We're in Florida for Christmas, and it surely does not feel like Christmas since the weather is overly pleasant for this time of year, although the humidity (currently 94%) is a deal breaker.
There are some times when the "dad" has to take hit for the team, and today would be one of those occasions. See, previously I would have not suspected that I would be making a blog post on Christmas day, yet here I am. I am here because my family is at DisneyWorld without me. The park was "filled to capacity" and so I didn't get in. But everyone else did. Meanwhile, I've done a couple loads of laundry, burnt an omelet, and have yearned for a nap, of which will probably not come. I'm just not big on naps; but this has slightly changed with my high-maintenance princess-in-training.
I suppose I cannot complain too much. After all, I've never been too keen on Disney anything. Buggs Bunny was more my style. Still, this is the day you're supposed to spend with family. And I know they plan to stay until the fireworks display. Maybe I'll take a dip in the pool, soak in the spa, and blame the water for those tears in my eye.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Aargh!
So this is my punishment for making fun of King Triton and his slow swimmers. Super.
As you know, or will know shortly, we're expecting a girl instead of a boy now, which immediately sent my wife searching through names since before we were totally fixated on boy names. No more.
Clearly there is some correlation going on here. A few of my other manly man friends who grew up with me in the Pacific Northwest have also only spawned women-folk, and I am not sure why. Perhaps it is to even out the playing field -- after all, we are manly men. But on the other hand, it could be a curse or even a parting gift from our Order of the Arrow adviser, who, coincidentally, controlled the water for the region.
On the one hand, my daughter will have a sister. On the other, more proms, weddings and other girlie things such as drama. Oooo I can't wait. The good news is that my wife was gracious enough to say that I can buy more weapons now, which I fully intend to do so. But I'll probably have to turn one of my daughters into a tom-boy. Both will get some sort of self-defense class, perhaps Judo or Jujitsu. Of course, I'll inventory some mace/pepper-spray for them and the obligatory "all penises are evil" tattoo on their foreheads -- last thing I need to hear is "daddy I'm pregnant" before they graduate from high school.
*sigh* I'm sure I'll think of more stuff to fret over in the not-t00-distant future. Girls are so scary when you have no idea how to manage them. So far as I am concerned, you give them jewelry and shoes and things work out fine. Throw in a lame romantic vampire book and it's even better. But this ... this is on the verge of madness. Guess I'll have to watch more Little Mermaid, see how King Triton manages all his daughters ... and still have time to curse me. Wait, King Triton sucked at it, Ariel being the example therein. Crap. Ariel. Crap, crap, crap!
As you know, or will know shortly, we're expecting a girl instead of a boy now, which immediately sent my wife searching through names since before we were totally fixated on boy names. No more.
Clearly there is some correlation going on here. A few of my other manly man friends who grew up with me in the Pacific Northwest have also only spawned women-folk, and I am not sure why. Perhaps it is to even out the playing field -- after all, we are manly men. But on the other hand, it could be a curse or even a parting gift from our Order of the Arrow adviser, who, coincidentally, controlled the water for the region.
On the one hand, my daughter will have a sister. On the other, more proms, weddings and other girlie things such as drama. Oooo I can't wait. The good news is that my wife was gracious enough to say that I can buy more weapons now, which I fully intend to do so. But I'll probably have to turn one of my daughters into a tom-boy. Both will get some sort of self-defense class, perhaps Judo or Jujitsu. Of course, I'll inventory some mace/pepper-spray for them and the obligatory "all penises are evil" tattoo on their foreheads -- last thing I need to hear is "daddy I'm pregnant" before they graduate from high school.
*sigh* I'm sure I'll think of more stuff to fret over in the not-t00-distant future. Girls are so scary when you have no idea how to manage them. So far as I am concerned, you give them jewelry and shoes and things work out fine. Throw in a lame romantic vampire book and it's even better. But this ... this is on the verge of madness. Guess I'll have to watch more Little Mermaid, see how King Triton manages all his daughters ... and still have time to curse me. Wait, King Triton sucked at it, Ariel being the example therein. Crap. Ariel. Crap, crap, crap!
Friday, December 5, 2008
It's just rude
As some of you know, I've been looking for work just like so many other folks these days. Well, a few weeks ago I had a job interview with HeadStart. Today I went in for a follow-up and basically, an offer to work there provided I pass a physical and urine analysis. I don't fear too much of the outcome, but my blood pressure was slightly elevated in the "normal" area.
Here's what I don't like, and maybe you can agree: I don't like dirty old doctors with cold hands man-handling my privates. And the fact that this guy had to do it thrice really irritates me because in the end, I had to pay for it! I mean, I vigorously coughed twice, but "just for good measure" we did it once more. Super! I don't know, maybe he considered it a date or something, but he could at least have a little common courtesy next time -- warm up the hands, and maybe fetch me a heavy shot of morphine. I'd rather not remember these sorts of things.
The worst part is that now I feel like I need a heavy dose of Viagra. I can still feel the coldness gripping the life out of ... uhm, me. But, as he told me with a solid smile, I don't have a hernia. Great, but I also don't have a libido either. I feel there is a coorelation. Maybe next time he can give me a ride in his red Corvette that was so prominently parked outside the clinic. But then, maybe I could charge him next time too. I mean, if I'm going to incur mental scars, I want to at least make a buck or two while doing it. It's the American way.
Here's what I don't like, and maybe you can agree: I don't like dirty old doctors with cold hands man-handling my privates. And the fact that this guy had to do it thrice really irritates me because in the end, I had to pay for it! I mean, I vigorously coughed twice, but "just for good measure" we did it once more. Super! I don't know, maybe he considered it a date or something, but he could at least have a little common courtesy next time -- warm up the hands, and maybe fetch me a heavy shot of morphine. I'd rather not remember these sorts of things.
The worst part is that now I feel like I need a heavy dose of Viagra. I can still feel the coldness gripping the life out of ... uhm, me. But, as he told me with a solid smile, I don't have a hernia. Great, but I also don't have a libido either. I feel there is a coorelation. Maybe next time he can give me a ride in his red Corvette that was so prominently parked outside the clinic. But then, maybe I could charge him next time too. I mean, if I'm going to incur mental scars, I want to at least make a buck or two while doing it. It's the American way.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Disney movie in review
I am not sure how to label it correctly, but I am becoming a Disney pro, at least with regards to their movies, uhm, specifically the girlie ones, sadly.
Yes, there are days wherein we watch Beauty and the Beast or Little Mermaid 3 times in one day. Good thing the themes aren't suicide in those movies. But, I am at odds with The Little Mermaid. What a terrible motive it drives; disobey your parent, make a deal with the witch in order to get yourself in a better position with a guy who doesn't have a problem with statutory issues (Ariel being 16 and all...). Not only that, but then mortgaging your dad's soul only to have your new boyfriend kill your enemy, and then have daddy grant your misguided wish in the end. Hate it.
As it was pointed out to me earlier this week, Disney certainly has issues with putting mothers in their movies. Please note that Ariel, Belle, Snow White, Jasmine, Lilo (and Stitch) and Cinderella do not have moms. Others would be Nemo and Bambi who have mom's that are voiolently killed. Pinocchio is, uh, I guess it doesn't matter -- Jiminy Cricket is his mom in a way. There are a few with moms, but they play very minor roles; Mulan, Sleeping Beauty (aka, Aurora, Briar Rose), thankfully the Incredibles have a mom that is prominent. There are a some movies where having a mother is not so important; Toy Story, WALL-E, and perhaps even Simba of the Lion King. (I need to watch this one again.)
I suppose in a way it is to have us connect more quickly with a sympathetic bond to the character, but overall, I mean, these stories could have been avoided with a good mother having NOT been killed off by malicious Disney writers. I mean, maybe Ariel would have made it to her 17th birthday unwed had she been reared by a caring mother. (Although she is a head-strong redhead -- hard to say.) At the same time, I could cite King Triton as culpable as he CLEARLY engaged in polygamy looking at all the closely aged daughters he has. And no son to speak of... slow swimmers I guess. Stay out of the hot tub buddy.
Belle has class and grace, so I imagine her mother died not too long ago since in the beginning Belle sings of having recently moved to this "provincial town." Creating a back story, I reckon her father moved out of the loving house he and his wife had built, to a place that didn't remind him of her. Coincidentally, I feel Gaston has a back story of knowing about the beast and the castle he lives in which he all-of-a-sudden mentions during his song. I've already put together a pretty good story for that.
Cinderella's mom died early on, as the beginning says as much. Of course, she gets that wicked step-mother who does not have much foresight. Look, your daughters get uglier with age, so bank on Cinderella making it big and taking care of the whole family later on. She really messed up, and if I had been Cinderella in a non-gay way, those step-family members would find their respective heads on chopping blocks.
Jasmine is probably the product of a drunken sultan and a full harem. Arabian nights for sure... nuff said. But that lack of mothering led her into the arms of a common thief. Sure, in the end he pretends to be a good guy, but I bet he turned to thievery because he didn't have a caring mom either.
I don't like Snow White. Any chick that digs living with 7 dwarves is NOT my kind of woman and should seek counseling for such fetishes. And those seven dwarves are idiots, not lovable as they obviously have no clue for managing finances. They work every day in a mine replete with gems and diamonds, and yet live in a one bedroom cottage. I don't buy it. They must be using that filthy lucre for other devious methods, such as crack-cocaine addiction or monthly membership dues to NAMBLA. A mother could have steered Snow White clear of such devises.
Lilo is set up to be an obvious match for a maniacal escape alien convict on the run. And because I like Stitch, I'll let this motherless duo slide. But, again, had a mother been involved, Stitch would have been booted out for reasons any human would; it's a friggin' alien!
So I wonder if the overall message from Disney is to show us just how important mothers really are. By giving us these motherless stories, they demonstrate just how bad it can be without a mom in the life of a child. Because clearly these father-only families are just not cutting it.
My regards to Nemo and Bambi, but I am sure your respective mothers were tasty. Actually, haven eaten a Bambi mother myself, I can vouch for that. And yes, I'd do it again even if it provoked another motherless Disney movie.
Yes, there are days wherein we watch Beauty and the Beast or Little Mermaid 3 times in one day. Good thing the themes aren't suicide in those movies. But, I am at odds with The Little Mermaid. What a terrible motive it drives; disobey your parent, make a deal with the witch in order to get yourself in a better position with a guy who doesn't have a problem with statutory issues (Ariel being 16 and all...). Not only that, but then mortgaging your dad's soul only to have your new boyfriend kill your enemy, and then have daddy grant your misguided wish in the end. Hate it.
As it was pointed out to me earlier this week, Disney certainly has issues with putting mothers in their movies. Please note that Ariel, Belle, Snow White, Jasmine, Lilo (and Stitch) and Cinderella do not have moms. Others would be Nemo and Bambi who have mom's that are voiolently killed. Pinocchio is, uh, I guess it doesn't matter -- Jiminy Cricket is his mom in a way. There are a few with moms, but they play very minor roles; Mulan, Sleeping Beauty (aka, Aurora, Briar Rose), thankfully the Incredibles have a mom that is prominent. There are a some movies where having a mother is not so important; Toy Story, WALL-E, and perhaps even Simba of the Lion King. (I need to watch this one again.)
I suppose in a way it is to have us connect more quickly with a sympathetic bond to the character, but overall, I mean, these stories could have been avoided with a good mother having NOT been killed off by malicious Disney writers. I mean, maybe Ariel would have made it to her 17th birthday unwed had she been reared by a caring mother. (Although she is a head-strong redhead -- hard to say.) At the same time, I could cite King Triton as culpable as he CLEARLY engaged in polygamy looking at all the closely aged daughters he has. And no son to speak of... slow swimmers I guess. Stay out of the hot tub buddy.
Belle has class and grace, so I imagine her mother died not too long ago since in the beginning Belle sings of having recently moved to this "provincial town." Creating a back story, I reckon her father moved out of the loving house he and his wife had built, to a place that didn't remind him of her. Coincidentally, I feel Gaston has a back story of knowing about the beast and the castle he lives in which he all-of-a-sudden mentions during his song. I've already put together a pretty good story for that.
Cinderella's mom died early on, as the beginning says as much. Of course, she gets that wicked step-mother who does not have much foresight. Look, your daughters get uglier with age, so bank on Cinderella making it big and taking care of the whole family later on. She really messed up, and if I had been Cinderella in a non-gay way, those step-family members would find their respective heads on chopping blocks.
Jasmine is probably the product of a drunken sultan and a full harem. Arabian nights for sure... nuff said. But that lack of mothering led her into the arms of a common thief. Sure, in the end he pretends to be a good guy, but I bet he turned to thievery because he didn't have a caring mom either.
I don't like Snow White. Any chick that digs living with 7 dwarves is NOT my kind of woman and should seek counseling for such fetishes. And those seven dwarves are idiots, not lovable as they obviously have no clue for managing finances. They work every day in a mine replete with gems and diamonds, and yet live in a one bedroom cottage. I don't buy it. They must be using that filthy lucre for other devious methods, such as crack-cocaine addiction or monthly membership dues to NAMBLA. A mother could have steered Snow White clear of such devises.
Lilo is set up to be an obvious match for a maniacal escape alien convict on the run. And because I like Stitch, I'll let this motherless duo slide. But, again, had a mother been involved, Stitch would have been booted out for reasons any human would; it's a friggin' alien!
So I wonder if the overall message from Disney is to show us just how important mothers really are. By giving us these motherless stories, they demonstrate just how bad it can be without a mom in the life of a child. Because clearly these father-only families are just not cutting it.
My regards to Nemo and Bambi, but I am sure your respective mothers were tasty. Actually, haven eaten a Bambi mother myself, I can vouch for that. And yes, I'd do it again even if it provoked another motherless Disney movie.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Sickening times
Not too chipper these days, and it's not so much about being unemployed (still), but because of being sick altogether. Especially since I am on the 6th day of this "cold". I don't feel "cold" so I am not sure why it is called that. I feel miserable, and thus it should be called.
It is kinda hard getting over this; I've taken vitamins, pills, and tried to sleep more but the rambunctious 2 year old here, in all her overt loud ways, limits my naps to 15 minute increments at best.
I suppose I do not feel miserable as much, though. I mean, now I feel okay, but my nose is clogged and I have a cough, but I feel well enough to maybe do a push-up or maybe run to the mailbox. Even when I am not sick, those are pushing the normal limits. I just hate waking up with a plugged up nose, unable to breathe, and coughing up a storm. So I sound terrible, but feel okay.
As for the employment front, I finally applied for unemployment; the first time in my life. I was hoping to never use those benefits, but now I'll gain a new perspective on living life. One less point for me to make fun of poor people I guess. Don't worry, I'll think of something witty to replace it. In the meantime, I do have a job interview with HeadStart on Thursday, so I really need to get over this "miserable."
It is kinda hard getting over this; I've taken vitamins, pills, and tried to sleep more but the rambunctious 2 year old here, in all her overt loud ways, limits my naps to 15 minute increments at best.
I suppose I do not feel miserable as much, though. I mean, now I feel okay, but my nose is clogged and I have a cough, but I feel well enough to maybe do a push-up or maybe run to the mailbox. Even when I am not sick, those are pushing the normal limits. I just hate waking up with a plugged up nose, unable to breathe, and coughing up a storm. So I sound terrible, but feel okay.
As for the employment front, I finally applied for unemployment; the first time in my life. I was hoping to never use those benefits, but now I'll gain a new perspective on living life. One less point for me to make fun of poor people I guess. Don't worry, I'll think of something witty to replace it. In the meantime, I do have a job interview with HeadStart on Thursday, so I really need to get over this "miserable."
Monday, November 10, 2008
Not like the movies
Last night when I went to bed, I noted that my band aid had come off my thumb.
Saturday evening, I went the easy route for cooking and baked a frozen pizza. Sure, I spruced it up by adding more pepperoni and olives, but frozen pizzas taste like frozen pizzas; I don't care what Digiorno's tells us in their commercials. Anyway, while reaching into the drawer to retrieve the pizza cutter, my right thumb grazed the potato peeler and efficiently grated a nice chunk out of the tip of my thumb. That potato peeler has never been so effective!
Well, it bleed quit a bit, so I had to get a band aid for it lest I add more sauce to the pizza than desired. Of course, they really do not make band aids for the tip of your thumb with a skin flap that just kinda dangles there. So I tailored a band aid to suit my needs. I do it all the time, actually. As a matter of fact, if there was a pageant for tailored band aids, I would be a band aid beauty quee ... uhm, nevermind.
Anyway, the point is that my haute couture band aid was missing when I went to bed last night. And I can't sleep with that errant flap of skin rubbing the wrong away against the blankets. It just feels wrong. And rather than sculpting a new band aid, I opted to do what I had heard of, and then recently seen in the new Incredible Hulk movie, which is to improvise with super glue. And lo and behold, I had just bought 2 tubes of it last week. It was destiny, obviously.
So, at about 1am or thereabouts, I decided it was time to McGyver my injuries. Well, I opened up a tube and I guess I was holding it wrong because a huge glob of glue emerged over the wound. Naturally, I tried to quickly spread it into the area and you'll never guess what happened. Yeah, all of a sudden my index finger was glued to my thumb, making the world's most perfect 'A-OK' sign. I would have won that pageant too. Not to mention some sort of Darwin award, although that usually entails death and I hadn't made it that far, yet.
Next step in this brave process was pulling out a steak knife and cutting the two fingers apart. It took way too long, and not surprisinly, the flap of skin was not secured. Another glob came out, an this time I got the flap of skin down, but also managed to get the bottle of super-glue stuck to my thumb as I was using that to secure the flap down. Ridiculous! Looked so much easier in the movies! But, I was able to get it off with some moderate pulling.
So this morning, I looked at my worthy self-made reparations. Behold! I now have a dead flap of skin stuck to my body. Yeah, apparently I should have just cut off the flap of skin an moved on with my life. Now I have to wait for the glue to wear off and let my body heal itself, without my meddling. So that means, of all the pageants I could have won, clearly the pageant of stupidity was my fortee. C'est la vie...
Saturday evening, I went the easy route for cooking and baked a frozen pizza. Sure, I spruced it up by adding more pepperoni and olives, but frozen pizzas taste like frozen pizzas; I don't care what Digiorno's tells us in their commercials. Anyway, while reaching into the drawer to retrieve the pizza cutter, my right thumb grazed the potato peeler and efficiently grated a nice chunk out of the tip of my thumb. That potato peeler has never been so effective!
Well, it bleed quit a bit, so I had to get a band aid for it lest I add more sauce to the pizza than desired. Of course, they really do not make band aids for the tip of your thumb with a skin flap that just kinda dangles there. So I tailored a band aid to suit my needs. I do it all the time, actually. As a matter of fact, if there was a pageant for tailored band aids, I would be a band aid beauty quee ... uhm, nevermind.
Anyway, the point is that my haute couture band aid was missing when I went to bed last night. And I can't sleep with that errant flap of skin rubbing the wrong away against the blankets. It just feels wrong. And rather than sculpting a new band aid, I opted to do what I had heard of, and then recently seen in the new Incredible Hulk movie, which is to improvise with super glue. And lo and behold, I had just bought 2 tubes of it last week. It was destiny, obviously.
So, at about 1am or thereabouts, I decided it was time to McGyver my injuries. Well, I opened up a tube and I guess I was holding it wrong because a huge glob of glue emerged over the wound. Naturally, I tried to quickly spread it into the area and you'll never guess what happened. Yeah, all of a sudden my index finger was glued to my thumb, making the world's most perfect 'A-OK' sign. I would have won that pageant too. Not to mention some sort of Darwin award, although that usually entails death and I hadn't made it that far, yet.
Next step in this brave process was pulling out a steak knife and cutting the two fingers apart. It took way too long, and not surprisinly, the flap of skin was not secured. Another glob came out, an this time I got the flap of skin down, but also managed to get the bottle of super-glue stuck to my thumb as I was using that to secure the flap down. Ridiculous! Looked so much easier in the movies! But, I was able to get it off with some moderate pulling.
So this morning, I looked at my worthy self-made reparations. Behold! I now have a dead flap of skin stuck to my body. Yeah, apparently I should have just cut off the flap of skin an moved on with my life. Now I have to wait for the glue to wear off and let my body heal itself, without my meddling. So that means, of all the pageants I could have won, clearly the pageant of stupidity was my fortee. C'est la vie...
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Upon reflection
The other day my wife asked me if my boss had ever responded to my email, in which I responded that he had, technically, by replying that it "was a long email," and that he would have to "give it some consideration." At that point in our conversation, I had that epiphanical 'Ah-ha!' moment. Yes, I made up the word "epiphanical," we're still allowed to make up words so long as Bush is in office.
Anyway, migrating back to the original point at hand, I'll need to give you some background on working at the state, specifically for the Oregon Health Plan. First, my manager/boss had been there at the state 3 weeks less than myself. He had come out of the Marines as a Staff Sergeant, and was now within the cubicle bliss like the rest of us. I mostly liked him, well, up until last Friday. Still, I respect him for his service in Iraq, and so on and so forth.
Next, when I was hired, it was expected that a worker would process 10 claims per day, 200 per month. In so doing, we were getting 10,000 applications processed per month (in September). In August, we were about 800 applications behind schedule. When I left, it was up to 5,000. This was due to the weakening economy, so more families were defaulting to OHP for medical coverage. Plus, the Reservation List applications were coming in too (there was a lottery for adults to get on OHP). So, succinctly put, we were getting inundated with applications.
Thus, it was completely unexpected when a new policy was handed down that we now needed to keep applications alive longer, twice as long, as previously. Again, some background for you; If you were to request an application for OHP benefits today, your Date of Request (DOR) would be 11/4/08. You now have 45 days to get that application in to an OHP branch, otherwise, your DOR is null and a new DOR is set the day we finally get the new application. The point of the DOR is that we will back-track your OHP coverage to that day.
Okay, moving forward, now let's say you have benefits already, and it's now time for recertification (recert). We mail you an application and you HAVE to get it back the month your coverage ends. If you don't then we DD deny them. Kind of redundant terminology, DD stands for Date Denial, so saying DD Deny means you're repeating words. But, that's the jargon.
Okay, so let's say that November is your recert month, you get your application in today, and you don't provide all your proof of income for the past 3 months. So we'll "pend" you for more information, giving you 45 days to respond. 45 days from today, by my layman math, is 12/19/08. If a worker doesn't get it, by the old standard, then you sent out the DD paperwork and the case was closed. Not so now, let's say you actually do get the information, but it's a week late or more. Well now you have to repull the denied application, and let's just say it wasn't all the "pended" information either, you now have to give them an additional 45 days, thus pushing the time into February for response. And, the benefits are still retroactive to November.
So, we're already 5,000 applications behind schedule and rising, and now we're supposed to hold onto application an additional 45 days for up to 90 days total, thereby creating more work? Well, in that same week, we were told that we now have to process 12 applications a day, 250 a month. They changed it a little, before we were "pushed" 10 apps (applications) a day by our supervisors. Now they are only pushing 7, but it was up to us to get the additional 5 done.
A little more background to understand: OHP is paperless. We don't get the paper app that you would fill out. Instead, we get a scanned version sent to our desktop. And the denials we send out are never seen by us in the tangible sense. Before hand, when you were done with the 10 apps and felt like doing more, you would check the general program queue that would list out names, DOBs, Case #, SS#, and any other salient information for cases waiting to be processed. But, because we now had the option to pick at least 5, all information save for the client name, were blocked out. Accordingly, they didn't want us to discriminate on the details of cases.
I can somewhat understand this, however, there was one serious repercussion, it also blocked out the information on our already processed and pended cases. So if you had already requested information on a case, it was in your queue waiting to be finished. If a client called, you could look up their name in the pend queue, see the case number, and look up what you did. Not anymore. You would now have to do a person search, and if their name was John Smith or Jose Garcia, good luck finding them, 1 in 10,000 at least.
I hope this gives you a good enough foundation to understand all that was swirling about. We had a team "huddle" -- I guess meetings are so passe -- and discussed these changes. There were lots of dissents. We had an airing of grievances, but I was pretty quiet since I was the lowest man on the totem pole. Anyway, I told my boss that I would send him an email, and I summarized the above, and added in some things that I thought would be helpful.
In hindsight, however, I see that I challenged his authority on that matter. I told him that blocking out that information wasn't necessary because all cases would be worked anyway, so there was no discrimination since every day, he would be pushing apps to our queue. Plus, it added an extra step to our processing as well since we couldn't see the case numbers in our pend queue. Blocking out that information was his idea. I also commented on the new policy which ultimately gave the client more reason to be lazy, and more work for us, plus, cost the department more money because it gave benefits where they weren't deserved.
Yeah, I overstepped my boundaries. It's kind of obvious now. I made it as professional as I know how. My early retirement was perhaps a culmination of things, but honestly, I was just trying to make things more efficient -- I guess I was barking up the wrong, uhm, state. And clearly, had I gone along with the sexual harassment thing as cited in the other post, I'd probably be a manager myself by now. I mean, I am efficient...
Anyway, migrating back to the original point at hand, I'll need to give you some background on working at the state, specifically for the Oregon Health Plan. First, my manager/boss had been there at the state 3 weeks less than myself. He had come out of the Marines as a Staff Sergeant, and was now within the cubicle bliss like the rest of us. I mostly liked him, well, up until last Friday. Still, I respect him for his service in Iraq, and so on and so forth.
Next, when I was hired, it was expected that a worker would process 10 claims per day, 200 per month. In so doing, we were getting 10,000 applications processed per month (in September). In August, we were about 800 applications behind schedule. When I left, it was up to 5,000. This was due to the weakening economy, so more families were defaulting to OHP for medical coverage. Plus, the Reservation List applications were coming in too (there was a lottery for adults to get on OHP). So, succinctly put, we were getting inundated with applications.
Thus, it was completely unexpected when a new policy was handed down that we now needed to keep applications alive longer, twice as long, as previously. Again, some background for you; If you were to request an application for OHP benefits today, your Date of Request (DOR) would be 11/4/08. You now have 45 days to get that application in to an OHP branch, otherwise, your DOR is null and a new DOR is set the day we finally get the new application. The point of the DOR is that we will back-track your OHP coverage to that day.
Okay, moving forward, now let's say you have benefits already, and it's now time for recertification (recert). We mail you an application and you HAVE to get it back the month your coverage ends. If you don't then we DD deny them. Kind of redundant terminology, DD stands for Date Denial, so saying DD Deny means you're repeating words. But, that's the jargon.
Okay, so let's say that November is your recert month, you get your application in today, and you don't provide all your proof of income for the past 3 months. So we'll "pend" you for more information, giving you 45 days to respond. 45 days from today, by my layman math, is 12/19/08. If a worker doesn't get it, by the old standard, then you sent out the DD paperwork and the case was closed. Not so now, let's say you actually do get the information, but it's a week late or more. Well now you have to repull the denied application, and let's just say it wasn't all the "pended" information either, you now have to give them an additional 45 days, thus pushing the time into February for response. And, the benefits are still retroactive to November.
So, we're already 5,000 applications behind schedule and rising, and now we're supposed to hold onto application an additional 45 days for up to 90 days total, thereby creating more work? Well, in that same week, we were told that we now have to process 12 applications a day, 250 a month. They changed it a little, before we were "pushed" 10 apps (applications) a day by our supervisors. Now they are only pushing 7, but it was up to us to get the additional 5 done.
A little more background to understand: OHP is paperless. We don't get the paper app that you would fill out. Instead, we get a scanned version sent to our desktop. And the denials we send out are never seen by us in the tangible sense. Before hand, when you were done with the 10 apps and felt like doing more, you would check the general program queue that would list out names, DOBs, Case #, SS#, and any other salient information for cases waiting to be processed. But, because we now had the option to pick at least 5, all information save for the client name, were blocked out. Accordingly, they didn't want us to discriminate on the details of cases.
I can somewhat understand this, however, there was one serious repercussion, it also blocked out the information on our already processed and pended cases. So if you had already requested information on a case, it was in your queue waiting to be finished. If a client called, you could look up their name in the pend queue, see the case number, and look up what you did. Not anymore. You would now have to do a person search, and if their name was John Smith or Jose Garcia, good luck finding them, 1 in 10,000 at least.
I hope this gives you a good enough foundation to understand all that was swirling about. We had a team "huddle" -- I guess meetings are so passe -- and discussed these changes. There were lots of dissents. We had an airing of grievances, but I was pretty quiet since I was the lowest man on the totem pole. Anyway, I told my boss that I would send him an email, and I summarized the above, and added in some things that I thought would be helpful.
In hindsight, however, I see that I challenged his authority on that matter. I told him that blocking out that information wasn't necessary because all cases would be worked anyway, so there was no discrimination since every day, he would be pushing apps to our queue. Plus, it added an extra step to our processing as well since we couldn't see the case numbers in our pend queue. Blocking out that information was his idea. I also commented on the new policy which ultimately gave the client more reason to be lazy, and more work for us, plus, cost the department more money because it gave benefits where they weren't deserved.
Yeah, I overstepped my boundaries. It's kind of obvious now. I made it as professional as I know how. My early retirement was perhaps a culmination of things, but honestly, I was just trying to make things more efficient -- I guess I was barking up the wrong, uhm, state. And clearly, had I gone along with the sexual harassment thing as cited in the other post, I'd probably be a manager myself by now. I mean, I am efficient...
Friday, October 31, 2008
This is your real award.
"Let go." It's somewhere between being fired and laid off. Doesn't matter too much, for thus are the words I heard at the end of my work day. The same manager that gave me an award for my Halloween costume earlier in the day, would then hand me a letter advising me that they were letting me go during my 'trail period.' The best reason I was given, which was cited in the letter, was that my behavior was not inline with the core values of the department. I suspect it has to do with me advising a few co-workers and others about legal options for discrimination and workers' compensation issues. That would put me out of line with state business, or specifically, my job. In Oregon, employers do not actually have to give you a specific reason to be fired, or, as they told me, "let go."
I also have to wonder about the whole cougar incident. See, at one point my manager offered to put in a cubicle quad with other "seasoned" workers. Unfortunately, they wanted to put me in the same quad as the cougar. I quietly declined, and I was asked as to why not. I said that one of the women in there had come onto me, and that I just wanted to avoid any potential situation. Well that ballooned into a subsequent interrogation a few days later with HR reps, and words like "sexual harassment" were being dropped. If I had said 'yes' to the sexual harassment, and played ball, maybe I'd still be employed. The cougar was on probation anyway and apparently had been cited for relationships within the workplace before. I kinda feel like a martyr. I don't know if she was fired or not.
Instead, being the new guy and vehemently interested in self-preservation, I said that it was no big deal, I didn't want to make an issue of it, and that there was nothing further on the matter. Sadly, hindsight is 20/20, and perhaps my foresight wasn't working. And she never really gave up on pursuing me, but at the same time, other women we starting to drop hints too. Not all that unexpected when the workforce is close to 80% women, many of whom are unmarried.
Now I have two things to accomplish; find a new job as soon as possible, and remind myself of all the things I didn't like about that job. Not too hard, since I really did like the training, but being confined to an 8 x8 foot cubicle everyday (I was in my own) was hard. I really felt like an animal in a zoo cage. Still, this was supposed to be my launching point into a better state job, even though a 9 month hiring freeze was taking effect Nov. 1 through June. Or in other words, I don't know if I would have made it anyway. But at least I would have tried.
Stress and depression are merely a stone throw away. The financial burden will bear down quickly, so I suppose I had best get looking through those classified ads. Wish me luck, meanwhile, I'll be playing 'manny' with my daughter. And that's not so bad, but it isn't what I should be doing.
I also have to wonder about the whole cougar incident. See, at one point my manager offered to put in a cubicle quad with other "seasoned" workers. Unfortunately, they wanted to put me in the same quad as the cougar. I quietly declined, and I was asked as to why not. I said that one of the women in there had come onto me, and that I just wanted to avoid any potential situation. Well that ballooned into a subsequent interrogation a few days later with HR reps, and words like "sexual harassment" were being dropped. If I had said 'yes' to the sexual harassment, and played ball, maybe I'd still be employed. The cougar was on probation anyway and apparently had been cited for relationships within the workplace before. I kinda feel like a martyr. I don't know if she was fired or not.
Instead, being the new guy and vehemently interested in self-preservation, I said that it was no big deal, I didn't want to make an issue of it, and that there was nothing further on the matter. Sadly, hindsight is 20/20, and perhaps my foresight wasn't working. And she never really gave up on pursuing me, but at the same time, other women we starting to drop hints too. Not all that unexpected when the workforce is close to 80% women, many of whom are unmarried.
Now I have two things to accomplish; find a new job as soon as possible, and remind myself of all the things I didn't like about that job. Not too hard, since I really did like the training, but being confined to an 8 x8 foot cubicle everyday (I was in my own) was hard. I really felt like an animal in a zoo cage. Still, this was supposed to be my launching point into a better state job, even though a 9 month hiring freeze was taking effect Nov. 1 through June. Or in other words, I don't know if I would have made it anyway. But at least I would have tried.
Stress and depression are merely a stone throw away. The financial burden will bear down quickly, so I suppose I had best get looking through those classified ads. Wish me luck, meanwhile, I'll be playing 'manny' with my daughter. And that's not so bad, but it isn't what I should be doing.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Liberally Free
On Friday, one of my co-workers who is a union volunteer had the distinct privilege of going to a conference with Al Gore and getting something equivalent to a 'back-stage pass' after the conference. Needless to say that today she was still lost somewhere on cloud 9, wherever that is.
I take issue with lots of stuff, that's what primarily defines character, no? People who do not take a stand are typically boring as they don't know what to think, and never bother to look stuff up and thus remain in their awful state of ennui. Today I take issue with the term "liberal," as it clearly is a hypocritical title since it is applied to the wrong group of people.
The word is from Latin -- liberalis -- meaning; freedom, befitting of free, etc. Of course, it has a new meaning now: an entire political mindset that purports to be 'free', but in reality is readily waiting to enslave the masses into socialism or even better (I assume), communism. Looking at their agenda proves this; more taxes to pay for more government assistance. How does paying more taxes make you free? If anything, it makes you more dependent upon the hand that feeds.
Sure, universal healthcare is a neat idea -- no more haggling with HMO's over what is covered and at what cost [80% co-pays]. But will the quality of care increase? And what is the cost to the tax-payers as a whole? If I were a doctor, and all of a sudden I get the same flat rate, what would prompt me to give better care? If anything, I'd see more patient in less time. Sure, these are superficial arguments. Not to mention all the people out of work who were in the insurance industry.
I remember a saying, "[y]ou can take the man out of the slums, but you can't take the slums out of the man."In Spanish, they have a similar saying, "Aunque la mona se veste en ceda, la mona se queda." Or in other words, 'even though a monkey dresses in silk, it's still a monkey.' This is a truism that has been proven before. It's another reason why lottery winners often wind up broke and bankrupt. They didn't earn it, didn't know how to use it, and lost it all. That's one of the great things about earning your keep: you learn to respect what you've rightfully earned.
The main problem I have with Liberalism is they are way to eager to try and help people that, the whole point of accountability, responsibility, and basic self-respect are lost. I understand sometimes people need help, but people who need constant help do so because they know there is a perpetual obligation to help them. Instead of helping people up, it'll just keep everyone down on the same level without incentives to do better. Taxes will be 50% of your income, but at least we'll have universal health care, welfare programs, and Ben & Jerry's Ice cream made with real human milk. Damn you PETA, but I'll save that topic.
I've mentioned in other places, but the good ol' US of A is nearly a socialist country; we're just not taxed enough yet. But we have too many programs to pay for every year. That's why we're constantly over-budget and digging a deeper national dept. I know, I know, Bill Clinton balanced the budget years ago, and with a crippled military/nation defense because he drastically cut funding, that lead to a memorable September in 2001. Funny, Al Qeada had attacked the US at least 4 times prior to that during the Clinton years, and they never were punished for it. Til now. Whoops, side tanget.
So that is my marginal point today; despite the wrongfully named political mindset, how does being taxed 50% of your income make anyone free? You'll not be one lick happier with Liberals pushing for a socialistic approach to fix this country. You'll have less to be free with. And all your hard work will be for nothing save to pick up those that refuse to do so on their own. But at least our title will imply freedom; liberalis. Liberal US.
I take issue with lots of stuff, that's what primarily defines character, no? People who do not take a stand are typically boring as they don't know what to think, and never bother to look stuff up and thus remain in their awful state of ennui. Today I take issue with the term "liberal," as it clearly is a hypocritical title since it is applied to the wrong group of people.
The word is from Latin -- liberalis -- meaning; freedom, befitting of free, etc. Of course, it has a new meaning now: an entire political mindset that purports to be 'free', but in reality is readily waiting to enslave the masses into socialism or even better (I assume), communism. Looking at their agenda proves this; more taxes to pay for more government assistance. How does paying more taxes make you free? If anything, it makes you more dependent upon the hand that feeds.
Sure, universal healthcare is a neat idea -- no more haggling with HMO's over what is covered and at what cost [80% co-pays]. But will the quality of care increase? And what is the cost to the tax-payers as a whole? If I were a doctor, and all of a sudden I get the same flat rate, what would prompt me to give better care? If anything, I'd see more patient in less time. Sure, these are superficial arguments. Not to mention all the people out of work who were in the insurance industry.
I remember a saying, "[y]ou can take the man out of the slums, but you can't take the slums out of the man."In Spanish, they have a similar saying, "Aunque la mona se veste en ceda, la mona se queda." Or in other words, 'even though a monkey dresses in silk, it's still a monkey.' This is a truism that has been proven before. It's another reason why lottery winners often wind up broke and bankrupt. They didn't earn it, didn't know how to use it, and lost it all. That's one of the great things about earning your keep: you learn to respect what you've rightfully earned.
The main problem I have with Liberalism is they are way to eager to try and help people that, the whole point of accountability, responsibility, and basic self-respect are lost. I understand sometimes people need help, but people who need constant help do so because they know there is a perpetual obligation to help them. Instead of helping people up, it'll just keep everyone down on the same level without incentives to do better. Taxes will be 50% of your income, but at least we'll have universal health care, welfare programs, and Ben & Jerry's Ice cream made with real human milk. Damn you PETA, but I'll save that topic.
I've mentioned in other places, but the good ol' US of A is nearly a socialist country; we're just not taxed enough yet. But we have too many programs to pay for every year. That's why we're constantly over-budget and digging a deeper national dept. I know, I know, Bill Clinton balanced the budget years ago, and with a crippled military/nation defense because he drastically cut funding, that lead to a memorable September in 2001. Funny, Al Qeada had attacked the US at least 4 times prior to that during the Clinton years, and they never were punished for it. Til now. Whoops, side tanget.
So that is my marginal point today; despite the wrongfully named political mindset, how does being taxed 50% of your income make anyone free? You'll not be one lick happier with Liberals pushing for a socialistic approach to fix this country. You'll have less to be free with. And all your hard work will be for nothing save to pick up those that refuse to do so on their own. But at least our title will imply freedom; liberalis. Liberal US.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Mr Cloud, I presume.
Oddly, it happened again. The whole purpose for this blog to exist, mandated by one of those dreams that I do not cherish in the least. Interestingly, there is a parallel to a dream many moons ago, over 2 decades hence. The details from last night emerge.
I am either in the future, or in one of those modern homes that could double as an art gallery; svelte lines, uncomfortable furniture, and bold, yet blase color scheme (blacks, browns, bamboo flooring and white walls with large windows). High vaulted ceiling with exposed dark beams lumber overhead. There is a congregation of maybe a dozen people, none of whom I recognize, but I don't have any problems associating with them. Ages range from perhaps 10 years of age (a bored looking lad with a blond bowl cut hair), up to just over my age, a married couple of sorts. Intermingling with other people whom I don't pay enough attention to to describe, but they are round-about doing things. Probably being pretentious.
Sitting down at the table, the couple offer to show me a trick about this house. They place a cup face down on one end of the table, and it begins to gingerly scoot across the table, picking up speed until saved from falling off the edge by the husband. It is a neat trick, and I'm not sure how it's done. Then the boy does the same thing with a small car on the floor, it moves by itself. I inspect it, but it's just a simple car, no mechanics about it, not much to be magnetized. "This is not all," they inform me, " watch this," and then the boy, sitting Indian-style, is moved across the floor.
And then that feeling starts to ride up in me. The point when I perceive an evil in the room. It's not like looking at a biker-dude, with his shaved head, tattoos, scars and grimace that is natures way of saying "stay away," it's an inner conscious that tells you there is a foundation of evil that predates everything. A cold and bitter feeling the pervades your senses, and they know you're in the room with them, and they don't like it.
Again, this is a new detail to add into the otherwise normal equation that I typically face; it is daylight. All dreams regarding this topic have been in obscure or dark areas. But there is light outside. Not direct sunlight, but clearly bright enough to see outside to a distance.
People begin to levitate around me. They don't seem to care how, and they even enjoy it or so it appears. I tell the home owner that he really needs to consider having his home blessed. And I try to hold some people down by their ankles, but I can feel the power pushing them up. I fall back onto rebuking the entities in the name of Christ, and everytime I rebuke one, another ascends up. They just keep rotating around me; I get one down, another goes up, and then the one I rebuked earlier goes up again.
Now just about every one is high above me and then at once, they all drop with the force of gravity. Crunching sounds as bone contacts with hard flooring, and the people are pinned down screaming with these narrowly perceivable forms dog piling them, scratching and making weird grinding noises. I command all spirits to leave, and then it goes quiet. In retrospect, I should have done that in the first place instead of taking one on one.
The weird part is that these entities were not blamed. I was. I must have angered these "playful" spirits. I told them these were not to be trifled with, that they would eventually destroy whomever they could. But I was told not to fret over it. "We all have our personal demons we like to keep," and theirs were literal.
I don't remember what woke me up, but I was still thrawting these forms when I did wake up because I was still trembling and sweating. It's always odd waking up from these because you, literally, are afraid of the dark at that point. And I make it a habit not to look at the darkest points of my room, as I don't want to see the twisted, gnarly faces of evil staring back at me. Sure, I battle them in dreams, now more often than before and I am not sure why, but in reality, where I know they lurk, I have to maintain a barrier between the real and subliminal. Of course, I said a lengthy prayer right after waking up.
***
1984, or close to it, I had two concurrent dreams of the same nature. It was at my grandma's old farmhouse, a place that is always in my dreams, for better or worse. On this occasion, for worse.
Mr. Cloud was exactly that; a small cloud about 4 feet across and 2 feet high, with colorful streamers dangling down maybe three feet. He floated at about 5 feet elevation, drifting from one corner of the house, greeted much like that blissful happy face in the Walmart commercials -- everyone loves to see him as he 'rolls back prices'. I was ambivalant towards Mr. Cloud at best. Of course, that position changed drastically.
I was playing with armymen around the fireplace as Mr. Cloud hovered above me. With his streamers he signaled me to look up at the fireplace. As I did, I saw the face of my cousin being burned alive in the fireplace, flailing about in the flames. And not just one, but one after another. As soon as one was perished, another was tossed in.
I'd run and tell my parents, uncles, aunts and grandparents, but they'd defend Mr. Cloud vehemently. Then I'd ask where this or that cousin was, and I'd get a "probably up in the orchard" or "in the barn" but never the initiative to find them was taken. Not that it mattered, I knew where they really were. And everytime I went back, another would go in. Yet I couldn't leave, because I needed to see the evidence. Then I'd run back to my parents, and the cycle would continue.
Over the course of two nights this dream transpired. Mr. Cloud eliminated 6 cousins or so, and I got to see them all burn, yelling at the top of their lungs, rolling in the coals, but I was powerless to stop it. Kinda reminds me, in a way, of last night's dream and how people defend their personal demons. Not that I am blameless, by no means, but you can't be saved if you aren't willing to save yourself.
I'll get you Mr. Cloud...
I am either in the future, or in one of those modern homes that could double as an art gallery; svelte lines, uncomfortable furniture, and bold, yet blase color scheme (blacks, browns, bamboo flooring and white walls with large windows). High vaulted ceiling with exposed dark beams lumber overhead. There is a congregation of maybe a dozen people, none of whom I recognize, but I don't have any problems associating with them. Ages range from perhaps 10 years of age (a bored looking lad with a blond bowl cut hair), up to just over my age, a married couple of sorts. Intermingling with other people whom I don't pay enough attention to to describe, but they are round-about doing things. Probably being pretentious.
Sitting down at the table, the couple offer to show me a trick about this house. They place a cup face down on one end of the table, and it begins to gingerly scoot across the table, picking up speed until saved from falling off the edge by the husband. It is a neat trick, and I'm not sure how it's done. Then the boy does the same thing with a small car on the floor, it moves by itself. I inspect it, but it's just a simple car, no mechanics about it, not much to be magnetized. "This is not all," they inform me, " watch this," and then the boy, sitting Indian-style, is moved across the floor.
And then that feeling starts to ride up in me. The point when I perceive an evil in the room. It's not like looking at a biker-dude, with his shaved head, tattoos, scars and grimace that is natures way of saying "stay away," it's an inner conscious that tells you there is a foundation of evil that predates everything. A cold and bitter feeling the pervades your senses, and they know you're in the room with them, and they don't like it.
Again, this is a new detail to add into the otherwise normal equation that I typically face; it is daylight. All dreams regarding this topic have been in obscure or dark areas. But there is light outside. Not direct sunlight, but clearly bright enough to see outside to a distance.
People begin to levitate around me. They don't seem to care how, and they even enjoy it or so it appears. I tell the home owner that he really needs to consider having his home blessed. And I try to hold some people down by their ankles, but I can feel the power pushing them up. I fall back onto rebuking the entities in the name of Christ, and everytime I rebuke one, another ascends up. They just keep rotating around me; I get one down, another goes up, and then the one I rebuked earlier goes up again.
Now just about every one is high above me and then at once, they all drop with the force of gravity. Crunching sounds as bone contacts with hard flooring, and the people are pinned down screaming with these narrowly perceivable forms dog piling them, scratching and making weird grinding noises. I command all spirits to leave, and then it goes quiet. In retrospect, I should have done that in the first place instead of taking one on one.
The weird part is that these entities were not blamed. I was. I must have angered these "playful" spirits. I told them these were not to be trifled with, that they would eventually destroy whomever they could. But I was told not to fret over it. "We all have our personal demons we like to keep," and theirs were literal.
I don't remember what woke me up, but I was still thrawting these forms when I did wake up because I was still trembling and sweating. It's always odd waking up from these because you, literally, are afraid of the dark at that point. And I make it a habit not to look at the darkest points of my room, as I don't want to see the twisted, gnarly faces of evil staring back at me. Sure, I battle them in dreams, now more often than before and I am not sure why, but in reality, where I know they lurk, I have to maintain a barrier between the real and subliminal. Of course, I said a lengthy prayer right after waking up.
***
1984, or close to it, I had two concurrent dreams of the same nature. It was at my grandma's old farmhouse, a place that is always in my dreams, for better or worse. On this occasion, for worse.
Mr. Cloud was exactly that; a small cloud about 4 feet across and 2 feet high, with colorful streamers dangling down maybe three feet. He floated at about 5 feet elevation, drifting from one corner of the house, greeted much like that blissful happy face in the Walmart commercials -- everyone loves to see him as he 'rolls back prices'. I was ambivalant towards Mr. Cloud at best. Of course, that position changed drastically.
I was playing with armymen around the fireplace as Mr. Cloud hovered above me. With his streamers he signaled me to look up at the fireplace. As I did, I saw the face of my cousin being burned alive in the fireplace, flailing about in the flames. And not just one, but one after another. As soon as one was perished, another was tossed in.
I'd run and tell my parents, uncles, aunts and grandparents, but they'd defend Mr. Cloud vehemently. Then I'd ask where this or that cousin was, and I'd get a "probably up in the orchard" or "in the barn" but never the initiative to find them was taken. Not that it mattered, I knew where they really were. And everytime I went back, another would go in. Yet I couldn't leave, because I needed to see the evidence. Then I'd run back to my parents, and the cycle would continue.
Over the course of two nights this dream transpired. Mr. Cloud eliminated 6 cousins or so, and I got to see them all burn, yelling at the top of their lungs, rolling in the coals, but I was powerless to stop it. Kinda reminds me, in a way, of last night's dream and how people defend their personal demons. Not that I am blameless, by no means, but you can't be saved if you aren't willing to save yourself.
I'll get you Mr. Cloud...
Monday, October 13, 2008
Uncultural diversity
Today was mandatory cultural diversity competency day. Awesome.
I don't mind taking some training on cultural diversity. It certainly beats staring at a monitor everyday of the work week and watching myself go blind. Plus, I know the drill; accept everyone for everything and we'll all get a long just nicely. It's a pleasant way of censorship. If your culture supports eating other people, sobeit. If mutilating womens' reproductive organs is your bag? More power to you. If NAMBLA is your source of happiness, who am I to judge? The ACLU loves this kind of stuff.
Of course, for those of you that know me, I just don't fit that kind of mold. And to top it off, I start to get this antagonistic approach when forced to participate because I want to see how people react. I mean, these people aren't going to start "dialoguing" until provoked. That's a calling I can muster.
So we were separated into 4 "tribes", wherein we had to build our own cultures, traditions, greetings, power structure, and so on and so forth. I didn't want to be the leader because I needed someone else to take the heat for me. But, I quickly explained that we needed to build up our military because we could not trust these 3 other tribes around us. Instead, if we were to survive as a culture, we needed to pillage the other tribes, subjugate them to our wills, have them build up our empire so we could rule the world.
I then went into a history lesson about the Maori and Moriori tribes; islanders in the Pacific off New Zealand. Basically, the Maori were aggressive people, and the Moriori are a stark example of pacifism. Needless to say, the Moriori do not exist in the true sense of blood preservation, the last true Moriori having died in 1933. This, I stated, was why we needed to conquer these "other" tribes quickly and ruthlessly, lest the above history lesson becomes our current problem.
Well, it didn't go over as well as I had hoped. As a matter of fact, it was flatly rejected many times. And of the 40 people attending, about 10 were male, and in my group, that was 3 out of 10. So, I informed the ladies that it would probably be a necessity - for self preservation - that we institute polygamy. Somehow that didn't fly very well either, and as a matter of fact, some even suggested exiling the males altogther, to which I responded that it would be foolish to make another Isle of Lesbos, all things considered. Silence.
We were given some things to incorporate into our tribe; a deck of cards, some Costa Rican belt thing, a toy C3PO from Star Wars (his eyes lit up when manipulated), some red paper stars, a Disney toy car and that may have been it. I suggested that we make the chrome C3PO our loathing irrational false God of war and destruction. Any tribe that rejected this would be dealt with harshly. Again, perfectly good idea passed over. However, I did get the tribe to agree upon our greeting, which was an animated, "Hey-Yo!" And I sorted out the deck of cards as a form of currency.
Unfortunately, our physical form of greeting was touching fingers a la ET, and we had a revolving leadership which was exchanged via calls of "Marco" and the new leader responding in the obvious "Polo". When asked why, I told them that the famous Italian traveler discovered our greet society. The red paper cards were our form of friendship which we gave (or not) to the other tribes.
The mingling with other tribes was weird. One incorporated the chicken dance, which reminded me that perhaps we should have more seriously considered cannibalism, and that perhaps this tribe tasted like chicken -- there was no way to know without trying... However, for the most part every single tribe was a fun-loving quasi-hippy commune. If given the opportunity, I could have conquered them all single-handedly.
The interesting part, as I knew would come, was the airing of grievances after it was all over. Not surprisingly, I got put on the spot a few times. As a matter of fact, I think my tribe did almost all the talking, while I was busy defending. Naturally, I had history on my side and I based it under a historical social experience, while everyone else was busy trying to "co-exist". People had some issues with the Isle of Lesbos comment, but I explained it wasn't necessarily a reference to lesbians (although that's where the word comes from), but that it was an island exclusive to women, just as my tribe had suggested. The beauty of this is that the instructor took my side and stated that I was obviously "offended" with being excluded and made a natural "knee-jerk" reaction from being rejected. Why, yes, that's exactly it... even better, he had the class thank me collectively for bringing that issue up. This is great!
Interestingly, the British guy there, with classic British stereotypical teeth, was also offended by one of my comments about being an "Indian giver" for being "way off the reservation." Yeah, I got in two comments. Funny thing, someone else defended my statement in that it actually means giving to the Indians, and then taking it back. Not the other way around.
I should be honest in that as soon as the instructor stated he was from Costa Rica, I knew I couldn't do any evil. During the morning I let slip some slang that only a Costa Rican (or "tico") would get, and that prompted him to ask me questions which led to an immediate connection between us two.
I will say that he was an excellent instructor and I had a lot of fun, even if I was deliberately stirring the melting pot. Here's my position on the whole matter -- accept the culture of the country you live in. Do not expect the inhabitants to joyfully embrace yours if you live in their society. In my opinion, cultural diversity is a dividing wedge in society. It singles you out and quickly labels you as different and thus causes strife. Sure, we need to be accepting of other cultures, especially when in the midst of them, but don't expect me to accept it when you are parading down the streets of my nation, demanding citizenship, waving your national flag over mine. You left that country for a reason, now embrace the culture of your future.
Unfortunately, there are so many facets to this, that I don't want to bore you all (14) with my perceptions. But, I would like to say I did have a good time today. And not much was brought up that I had not already considered, that is, being the considerate folk that I am. In the end, magically, no one was offended about anything. We were all pacified like peaceful Moriori tribesmen. Meanwhile, I sharpened my weapons of war...
***Side tangent: Since I somewhat mentioned this, I'll just add that any one who gives you the argument that we should give back to Mexico the states we "stole", let's look at a little bit of history. Who originally owned Mexico? The Aztecs until 1520, then Spain owned it until 1821, then it belong to the country of Mexico, then the US fought for it in 1844-46. Break-down; Aztecs owned it for thousands of years, Spanish owned it for hundreds of years, Mexico owned it for 2 decades, and the US has ever since. I don't hear the Aztecs or Spanish asking for it back, and in my opinion, they certainly should be ahead of the line for it.
I don't mind taking some training on cultural diversity. It certainly beats staring at a monitor everyday of the work week and watching myself go blind. Plus, I know the drill; accept everyone for everything and we'll all get a long just nicely. It's a pleasant way of censorship. If your culture supports eating other people, sobeit. If mutilating womens' reproductive organs is your bag? More power to you. If NAMBLA is your source of happiness, who am I to judge? The ACLU loves this kind of stuff.
Of course, for those of you that know me, I just don't fit that kind of mold. And to top it off, I start to get this antagonistic approach when forced to participate because I want to see how people react. I mean, these people aren't going to start "dialoguing" until provoked. That's a calling I can muster.
So we were separated into 4 "tribes", wherein we had to build our own cultures, traditions, greetings, power structure, and so on and so forth. I didn't want to be the leader because I needed someone else to take the heat for me. But, I quickly explained that we needed to build up our military because we could not trust these 3 other tribes around us. Instead, if we were to survive as a culture, we needed to pillage the other tribes, subjugate them to our wills, have them build up our empire so we could rule the world.
I then went into a history lesson about the Maori and Moriori tribes; islanders in the Pacific off New Zealand. Basically, the Maori were aggressive people, and the Moriori are a stark example of pacifism. Needless to say, the Moriori do not exist in the true sense of blood preservation, the last true Moriori having died in 1933. This, I stated, was why we needed to conquer these "other" tribes quickly and ruthlessly, lest the above history lesson becomes our current problem.
Well, it didn't go over as well as I had hoped. As a matter of fact, it was flatly rejected many times. And of the 40 people attending, about 10 were male, and in my group, that was 3 out of 10. So, I informed the ladies that it would probably be a necessity - for self preservation - that we institute polygamy. Somehow that didn't fly very well either, and as a matter of fact, some even suggested exiling the males altogther, to which I responded that it would be foolish to make another Isle of Lesbos, all things considered. Silence.
We were given some things to incorporate into our tribe; a deck of cards, some Costa Rican belt thing, a toy C3PO from Star Wars (his eyes lit up when manipulated), some red paper stars, a Disney toy car and that may have been it. I suggested that we make the chrome C3PO our loathing irrational false God of war and destruction. Any tribe that rejected this would be dealt with harshly. Again, perfectly good idea passed over. However, I did get the tribe to agree upon our greeting, which was an animated, "Hey-Yo!" And I sorted out the deck of cards as a form of currency.
Unfortunately, our physical form of greeting was touching fingers a la ET, and we had a revolving leadership which was exchanged via calls of "Marco" and the new leader responding in the obvious "Polo". When asked why, I told them that the famous Italian traveler discovered our greet society. The red paper cards were our form of friendship which we gave (or not) to the other tribes.
The mingling with other tribes was weird. One incorporated the chicken dance, which reminded me that perhaps we should have more seriously considered cannibalism, and that perhaps this tribe tasted like chicken -- there was no way to know without trying... However, for the most part every single tribe was a fun-loving quasi-hippy commune. If given the opportunity, I could have conquered them all single-handedly.
The interesting part, as I knew would come, was the airing of grievances after it was all over. Not surprisingly, I got put on the spot a few times. As a matter of fact, I think my tribe did almost all the talking, while I was busy defending. Naturally, I had history on my side and I based it under a historical social experience, while everyone else was busy trying to "co-exist". People had some issues with the Isle of Lesbos comment, but I explained it wasn't necessarily a reference to lesbians (although that's where the word comes from), but that it was an island exclusive to women, just as my tribe had suggested. The beauty of this is that the instructor took my side and stated that I was obviously "offended" with being excluded and made a natural "knee-jerk" reaction from being rejected. Why, yes, that's exactly it... even better, he had the class thank me collectively for bringing that issue up. This is great!
Interestingly, the British guy there, with classic British stereotypical teeth, was also offended by one of my comments about being an "Indian giver" for being "way off the reservation." Yeah, I got in two comments. Funny thing, someone else defended my statement in that it actually means giving to the Indians, and then taking it back. Not the other way around.
I should be honest in that as soon as the instructor stated he was from Costa Rica, I knew I couldn't do any evil. During the morning I let slip some slang that only a Costa Rican (or "tico") would get, and that prompted him to ask me questions which led to an immediate connection between us two.
I will say that he was an excellent instructor and I had a lot of fun, even if I was deliberately stirring the melting pot. Here's my position on the whole matter -- accept the culture of the country you live in. Do not expect the inhabitants to joyfully embrace yours if you live in their society. In my opinion, cultural diversity is a dividing wedge in society. It singles you out and quickly labels you as different and thus causes strife. Sure, we need to be accepting of other cultures, especially when in the midst of them, but don't expect me to accept it when you are parading down the streets of my nation, demanding citizenship, waving your national flag over mine. You left that country for a reason, now embrace the culture of your future.
Unfortunately, there are so many facets to this, that I don't want to bore you all (14) with my perceptions. But, I would like to say I did have a good time today. And not much was brought up that I had not already considered, that is, being the considerate folk that I am. In the end, magically, no one was offended about anything. We were all pacified like peaceful Moriori tribesmen. Meanwhile, I sharpened my weapons of war...
***Side tangent: Since I somewhat mentioned this, I'll just add that any one who gives you the argument that we should give back to Mexico the states we "stole", let's look at a little bit of history. Who originally owned Mexico? The Aztecs until 1520, then Spain owned it until 1821, then it belong to the country of Mexico, then the US fought for it in 1844-46. Break-down; Aztecs owned it for thousands of years, Spanish owned it for hundreds of years, Mexico owned it for 2 decades, and the US has ever since. I don't hear the Aztecs or Spanish asking for it back, and in my opinion, they certainly should be ahead of the line for it.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Pooring Over It
I just finished reading a book called Nickel and Dimed; blah, blah, blah. It's written by Debra I'm-a-liberal-feminist-and-refuse-my-husband's last-name Ehrenreich. Someone's gotta keep 'the man' down. Of course, this is a New York Times best seller, like so many other misanthropic, cynical, atheistic, narcissistic, sardonic, pessimistic books out there.
Thankfully, in this book, the PhD educated author goes undercover to live amongst the poor and to be 'poor'. Now, being someone that has been on the poor side, I'll tell you right now she comes off a little haughty every now-and-then. Take this quote from page 8:
"To state the proposition in reverse, low-wage workers are no more homogeneous in personality or ability than people who write for a living, and no less likely to be funny or bright. Anyone in the educated classes who thinks otherwise ought to broaden their circle of friends."
Oh, so you mean low-wage workers are normal people too? Well, at least she figured that out at age 50. There are a few other times as well. Mostly the book comes off as seemingly negative, by my jaded review at least. It isn't until the last 20 pages that the book becomes decent, spitting out statistics here and there, and then the capstone - poor people will undoubtedly remain poor. Well, despite whatever truism there may be in that, things will certainly get worse considering the global market at this point. But, I've covered that before.
I've learned some things in my medium-aged tenure here on ol' blue-n-green. And it does have to do with being poor or not. It doesn't matter so much whether you are smart or not as to whether you will succeed. And in this case, success means not being within the reach of poverty. But I've seen smart people who are poor. No, smart, dumb, tall, short, fat, thin, poverty gets `em all. Except those with ambition and determination. In my opinion, this is the major reason why lots of people break from being poor. Reject the mentality.
Look at Les Schwab, the high school drop-out from Prineville who recently died on top of a $350 million dollar mountain. He once gave a speech at Prineville High to the graduating class of 1997. He openly criticized getting a high school diploma, because, "I didn't need one..." and obviously he was correct. But he did have ambition and determination to succeed. And thus he did. His name will forever be associated with tires and free beef in February.
Now this is not a call to drop out. Statistically speaking, you're welfare bound if you do. The military won't accept you now, even if you have a "Good Enough Degree" in lieu of a diploma. Still, my resounding point being that his author never gave herself an opportunity to succeed in the book. Most jobs she took lasted less than a month, none over 2 months.
She did cite definitive inequalities within some jobs, but also sided that without this, labor would be too expensive and may negatively impact everyone. She ends with saying that there may be anger and strikes, but we will all be better off in the end when there is equality. Probably a vieled call for socialism or communism. I am sure the 13 million illegal immigrants didn't help move this in the right direction (the fundamentals of this book taking place cica 2000, prior to the massive influx of "undocumented workers").
Anyway, back to education, at least with a diploma from high school, or better, you can make the first important steps off getting out of poverty. And let's face it, secondary education favors the poor with regards to funding. It still isn't a guarranty that you will succeed, but it certainly looks good on paper.
Putting aside this jumbled topic, I've since moved on to reading C.S. Lewis stuff. I find it more enlightening on many levels. I'll probably revisit this topic of poverty once I've mulled over the details a little longer. It still urks me, and probably because I've been there, and now I'm here, and I plan to go elsewhere. Or as I've heard before, "To the moon, Alice!" Maybe that's too far...
Thankfully, in this book, the PhD educated author goes undercover to live amongst the poor and to be 'poor'. Now, being someone that has been on the poor side, I'll tell you right now she comes off a little haughty every now-and-then. Take this quote from page 8:
"To state the proposition in reverse, low-wage workers are no more homogeneous in personality or ability than people who write for a living, and no less likely to be funny or bright. Anyone in the educated classes who thinks otherwise ought to broaden their circle of friends."
Oh, so you mean low-wage workers are normal people too? Well, at least she figured that out at age 50. There are a few other times as well. Mostly the book comes off as seemingly negative, by my jaded review at least. It isn't until the last 20 pages that the book becomes decent, spitting out statistics here and there, and then the capstone - poor people will undoubtedly remain poor. Well, despite whatever truism there may be in that, things will certainly get worse considering the global market at this point. But, I've covered that before.
I've learned some things in my medium-aged tenure here on ol' blue-n-green. And it does have to do with being poor or not. It doesn't matter so much whether you are smart or not as to whether you will succeed. And in this case, success means not being within the reach of poverty. But I've seen smart people who are poor. No, smart, dumb, tall, short, fat, thin, poverty gets `em all. Except those with ambition and determination. In my opinion, this is the major reason why lots of people break from being poor. Reject the mentality.
Look at Les Schwab, the high school drop-out from Prineville who recently died on top of a $350 million dollar mountain. He once gave a speech at Prineville High to the graduating class of 1997. He openly criticized getting a high school diploma, because, "I didn't need one..." and obviously he was correct. But he did have ambition and determination to succeed. And thus he did. His name will forever be associated with tires and free beef in February.
Now this is not a call to drop out. Statistically speaking, you're welfare bound if you do. The military won't accept you now, even if you have a "Good Enough Degree" in lieu of a diploma. Still, my resounding point being that his author never gave herself an opportunity to succeed in the book. Most jobs she took lasted less than a month, none over 2 months.
She did cite definitive inequalities within some jobs, but also sided that without this, labor would be too expensive and may negatively impact everyone. She ends with saying that there may be anger and strikes, but we will all be better off in the end when there is equality. Probably a vieled call for socialism or communism. I am sure the 13 million illegal immigrants didn't help move this in the right direction (the fundamentals of this book taking place cica 2000, prior to the massive influx of "undocumented workers").
Anyway, back to education, at least with a diploma from high school, or better, you can make the first important steps off getting out of poverty. And let's face it, secondary education favors the poor with regards to funding. It still isn't a guarranty that you will succeed, but it certainly looks good on paper.
Putting aside this jumbled topic, I've since moved on to reading C.S. Lewis stuff. I find it more enlightening on many levels. I'll probably revisit this topic of poverty once I've mulled over the details a little longer. It still urks me, and probably because I've been there, and now I'm here, and I plan to go elsewhere. Or as I've heard before, "To the moon, Alice!" Maybe that's too far...
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Messy Greed
Because I feel the pressure of you all wanting more (and thus far, that would be all 14 of you that have, or had, visited my blog either intentionally or most likely not), I have culled together some more thoughts on the current predicament of our federal government.
I am disgusted because this whole mess is firmly founded on greed. The economy was up, and as such, people felt obligated to spend. And there were plenty of sharks in the water waiting for them in the form of lending for housing.
By definition, what is the American Dream? Well, it isn't really to earn lots of money and be really rich. It is the ability to buy home, settle down, and provide a better life for your family, better than anywhere else. And that's what so many Americans did. Except, they over-extended what they should have deserved. I'm a big proponent of you deserve what you earn. But, the sharks in the water convinced millions of people to take a bigger bite, and to hedge their bets that they could afford more since the economy was doing so well.
As we all know, these sub-prime loans are the primary reason we're in this mess. The financial back-bone of the US is in a crisis, so much so that Congress (the opposite of progress) is now putting together a $700 billion dollar bailout. The rodeo grandmas are already gone it is so bad. You can really blame both parties, as they are both guilty. Believe me, it goes back decades.
The main problem I see is how much it will effect all of us for many years, if not the rest of our years. 5.4% is the anticipated inflation for this year. I get a cost of living increase this year, of 3.2%. I'll get a step increase in June which may make up the difference, but the problem is that inflation is going to be even higher next year. And the federal deficit will eclipse 10 trillion with this bailout. Sure, it's money we mostly owe to ourselves, because we borrow it from the banks that are in need of a bailout right now. But we also owe lots to other countries as well. I've already discussed this before.
Here's where it'll hit us, the consumers who are not in default on our loans, mortgage or otherwise. Gas will go back up, because the dollar will be worth less. And whereas the politicians let the off-shore dirlling ban expire, that will not be a relief anytime soon. And even when that does come online, it'll stil be expensive by then. Oil goes up (already going back up) and goods become more expensive to ship around. Everything goes up in price, and your dollar doesn't stretch as far.
Here's what I don't like; it used to be a wife went to work to get you ahead in life. You were ridiculed for it, and perhaps your family life suffered from it. Then it became a kind of norm for the wife to work as well, thank you women's lib and the rights therein. Now your wife has to work so you can remain in middle-class. Soon, both of you will be working and probably not make any headway. I read an articule the other day that stated it was a "privilege" to say you have a 'stay-at-home' wife. A status symbole of sorts. Will I ever get to say that?
The next thing is that this government buy-out includes buying all these foreclosures at a extremely low option, I've heard as low as .10 on the dollar. Then the government sells these back to buyers at a higher cost, and will recoup their money. They did this during the last depression. But, if some of those houses are along your block, guess what just happened to the value of your home? Ours has dropped $1500 already, and we haven't been her that long. But it'll probably go down even more.
Americans already work too much, stress too much, and take as little as vacation as possible. This will not bode well on many levels. And the greedy live on.
I am disgusted because this whole mess is firmly founded on greed. The economy was up, and as such, people felt obligated to spend. And there were plenty of sharks in the water waiting for them in the form of lending for housing.
By definition, what is the American Dream? Well, it isn't really to earn lots of money and be really rich. It is the ability to buy home, settle down, and provide a better life for your family, better than anywhere else. And that's what so many Americans did. Except, they over-extended what they should have deserved. I'm a big proponent of you deserve what you earn. But, the sharks in the water convinced millions of people to take a bigger bite, and to hedge their bets that they could afford more since the economy was doing so well.
As we all know, these sub-prime loans are the primary reason we're in this mess. The financial back-bone of the US is in a crisis, so much so that Congress (the opposite of progress) is now putting together a $700 billion dollar bailout. The rodeo grandmas are already gone it is so bad. You can really blame both parties, as they are both guilty. Believe me, it goes back decades.
The main problem I see is how much it will effect all of us for many years, if not the rest of our years. 5.4% is the anticipated inflation for this year. I get a cost of living increase this year, of 3.2%. I'll get a step increase in June which may make up the difference, but the problem is that inflation is going to be even higher next year. And the federal deficit will eclipse 10 trillion with this bailout. Sure, it's money we mostly owe to ourselves, because we borrow it from the banks that are in need of a bailout right now. But we also owe lots to other countries as well. I've already discussed this before.
Here's where it'll hit us, the consumers who are not in default on our loans, mortgage or otherwise. Gas will go back up, because the dollar will be worth less. And whereas the politicians let the off-shore dirlling ban expire, that will not be a relief anytime soon. And even when that does come online, it'll stil be expensive by then. Oil goes up (already going back up) and goods become more expensive to ship around. Everything goes up in price, and your dollar doesn't stretch as far.
Here's what I don't like; it used to be a wife went to work to get you ahead in life. You were ridiculed for it, and perhaps your family life suffered from it. Then it became a kind of norm for the wife to work as well, thank you women's lib and the rights therein. Now your wife has to work so you can remain in middle-class. Soon, both of you will be working and probably not make any headway. I read an articule the other day that stated it was a "privilege" to say you have a 'stay-at-home' wife. A status symbole of sorts. Will I ever get to say that?
The next thing is that this government buy-out includes buying all these foreclosures at a extremely low option, I've heard as low as .10 on the dollar. Then the government sells these back to buyers at a higher cost, and will recoup their money. They did this during the last depression. But, if some of those houses are along your block, guess what just happened to the value of your home? Ours has dropped $1500 already, and we haven't been her that long. But it'll probably go down even more.
Americans already work too much, stress too much, and take as little as vacation as possible. This will not bode well on many levels. And the greedy live on.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Limivorous: Eating dirt like a worm
I was engaged in an interesting conversation between a dentist and someone who had once spoken to a nurse. So the credibility took a nose dive on that last source, but hear me out nonetheless.
Clean freaks; to what benefit do they gain for all their overt OCD position? The dentist went on to explain the benefits of your saliva and how it improves from germs, which, in turn, help build your immune system. Naturally I brought up the necessity of swapping spit with ... people. Yeah, no one laughed then either. However, this provoked the conversation to the next level. Our society has become so anti-germ crazy, that we are actually raising a generation without a good immune system. We spend so much time and resources sanitizing our environment, that our immune systems are, in a word, bored.
There's a problem, however. Immune systems actually do not get bored, they get restless and either turn on each other, or worse, cease to be productive at an optimal level. Before I get any further into this, another point was brought up; when you use soaps that sanitize "99.9%" of all germs, that leaves that immune .1% to monopolize and create more problems than the 99.9% probable benign germs would have. That 99.9% was keeping the peace, in a manner of speaking.
Still, let's look at today's society. Lots of problems these days with regards health; more asthma, allergies, colds, and coincidently, unnatural phobia of germs. Our lazy under-worked immune system has its guard down because someone has already killed all the normal germs that our body battled on a daily basis. Everything is filtered, pre-washed, pre-cleaned, recleaned, and thoroughly sanitized.
I'm not against washing hands after going to the bathroom, or changing babies too. No need to throw caution to the wind, whatever that means. And perhaps I should consult a microbiologist or someone else in the necessary fields of study. But in the interim, I think it's time we started eating more dirt to make up for lost opportunity. Maybe my daughter does have a point, but at least she should try to find better quality dirt. Let's have some standards around here.
Clean freaks; to what benefit do they gain for all their overt OCD position? The dentist went on to explain the benefits of your saliva and how it improves from germs, which, in turn, help build your immune system. Naturally I brought up the necessity of swapping spit with ... people. Yeah, no one laughed then either. However, this provoked the conversation to the next level. Our society has become so anti-germ crazy, that we are actually raising a generation without a good immune system. We spend so much time and resources sanitizing our environment, that our immune systems are, in a word, bored.
There's a problem, however. Immune systems actually do not get bored, they get restless and either turn on each other, or worse, cease to be productive at an optimal level. Before I get any further into this, another point was brought up; when you use soaps that sanitize "99.9%" of all germs, that leaves that immune .1% to monopolize and create more problems than the 99.9% probable benign germs would have. That 99.9% was keeping the peace, in a manner of speaking.
Still, let's look at today's society. Lots of problems these days with regards health; more asthma, allergies, colds, and coincidently, unnatural phobia of germs. Our lazy under-worked immune system has its guard down because someone has already killed all the normal germs that our body battled on a daily basis. Everything is filtered, pre-washed, pre-cleaned, recleaned, and thoroughly sanitized.
I'm not against washing hands after going to the bathroom, or changing babies too. No need to throw caution to the wind, whatever that means. And perhaps I should consult a microbiologist or someone else in the necessary fields of study. But in the interim, I think it's time we started eating more dirt to make up for lost opportunity. Maybe my daughter does have a point, but at least she should try to find better quality dirt. Let's have some standards around here.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Hunted by a cougar
I've trekked through lots of forests up and down the west coast, spanning from Alaska down to deserts in California and Mexico, but I've never been stalked by a cougar... until today.
Ask any moderately drunk individual, and they'll concede that I am a pretty decent looking fellow to behold. Without being imbibed, and I'm just better than marginal, despite telling myself overt pleasantries in the mirror every morning. Roar.
However, today, at my adequate State job, I was cornered rather quickly by an over-40 lady. She was really upfront about it, "I've been checking you out..." and, "I think we should get to know each other better..." and "what is your dating status?" It was kinda awkward, because, this is the first time a "cougar" has taken me on. I guess my musk smell needs to be amped up. Of course, my philosophy is, if you're checking someone out, the first thing you do it look at the left ring finger. That's kind of a tall-tell sign in my opinion. I should add, I really do not know this woman at all, I've been at this job for over 2 months, 6 weeks of which were training.
Over the seven years I've been married (7 years as of today), I've been approached, now, 4 times with extra-marital affair offers. I guess I am starting to look closer to my age if the cougars are coming out of the wood-work. In some regards, I'd rather face a real wild cat in the wilderness, as that would be a cool story, and there'd be no penalty for shooting them. Doesn't translate well into this circumstance, however.
In the end, she thanked me for being honest and faithful to my wife. She, on the other hand, had been married for well over a decade, and now divorced for just under a decade. Still, her parting words were, "look me up if your situation changes or if you're feeling weak." Bold, but not smooth. Maybe I'll cut out personal hygiene... or maybe I'll just start caring a gun.
Bad kitty!
Bad!
Ask any moderately drunk individual, and they'll concede that I am a pretty decent looking fellow to behold. Without being imbibed, and I'm just better than marginal, despite telling myself overt pleasantries in the mirror every morning. Roar.
However, today, at my adequate State job, I was cornered rather quickly by an over-40 lady. She was really upfront about it, "I've been checking you out..." and, "I think we should get to know each other better..." and "what is your dating status?" It was kinda awkward, because, this is the first time a "cougar" has taken me on. I guess my musk smell needs to be amped up. Of course, my philosophy is, if you're checking someone out, the first thing you do it look at the left ring finger. That's kind of a tall-tell sign in my opinion. I should add, I really do not know this woman at all, I've been at this job for over 2 months, 6 weeks of which were training.
Over the seven years I've been married (7 years as of today), I've been approached, now, 4 times with extra-marital affair offers. I guess I am starting to look closer to my age if the cougars are coming out of the wood-work. In some regards, I'd rather face a real wild cat in the wilderness, as that would be a cool story, and there'd be no penalty for shooting them. Doesn't translate well into this circumstance, however.
In the end, she thanked me for being honest and faithful to my wife. She, on the other hand, had been married for well over a decade, and now divorced for just under a decade. Still, her parting words were, "look me up if your situation changes or if you're feeling weak." Bold, but not smooth. Maybe I'll cut out personal hygiene... or maybe I'll just start caring a gun.
Bad kitty!
Bad!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Sue the Federal Government
My thoughts aren't totally clear on this matter, but I grow tiresome of our current government. No, it isn't Bush's fault. It's a conglomerate of all of them. Working together yet not accomplishing anything. I don't mean that by "working together" they are being bipartisan. No, I mean they're all scheming together and rubbing each others backs, while fighting face to face and drawing imaginary lines.
My whole point revolves around something in the Eighties. Back then, I remember talk of the federal deficit, then looming around 4 trillion dollars. It's more than twice that now. But the point is that back then, they were talking about how they needed to end it and not "pass it onto our children" - or something to that effect. Well, here I am, +20 years later, and we've mortgaged huge swaths of our land to other countries to pay our debts. That $150 billion dollar stimulus check we all got a part of a few months ago? From China. Which, as you've all heard, weakened our dollar substantially and caused inflation to surge. Sure, the dollar is recovering, but the trends aren't.
Ed McMahon is in the poor house right now, and Donald Trump is helping him pay his mortgage, or should I say, bought Ed's house and allows him to lease it now. It's a nice publicity for The Hair and Ed retains some dignity. From the reliable radio, I heard that Ed's wife was able to spend $300,000 in one month. Where is the fiscal responsibility? Well, I parry that question to our government. Which leads me to the title topic; We The People, need to sue our government.
Call it a divorce, or whatever. But the fact of the matter is this; these people in our government are not looking out for us, and in turn, have created a culture that unfortunately 90% of US citizens are partaking in: living beyond our means. I'm not blameless, I have debt beyond a mortgage and car payments, and it makes my right eye twitch whenever I dwell on it. But does it bother them at all? Have you heard much about the federal deficit this election year?
Some people are blind to this topic, even though this year we've hit an all-time high, around $700 billion (stimulus check included) in deficit to be added to the overall ~$9.6 trillion, which has been growing for several decades. Next year, thankfully, it'll be under $500 billion to be tacked on top of that by most estiamtes. Sure, the Iraq war is one cost, but it's about 15% of the yearly debt, if even. The real cost is a lack of self-sufficiency. It's an agenda, pushing towards socialism even though we're not. We have so many federal programs, that we don't tax enough to support them.
But, I'm not about to cause a civil war or instigate a revolution or rally for socialism. I think there is much to be salvaged, yet need not to shed our own blood over it. So I suggest the civilized and current American way of life; we sue. Everyone can relate to this method. When I worked at the law firm, a common fact tossed around is that every US citizen gets sued at least 4 times in their life. I've got two done, my wife has one, so we're not half-way there yet, unfortunately. Meh, side tangent. Sorry.
The point is this; we already have the Supreme court justices who have no qualms putting aside public majorities to make asinine laws. This lawsuit against our fiscally irresponsible legislators, even if dismissed, at least sends a message that we are tired of this facade of "all is well." Debtors will want money, and if not money, then our lands. Kinda parallels the whole oil subject, rely on others and their pricing, or drill our own and be self sufficient?
On the frank side of things, I am not sure what "winning" means. If it meant that those of us who agreed with the lawsuit could now abstain from paying federal taxes until fiscal responsibility was met, then I would be pleased (as I could pay off my own debt...). But if it meant we fired the current legislators, well, that may not be a bad thing either. Lord knows some of them need a good sense of humility since they're supposed to be "public" servants.
The fact that lawsuits are up is another good indicator of our times. We're desperate as individuals to make ends meet that we'll go to court over a paint-transfer on a bumper collision. Yet, that may be the means by which we absolve our international debts; "don't collect on this money or we'll annihilate your country. Yes, you technically own Montana and most of Mississippi, but my finger is on the big red scary button, and I've got a headache..."
Let's sue! Because the alternative is to do nothing, which hasn't worked thus far. And don't tell me Obama is the cure. He's rhetoric; they all are.
My whole point revolves around something in the Eighties. Back then, I remember talk of the federal deficit, then looming around 4 trillion dollars. It's more than twice that now. But the point is that back then, they were talking about how they needed to end it and not "pass it onto our children" - or something to that effect. Well, here I am, +20 years later, and we've mortgaged huge swaths of our land to other countries to pay our debts. That $150 billion dollar stimulus check we all got a part of a few months ago? From China. Which, as you've all heard, weakened our dollar substantially and caused inflation to surge. Sure, the dollar is recovering, but the trends aren't.
Ed McMahon is in the poor house right now, and Donald Trump is helping him pay his mortgage, or should I say, bought Ed's house and allows him to lease it now. It's a nice publicity for The Hair and Ed retains some dignity. From the reliable radio, I heard that Ed's wife was able to spend $300,000 in one month. Where is the fiscal responsibility? Well, I parry that question to our government. Which leads me to the title topic; We The People, need to sue our government.
Call it a divorce, or whatever. But the fact of the matter is this; these people in our government are not looking out for us, and in turn, have created a culture that unfortunately 90% of US citizens are partaking in: living beyond our means. I'm not blameless, I have debt beyond a mortgage and car payments, and it makes my right eye twitch whenever I dwell on it. But does it bother them at all? Have you heard much about the federal deficit this election year?
Some people are blind to this topic, even though this year we've hit an all-time high, around $700 billion (stimulus check included) in deficit to be added to the overall ~$9.6 trillion, which has been growing for several decades. Next year, thankfully, it'll be under $500 billion to be tacked on top of that by most estiamtes. Sure, the Iraq war is one cost, but it's about 15% of the yearly debt, if even. The real cost is a lack of self-sufficiency. It's an agenda, pushing towards socialism even though we're not. We have so many federal programs, that we don't tax enough to support them.
But, I'm not about to cause a civil war or instigate a revolution or rally for socialism. I think there is much to be salvaged, yet need not to shed our own blood over it. So I suggest the civilized and current American way of life; we sue. Everyone can relate to this method. When I worked at the law firm, a common fact tossed around is that every US citizen gets sued at least 4 times in their life. I've got two done, my wife has one, so we're not half-way there yet, unfortunately. Meh, side tangent. Sorry.
The point is this; we already have the Supreme court justices who have no qualms putting aside public majorities to make asinine laws. This lawsuit against our fiscally irresponsible legislators, even if dismissed, at least sends a message that we are tired of this facade of "all is well." Debtors will want money, and if not money, then our lands. Kinda parallels the whole oil subject, rely on others and their pricing, or drill our own and be self sufficient?
On the frank side of things, I am not sure what "winning" means. If it meant that those of us who agreed with the lawsuit could now abstain from paying federal taxes until fiscal responsibility was met, then I would be pleased (as I could pay off my own debt...). But if it meant we fired the current legislators, well, that may not be a bad thing either. Lord knows some of them need a good sense of humility since they're supposed to be "public" servants.
The fact that lawsuits are up is another good indicator of our times. We're desperate as individuals to make ends meet that we'll go to court over a paint-transfer on a bumper collision. Yet, that may be the means by which we absolve our international debts; "don't collect on this money or we'll annihilate your country. Yes, you technically own Montana and most of Mississippi, but my finger is on the big red scary button, and I've got a headache..."
Let's sue! Because the alternative is to do nothing, which hasn't worked thus far. And don't tell me Obama is the cure. He's rhetoric; they all are.
7 minutes to eternity
I have heard numerous times, that after you officially drown, you live an additional 7 minutes before your brain shuts down. I can only imagine what goes on during those seven precious minutes. It is a long time, actually. Go ahead and sit there, 7 minutes, immobile, just you and your brain without interruptions.
What brings me to this is a chain of thoughts? This morning I had a dream that a large black shark bit off my left foot. It bleed a lot, but I was not panicky. Well, that is until some local told me the black shark was also poisonous, which, so far as my understanding of sharks, is not possible. Nonetheless, I became concerned at that point despite not feeling like I was poisoned. Since then I have recovered and please refer to me as "stumpy" from now on. Stupid dream.
I have a love-hate relationship with the sea. I love it. I love vast open water, sailing ships, naval vessels and eating fish. On the other side of the spectrum, it also killed my biological father and even swept me out to sea once. Not to mention all the times its beat the crap out of me while body surfing or boogie boarding. So my conclusion is that it hates me, hence the love-hate relationship.
Still, moving the chain of thought from shark bite, to seafaring, to drowned father, to final thoughts, I have to consider the following; what are those final thoughts. Does the proverbial "life flash before your eyes" transpire? Again, seven minutes is a long time, perhaps too long for a "flash", but then, you probably aren't going to live and tell about it either. Bearing in mind that your body has already given up the fight, now it's just your brain mentally tying up loose ends. You're probably sinking, or peacefully resting on the bed of a body of water. Technically, you already look dead.
I would like to think that perhaps my father's last seven minutes were, in part, reflected upon me and hoping for my posterity. In reality, it matters very little and could, on my part, seem selfish. But from my own perspective, that of a husband and father, my worries would be of great magnitude, and then remorse for a million little things that may be trivial or not. I'd be disappointed at the fact that I never conquered the world, metaphorical or literally, with emphasis on the latter. And then the eternal perspective, the great question answered - what happens after death?
It is interesting to note that a former employer of mine has a spouse who was swept out to sea. She was missing for about an hour before she washed up a mile down the beach just as an off-duty EMT was running along, found her, and promptly started CPR. The EMT sent someone to get help, who, by coincidence, flagged down an ambulance returning from a hospital. Everything was in play, and soon she was life-flighted to a hospital, and surprisingly, had a full recovery. Accordingly she holds some miraculous record for being revived after being drowned for an hour. I still talk to her every now-and-then.
Of course, your brain probably isn't as lucid as expected. It's shutting down too. All your motor-skills are gone already. Just you and your thoughts. 7 seven minutes to dwell upon whatever it is you held dear in your finite lifetime. Looking back, will there be a sense of dread - time wasted - as you lose everything. Hmm, on second thought, I'd like to not drown, please. I'll take my chances with the big, black, poison shark, who, unfortunately, has a nasty habit of ankle biting.
What brings me to this is a chain of thoughts? This morning I had a dream that a large black shark bit off my left foot. It bleed a lot, but I was not panicky. Well, that is until some local told me the black shark was also poisonous, which, so far as my understanding of sharks, is not possible. Nonetheless, I became concerned at that point despite not feeling like I was poisoned. Since then I have recovered and please refer to me as "stumpy" from now on. Stupid dream.
I have a love-hate relationship with the sea. I love it. I love vast open water, sailing ships, naval vessels and eating fish. On the other side of the spectrum, it also killed my biological father and even swept me out to sea once. Not to mention all the times its beat the crap out of me while body surfing or boogie boarding. So my conclusion is that it hates me, hence the love-hate relationship.
Still, moving the chain of thought from shark bite, to seafaring, to drowned father, to final thoughts, I have to consider the following; what are those final thoughts. Does the proverbial "life flash before your eyes" transpire? Again, seven minutes is a long time, perhaps too long for a "flash", but then, you probably aren't going to live and tell about it either. Bearing in mind that your body has already given up the fight, now it's just your brain mentally tying up loose ends. You're probably sinking, or peacefully resting on the bed of a body of water. Technically, you already look dead.
I would like to think that perhaps my father's last seven minutes were, in part, reflected upon me and hoping for my posterity. In reality, it matters very little and could, on my part, seem selfish. But from my own perspective, that of a husband and father, my worries would be of great magnitude, and then remorse for a million little things that may be trivial or not. I'd be disappointed at the fact that I never conquered the world, metaphorical or literally, with emphasis on the latter. And then the eternal perspective, the great question answered - what happens after death?
It is interesting to note that a former employer of mine has a spouse who was swept out to sea. She was missing for about an hour before she washed up a mile down the beach just as an off-duty EMT was running along, found her, and promptly started CPR. The EMT sent someone to get help, who, by coincidence, flagged down an ambulance returning from a hospital. Everything was in play, and soon she was life-flighted to a hospital, and surprisingly, had a full recovery. Accordingly she holds some miraculous record for being revived after being drowned for an hour. I still talk to her every now-and-then.
Of course, your brain probably isn't as lucid as expected. It's shutting down too. All your motor-skills are gone already. Just you and your thoughts. 7 seven minutes to dwell upon whatever it is you held dear in your finite lifetime. Looking back, will there be a sense of dread - time wasted - as you lose everything. Hmm, on second thought, I'd like to not drown, please. I'll take my chances with the big, black, poison shark, who, unfortunately, has a nasty habit of ankle biting.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
About this blog
The title was not my first choice. Nor my second or third. Coincidently, not my fourteenth or twenty-second. I think it fell somewhere between 38th and 101st. It matterth not, quite frankly. But it is highly probable that I will think up something a little more cunning in the near future. Still, it took almost an hour before this title was found, and by then, I was perturbed just enough to accept it so I could write the first post at 3:30am.
As for my name, The Hero, well, naturally that has a story behind it. I'm not that presumptuous ... yet.
I think it was 1993 -- yeah, pretty sure of it. I'd actually have to check my journal for a more definitive date, but I don't know where it is and also, I am lazy. But, trusting upon my trusty brain, 1993 it is. It centers around two points of history, not far apart in time.
A good but long gone friend of mine, who was my Order of the Arrow adviser as well as excellent cook had some property where we would fire off various weapons. Having been influenced by Lethal Weapon movies and Die Hard mentalities, I attempted to do a roll-and-shoot. Basically, if I could imbue a sense of stupidity into any who reads; you go from a stand, to your belly, and then roll towards the right while firing the hand gun (in this case, an old .38 service revolver). Bullets where flying everywhere. It was immediately recognized as being "stupid" and as soon as I got up, I received quick criticism, with the last retort being, "... way to be the hero."
So, it started out as a rebuttal nickname, of sorts. However, as circumstances would have it, the same adviser would be on a rafting trip with us (which in and of itself is another story). As it turned out, said adviser would wind up getting pinned under water, drowning, and I was able to save him with the help of another scout. From that point, "Hero" changed definitions. I rarely hear this nickname anymore, save for those that were there, either day.
Anyway, there you have a basis of understanding for this blog. Concepts and Judgments was just another way to say "opinions" more or less. Opinions are based on your concept of things, and your judgment on the matter. Of course, some of us are more right than others, right? Sure...
As for my name, The Hero, well, naturally that has a story behind it. I'm not that presumptuous ... yet.
I think it was 1993 -- yeah, pretty sure of it. I'd actually have to check my journal for a more definitive date, but I don't know where it is and also, I am lazy. But, trusting upon my trusty brain, 1993 it is. It centers around two points of history, not far apart in time.
A good but long gone friend of mine, who was my Order of the Arrow adviser as well as excellent cook had some property where we would fire off various weapons. Having been influenced by Lethal Weapon movies and Die Hard mentalities, I attempted to do a roll-and-shoot. Basically, if I could imbue a sense of stupidity into any who reads; you go from a stand, to your belly, and then roll towards the right while firing the hand gun (in this case, an old .38 service revolver). Bullets where flying everywhere. It was immediately recognized as being "stupid" and as soon as I got up, I received quick criticism, with the last retort being, "... way to be the hero."
So, it started out as a rebuttal nickname, of sorts. However, as circumstances would have it, the same adviser would be on a rafting trip with us (which in and of itself is another story). As it turned out, said adviser would wind up getting pinned under water, drowning, and I was able to save him with the help of another scout. From that point, "Hero" changed definitions. I rarely hear this nickname anymore, save for those that were there, either day.
Anyway, there you have a basis of understanding for this blog. Concepts and Judgments was just another way to say "opinions" more or less. Opinions are based on your concept of things, and your judgment on the matter. Of course, some of us are more right than others, right? Sure...
Cheater Genius
Call Mensa. I recently took this online IQ test, and I got a 147. To qualify for Mensa, the elite society of geniuses, you need a minimum of 145 so you can join the ranks of Stephen Hawkins or Lisa Simpson.
In the Spring Break of `97, a few of us were down in LA, walking around the Hollywood stars and happened upon an Ann Rynd store who were doing personality & IQ tests. At that point, my buddy Roy scored a 142, and I got a 132 or so. It was the low 130s. Good, but not Mensa quality. I wasn't too surprised from my score, I new I was some-what smart, but there was a reason. We opted not to buy the books they were selling there...
Going further back, in my high school, we had The Quiz Bowl. It was an annual event where the top 10 smartest kids in your class participated in a competitive smart-off or what have you. The first year I didn't make it. But last three years I did. I still have some T-shirts from those events. The point of the matter is this; all 4 years, they never changed their pre-qualification questions. Thus I was able to answer three years in a row, correctly, what a periorbital hematoma was (black eye). And if there is something unique about my brain, it feasts on random facts. Just put all that crap in my head, and I'll flush it into a safe place, using it later to impress those who don't flush often. Or something. (Metaphors and analogies aren't my forte.)
So, the next three years I made it onto the Quiz bowl team, then, placed in front of the school during a 2 hour assembly, we battled wits. Well, I didn't. I sat there, immutable, watching my team mates answer. I attempted one question only, "Kentucky is bordered by 7 seven states, name five of them." I missed it by adding North Carolina. Coincidently, I have since had a overt interest in maps and geography. Making up for that loss I suppose, even though we won overall.
Which brings me back to my supposed 147 IQ. Yeah, I've taken that same IQ test thrice over the past few years. I'm getting better every time. Is that cheating? Maybe. Or maybe they should change their material. Either way, doesn't hurt the ol' ego. And Lord knows I don't need any more maps. I probably don't need Mensa either.
Interestingly, as we were leaving the Ann Rynd store, I was told that my personality was best suited for acting. Funny, in that actors think their pretty smart too...
In the Spring Break of `97, a few of us were down in LA, walking around the Hollywood stars and happened upon an Ann Rynd store who were doing personality & IQ tests. At that point, my buddy Roy scored a 142, and I got a 132 or so. It was the low 130s. Good, but not Mensa quality. I wasn't too surprised from my score, I new I was some-what smart, but there was a reason. We opted not to buy the books they were selling there...
Going further back, in my high school, we had The Quiz Bowl. It was an annual event where the top 10 smartest kids in your class participated in a competitive smart-off or what have you. The first year I didn't make it. But last three years I did. I still have some T-shirts from those events. The point of the matter is this; all 4 years, they never changed their pre-qualification questions. Thus I was able to answer three years in a row, correctly, what a periorbital hematoma was (black eye). And if there is something unique about my brain, it feasts on random facts. Just put all that crap in my head, and I'll flush it into a safe place, using it later to impress those who don't flush often. Or something. (Metaphors and analogies aren't my forte.)
So, the next three years I made it onto the Quiz bowl team, then, placed in front of the school during a 2 hour assembly, we battled wits. Well, I didn't. I sat there, immutable, watching my team mates answer. I attempted one question only, "Kentucky is bordered by 7 seven states, name five of them." I missed it by adding North Carolina. Coincidently, I have since had a overt interest in maps and geography. Making up for that loss I suppose, even though we won overall.
Which brings me back to my supposed 147 IQ. Yeah, I've taken that same IQ test thrice over the past few years. I'm getting better every time. Is that cheating? Maybe. Or maybe they should change their material. Either way, doesn't hurt the ol' ego. And Lord knows I don't need any more maps. I probably don't need Mensa either.
Interestingly, as we were leaving the Ann Rynd store, I was told that my personality was best suited for acting. Funny, in that actors think their pretty smart too...
Monday, August 18, 2008
Excellence in Mediocrity
I work for "The State" which means a lot of things to many people. Coincidently, there is a lot of truism in the maxim "good enough for government work" although it technically does not apply to my area as funding is highly associated with accuracy.
Nonetheless, I was obligated to attend an awards ceremony earlier. When you add food to the agenda, you don't even need to ask me to attend. I'll be there. Free food is a driving force in my life. Interestingly, so is diarrhea. There could be a correlation, but I refuse to acknowledge it.
As the awards moved on, there were some that I could endorse -- 30 years working for The State, etc. Towards the bottom of the barrel, the awards struggled to be good. Two categories that caught my attention were 'an award for having your computer turned on the most at 8am exactly; an award for taking the most punctual lunch break consecutively.' How do you applaud that sort of an award? Like this, the slow meaningful clap, nodding appropriately while holding a contrite face as if you narrowly lost it, but it couldn't have gone to a better contender.
Sure, these may be pet awards so that everyone is a winner. Or worse -- it could be what I am striving to achieve myself. I hope not, because I don't want them. If I ever did win it, then I'd consider myself a drone. And that leads into my next issue; a calm sea of blandness.
At The State, it seems that personality, character, or anything that would differentiate you from the cubicle sheep is a no-no, despite "celebrating diversity" (another issue for another day). No one stands out really. No one dares to and I am sure I'll learn why as well. Until then, it's to the assimilation blocks.
It should be noted that I do appreciate my job, but at the same time, I never feel like I should suggest much of anything because someone will feel you are usurping their position or even appearing like you could get a position they want. Someone complained when I stated the Nazi's were stupid. Apparently my opinion didn't fly with someone who didn't think the Nazi's were stupid. So now I am rather unassuming, blending neatly into an ocean of blandness. Some day I'll get the dream job within The State, but by then, I'll be gazing the same grass as my fellow peers. Happy, bland sheep in a sea of 5 foot cubicles.
Nonetheless, I was obligated to attend an awards ceremony earlier. When you add food to the agenda, you don't even need to ask me to attend. I'll be there. Free food is a driving force in my life. Interestingly, so is diarrhea. There could be a correlation, but I refuse to acknowledge it.
As the awards moved on, there were some that I could endorse -- 30 years working for The State, etc. Towards the bottom of the barrel, the awards struggled to be good. Two categories that caught my attention were 'an award for having your computer turned on the most at 8am exactly; an award for taking the most punctual lunch break consecutively.' How do you applaud that sort of an award? Like this, the slow meaningful clap, nodding appropriately while holding a contrite face as if you narrowly lost it, but it couldn't have gone to a better contender.
Sure, these may be pet awards so that everyone is a winner. Or worse -- it could be what I am striving to achieve myself. I hope not, because I don't want them. If I ever did win it, then I'd consider myself a drone. And that leads into my next issue; a calm sea of blandness.
At The State, it seems that personality, character, or anything that would differentiate you from the cubicle sheep is a no-no, despite "celebrating diversity" (another issue for another day). No one stands out really. No one dares to and I am sure I'll learn why as well. Until then, it's to the assimilation blocks.
It should be noted that I do appreciate my job, but at the same time, I never feel like I should suggest much of anything because someone will feel you are usurping their position or even appearing like you could get a position they want. Someone complained when I stated the Nazi's were stupid. Apparently my opinion didn't fly with someone who didn't think the Nazi's were stupid. So now I am rather unassuming, blending neatly into an ocean of blandness. Some day I'll get the dream job within The State, but by then, I'll be gazing the same grass as my fellow peers. Happy, bland sheep in a sea of 5 foot cubicles.
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Recurring Nightmare
I couldn't sleep. Not at first, anyway. And in retrospect, it was my fault because I took a nap earlier in the afternoon. I am totally against naps; for if I take one, then I know the consequences later on, the same one I faced this night when I tried to fall asleep.
Anyway, that's not the point.
I have a nightmare, and it isn't like normal ones people have. People dream of being chased or falling, or whatever. Those don't bother me. I have an acute ability to control many aspects of my dreams. I even have a journal specifically kept for recording dreams, although it isn't as up-to-date as I used to keep it. Still, it's there, detailed in many regards, and seemingly interesting to many people who happen to read it (it's not that personal to me). Yet this dream from an hour ago, is one of a few that I normally would not record. But, I think it is time I started.
I was at an old house, classic white paint on the outside, expected farm house decor inside. The interesting thing about this house is that it had a courtyard in the backyard, with these extending arms of the house encompassing the area. And it was large, very large, with the arms of the house coming together at a point that made a smaller building which I think was an old carriage or maybe laundry spot from older times. Maybe even a deluxe outhouse. The point is that you could walk on these covered wings around the courtyard and make a big circle.
Now, dreams by nature are very cloudy, so I have to be careful at times and not 'fill in the blanks' where no details really are. So, I cannot say why I was there, or why, in reflection, I opted to stay the night there, or specifically, why we decided to sleep in the courtyard save for the fact it was a bright starry night. As for the general setting, it was out in the countryside, but there were neighbors not too far off in the distance.
As for who was there, obviously me, some 6-7 year old little girl named "Kelli" and then another adult female who may or may not have been my wife. And again, we decided to sleep outside in the courtyard, although I remember not having a sleeping bag -- just a bunch of thing blankets and a pillow. Though, that didn't seem to bother me and we were giddy about the whole ordeal.
I should mention that this farm house is abandoned. Yeah, I know, that makes a huge difference. The paint is chipping, the wood is rotting, and we're sleeping next to an old fire pit that transients had created some time ago. We didn't light it, but naturally you gravitate towards such areas for camping. And the there are large swaths of dead grass areas around and near the fire pit.
Sleep comes, sorta. For the adult woman, she has no trouble sleeping and is out soon. But Kelli and I don't get to sleep. Actually, we feel weird. She and I are closest to each other while the other person is below next to our feet. (As a matter of reference, the woman is closer to the extra building and we're more towards the house.) This weirdness is something of uneasy feeling, kind of hard to describe, but eventually we hear words, slowly, a murmur, hoping it is something it is not, and then it is clear; "A woman was murdered here. Help me!"
Kelli and I are instantly whispering to each other. But it feels like we can't speak very loudly as we couldn't roust the other woman at all. Still, the same phrase keeps getting repeated and Kelli is in a state of shock, barely making audible noises. At least once I get up to survey the area -- just to make sure this isn't a hoax. But it isn't, and I knew it wasn't. I did, however, establish a point of origin. Next to the fire pit, closer to us two, is a dead patch of grass that looks as though oil had been spilled over it. Standing in that area caused me to be very nauseous and hear the words clearly, "...murdered and burnt here..."
At the same time, I felt very trapped when I got back into my bedding. Why did I get back into the bedding, I know not. But I was pinned in it. And I couldn't speak well. And so many other things occupying my mind, cluttering it from sensible thinking. I was still trying to communicate with Kelli, but felt powerless at the same time. But what else, the woman, or as I concluded, ghost, had ceased to speak, but some power was still over me.
The night ended, morning came, and camp was adjourned. Only Kelli and I had noticed (or experienced) the incident. Yet somehow, this tall guy whom I instantly distrusted with thinning hair and a shirt he was swimming in, somehow, talked us into staying another night, but not only that, staying outside. Was he going to do it? No. Just us three, and by that I mean us two since the woman adult would be asleep, probably. Maybe he was a Realtor, ya never know.
I kind of expedited that last paragraph, but the details for that part are seemingly non consequential. But here is what happened...
She fell asleep, immediately. No surprise there. And as the night edged on, the whispering leached from the ground. Inaudible at first, but slowly, carefully, repeated precisely the same message as before. Again Kelli and I confirmed our ears. Kelli hid under her blankets and wept quietly. I was looking all over for a glimpse or something. But she stopped speakingly suddenly. And for a second, my thoughts were collected, I could breathe and we were getting out of there.
Until the real issue of my nightmare began. These are the things that I dare not write before, but I know them to be accurate. It is at this time of my dream that real power takes control of my capacity. Real, unmitigated raw power. It ceased me by the neck, held me down and squeezed violently. I knew what it was.
My first experience of knowing there were unseeable evil forces out there was 10 years ago, while I was living in Monmouth. I was a hedonistic fellow of sorts, not having too much care in the world. Not sure where I was going one particular afternoon, but I happened to walk by a TV that was on in the living. No one else was home, but then, there were 3-6 guys living in the house at any given time. It was an big, old TV, connected to a satellite dish that got only 6 channels or so, still, it was free. One of them was MTV2, before MTV ruined it. Back then, all they did was play music videos and the only commercials were for the channel itself, "Watch MTV2!" Done deal.
On that after afternoon, I was walking by when the video of Aphex Twins, "Come to Daddy" played. I watched it because, I thought, it was intriguing. A bunch of sadistic little children, all wearing a quasi-demonic face, going around beating up old people. Then they all come running home to this demon with the exact same face who yells full force into this old lady's face. It was ... something else.
People talk about the "still, small voice" of the Holy Ghost/Spirit. I can't claim much of the same, but I can tell you this; when that music video came to an end, there was a voice, clear as bell ringing, which said, "That could be your power..." And I knew from that point that evil is very real. I wasn't sure what that power exactly was -- leading children astray, but I do know that I was alone, and those words were inches from my ear.
So I have dreams of people I know being possessed right before my eyes. It's Emily Rose all over the place. And the first thing I do is rebuke them in God's name. It used to work like lightening, but over the years, as I've learned to quickly recognize these in my dreams, something else has begun to happen: they immediately use their power to cease my throat and choke off my words before I can say it. I didn't even perceive it this time, however.
Thus my dream continues, with my airflow surrendered to an unseen force, pinned down in my blankets, with no one to aide me as my life gets pushed under. So as I lay there without options, one finally did occur; to pray. And as soon as that lucid thought entered my mind, I woke up. It was all gone. Just another epiphany to my testament of good versus evil. And it is scary. It's after 4am, I'm not sleepy. Concerned. That battle is up a notch and I've got to find a new tactic.
Of course, I prayed. Said a long one. Then I listened to the floorboards creep upstairs, and then some rabid raccoon gutted a squirrel next door. Thing sounded maniacal, greedily eviscerating the other animal midst painful screams. Didn't help at all. But I don't fear those sorts of things, that's why there are guns, if needed. But what do I do for something that has taken a more strategic tactic? I guess I pray...
In an attempt to understand my dream, I recognize the following; spirits yield to higher powers, so that ghost probably wanted attention, specifically, an acceptable ending to a traumatic end. But I suspect she was sacrificed and her body of evidence burned away. Still, she was also an invitation to something worse, which ceased upon me -- a first for me.
Oh, that video is on youtube, not that I'll watch it again, and not that you'll get the same experience, but for matter of reference you know where to go.
Anyway, that's not the point.
I have a nightmare, and it isn't like normal ones people have. People dream of being chased or falling, or whatever. Those don't bother me. I have an acute ability to control many aspects of my dreams. I even have a journal specifically kept for recording dreams, although it isn't as up-to-date as I used to keep it. Still, it's there, detailed in many regards, and seemingly interesting to many people who happen to read it (it's not that personal to me). Yet this dream from an hour ago, is one of a few that I normally would not record. But, I think it is time I started.
I was at an old house, classic white paint on the outside, expected farm house decor inside. The interesting thing about this house is that it had a courtyard in the backyard, with these extending arms of the house encompassing the area. And it was large, very large, with the arms of the house coming together at a point that made a smaller building which I think was an old carriage or maybe laundry spot from older times. Maybe even a deluxe outhouse. The point is that you could walk on these covered wings around the courtyard and make a big circle.
Now, dreams by nature are very cloudy, so I have to be careful at times and not 'fill in the blanks' where no details really are. So, I cannot say why I was there, or why, in reflection, I opted to stay the night there, or specifically, why we decided to sleep in the courtyard save for the fact it was a bright starry night. As for the general setting, it was out in the countryside, but there were neighbors not too far off in the distance.
As for who was there, obviously me, some 6-7 year old little girl named "Kelli" and then another adult female who may or may not have been my wife. And again, we decided to sleep outside in the courtyard, although I remember not having a sleeping bag -- just a bunch of thing blankets and a pillow. Though, that didn't seem to bother me and we were giddy about the whole ordeal.
I should mention that this farm house is abandoned. Yeah, I know, that makes a huge difference. The paint is chipping, the wood is rotting, and we're sleeping next to an old fire pit that transients had created some time ago. We didn't light it, but naturally you gravitate towards such areas for camping. And the there are large swaths of dead grass areas around and near the fire pit.
Sleep comes, sorta. For the adult woman, she has no trouble sleeping and is out soon. But Kelli and I don't get to sleep. Actually, we feel weird. She and I are closest to each other while the other person is below next to our feet. (As a matter of reference, the woman is closer to the extra building and we're more towards the house.) This weirdness is something of uneasy feeling, kind of hard to describe, but eventually we hear words, slowly, a murmur, hoping it is something it is not, and then it is clear; "A woman was murdered here. Help me!"
Kelli and I are instantly whispering to each other. But it feels like we can't speak very loudly as we couldn't roust the other woman at all. Still, the same phrase keeps getting repeated and Kelli is in a state of shock, barely making audible noises. At least once I get up to survey the area -- just to make sure this isn't a hoax. But it isn't, and I knew it wasn't. I did, however, establish a point of origin. Next to the fire pit, closer to us two, is a dead patch of grass that looks as though oil had been spilled over it. Standing in that area caused me to be very nauseous and hear the words clearly, "...murdered and burnt here..."
At the same time, I felt very trapped when I got back into my bedding. Why did I get back into the bedding, I know not. But I was pinned in it. And I couldn't speak well. And so many other things occupying my mind, cluttering it from sensible thinking. I was still trying to communicate with Kelli, but felt powerless at the same time. But what else, the woman, or as I concluded, ghost, had ceased to speak, but some power was still over me.
The night ended, morning came, and camp was adjourned. Only Kelli and I had noticed (or experienced) the incident. Yet somehow, this tall guy whom I instantly distrusted with thinning hair and a shirt he was swimming in, somehow, talked us into staying another night, but not only that, staying outside. Was he going to do it? No. Just us three, and by that I mean us two since the woman adult would be asleep, probably. Maybe he was a Realtor, ya never know.
I kind of expedited that last paragraph, but the details for that part are seemingly non consequential. But here is what happened...
She fell asleep, immediately. No surprise there. And as the night edged on, the whispering leached from the ground. Inaudible at first, but slowly, carefully, repeated precisely the same message as before. Again Kelli and I confirmed our ears. Kelli hid under her blankets and wept quietly. I was looking all over for a glimpse or something. But she stopped speakingly suddenly. And for a second, my thoughts were collected, I could breathe and we were getting out of there.
Until the real issue of my nightmare began. These are the things that I dare not write before, but I know them to be accurate. It is at this time of my dream that real power takes control of my capacity. Real, unmitigated raw power. It ceased me by the neck, held me down and squeezed violently. I knew what it was.
My first experience of knowing there were unseeable evil forces out there was 10 years ago, while I was living in Monmouth. I was a hedonistic fellow of sorts, not having too much care in the world. Not sure where I was going one particular afternoon, but I happened to walk by a TV that was on in the living. No one else was home, but then, there were 3-6 guys living in the house at any given time. It was an big, old TV, connected to a satellite dish that got only 6 channels or so, still, it was free. One of them was MTV2, before MTV ruined it. Back then, all they did was play music videos and the only commercials were for the channel itself, "Watch MTV2!" Done deal.
On that after afternoon, I was walking by when the video of Aphex Twins, "Come to Daddy" played. I watched it because, I thought, it was intriguing. A bunch of sadistic little children, all wearing a quasi-demonic face, going around beating up old people. Then they all come running home to this demon with the exact same face who yells full force into this old lady's face. It was ... something else.
People talk about the "still, small voice" of the Holy Ghost/Spirit. I can't claim much of the same, but I can tell you this; when that music video came to an end, there was a voice, clear as bell ringing, which said, "That could be your power..." And I knew from that point that evil is very real. I wasn't sure what that power exactly was -- leading children astray, but I do know that I was alone, and those words were inches from my ear.
So I have dreams of people I know being possessed right before my eyes. It's Emily Rose all over the place. And the first thing I do is rebuke them in God's name. It used to work like lightening, but over the years, as I've learned to quickly recognize these in my dreams, something else has begun to happen: they immediately use their power to cease my throat and choke off my words before I can say it. I didn't even perceive it this time, however.
Thus my dream continues, with my airflow surrendered to an unseen force, pinned down in my blankets, with no one to aide me as my life gets pushed under. So as I lay there without options, one finally did occur; to pray. And as soon as that lucid thought entered my mind, I woke up. It was all gone. Just another epiphany to my testament of good versus evil. And it is scary. It's after 4am, I'm not sleepy. Concerned. That battle is up a notch and I've got to find a new tactic.
Of course, I prayed. Said a long one. Then I listened to the floorboards creep upstairs, and then some rabid raccoon gutted a squirrel next door. Thing sounded maniacal, greedily eviscerating the other animal midst painful screams. Didn't help at all. But I don't fear those sorts of things, that's why there are guns, if needed. But what do I do for something that has taken a more strategic tactic? I guess I pray...
In an attempt to understand my dream, I recognize the following; spirits yield to higher powers, so that ghost probably wanted attention, specifically, an acceptable ending to a traumatic end. But I suspect she was sacrificed and her body of evidence burned away. Still, she was also an invitation to something worse, which ceased upon me -- a first for me.
Oh, that video is on youtube, not that I'll watch it again, and not that you'll get the same experience, but for matter of reference you know where to go.
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