For all school needs, visit the third house on the left

Originally posted by Tribune Media Services COPYRIGHT © 2012 GREG SCHWEM DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC

The first of many knocks occurred last week. I opened the door to see a neighborhood boy wearing a high school football jersey.

"Mr. Schwem, would you like to buy a coupon book to support the Indians? They're only $20."

I dug into my wallet and produced a bill before I even bothered perusing the book's contents. It didn't matter for I knew what was in it: Coupons for restaurants I'd never frequent offering discounts on appetizers I probably shouldn't eat; 50 percent savings on laser hair removal, body waxings, salon appointments and other beauty treatments designed to make me look younger and smoother just in time for the winter heavy coat season; and complimentary admissions to assorted theme parks and arcades that can easily afford to let patrons in for free since they charge double-digit prices for hot dogs.

Ah, yes, the season of school fundraising has returned. It begins the moment the first bus fires up its engine in August and doesn't end until the last notes of Pomp and Circumstance fade from everyone's eardrums. My front foyer is once again a holding area for kids selling not only coupon books but jumbo-size M&M's, thick, lengthy chocolate bars, raffle tickets, scented candles, popcorn tins, cheesecakes and sausage logs. And all of this occurs BEFORE the first Girl Scout, cookie form in hand, finds my house.

In return for my inability to say "no" to any salesperson under 16, I am helping purchase new soccer uniforms, upgrade drama facilities, offer kids the chance to march in the Tournament of Roses parade, and fund myriad other school needs that my taxes apparently don't cover.

This year, I vow not to be such a pushover. No matter how cute the kid is, no matter how well I know his or her parents, and no matter how worthwhile the cause, every budding school-age entrepreneur who approaches my house is going to learn that sales isn't always so easy. Wait, I just heard the doorbell ring.

"Hello, may I help you?"

"Hi, Mr. Schwem, I'm Tim. I'm selling worthless pieces of junk for $100, with all the proceeds going toward speakers for my new car. By the way, my Dad says hi. He's your accountant."

"Here you go Tim. I'll take two!"

OK, bad example. Let's try another one.

(DOORBELL RING)

"Hello, may I help you?"

"Hi, Mr. Schwem, I'm Emily."

"Do I know you?"

"Um yes. I came to your daughter's birthday party last week."

"Did you bring her a gift?"

"Of course I did."

"How much did it cost?"

"Uh, I don't know. My mom bought it. Probably about 30 dollars."

"So, Mom sent you here to recoup her money, right?"

"No, I'm selling raffle tickets for the school Spanish Club. We're trying to raise enough funds to go to South America next summer and provide several villages with running water. You can also donate a raffle prize if you like."

"Hang on, Emily. I have an old TV in the basement. I was going to sell it at a garage sale but I'm happy to let you have it. It only gets three channels and it has rabbit ears on the top, but it still works, providing you don't mind watching in black and white."

"I don't think we need that. Last year you bought 10 tickets, Mr. Schwem. Remember? You just handed me a blank check and said, 'Fill in the amount. I trust you.'"

"And where did that money go?"

"It helped us build a Habitat for Humanity home in an area devastated by hurricanes in Mexico."

"Can I use the home? Maybe for a week over New Year's?"

"Uh, no, somebody is living in it."

"That doesn't seem fair. By the way, shouldn't you be addressing me in Spanish? The Girl Scouts wear their uniforms when they come to the door."

Se está haciendo de noche y tengo cincuenta casas más para ir.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, 'It's getting dark and I have 50 more houses to go.'"

"OK, Emily, what's the raffle grand prize?"

"Chicago Bears season tickets. And a skybox."

"The Bears stunk last year. What else you got?"

"Second prize is a round of golf at . . ."

"My golf game stinks this year. Next?"

"Every other prize is the satisfaction that comes with knowing you are helping Third World areas have access to basic necessities."

"Does that satisfaction come with a sausage log?"

"Mr. Schwem, do you want to buy a ticket or not?"

"OK, I'll take one. Bend the corner so I'll be sure to win."

"Thanks Mr. Schwem. By the way, I'm also selling magazine subscriptions so the archery team can --"

"Don't push it, Emily."

The only word you need to remember is 'Apple.'

I recently purchased an iPad and, like most users, now spend every waking moment perusing the online App Store, randomly purchasing applications that I will use religiously for about 30 minutes, roughly the shelf life of an app before an upgrade becomes available.

The good people at Apple have helped me navigate the half-million apps by grouping them into categories. If I'm feeling out of shape, I can search "Health and Fitness." If my entrepreneurial spirit kicks in, there are thousands of business apps available. Lazy? Just tap "Productivity" apps.

They also have created something called "push notifications." That's the technical term. The nontechnical term is "alerts." The even more nontechnical term is "too lazy to lift a finger to actually open the app." Which is why, when I turn on my iPad, the home screen shows my flight status courtesy of the United Airlines app, while the USA Today app posts Olympics results before I've even had a chance to set my DVR. Thankfully, push notifications can be disabled.

Other companies have jumped on the alerts bandwagon, as well. We can tell our bank to alert us, via email, when mortgage and car payments are due. Or we can just use the automatic withdrawal feature and let the bank remove funds from our accounts once a month in case we forget to read our email.

My wife, an avid jogger, recently purchased a Nike sport watch that tracks every tedious step of her daily journeys. That's a useful feature, but the watch also alerts her that she hasn't run in awhile, even taunting her with messages like, "Ready for another run?" and "Are we running today?"

Nike wisely chose not to include a keyboard on this watch, thereby eliminating the user's desire to type a truthful reply like, "Yes! Running to hardware store to purchase sledgehammer for u."

Personally, I don't need new technology to tell me I'm neglecting exercise. My 20-year-old bathroom scale does that just fine, thank you. But developers hoping to create the next great app for the Apple's App Store seem to think we need alerts to help us remember even the most basic tasks. A great example is Basic Baby Feedings, containing a feature called "Feeding Reminder."

I ask you, who is FORGETTING to feed their baby?

My wife and I have two children, both of whom were born PIP ("pre-iPad" or "pre-iPhone" . . . you choose). Still, we had an app that told us when it was time to feed the baby. It was called THE BABY!!! Our infant offspring faithfully told us when they were hungry, via their lungs. This feature never failed. And the best part? Our kids didn't need to be hooked to the Internet for the alert to function.

Even more strange is that Basic Baby Feedings allows the user to send baby information to Twitter or Facebook. How nice to be able to tell the entire social networking community that yes, you remembered to feed your baby. I can only imagine the responses.

"Congratulations! You are truly an amazing parent!"

Speaking of parents, for couples who are struggling to conceive a child, there's hope thanks to numerous apps that actually alert you when a woman's body is right for conception. However, it might be wise to turn off any sound feature associated with these apps. How embarrassing to have your iPhone ding loudly at a dinner party and then have to explain why the two of you must leave immediately.

Apple customers also quickly learn that being informed often comes with a price. iEarthquake alerts you that an earthquake, tsunami, flood, tornado, cyclone or other cataclysmic event may be bearing down on your area. The app costs $2.99. Or, for free, you could download iEarthquake Lite, which does everything mentioned above with one minor modification: no alerts.

That leaves users with a choice: spend three bucks or get the free version and wonder why everybody in the neighborhood is boarding up their windows and fleeing to higher ground.

As I age, I know I will have to rely on these push notifications more than I care to admit. Just recently I needed the calendar app to alert me to a radio interview that had completely slipped my mind.

Yet even if my memory fails completely, I can say one thing with absolute certainty:

I will NEVER, EVER download Bowel Mover Pro.

Originally posted by Tribune Media Services COPYRIGHT © 2012 GREG SCHWEM DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC