expected, straight into the back of one of the tents and disappeared underneath. We ran around to the front of the tent to see if he had come out the other side, and through the open door of the tent, we could see a Brad shape on top of the outline of the inner tube, poking up through the tent floor.
On another campout we went to the headwaters for the Duchesne Tunnel, a small shallow diversion reservoir. When we went, it was very empty because it was later in the summer. Dennis's son Tim, another boy named Matt & I set up our tent quickly, and waded out into the pond well in advance of the other boys. We walked carefully and found an underwater trench a few feet across, but very deep, running underwater across the pond in otherwise knee-deep water. We had jumped across the trench when the other boys led by Brad Jensen took off running towards us. We stood right at the far edge of the trench, saying "look, it's not deep at all!" With Brad in the lead, all the boys ran right into the trench, disappearing for a moment under the water before finding the edge of the trench and climbing out.
These memories and many more came back as I greeted Tim at his father's funeral. Dennis had taught us so many things that had made 'his' boys into men.
As I left his funeral, I drove through the old neighborhood again, looking at the houses where I had spent my youth, remembering old faces and places. It only seems like a lifetime ago because it really has been that long.
It made me realize that although I now call somewhere else home, I will always be one of those kids from the wrong side of the tracks in Provo.
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