Wanna know what?
I'm gonna stay positive!
Yeah!
No crap's gonna sully these wings, boy!
I'm gonna focus on the positive!
Hooray!
I'm gonna ignore my life and stare at the sun! Cuz the sun is good!
Yippie!
I'm going to push it down and squish it in my pits, cuz nobody wants to be around a gloomy gus! :(
No way, Gloomy Gus! You get on outta here!
We're not gonna listen to how you got screwed at the auto mechanic, and how you once had enough money to take care of yourself, but after your car broke down, you can't take care of yourself for another 5 months, and that's only if you don't spend your money on anything else! And we're not going to listen to how you're going to have this job for the rest of your life! And how you're going to play it safe and move to Oregon with this job you currently have and hate! We're not going to listen to how you're going to move to Salem so you won't have to commute and how you'll get to live in a place you don't wanna live in to do a job you don't wanna do in order to ... what, exactly? We're not really sure, but we're not gonna listen to you, Gus!
Fuck off, Gloomy Gus! Cuz you don't belong here anymore!
We don't want you around, with your frowns and homicidal ideations about killing people and how good it would feel. And how messed up everybody is and how there needs to be some kind of violent change in order to right the wrongs that continue and continue and continue and bullying cannot be placated any more, and killings cannot be placated anymore, and getting screwed cannot be placated anymore, and fighting back is what you do when there are no more choices. We don't need that kind of stinkin' thinkin' 'round here, Gussy!
Get outta here, Gus!
Cuz the clouds are good, and the sun is good, and, by golly, people like me!!
Yay for Life!
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Do You Wonder?
The Town was on the top of the hill.
Brad lived in a house that had a front door facing South.
Greg lived in another house that had a front door facing North.
At the bottom of the hill was a bar.
Every day, Brad and Greg left their homes about the same time and went to the bar.
Brad left his house through his front door and went down the hill on the south side.
Brad didn't think about his path to the bar very much.
It was paved, kinda smooth, and he could think about a lot of different things while he walked.
He could hear the birds. He could smell the flowers. He could see the sun.
Life was pretty sweet.
Greg left his house through his front door and went down the hill on the north side.
The north side of the hill had no path, but instead had sharp rocks which often pierced through Greg's shoes as he walked. There wasn't much rain on the north side, so a lot of dust was kicked up into the air. Greg sneezed because of this dust often. Buzzards were known to fly overhead, waiting for things to die on the north side. Their screeches were chilling to hear, and made Greg wonder if they were going to eat him. But they never did.
Eventually, both men made it to the bar.
Both men agreed, it was good at the bar.
Brad usually said that life was pretty good.
Greg usually said that life was pretty hard.
The bartender usually told Greg to look on the bright side like Brad.
And Greg tried, but he just didn't understand how it was so easy for Brad to see things so differently.
"I guess I'm just a fuck up," Greg often thought.
I wonder if this, somehow, has any relevance in today's world?
Maybe with racial tensions?
Maybe with police and the families of those who have been killed by police?
Maybe with people who have money for air conditioning, and those who have money for macaroni and cheese?
I wonder.
Do you?
Brad lived in a house that had a front door facing South.
Greg lived in another house that had a front door facing North.
At the bottom of the hill was a bar.
Every day, Brad and Greg left their homes about the same time and went to the bar.
Brad left his house through his front door and went down the hill on the south side.
Brad didn't think about his path to the bar very much.
It was paved, kinda smooth, and he could think about a lot of different things while he walked.
He could hear the birds. He could smell the flowers. He could see the sun.
Life was pretty sweet.
Greg left his house through his front door and went down the hill on the north side.
The north side of the hill had no path, but instead had sharp rocks which often pierced through Greg's shoes as he walked. There wasn't much rain on the north side, so a lot of dust was kicked up into the air. Greg sneezed because of this dust often. Buzzards were known to fly overhead, waiting for things to die on the north side. Their screeches were chilling to hear, and made Greg wonder if they were going to eat him. But they never did.
Eventually, both men made it to the bar.
Both men agreed, it was good at the bar.
Brad usually said that life was pretty good.
Greg usually said that life was pretty hard.
The bartender usually told Greg to look on the bright side like Brad.
And Greg tried, but he just didn't understand how it was so easy for Brad to see things so differently.
"I guess I'm just a fuck up," Greg often thought.
I wonder if this, somehow, has any relevance in today's world?
Maybe with racial tensions?
Maybe with police and the families of those who have been killed by police?
Maybe with people who have money for air conditioning, and those who have money for macaroni and cheese?
I wonder.
Do you?
Misguided and Accountable?
Baltimore Mayor Rawlings-Blake made a statement about those rioting in Baltimore.
My sentiments to those same young people: if you want to be misguided and supported without being held accountable for your actions, just grow up and join law enforcement.
"That night we saw misguided young people who need to be held accountable, but who also need support."http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/29/us/baltimore-riots-thug-n-word/
My sentiments to those same young people: if you want to be misguided and supported without being held accountable for your actions, just grow up and join law enforcement.
Recent IM at work
The following is a conversation I had with a co-worker over IM just now.
HIM: You keepin up on ur cases okay? How that friend of yours doin? I think his name is [last name of one of my old work friends].
ME: I'm always struggling to keep up with caseloads. i feel like that's never going to change, and it's kinda depressing. last time i heard from that [co-worker] kid he was visiting detroit and was sending me pictures of my old stomping grounds, but i haven't really talked with him in a while.
HIM: Case management is an evil beast. I seriouslllllllly don't know why they have to be so cruel to y'all. Detroit is not a safe place to be right now [surprised face emoticon]
ME: what makes you say that about detroit?
HIM: I meant Baltimore. Ooooooooops [surprised face emoticon]
ME: haha! i thought that's what you might have meant [smiley face emoticon]
HIM: I just don't understand those people. I wonder how many of them are receiving federal assistance. Threaten to cut them off and I bet they would stay home!!!!!!!!!
ME: that's a pretty big blanket you're throwing over the situation, and i don't think it's a fair assessment
HIM: That is very true. Thank you for that.
ME: [smiley face emoticon]
HIM: I knew I liked you for some reason [big smiley face emoticon]
ME: also, i may remind you of santa claus when i laugh
HIM: Santaaaaaaaaaaaaa
I know him [smiley face emoticon]
End of IM.
I don't identify with most of the people I work with or live next to. I need to get out of this cesspool of a state.
HIM: You keepin up on ur cases okay? How that friend of yours doin? I think his name is [last name of one of my old work friends].
ME: I'm always struggling to keep up with caseloads. i feel like that's never going to change, and it's kinda depressing. last time i heard from that [co-worker] kid he was visiting detroit and was sending me pictures of my old stomping grounds, but i haven't really talked with him in a while.
HIM: Case management is an evil beast. I seriouslllllllly don't know why they have to be so cruel to y'all. Detroit is not a safe place to be right now [surprised face emoticon]
ME: what makes you say that about detroit?
HIM: I meant Baltimore. Ooooooooops [surprised face emoticon]
ME: haha! i thought that's what you might have meant [smiley face emoticon]
HIM: I just don't understand those people. I wonder how many of them are receiving federal assistance. Threaten to cut them off and I bet they would stay home!!!!!!!!!
ME: that's a pretty big blanket you're throwing over the situation, and i don't think it's a fair assessment
HIM: That is very true. Thank you for that.
ME: [smiley face emoticon]
HIM: I knew I liked you for some reason [big smiley face emoticon]
ME: also, i may remind you of santa claus when i laugh
HIM: Santaaaaaaaaaaaaa
I know him [smiley face emoticon]
End of IM.
I don't identify with most of the people I work with or live next to. I need to get out of this cesspool of a state.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
The Dead Don't Debate
If one person decides he is going to hit the other, you can't stop him. He has made his decision.
If a man decides to abuse his wife, he's going to. You can't stop him. You can only impose consequences afterwards.
In other words, you can't stop people from violence if that's what they have decided.
You can influence them before they make the decision.
You can enforce consequences after they take action.
But you can't really stop the action.
Sure, you could stand by the person and wait until they raise their hand and then stop the hand from striking. But that's not practical. That cannot happen.
I feel education concerning violence in human behavior should be required in schools.
I feel education concerning all human behavior should be required in schools.
I don't feel like there is any real required education regarding human behavior.
There is sex ed, but that seems to focus more on the sexual function of humans and the abstinance from sexual behavior, rather than why humans need sex, go without sex, make the choices they do regarding sex, etc.
Do we ever learn why we behave the way we do?
Are we ever given that kind of information or insight?
I don't think I was... was I?
Reading about Baltimore feels like a broken record.
There is a person.
Police get involved.
That person is no longer with us.
And then the people in the real world react to the loss of life, while the people on the internet spew hatred, mostly aimed at blaming the dead person and a set of hypothetical circumstances, along with misinformation, speculation, and a heaping dose of annonymity.
His hoodie was to blame.
His upbringing was to blame.
The drugs he had taken at one time were to blame.
He shouldn't have run.
He shouldn't have stayed still.
He shouldn't have been black.
He should have done something he didn't do.
And, more often than not, the internet turns on Obama.
Jeez, why did Obama have to start the race riots? Before he got here, everything was fine and everybody got along. Now we're more divided than ever!
And often, the internet will blame the people who "get free stuff".
I often read angry posts from people complaining about those who "get free stuff".
The free-loaders. Those who take advantage of the system. Those we need to get rid of so that we can make a decent society for all of us... except those taking advantage of the system.
And I wonder why the angry poster, complaining of those getting free things, doesn't get free things, too.
I've gone to carnivals where t-shirts were being thrown at a crowd. I didn't get a free t-shirt because one wasn't thrown close enough to me. I've gone to baseball games where pop flies were hit into the stands, but not near where I was sitting.
But that doesn't really apply here, it seems. Free thngs aren't being thrown. They're being taken by... the takers.
Why don't the people who are angry just become takers?
What's preventing them from taking?
Do they know how to take?
Do they even know what's being taken?
Or is it just easier to reduce it to People Who Get Free Stuff?
When we do that, though, we don't have to think about what's really happening.
I'd like to make a movie.
Just get the Republican/Right Wing view point out there.
As clearly as it can be put forward.
I want to solicit people who post in forums on the internet.
And I want them to tell me, without judgement from me sitting there talking with them.
I want them to tell me who are the takers.
What are they taking.
Why aren't you taking.
What are the problems.
What are your solutions for those problems?
Because, right now, the problems are always blamed on the dead.
And the dead don't debate.
If a man decides to abuse his wife, he's going to. You can't stop him. You can only impose consequences afterwards.
In other words, you can't stop people from violence if that's what they have decided.
You can influence them before they make the decision.
You can enforce consequences after they take action.
But you can't really stop the action.
Sure, you could stand by the person and wait until they raise their hand and then stop the hand from striking. But that's not practical. That cannot happen.
I feel education concerning violence in human behavior should be required in schools.
I feel education concerning all human behavior should be required in schools.
I don't feel like there is any real required education regarding human behavior.
There is sex ed, but that seems to focus more on the sexual function of humans and the abstinance from sexual behavior, rather than why humans need sex, go without sex, make the choices they do regarding sex, etc.
Do we ever learn why we behave the way we do?
Are we ever given that kind of information or insight?
I don't think I was... was I?
Reading about Baltimore feels like a broken record.
There is a person.
Police get involved.
That person is no longer with us.
And then the people in the real world react to the loss of life, while the people on the internet spew hatred, mostly aimed at blaming the dead person and a set of hypothetical circumstances, along with misinformation, speculation, and a heaping dose of annonymity.
His hoodie was to blame.
His upbringing was to blame.
The drugs he had taken at one time were to blame.
He shouldn't have run.
He shouldn't have stayed still.
He shouldn't have been black.
He should have done something he didn't do.
And, more often than not, the internet turns on Obama.
Jeez, why did Obama have to start the race riots? Before he got here, everything was fine and everybody got along. Now we're more divided than ever!
And often, the internet will blame the people who "get free stuff".
I often read angry posts from people complaining about those who "get free stuff".
The free-loaders. Those who take advantage of the system. Those we need to get rid of so that we can make a decent society for all of us... except those taking advantage of the system.
And I wonder why the angry poster, complaining of those getting free things, doesn't get free things, too.
I've gone to carnivals where t-shirts were being thrown at a crowd. I didn't get a free t-shirt because one wasn't thrown close enough to me. I've gone to baseball games where pop flies were hit into the stands, but not near where I was sitting.
But that doesn't really apply here, it seems. Free thngs aren't being thrown. They're being taken by... the takers.
Why don't the people who are angry just become takers?
What's preventing them from taking?
Do they know how to take?
Do they even know what's being taken?
Or is it just easier to reduce it to People Who Get Free Stuff?
When we do that, though, we don't have to think about what's really happening.
I'd like to make a movie.
Just get the Republican/Right Wing view point out there.
As clearly as it can be put forward.
I want to solicit people who post in forums on the internet.
And I want them to tell me, without judgement from me sitting there talking with them.
I want them to tell me who are the takers.
What are they taking.
Why aren't you taking.
What are the problems.
What are your solutions for those problems?
Because, right now, the problems are always blamed on the dead.
And the dead don't debate.
My Reviews
RON'S AUTOMOTIVE
My car broke down on the side of the highway. I got it off the road, and after some phone calls, I was on the phone with Ron's Automotive. My wife and I (mostly me) had grown tired of paying the dealership to fix our cars at outrageous prices, and we had been trying to find a good mechanic for a long time (mostly me). My wife's boss suggested Ron's Automotive, and because she's a great person and has helped us in the past, we went with Ron's.
The problem with my car was difficult to even describe. I was traveling down the freeway, then I suddenly lost power to my car and was only able to travel about 10-15 MPH, without any kind of acceleration when I pushed on the gas. As far as I could tell, I hadn't done anything to cause this (almost) complete loss of power. After pulling off onto the shoulder, the car died and didn't want to start again. There was only a slight hint of black smoke at one point, and I couldn't identify where it was coming from. There was also a hint of electrical burning, nothing overpowering, and on the freeway like I was, I couldn't even guarantee it was my car. After hearing this, the guy on the phone with me at Ron's sounded like he knew what was going on, but told me that he would have to look at the car to know for sure. They were closed on the weekends, and since this had happened on Friday, I wouldn't know what was going on with the car until Monday at the earliest. The man on the phone at Ron's was helpful and sounded nice. I anticipated a good experience with Ron's.
Monday came and Ron's called. Seems there was nothing they could find wrong with my car. Seriously. Nothing. The best they could do was see that my cam shaft sensors had gone off twice, indicating something was wrong with my cam shaft, twice. But since my car doesn't have a computer, it doesn't record failings like newer cars, so they were unable to tell exactly what the problem was. And since the car was now running fine, they could only guess at what might fix the problem. The Phone Man asked if my timing belt had been replaced, and I told him it hadn't (my 2001 Honda Civic hasn't had any kind of major surgery on it of any kind... I've only had to take it in for routine oil changes... no belts broken, no brake pads, no nothing... and after 14 years, I'd say it was ready for some major stuff, so I was okay with that, and even more brand-loyal to Honda than ever before). Phone Man told me that he felt sure it was the timing belt, and told me some symptoms of timing belt failures, all of which matched what had happened to me. He told me that my best bet was to get my timing belt changed, which would also include a new water pump, and then get my spark plugs changed, and that might fix the problem. Once he had "gotten in there", though, he might find that my cam shaft needed fixing, too, and that wouldn't be something he would know for sure until he started the repair. He told me that the repair without the cam shaft kit would be $1000, and with the cam shaft kit, it would be about $1100. I asked him what the price would be after giving me the My Wife's Boss Recommended Ron's Automotive discount, and he laughed and told me the same prices. Ass. Whatev. After talking with my wife for some time, my wife wanted me to see what they would charge to see what was wrong with my air conditioning, and we should go ahead and plan on having them fix the car. We had thought about taking the car elsewhere. We thought about buying another car. We thought about selling my car and becoming a one-car family. We thought pretty hard about spending $1000, because we don't have that kind of money. But we finally decided that we would take about a month to pay off the car, and then take about two and a half months to replace the money we had spent. All told, we would take about 4 months to recover from this repair, but it was the best we felt we could do. We would come up with the money somehow, and we would make it work, because we didn't have much choice. I called back Ron's and told them who I was, and the Phone Man pulled up my info and quoted the price back to me-- $1100. I asked how much they could charge me to see what was wrong with my air conditioner, and he said they wouldn't charge me anything. He would flush the system, fill me up with Freon, and check for leaks and all of it would cost me $1100, and that included my towing. Okay, go ahead and do that. But please, I told Phone Man, don't spend any more than that on this repair without consulting me first. He assured me he wouldn't. I told him that I had just been promoted, and with my promotional pay, I would be able to pay them in about two weeks, so "take your time" I joked, because I wouldn't be able to come get the car for about two weeks. He understood, and told me it wouldn't be a problem or cost me any extra for the car to stay with them until I got the money together in about two weeks.
I wasn't completely turned off by Ron's Automotive.
Then I discovered that my promotion pay wasn't coming through at the end of the month, like my wife and I planned, and we kinda freaked out a second. Lots of things were riding on that money coming through, and we figured since I had been told about the promotion on April 2nd that would be enough time for the changes to take affect and we would get the money at the end of the month. But no, this is government work, which means it doesn't work. After many phone calls and emails and people beginning conversations with me by saying "I'm sorry...", I discovered my promotion wasn't official until April 22nd, and my promotional pay wouldn't arrive until May 12th, and that would only be pro-rated for April, and I wouldn't get my full promotional pay until the end of May. This put a pucker in my asshole. After speaking with my wife, we decided to call Ron's Automotive and see if they had started the repair yet, and if they hadn't, we would stop the repair. I called Ron's Automotive.
"Hi, I wanted to see if you guys had started working on my car yet."
"Oh, yes sir. The repair is completed."
What?? Fuck-a-doodle-doo.
"Oh. It's already completed. That's surprising."
"We try to be efficient," said Phone Man.
"It's still okay just sitting with you guys, right?"
"Absolutely, sir."
"Okay. Can you tell me what the final price tag is on that repair?"
"Absolutely, sir. It's $1,234."
What the fucking fuck?!
"Wow. Okay. Well, I'll see about putting my money together."
"You can save $21 by paying in cash."
"Okay, goodbye."
I didn't give a fuck about the $21, and I didn't ask, because I wouldn't be paying in cash. Ron's could kiss my whole asshole at that moment. Cuz I felt fucked as hell.
I told my wife about it. She felt fucked as hell.
It was more money than they told us it was going to be, by about $100. Bot of us figured that was for the air conditioning repair, but felt cheated that they said it wasn't going to cost us more, and then cost us more.
Once again, my wife and I felt like we had been fucked by The System, and we were just going to have to eat shit like we have become accustomed to. When They System fucks you, you gotta eat shit. When you fight The System, you get raped and eat more shit. When you stand up for yourself against The System, you get caned, raped with a mule, force fed the mule's shit as well as your own shit, and are forced to watch a bald man break kitten necks. It's a fun lesson we've learned over the past 7 years. Portland will change that all.... But I digress.
***Some Important Things Happened At This Point In The Chronology. To See What Happened, Please Keep Reading***
I walked into Ron's Automotive, ready to get my car.
"Hello, I'm here to get my rad 2001 Honda Civic."
"$1,234," said Counter Man, and stared at me.
I'm accustomed to my Detroit mechanic, The Absolute Best Mechanic On The Planet, Sam Zamit. You would bring in your car, and he would look at it, then call you up, tell you what was wrong with it, and then give you options as to how to fix it. He knew I was always low on funds, so his options for me were usually start with the street-legal, recommended repair, and then finish with the not-quite-street-legal repair that he could do with a tomato soup can and a screw, and it wouldn't be as solid a repair as I might like, but it would save me a lot of money. Typically, I went that route. By the time I left Detroit, Sam had done so many quality repairs I was driving a Honda Rubber Washer with wads of gum for tires, and I was perfectly happy doing so. And when I went to pick up my Millennium Falcon car from Sam, he would always run down what he had done on the car, tell me what the price could've been had I done the other repair and that I should think about doing that in the future and THEN AND ONLY THEN would he quote me the price on the repair he had actually done. What a guy, that Sam Zamit. If you ever, EVER need a mechanic in Detroit, go to Sam. He is the superior mechanic of all mechanics.
Ron's Automotive was not Sam Zamit.
"$1,234," said Counter Man, and then he stared at me.
I stared back.
"You wanna tell me what you did on it?" I asked with eyes that clearly were saying Eat My Shit, Fuckstain.
Counter Man sighed. It wasn't an I'm Tired sigh. It was God, You're Making Me Work And I'm A Useless Piece Of Shit sigh.
Counter Man turned his computer monitor so that I could see it.
Ever seen a spreadsheet somebody else has been working on for several hours that you aren't familiar with?
It's sorta like being wrapped up in a blanket. You can see the light. It is definitely there, but you're not quite sure how to get out of the blanket. And you know you can get out of the blanket if you just push a little more, squirm a little harder. And after quite a bit of work, you're still under the blanket, but you're pretty sure you can make out the light through the pores in the blanket.
Counter Man turned his computer monitor so that I could see it.
It was a spreadsheet somebody had been working on for hours without familiarizing me with it.
I was wrapped in a shitty blanket as he started verbalizing what they had done.
Of course, he wasn't pointing to the spreadsheet, which would have helped me know where to look. He was just reading the spreadsheet.
"Why don't you just speak to me in Sanskrit," I thought to myself, and then I laughed at how funny I still was despite not working in comedy for almost 3 years, plus I really don't know what the hell he's talking about-- what the fuck is a cam shaft anyway? You're giving *me* the cam shaft, fucker (another laugh, damn dude, you can take the whore outta the city, or whatever that expression is... I've still got it...)-- and then I felt stupid that I had tuned out of the Counter Man's meaningless speech to me about the repairs that he had done in favor of jokes about a dead language, a city, and anus sex for money I had only made to myself. Well, at least *I* think I'm funny.
[brackets will indicate sarcasm]
Part of the blanket fell away from my head, and I was actually able to see.
There was a 5% discount noted.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the screen.
"Ummmmm..." said Counter Man, [articulately].
Pause. We both stared at the screen.
"Looks like a discount," I said, hoping that would jar Counter Man into some kind of communication.
"Uh, yeah," Counter Man [countered. He was a quick one].
"Why would you give me a discount?" I asked kindly.
"I... uhhhh..." Counter Man [masterfully enunciated each syllable of every letter that flowed out of his gorgeous, Adonis-like lips. He was truly Art In Motion].
Pause. [Art needs time to breathe].
Pause. [Art picked his tooth with his tongue, which made me horny for him more so than I had ever felt for another man before in my life].
"Maybe it's a discount that you guys gave me because of the My Wife's Boss Recommended You Guys To Me discount?" I suggested.
Counter Man farted. He looked at me.
{the previous line didn't actually happen, but it should have... I'm going to use these curly brackets to indicate when something didn't happen, but should have... what are they called? Curly brackets? One of my teachers used to call them Bob Hopes, because they looked like Bob Hope's profile to her... I dunno, she was drunk or something... maybe they're actually called Bob Hopes, what do I know. Ima use them for things that didn't happen but shoulda...}
"I'll take it, whatever it is," I told Counter Man, who laughed, relieved not to have to come up with words to tell me his neck was melting into his thighs.
I paid Counter Man.
He took my money and started to walk off.
"Is my car out there," I asked Counter Man, pointing vaguely to the parking lot covered in the torrential downpour that had been happening all day.
"Yeah, it's out there," said Counter Man. [And with that, a host of Heavenly Angels entered the mechanic shop and whisked Counter Man to God's Crotch, for a Creature as lovely as Counter Man shouldn't have to endure the torture of Earth. God's Crotch is a nice, warm, quiet place where beautiful creatures are cultivated]
***Hey, side note... Does God have a crotch? We're created in His image, right? So what does His crotch look like? Penis? Balls? Vagina? Hermaphrodite? Does he get jock itch if he works out without showering after? Does he use Gold Bond Medicated Powder? I do. It's great for sweaty balls. Back to my review of Ron's Automotive***
I found my car, got into it, and was glad that it started. I turned on the air conditioner, which seemed to work, but the outside temperature was about 65 below zero, so it was going to be difficult to determine if the air conditioner actually worked. I started to pull out, and immediately noticed that my steering was out. Yeah, my power steering was completely gone.
I drove to Walmart, bought power steering fluid, filled my power steering reservoir, and fixed the problem.
Bottom Line: My car runs well, and my experience with Ron's Automotive getting it back to that place was lacking. A lot. Ron's Automotive can suck a huge pile of greasy elephant dicks (thank you, wife, for that lovely image, it fits perfectly).
SECOND REVIEW
MY MOTHER
My mother read my blog where I talked about my car breaking down.
She texted me and asked about my car.
I told her bullet points of what was going down.
She asked how much it was going to cost.
I told her.
{Then my Mother pulled out her cowl and cape and donned them as she had done so many times before. It was a great red and black number. Not ostentatious. Very tactical looking. Made her easily identifiable when you were actually able to see her, but also cloaked her movements well in the still of the night, while bad guys are plotting and fixing cars.
She pulled out a double handful of greasy elephant dicks in each hand and jumped out the window.
Evil Mechanics ganged up on her. She beat them all with greasy elephant dicks.
Whap! Thunk!
Dicks greasily slapped mechanic cheeks as they each felt the justice of a life wasted.
Plunk! Plap!
Mechanics flew to the side as Mother flapped each one with a handful of greasy elephant dicks.
And when all the Evil Mechanics had died after being beaten by greasy, greasy, sloppy elephant dicks, Mother beat the people at the bank.
Mercilessly jumped on top of each person at the bank and bludgeoned them to a fine, bloody mist with her elephant dick maces! Each bank person died knowing only shame that they hadn't lived a better life, as well as the remorse of not wearing greasy elephant dick armor to work that day!
Bloof! Bramf!!
People flew!
Blood splattered!
Elephant Dicks!!
Yeargh!!!
And when it was all done, Mother strutted up to the Master Computer.
"Do it," she growled at Master Computer.
And Master Computer knew what she wanted. And did it.
And then Master Computer pissed itself.}
Then she texted back, "I transferred enough money to get your car repaired. Happy birthday!"
And she never mentioned anything about her double handful of weaponized elephant dicks.
Bottom Line: I can't thank my mom enough for rescuing me and (probably) my family from this latest mess I got myself into. She went beyond a birthday gift. I am lucky to have her as my mother. I really hope that I can be more like her the more I live. She's a great mom, a great human, and gave me a super great birthday gift. Thank you so much, mom. You get the best review. :)
My car broke down on the side of the highway. I got it off the road, and after some phone calls, I was on the phone with Ron's Automotive. My wife and I (mostly me) had grown tired of paying the dealership to fix our cars at outrageous prices, and we had been trying to find a good mechanic for a long time (mostly me). My wife's boss suggested Ron's Automotive, and because she's a great person and has helped us in the past, we went with Ron's.
The problem with my car was difficult to even describe. I was traveling down the freeway, then I suddenly lost power to my car and was only able to travel about 10-15 MPH, without any kind of acceleration when I pushed on the gas. As far as I could tell, I hadn't done anything to cause this (almost) complete loss of power. After pulling off onto the shoulder, the car died and didn't want to start again. There was only a slight hint of black smoke at one point, and I couldn't identify where it was coming from. There was also a hint of electrical burning, nothing overpowering, and on the freeway like I was, I couldn't even guarantee it was my car. After hearing this, the guy on the phone with me at Ron's sounded like he knew what was going on, but told me that he would have to look at the car to know for sure. They were closed on the weekends, and since this had happened on Friday, I wouldn't know what was going on with the car until Monday at the earliest. The man on the phone at Ron's was helpful and sounded nice. I anticipated a good experience with Ron's.
Monday came and Ron's called. Seems there was nothing they could find wrong with my car. Seriously. Nothing. The best they could do was see that my cam shaft sensors had gone off twice, indicating something was wrong with my cam shaft, twice. But since my car doesn't have a computer, it doesn't record failings like newer cars, so they were unable to tell exactly what the problem was. And since the car was now running fine, they could only guess at what might fix the problem. The Phone Man asked if my timing belt had been replaced, and I told him it hadn't (my 2001 Honda Civic hasn't had any kind of major surgery on it of any kind... I've only had to take it in for routine oil changes... no belts broken, no brake pads, no nothing... and after 14 years, I'd say it was ready for some major stuff, so I was okay with that, and even more brand-loyal to Honda than ever before). Phone Man told me that he felt sure it was the timing belt, and told me some symptoms of timing belt failures, all of which matched what had happened to me. He told me that my best bet was to get my timing belt changed, which would also include a new water pump, and then get my spark plugs changed, and that might fix the problem. Once he had "gotten in there", though, he might find that my cam shaft needed fixing, too, and that wouldn't be something he would know for sure until he started the repair. He told me that the repair without the cam shaft kit would be $1000, and with the cam shaft kit, it would be about $1100. I asked him what the price would be after giving me the My Wife's Boss Recommended Ron's Automotive discount, and he laughed and told me the same prices. Ass. Whatev. After talking with my wife for some time, my wife wanted me to see what they would charge to see what was wrong with my air conditioning, and we should go ahead and plan on having them fix the car. We had thought about taking the car elsewhere. We thought about buying another car. We thought about selling my car and becoming a one-car family. We thought pretty hard about spending $1000, because we don't have that kind of money. But we finally decided that we would take about a month to pay off the car, and then take about two and a half months to replace the money we had spent. All told, we would take about 4 months to recover from this repair, but it was the best we felt we could do. We would come up with the money somehow, and we would make it work, because we didn't have much choice. I called back Ron's and told them who I was, and the Phone Man pulled up my info and quoted the price back to me-- $1100. I asked how much they could charge me to see what was wrong with my air conditioner, and he said they wouldn't charge me anything. He would flush the system, fill me up with Freon, and check for leaks and all of it would cost me $1100, and that included my towing. Okay, go ahead and do that. But please, I told Phone Man, don't spend any more than that on this repair without consulting me first. He assured me he wouldn't. I told him that I had just been promoted, and with my promotional pay, I would be able to pay them in about two weeks, so "take your time" I joked, because I wouldn't be able to come get the car for about two weeks. He understood, and told me it wouldn't be a problem or cost me any extra for the car to stay with them until I got the money together in about two weeks.
I wasn't completely turned off by Ron's Automotive.
Then I discovered that my promotion pay wasn't coming through at the end of the month, like my wife and I planned, and we kinda freaked out a second. Lots of things were riding on that money coming through, and we figured since I had been told about the promotion on April 2nd that would be enough time for the changes to take affect and we would get the money at the end of the month. But no, this is government work, which means it doesn't work. After many phone calls and emails and people beginning conversations with me by saying "I'm sorry...", I discovered my promotion wasn't official until April 22nd, and my promotional pay wouldn't arrive until May 12th, and that would only be pro-rated for April, and I wouldn't get my full promotional pay until the end of May. This put a pucker in my asshole. After speaking with my wife, we decided to call Ron's Automotive and see if they had started the repair yet, and if they hadn't, we would stop the repair. I called Ron's Automotive.
"Hi, I wanted to see if you guys had started working on my car yet."
"Oh, yes sir. The repair is completed."
What?? Fuck-a-doodle-doo.
"Oh. It's already completed. That's surprising."
"We try to be efficient," said Phone Man.
"It's still okay just sitting with you guys, right?"
"Absolutely, sir."
"Okay. Can you tell me what the final price tag is on that repair?"
"Absolutely, sir. It's $1,234."
What the fucking fuck?!
"Wow. Okay. Well, I'll see about putting my money together."
"You can save $21 by paying in cash."
"Okay, goodbye."
I didn't give a fuck about the $21, and I didn't ask, because I wouldn't be paying in cash. Ron's could kiss my whole asshole at that moment. Cuz I felt fucked as hell.
I told my wife about it. She felt fucked as hell.
It was more money than they told us it was going to be, by about $100. Bot of us figured that was for the air conditioning repair, but felt cheated that they said it wasn't going to cost us more, and then cost us more.
Once again, my wife and I felt like we had been fucked by The System, and we were just going to have to eat shit like we have become accustomed to. When They System fucks you, you gotta eat shit. When you fight The System, you get raped and eat more shit. When you stand up for yourself against The System, you get caned, raped with a mule, force fed the mule's shit as well as your own shit, and are forced to watch a bald man break kitten necks. It's a fun lesson we've learned over the past 7 years. Portland will change that all.... But I digress.
***Some Important Things Happened At This Point In The Chronology. To See What Happened, Please Keep Reading***
I walked into Ron's Automotive, ready to get my car.
"Hello, I'm here to get my rad 2001 Honda Civic."
"$1,234," said Counter Man, and stared at me.
I'm accustomed to my Detroit mechanic, The Absolute Best Mechanic On The Planet, Sam Zamit. You would bring in your car, and he would look at it, then call you up, tell you what was wrong with it, and then give you options as to how to fix it. He knew I was always low on funds, so his options for me were usually start with the street-legal, recommended repair, and then finish with the not-quite-street-legal repair that he could do with a tomato soup can and a screw, and it wouldn't be as solid a repair as I might like, but it would save me a lot of money. Typically, I went that route. By the time I left Detroit, Sam had done so many quality repairs I was driving a Honda Rubber Washer with wads of gum for tires, and I was perfectly happy doing so. And when I went to pick up my Millennium Falcon car from Sam, he would always run down what he had done on the car, tell me what the price could've been had I done the other repair and that I should think about doing that in the future and THEN AND ONLY THEN would he quote me the price on the repair he had actually done. What a guy, that Sam Zamit. If you ever, EVER need a mechanic in Detroit, go to Sam. He is the superior mechanic of all mechanics.
Ron's Automotive was not Sam Zamit.
"$1,234," said Counter Man, and then he stared at me.
I stared back.
"You wanna tell me what you did on it?" I asked with eyes that clearly were saying Eat My Shit, Fuckstain.
Counter Man sighed. It wasn't an I'm Tired sigh. It was God, You're Making Me Work And I'm A Useless Piece Of Shit sigh.
Counter Man turned his computer monitor so that I could see it.
Ever seen a spreadsheet somebody else has been working on for several hours that you aren't familiar with?
It's sorta like being wrapped up in a blanket. You can see the light. It is definitely there, but you're not quite sure how to get out of the blanket. And you know you can get out of the blanket if you just push a little more, squirm a little harder. And after quite a bit of work, you're still under the blanket, but you're pretty sure you can make out the light through the pores in the blanket.
Counter Man turned his computer monitor so that I could see it.
It was a spreadsheet somebody had been working on for hours without familiarizing me with it.
I was wrapped in a shitty blanket as he started verbalizing what they had done.
Of course, he wasn't pointing to the spreadsheet, which would have helped me know where to look. He was just reading the spreadsheet.
"Why don't you just speak to me in Sanskrit," I thought to myself, and then I laughed at how funny I still was despite not working in comedy for almost 3 years, plus I really don't know what the hell he's talking about-- what the fuck is a cam shaft anyway? You're giving *me* the cam shaft, fucker (another laugh, damn dude, you can take the whore outta the city, or whatever that expression is... I've still got it...)-- and then I felt stupid that I had tuned out of the Counter Man's meaningless speech to me about the repairs that he had done in favor of jokes about a dead language, a city, and anus sex for money I had only made to myself. Well, at least *I* think I'm funny.
[brackets will indicate sarcasm]
Part of the blanket fell away from my head, and I was actually able to see.
There was a 5% discount noted.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the screen.
"Ummmmm..." said Counter Man, [articulately].
Pause. We both stared at the screen.
"Looks like a discount," I said, hoping that would jar Counter Man into some kind of communication.
"Uh, yeah," Counter Man [countered. He was a quick one].
"Why would you give me a discount?" I asked kindly.
"I... uhhhh..." Counter Man [masterfully enunciated each syllable of every letter that flowed out of his gorgeous, Adonis-like lips. He was truly Art In Motion].
Pause. [Art needs time to breathe].
Pause. [Art picked his tooth with his tongue, which made me horny for him more so than I had ever felt for another man before in my life].
"Maybe it's a discount that you guys gave me because of the My Wife's Boss Recommended You Guys To Me discount?" I suggested.
Counter Man farted. He looked at me.
{the previous line didn't actually happen, but it should have... I'm going to use these curly brackets to indicate when something didn't happen, but should have... what are they called? Curly brackets? One of my teachers used to call them Bob Hopes, because they looked like Bob Hope's profile to her... I dunno, she was drunk or something... maybe they're actually called Bob Hopes, what do I know. Ima use them for things that didn't happen but shoulda...}
"I'll take it, whatever it is," I told Counter Man, who laughed, relieved not to have to come up with words to tell me his neck was melting into his thighs.
I paid Counter Man.
He took my money and started to walk off.
"Is my car out there," I asked Counter Man, pointing vaguely to the parking lot covered in the torrential downpour that had been happening all day.
"Yeah, it's out there," said Counter Man. [And with that, a host of Heavenly Angels entered the mechanic shop and whisked Counter Man to God's Crotch, for a Creature as lovely as Counter Man shouldn't have to endure the torture of Earth. God's Crotch is a nice, warm, quiet place where beautiful creatures are cultivated]
***Hey, side note... Does God have a crotch? We're created in His image, right? So what does His crotch look like? Penis? Balls? Vagina? Hermaphrodite? Does he get jock itch if he works out without showering after? Does he use Gold Bond Medicated Powder? I do. It's great for sweaty balls. Back to my review of Ron's Automotive***
I found my car, got into it, and was glad that it started. I turned on the air conditioner, which seemed to work, but the outside temperature was about 65 below zero, so it was going to be difficult to determine if the air conditioner actually worked. I started to pull out, and immediately noticed that my steering was out. Yeah, my power steering was completely gone.
I drove to Walmart, bought power steering fluid, filled my power steering reservoir, and fixed the problem.
Bottom Line: My car runs well, and my experience with Ron's Automotive getting it back to that place was lacking. A lot. Ron's Automotive can suck a huge pile of greasy elephant dicks (thank you, wife, for that lovely image, it fits perfectly).
SECOND REVIEW
MY MOTHER
My mother read my blog where I talked about my car breaking down.
She texted me and asked about my car.
I told her bullet points of what was going down.
She asked how much it was going to cost.
I told her.
{Then my Mother pulled out her cowl and cape and donned them as she had done so many times before. It was a great red and black number. Not ostentatious. Very tactical looking. Made her easily identifiable when you were actually able to see her, but also cloaked her movements well in the still of the night, while bad guys are plotting and fixing cars.
She pulled out a double handful of greasy elephant dicks in each hand and jumped out the window.
Evil Mechanics ganged up on her. She beat them all with greasy elephant dicks.
Whap! Thunk!
Dicks greasily slapped mechanic cheeks as they each felt the justice of a life wasted.
Plunk! Plap!
Mechanics flew to the side as Mother flapped each one with a handful of greasy elephant dicks.
And when all the Evil Mechanics had died after being beaten by greasy, greasy, sloppy elephant dicks, Mother beat the people at the bank.
Mercilessly jumped on top of each person at the bank and bludgeoned them to a fine, bloody mist with her elephant dick maces! Each bank person died knowing only shame that they hadn't lived a better life, as well as the remorse of not wearing greasy elephant dick armor to work that day!
Bloof! Bramf!!
People flew!
Blood splattered!
Elephant Dicks!!
Yeargh!!!
And when it was all done, Mother strutted up to the Master Computer.
"Do it," she growled at Master Computer.
And Master Computer knew what she wanted. And did it.
And then Master Computer pissed itself.}
Then she texted back, "I transferred enough money to get your car repaired. Happy birthday!"
And she never mentioned anything about her double handful of weaponized elephant dicks.
Bottom Line: I can't thank my mom enough for rescuing me and (probably) my family from this latest mess I got myself into. She went beyond a birthday gift. I am lucky to have her as my mother. I really hope that I can be more like her the more I live. She's a great mom, a great human, and gave me a super great birthday gift. Thank you so much, mom. You get the best review. :)
Friday, April 24, 2015
Trying to Take Care of Myself
The Man tread water, doing his best to keep his head above water.
He has asked for help a while ago. But none had come.
So he kept treading water.
He had worked harder for some help. But none had come.
So he kept treading water and working harder.
He worked even harder to get help.
And, finally, he was told he would be receiving help.
"We will be sending you help. Please continue to work even harder so that we can send you help.
The Man, already fatigued, continued to work even harder.
But help didn't arrive.
He asked why help hadn't arrived.
"Help will arrive. Paperwork. You know. Keep working harder and your help will arrive."
The fatigued Man continued to work even harder.
My car broke down on the side of the highway one week ago.
I was able to get it into a parking lot, off the highway.
After many phone calls, I had the issue resolved to a degree.
The repair guy was going to look at my car on Monday (they're not open on the weekends) and would give me an estimate on the repair. My family had lovingly come to rescue me. The tow truck guy had come to get my car with a cheaper-than-expected tow. I had spoken with my wife and, although it really hurt to think about the money we had saved going to fix my car, it was nice to actually have the money, rather than not.
In those moments, I felt really great.
I felt really lucky to have a family that would come and get me, and I felt really lucky that my wife had been able to save as much money as she had.
I felt like, at last, I was at a point where I was able to take care of myself and my family.
It felt good.
Then the repair guy called.
The car worked fine, he said.
He couldn't find anything definitively wrong with it, he said.
There were many things that were needed, he said.
But he couldn't guarantee any of them would fix the issue, because he couldn't make the car duplicate the issue to see what was wrong.
He told me I would need a timing belt. That, he thought, was probably the issue. And even if it wasn't, I was way overdue for a new timing belt. And a timing belt, as I already knew, was vital to the functionality of the car and not something I would be able to repair myself.
A water pump was needed with the timing belt repair.
A cam shaft kit was needed, probably, as the cam shaft sensors had shown something was wrong with them.
And, possibly, this would fix my issues.
And I would need to pay for the tow.
$1,200.
I don't have that kind of money.
Even with all the saving we were able to do, we weren't able to take care of ourselves.
But I would be getting a raise at the end of the month.
So if I took our savings, all of it, and combined it with my raise, all of it, I would be able to fix my car, putting my family back at square one financially.
And, maybe, my car would be fixed.
And if it wasn't, then I would be even more in the shitter.
So I told the man that I would have the money for him in two weeks.
He said he would fix the car.
I told him to work slowly.
He laughed.
Then...
I went to work and checked my paycheck.
It was no different than it had been in previous months.
The money I was expecting, that I told the mechanic I would use to fix my car, was not there.
And then I started writing emails.
"Hi, I got a promotion at the beginning of the month. I started working at raised levels at the beginning of the month, but my paycheck does not reflect this. Please tell me why."
I have one lady who is responding to me now, and she always starts with an apology.
"I'm sorry for the delay..."
"I'm sorry it took me a while to get back with you..."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I had done..."
But the bottom line is that my paycheck won't be any different in May than it was in April, despite my promotion at the beginning of April.
And that change in my paycheck was what I was going to use to fix my car.
My wife and I talked about being a one-car family, and we decided that it might be possible for the two weeks we would be without my car, but I would need to pick her up from work.
Next week, I start working overtime.
12-hour days for four weeks.
And I won't be able to come pick up my wife from her work until 7ish. Roughly 5 hours after she's done with work.
She will need to figure out how to get to and from work. We may end up spending money on a rental car... which would make the price tag for the 2+ weeks without my car jump to $1,350.
All because I'm not getting the pay for my promotion I was told I was going to get.
It's not like I'm fighting to get paid in a timely manner because I need to buy booze. Or hookers. Or cocaine. Or... model motorcycles that will sit in my fucking closet and never get used (I STILL can't believe I did that... I'm so fucking stupid... and I STILL can't believe that's something that causes me to get angry... fucking let it go, already... fuck, I wish I did that better...). I'm trying to get my car back so that I can go to work and my wife can go to work so we can pay to almost get by.
And I took these overtime hours because I could count on them coming through in the middle of next month (or so I believe), so maybe that will offset...
And I just had a woman come by my office now telling me that my promotion was officially approved two days ago (22nd), and I would see a partial retro-pay come through on my check on May 12th, and then a full promotional increase at the end of May.
So I may not really be able to take care of myself or my family until June.
All the money my wife saved for paying child support... I spent that.
All the money I worked for to help with child support... I spent that.
All the money that I'm working for now and working overtime for... I've spent that, too.
I'm so fatigued.
And I'll be working 6:30 to 6:30 for four weeks... so making an appointment with a shrink is out of the question for another month.
Another way I'm unable to care for myself.
I'm so fatigued.
And feel like a pussy for feeling fatigued.
I wanna run away.
I just want to leave it all.
I want to get away.
Just let everything fall down.
I'm so fatigued.
He has asked for help a while ago. But none had come.
So he kept treading water.
He had worked harder for some help. But none had come.
So he kept treading water and working harder.
He worked even harder to get help.
And, finally, he was told he would be receiving help.
"We will be sending you help. Please continue to work even harder so that we can send you help.
The Man, already fatigued, continued to work even harder.
But help didn't arrive.
He asked why help hadn't arrived.
"Help will arrive. Paperwork. You know. Keep working harder and your help will arrive."
The fatigued Man continued to work even harder.
My car broke down on the side of the highway one week ago.
I was able to get it into a parking lot, off the highway.
After many phone calls, I had the issue resolved to a degree.
The repair guy was going to look at my car on Monday (they're not open on the weekends) and would give me an estimate on the repair. My family had lovingly come to rescue me. The tow truck guy had come to get my car with a cheaper-than-expected tow. I had spoken with my wife and, although it really hurt to think about the money we had saved going to fix my car, it was nice to actually have the money, rather than not.
In those moments, I felt really great.
I felt really lucky to have a family that would come and get me, and I felt really lucky that my wife had been able to save as much money as she had.
I felt like, at last, I was at a point where I was able to take care of myself and my family.
It felt good.
Then the repair guy called.
The car worked fine, he said.
He couldn't find anything definitively wrong with it, he said.
There were many things that were needed, he said.
But he couldn't guarantee any of them would fix the issue, because he couldn't make the car duplicate the issue to see what was wrong.
He told me I would need a timing belt. That, he thought, was probably the issue. And even if it wasn't, I was way overdue for a new timing belt. And a timing belt, as I already knew, was vital to the functionality of the car and not something I would be able to repair myself.
A water pump was needed with the timing belt repair.
A cam shaft kit was needed, probably, as the cam shaft sensors had shown something was wrong with them.
And, possibly, this would fix my issues.
And I would need to pay for the tow.
$1,200.
I don't have that kind of money.
Even with all the saving we were able to do, we weren't able to take care of ourselves.
But I would be getting a raise at the end of the month.
So if I took our savings, all of it, and combined it with my raise, all of it, I would be able to fix my car, putting my family back at square one financially.
And, maybe, my car would be fixed.
And if it wasn't, then I would be even more in the shitter.
So I told the man that I would have the money for him in two weeks.
He said he would fix the car.
I told him to work slowly.
He laughed.
Then...
I went to work and checked my paycheck.
It was no different than it had been in previous months.
The money I was expecting, that I told the mechanic I would use to fix my car, was not there.
And then I started writing emails.
"Hi, I got a promotion at the beginning of the month. I started working at raised levels at the beginning of the month, but my paycheck does not reflect this. Please tell me why."
I have one lady who is responding to me now, and she always starts with an apology.
"I'm sorry for the delay..."
"I'm sorry it took me a while to get back with you..."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I had done..."
But the bottom line is that my paycheck won't be any different in May than it was in April, despite my promotion at the beginning of April.
And that change in my paycheck was what I was going to use to fix my car.
My wife and I talked about being a one-car family, and we decided that it might be possible for the two weeks we would be without my car, but I would need to pick her up from work.
Next week, I start working overtime.
12-hour days for four weeks.
And I won't be able to come pick up my wife from her work until 7ish. Roughly 5 hours after she's done with work.
She will need to figure out how to get to and from work. We may end up spending money on a rental car... which would make the price tag for the 2+ weeks without my car jump to $1,350.
All because I'm not getting the pay for my promotion I was told I was going to get.
It's not like I'm fighting to get paid in a timely manner because I need to buy booze. Or hookers. Or cocaine. Or... model motorcycles that will sit in my fucking closet and never get used (I STILL can't believe I did that... I'm so fucking stupid... and I STILL can't believe that's something that causes me to get angry... fucking let it go, already... fuck, I wish I did that better...). I'm trying to get my car back so that I can go to work and my wife can go to work so we can pay to almost get by.
And I took these overtime hours because I could count on them coming through in the middle of next month (or so I believe), so maybe that will offset...
And I just had a woman come by my office now telling me that my promotion was officially approved two days ago (22nd), and I would see a partial retro-pay come through on my check on May 12th, and then a full promotional increase at the end of May.
So I may not really be able to take care of myself or my family until June.
All the money my wife saved for paying child support... I spent that.
All the money I worked for to help with child support... I spent that.
All the money that I'm working for now and working overtime for... I've spent that, too.
I'm so fatigued.
And I'll be working 6:30 to 6:30 for four weeks... so making an appointment with a shrink is out of the question for another month.
Another way I'm unable to care for myself.
I'm so fatigued.
And feel like a pussy for feeling fatigued.
I wanna run away.
I just want to leave it all.
I want to get away.
Just let everything fall down.
I'm so fatigued.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
I'm Wealthy! You Can't Tax ME!!
Just overheard this... kinda proud of the co-worker. This was following a meeting where a woman got up and told us that in 2016, Social Security was going into the red, meaning that the Social Security trust fund was going to be paying out more money than it was taking in.
Doctor: ...the chicky was saying that everybody pays 6.5% into Social Security trust fund who makes over $200,000 a year. But what she didn't say is that most of us are self-employed, so we have to pay 6.5% as employers and 6.5% as employees. So she was trying to make it sound like people who make $200,000 a year or more aren't paying their fair share, but we're paying 13%, double our fair share!
Co-worker: If you lower that threshold, then you put the burden on the poorest people who are already struggling.
Silence.
You could hear Doctor trying to make an argument that would win over Co-worker. And then Doctor realized that he wasn't going to win this argument. Co-worker walked away.
Doctor: ...anyway....
Just in case you were wondering...
When pressed, the woman in our meeting continually said that people would need to be taxed in order to make Social Security not spend more than it takes in (weird how that is the only answer, no matter what the Republicans would like to tell us about cutting programs and costs and spending... the ONLY way to bring in more money is to actually bring in more money). Nobody wants their benefits cut. Nobody wants their mother's benefits cut. So more money needs to come in. Currently, everyone who earns a wage gets taxed on their wages, which goes into the trust fund. Plus, anyone who makes (she couldn't remember, but guessed) $160,000 a year or more in wages pays an additional 6.5% on their wages. **I use italics there because there are many ways to get around that "wages" part. For example, Steve Jobs quite famously only made $1 in wages annually while he worked at Apple. The remainder of his Millions was made in stock options, gifts, rebates, bonuses, stipends, and other words that would automatically exclude the huge amount of money he used to live off of from taxation. He is not the only wealthy person to do this, so when I hear that people making $160,000 are being taxed on their "wages", that doesn't mean much to me. The math here is that taxes typically take about 30% of your wages, which is about $53,333 for somebody making $160,000 (that person's tax burden is my annual income). If you increase that to include the Social Security tax (39.5%, to be more fair to Richie Rich), then that individual would actually have $96,800 to spend annually after all taxes were paid. When was the last time you made $96,800? Even before taxes?** But she was pretty clear that if Social Security was going to continue to operate, and there was little question that it would, it was going to be necessary to raise taxes on somebody so that more money could be coming in. Yes, there were other options in the works, but it all really boiled down to taxing people. And this fuckstick doctor, who owns horses and multiple houses, is bellyaching about how he's paying more than his fair share.
Okay, doc, if you agree that every other day than tax day, I pay more than my fair share in stress, work hours, depression, worry, dietary neglect because I can't afford healthy food, future diseases and the inability to receive health care because I can't afford it, as well as all of those things on my wife and kids... If you agree that we pay more than you do every day of the year, quite often more than double our fair share, I will agree that, on tax day, you are paying more than your fair share because you are self employed on your $200,000 a year wages. If you agree that 364 days of the year my family is getting ass-fucked to the point of illness and death, I will agree that 1 day a year you have the unpleasant task of writing a check.
Doctor: ...the chicky was saying that everybody pays 6.5% into Social Security trust fund who makes over $200,000 a year. But what she didn't say is that most of us are self-employed, so we have to pay 6.5% as employers and 6.5% as employees. So she was trying to make it sound like people who make $200,000 a year or more aren't paying their fair share, but we're paying 13%, double our fair share!
Co-worker: If you lower that threshold, then you put the burden on the poorest people who are already struggling.
Silence.
You could hear Doctor trying to make an argument that would win over Co-worker. And then Doctor realized that he wasn't going to win this argument. Co-worker walked away.
Doctor: ...anyway....
Just in case you were wondering...
When pressed, the woman in our meeting continually said that people would need to be taxed in order to make Social Security not spend more than it takes in (weird how that is the only answer, no matter what the Republicans would like to tell us about cutting programs and costs and spending... the ONLY way to bring in more money is to actually bring in more money). Nobody wants their benefits cut. Nobody wants their mother's benefits cut. So more money needs to come in. Currently, everyone who earns a wage gets taxed on their wages, which goes into the trust fund. Plus, anyone who makes (she couldn't remember, but guessed) $160,000 a year or more in wages pays an additional 6.5% on their wages. **I use italics there because there are many ways to get around that "wages" part. For example, Steve Jobs quite famously only made $1 in wages annually while he worked at Apple. The remainder of his Millions was made in stock options, gifts, rebates, bonuses, stipends, and other words that would automatically exclude the huge amount of money he used to live off of from taxation. He is not the only wealthy person to do this, so when I hear that people making $160,000 are being taxed on their "wages", that doesn't mean much to me. The math here is that taxes typically take about 30% of your wages, which is about $53,333 for somebody making $160,000 (that person's tax burden is my annual income). If you increase that to include the Social Security tax (39.5%, to be more fair to Richie Rich), then that individual would actually have $96,800 to spend annually after all taxes were paid. When was the last time you made $96,800? Even before taxes?** But she was pretty clear that if Social Security was going to continue to operate, and there was little question that it would, it was going to be necessary to raise taxes on somebody so that more money could be coming in. Yes, there were other options in the works, but it all really boiled down to taxing people. And this fuckstick doctor, who owns horses and multiple houses, is bellyaching about how he's paying more than his fair share.
Okay, doc, if you agree that every other day than tax day, I pay more than my fair share in stress, work hours, depression, worry, dietary neglect because I can't afford healthy food, future diseases and the inability to receive health care because I can't afford it, as well as all of those things on my wife and kids... If you agree that we pay more than you do every day of the year, quite often more than double our fair share, I will agree that, on tax day, you are paying more than your fair share because you are self employed on your $200,000 a year wages. If you agree that 364 days of the year my family is getting ass-fucked to the point of illness and death, I will agree that 1 day a year you have the unpleasant task of writing a check.
We Work So Hard
Aerial shot of a city and its bustling traffic. The supportive, warm VOICE OVER understands us as he speaks to us off camera.
VOICE OVER
We work to get money.
Shots of doctors working on sick people, mechanics working on sick cars, teachers working on sick/stupid children. VOICE OVER continues.
VOICE OVER
And we use that money to make our lives more comfortable.
Shots showing the progression of comfort, with an audio "ding" when a new shot appears: (ding) a mud hut, (ding) a shack, (ding) a starter home with peeling paint, (ding) a nice, single story home with nice landscaping, (ding) a mansion with multiple stories and tiled roofing, and a pool in the front yard. Next progression: (ding) a tricycle, (ding) a bicycle, (ding) a motorcycle, (ding) a red Honda Civic, looking sporty and rad, (ding) a stretch limo. Next progression: (ding) a jar of baby food, (ding) solid carrots on a plate, (ding) carrots with fish on a plate, (ding) a bowl of hot soup sitting next to a plate of fish with carrots and a glass of milk, (ding) everything stays the same, but the milk is replaced with red wine. Cut to black, where VOICE OVER continues.
VOICE OVER
Ultimately, all the work we do is to get us as close to this as we can get.
Fade up on a clean, warm, idyllic beach, where a BEAUTIFUL MAN lies in a hammock. His body is beautiful, complete with well-defined abs, and he drinks a glass of blue-green/green-blue liquid with ice that looks refreshing and delicious. His entirely white Speedo doesn't look the least bit uncomfortable, but rather looks like it's the most natural, wonderful garment in the world. Next to him is a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, lying in her own hammock, sipping her own refreshing drink. Her perfectly-shaped and -sized breasts are nicely visible under her white bikini top that she wears like a second skin, and there is slight definition in her leg muscles, showing us that her body functions as well as it looks. BEAUTIFUL MAN looks right at us.
BEAUTIFUL MAN
My life consists of steak and orgasms. And I never have to get up to go to the bathroom.
Cut to BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, looking right at us.
BEAUTIFUL WOMAN
He not only listens but he understands me. And I always cum at least twice.
VOICE OVER
Wouldn't it be nice to just have this without all the work? Well now you can! Introducing Bomb.
BEAUTIFUL MAN
Bomb?
BEAUTIFUL WOMAN
What's that?
A large bomb appears on the beach. It is red and white and says "Bomb" on it.
VOICE OVER
Bomb is a weapon that eliminates everybody and everything from the planet. Simply set it to "explode"...
A hand reaches over to Bomb and rotates a dial from "off" to "explode". An explosion occurs, obliterating the planet and everything on it. We see and hear a massive explosion that continues through the following.
VOICE OVER
...and everybody will be exploded. You won't have to worry about money, bills, clothing, kids, presents, braces, prison sentences, drug overdoses, kittens, serpents and hats, hillbillies, water chestnuts, border crossing guards, shoes, blisters, rollers, beatniks, hearing aids, flippers. Everything will be gone, and you can relax knowing you have no responsibilities.
Zoom in on Bomb on the beach.
VOICE OVER
Bomb!
A ding is heard, and two plastic paddles appear, tapped to the side of Bomb.
VOICE OVER
Now with plastic applicators.
Black out.
Most Obvious Ugly
Old white guys and their vacant wives
Old white guys and their vacant wives
Old white guys and their vacant wives
Old white guys and their vacant wives
The people poke provoke you to prove that you're worth
Prove that you're something
Prove you're not nothing
Unless you can show someone else your worth
Old white guys and their vacant wives
Will Sunday coffee clutch you down to your
Most obvious ugly
I'm fat
I'm black
I have a scar
Backne, BO
Obsessed with Bell Jar
A woman
A child
I can't throw a ball
I run like a girl
My hair is not there
My teeth are not pearl
Most obvious ugly
Most obvious ugly
Most obvious ugly
Because they white guys
And their vacuous wives
Don't see that they're the
Most obvious ugly
Old white guys and their vacant wives
Old white guys and their vacant wives
Old white guys and their vacant wives
The people poke provoke you to prove that you're worth
Prove that you're something
Prove you're not nothing
Unless you can show someone else your worth
Old white guys and their vacant wives
Will Sunday coffee clutch you down to your
Most obvious ugly
I'm fat
I'm black
I have a scar
Backne, BO
Obsessed with Bell Jar
A woman
A child
I can't throw a ball
I run like a girl
My hair is not there
My teeth are not pearl
Most obvious ugly
Most obvious ugly
Most obvious ugly
Because they white guys
And their vacuous wives
Don't see that they're the
Most obvious ugly
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
You Want Me To Become What Now?
I got super judgmental when I read that Isla Fisher (an actress I like) was so goo-goo over Sacha Baron Cohen (an actor I despise) that she eagerly went through a religious conversion just to become his wife. Ugh, why?
I got super judgmental when I read that Elizabeth Banks (an actress I like) became (almost) Jewish in order to marry her college sweetheart. They have created some funny and entertaining works together. And still, I think... why??
And then I thought about what I would do if my wife wanted me to convert to her religion in order for us to get married, and it doesn't take me long to decide yeah, I'd do that for her. Biggest difference between my wife and Elizabeth Banks and Isla Fischer though: my wife isn't dumb and she rocks no matter what religion she is. Suck it, Elizabeth Banks and Isla Fischer! My wife just kicked your asses without trying! Plus she'll beat up your dads if she wants to! Suck it bitches!
Yeah.
My wife rules.
(at this point in the TV show in my mind, my wife and I walk off hand in hand, graffiti tagging things and people with the words "suck it bitches"... especially on that old lady who is shocked when we tag her, but then she laughs as we walk off. Classic us)
I got super judgmental when I read that Elizabeth Banks (an actress I like) became (almost) Jewish in order to marry her college sweetheart. They have created some funny and entertaining works together. And still, I think... why??
And then I thought about what I would do if my wife wanted me to convert to her religion in order for us to get married, and it doesn't take me long to decide yeah, I'd do that for her. Biggest difference between my wife and Elizabeth Banks and Isla Fischer though: my wife isn't dumb and she rocks no matter what religion she is. Suck it, Elizabeth Banks and Isla Fischer! My wife just kicked your asses without trying! Plus she'll beat up your dads if she wants to! Suck it bitches!
Yeah.
My wife rules.
(at this point in the TV show in my mind, my wife and I walk off hand in hand, graffiti tagging things and people with the words "suck it bitches"... especially on that old lady who is shocked when we tag her, but then she laughs as we walk off. Classic us)
Are You Alone?
Are you alone?
Do you have anyone to call?
Or do you just sit still?
Do you hope no one asks you those questions?
Do you keep your voice down
Because you know they'll tell you to anyway?
Are you alone?
Have you done what mom said but no one shared life the same?
And it seemed like the world didn't care as it beat you up?
Are you alone?
Are you?
Me too.
Just like you.
I might not be everything
And I might not be anything
But I'll sit with you between the lockers
And put my arm around you while you cry
And I'll be here as often as I can
Are you alone?
Maybe we could be alone together.
Do you have anyone to call?
Or do you just sit still?
Do you hope no one asks you those questions?
Do you keep your voice down
Because you know they'll tell you to anyway?
Are you alone?
Have you done what mom said but no one shared life the same?
And it seemed like the world didn't care as it beat you up?
Are you alone?
Are you?
Me too.
Just like you.
I might not be everything
And I might not be anything
But I'll sit with you between the lockers
And put my arm around you while you cry
And I'll be here as often as I can
Are you alone?
Maybe we could be alone together.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Future Movie Gimmick
There's gonna be a Deadpool movie coming out next year, and I'm pretty excited about it. In the comic books, Deadpool has a motor-mouth, always talking and making wisecracks. He breaks the 4th wall regularly to speak directly to the adult/kid who is reading his comic.
I very much enjoyed breaking the 4th wall when I was performing, but only when it was called for. In improvisational-based sketch comedy, though, you could make it "called for" regularly.
Something that I have found interesting/mildly frustrating about the psychology of entertainment is the expectation of passivity in the audience. Movies, TV shows, plays, concerts, just about any live performance has the expectation that an audience will enter a space (theatre, living room, performance hall, etc.), and then allow the performance to be presented to them while they take it in. There is very little activity or thinking expected from an audience.
One of the most exciting times, and it's truly exciting, is when an audience is JOLTED into action, either mental or physical action, by the performance. This is best described as the action that is taken when an audience at a scary movie gets startled to the point of jumping or gasping. But you can get it other places, too: a professional wrestler performs a huge flip and lands belly-first on his opponent, and the audience cheers; the chandelier comes crashing down in the live stage version of "Phantom of the Opera" and the audience squirms to get out of the way; in the live stage version of "Tommy" during the "Pinball Wizard" number, the pinball machine literally explodes into a ball of fire onstage, and the audience gasps. It is exciting to move your audience to immediate action, and I love thinking about ways in which to do just that.
Now combine the thought of moving your audience to action with a character who regularly talks to the audience, is a smartass, and kills people.
Here's the gimmick I hope they use in the Deadpool movie (and if they don't, I hope I can make movies and use this gimmick someday).
Make the movie so that the actual projection of the movie is larger than the screen by about a foot or two on all sides. You would simply increase the size of your projection at the theatre. HOWEVER, the filmmakers would realize this would be happening, and they would lessen the size of the movie by about a foot or two on all sides. The ultimate effect would be a large black frame of space surrounding the screen on all sides. This would allow you to project an image off the screen and on the wall or curtain of the movie theatre. Like if an animal or hero were going to appear to crawl off the screen and into the theatre, this little manipulation would make that possible.
SO--
You could film the entire Deadpool movie in a way that would make it look like any other movie. Yeah, maybe people would notice at the start of the movie that there was some extra blackness being projected around the screen. But honestly, when was the last time that you paid attention to the area of the movie projection? Never, that's the answer. You never have. So the movie starts, and for a moment you may have the thought of, "oh, there's extra blackness being projected around the screen on all sides," but very quickly you're going to forget this and be pulled into the movie. Later in the movie, though, when Deadpool is killing everybody awesomely, he will turn to the audience and say something like "I'm now coming to kill you all!" Then he shoves his arm OFF THE SCREEN AND ONTO THE WALL OF THE ACTUAL MOVIE THEATRE as he starts to pull himself out of the movie world and into ours, because he's coming to kill us!! And women and children LOSE THEIR MINDS AND SHIT ALL OVER THEMSELVES!! And I scream my everlovin' head off!! And then the movie goes black, and the end credits roll, and EVERYBODY STANDS UP AND CHEERS FOR THE BEST MOVIE THEY'VE EVER SEEN!!
Brilliant!
I very much enjoyed breaking the 4th wall when I was performing, but only when it was called for. In improvisational-based sketch comedy, though, you could make it "called for" regularly.
Something that I have found interesting/mildly frustrating about the psychology of entertainment is the expectation of passivity in the audience. Movies, TV shows, plays, concerts, just about any live performance has the expectation that an audience will enter a space (theatre, living room, performance hall, etc.), and then allow the performance to be presented to them while they take it in. There is very little activity or thinking expected from an audience.
One of the most exciting times, and it's truly exciting, is when an audience is JOLTED into action, either mental or physical action, by the performance. This is best described as the action that is taken when an audience at a scary movie gets startled to the point of jumping or gasping. But you can get it other places, too: a professional wrestler performs a huge flip and lands belly-first on his opponent, and the audience cheers; the chandelier comes crashing down in the live stage version of "Phantom of the Opera" and the audience squirms to get out of the way; in the live stage version of "Tommy" during the "Pinball Wizard" number, the pinball machine literally explodes into a ball of fire onstage, and the audience gasps. It is exciting to move your audience to immediate action, and I love thinking about ways in which to do just that.
Now combine the thought of moving your audience to action with a character who regularly talks to the audience, is a smartass, and kills people.
Here's the gimmick I hope they use in the Deadpool movie (and if they don't, I hope I can make movies and use this gimmick someday).
Make the movie so that the actual projection of the movie is larger than the screen by about a foot or two on all sides. You would simply increase the size of your projection at the theatre. HOWEVER, the filmmakers would realize this would be happening, and they would lessen the size of the movie by about a foot or two on all sides. The ultimate effect would be a large black frame of space surrounding the screen on all sides. This would allow you to project an image off the screen and on the wall or curtain of the movie theatre. Like if an animal or hero were going to appear to crawl off the screen and into the theatre, this little manipulation would make that possible.
SO--
You could film the entire Deadpool movie in a way that would make it look like any other movie. Yeah, maybe people would notice at the start of the movie that there was some extra blackness being projected around the screen. But honestly, when was the last time that you paid attention to the area of the movie projection? Never, that's the answer. You never have. So the movie starts, and for a moment you may have the thought of, "oh, there's extra blackness being projected around the screen on all sides," but very quickly you're going to forget this and be pulled into the movie. Later in the movie, though, when Deadpool is killing everybody awesomely, he will turn to the audience and say something like "I'm now coming to kill you all!" Then he shoves his arm OFF THE SCREEN AND ONTO THE WALL OF THE ACTUAL MOVIE THEATRE as he starts to pull himself out of the movie world and into ours, because he's coming to kill us!! And women and children LOSE THEIR MINDS AND SHIT ALL OVER THEMSELVES!! And I scream my everlovin' head off!! And then the movie goes black, and the end credits roll, and EVERYBODY STANDS UP AND CHEERS FOR THE BEST MOVIE THEY'VE EVER SEEN!!
Brilliant!
Thursday, April 16, 2015
The Yelling Man
The Man yelled.
"You are obviously mistaken! You don't know me well enough to make those kinds of judgments on me! I have legs and you know it!! You are stupid and vile and other nasty names! How dare you?! How! Dare! You!!"
The servants holding the three-quarter-length mirror in front of the Man looked at each other. The Man was yelling at a mirror showing him only his upper three-fourths, as that's all the mirror was focusing on at the moment. The mirror was simply showing him him. The servants, trying to appease the Yelling Man, slowly lowered the mirror to the floor. Now the Man's lower three-fourths were visible to him in the mirror.
The Man yelled.
"You are grandly ignorant! I most certainly have a head! I use it every day! In fact, I'm using it right now to yell at you, you most terrible, terrible awfulness!!!"
"You are obviously mistaken! You don't know me well enough to make those kinds of judgments on me! I have legs and you know it!! You are stupid and vile and other nasty names! How dare you?! How! Dare! You!!"
The servants holding the three-quarter-length mirror in front of the Man looked at each other. The Man was yelling at a mirror showing him only his upper three-fourths, as that's all the mirror was focusing on at the moment. The mirror was simply showing him him. The servants, trying to appease the Yelling Man, slowly lowered the mirror to the floor. Now the Man's lower three-fourths were visible to him in the mirror.
The Man yelled.
"You are grandly ignorant! I most certainly have a head! I use it every day! In fact, I'm using it right now to yell at you, you most terrible, terrible awfulness!!!"
The Bathroom Door of Town
The people of Town had a broken door.
The door wouldn't open.
Normally, this wouldn't be a huge problem.
Except this door was the only entry point, and for that matter exitry point, to the bathroom.
And the people of Town were going into the ocean to pee and poop.
It was getting to be a hassle.
Plus, Greg said "Hey, after a while of us peeing and pooping in the ocean, won't we stop wading out into the ocean to pee and poop and just be wading out in other people's pee and poop?"
No, not exactly, Greg, but that thought was enough to light a fire under the people to get the broken door fixed.
Pete was mayor of Town.
He looked at the door.
And he made speeches to the people.
"My Fellow Townies," he said, "this door blah blah blah," and other words that politicians say when they want people to believe something is being done.
Pete and his advisers looked at the door.
They tried to open the door.
It opened just a little bit, but then stopped.
"Well I'm stumped," Pete said.
Pete got the people of Town to vote on a tax that would pay for a new door.
Obviously the door was broken, and a new one would open unlike this old door.
The people, eager to stop wading in their own waste, agreed to the tax.
This would allow the bathroom door to open, and then the People of Town could stop standing in ocean-watery shit all the time.
The people were taxed.
Workers were hired to replace the door.
And, after turning the five-lane highway into a one-lane highway for 8 months during peak driving times without any sign of work being done, one day, seemingly overnight, the door was replaced with a new door.
It had that New Door smell.
And the People of Town rejoiced.
Pete addressed them.
"Today, is a day that will yadda yadda yadda."
And the people pushed on the door.
It opened a little, but then stopped.
Just like the old door.
What?
The door had been fixed.
It had been replaced.
We were all going to be able to go to the bathroom, the people of Town collectively seemed to think together.
Well, apparently not. This door worked as unwell as the last door.
And the People of Town had to continue to wade out into the ocean of excrement to do their business.
Pete was voted out of office.
Sheila was voted into office.
Sheila made speeches about fixing the door.
She didn't need to visit the door.
We all knew it was broken, and it needed fixing.
She proposed another tax to pay for another door from a different door construction corporation.
That, Sheila promised, would fix our door problem.
The people of Town voted for the tax.
They paid for a different corporation to block traffic for 8 years.
And at the end of it, they had not only forgotten that a tax had been imposed on them, but they also saw a brand new door on the bathroom of Town.
Hooray, they all said, and they even spelled it "hooray" rather than "hurray" because "hooray" is the better way to spell it and "hurray" just looks stupid and only dumb people spell it that way. But nobody was really hopeful.
It had been so long since the door had actually worked nobody really remembered what it was like to pee and poop in the bathroom. Nobody really remembered what the bathroom looked like. Fewer and fewer people were around who could remember what it was like to actually have access to the bathroom. And with every passing year that the bathroom wasn't accessible, hope for a functioning door faded. At this point, years had passed, and hope was just an old man, sitting in the corner, having overstayed his welcome at the party, having consumed too many drinks, and now the hosts of the party were left wondering why Hope was still around and how the hell do we get him out of the kitchen so we can feel comfortable going to sleep? Didn't this party end a long time ago? Why does he still have a bottle of whiskey? And why the hell is Hope drinking whiskey? Seems out of character.
So, at last, the new door was there.
And Sheila said words that, essentially, reduced to Elect Me Again.
And a semi-big ceremony happened where they drank cheap champagne and wore rented tuxedos.
And a genuine ribbon made out of imitation, processed ribbon spread was used and cut with oversized novelty scissors.
And then Sheila pushed on the door.
It opened a little, and then stopped.
And the people weren't really surprised.
They had been through it before.
And Sheila blamed the other political party.
They were to blame.
And somehow children were involved. They needed to be educated so that doors could be fixed.
And somehow evil people were trying to hurt the people of Town. Terrorists, or maybe immigrants. Certainly the atheists were to blame, they want chaos.
And somehow it all tied into the broken bathroom door.
Which still didn't work.
And the People of Town kinda gave up on having a working door.
What was the point? It wasn't going to work, and nobody was going to get it fixed.
Let's focus on more positive things, things we actually have control over.
Like... oh, I dunno... videos of cats jumping off bookshelves, or the latest episode of According To Jim.
And they did.
Did you see that one where Larry Joe sat down and farted, but he blamed it on the pleather couch? Hysterical!
Brandon was just a boy when he found himself in the bathroom of Town.
He had been playing hide and seek with his friends, and he found this super good crack in the wall, and, of course, he crawled into it.
And just beyond the reach of the outside light, inside this crack, Brandon found The Bathroom.
He had sorta heard his legal guardian/step-something talk about it with her new lover/insurance salesman, but he didn't really listen to them much. They didn't have much to say that was important ("Did you see the one where Larry Joe was fat and did something fatty? Hysterical!"). And he didn't really care too much about current events, like bathrooms.
But here he was.
In the Bathroom of Town.
It was kinda dusty and dark in the bathroom. It hadn't been used for a very, very long time.
It sorta looked dated, like it was built in a different time with a different mindset.
When people put thought into things like faucets.
And shapes of toilet seats.
And making things strong so that they don't break.
Break... wasn't there something broken in here?
Oh... maybe the door? Is the door broken?
Brandon went over to the door.
It was far away from the window, in the darkest part of the bathroom, and Brandon had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could make out the door and it's silvery handle.
He pulled on the handle.
The door opened a little.
And then stopped.
And he heard a very slight crunch.
He looked to where the crunch was heard, and he noticed another shiny something.
It looked like a zipper pull?
As his eyes adjusted more, he could tell that the zipper pull belonged to a zipper, which belonged to a hoodie, which was hung on the back of the bathroom door.
The zipper pull had fallen in between the door and the inside door jamb, and was getting stuck in that space in such a way that it was preventing the door from opening completely.
Brandon removed the hoodie.
He pulled on the silvery bathroom door handle.
The door opened a little.
Then the door opened completely.
Brandon smiled as he put together what he knew about the history of this door.
The door had worked at one time.
Then the door didn't work.
And Brandon guessed it stopped working when the owner of the hoodie very honestly forgot the hoodie on the back of the bathroom door.
Sometimes things can get intense in a bathroom, and it was very possible that somebody had taken off the hoodie in haste in order to properly take care of business, and then when the relief of Business Taken Care Of arrived, it was equally as possible that the hoodie had been completely forgotten, hanging on the back of the door.
Where the zipper fell into the space between the door and the jamb.
And the hoodie zipper caused the door not to work.
And workers had been hired to fix the door.
The door had been replaced several times.
And each time, Brandon guessed, the workers had simply replaced the hoodie back on the new door because it had been there when they arrived so it must belong there. The workers hadn't been hired to create a working door, after all, they had only been hired to replace the old door, which they did. Making the door actually work wasn't their job.
Brandon was kinda excited, because he was certain he had just done a good thing.
People had lost hope about the bathroom door for so long, maybe now it would be cool to stop swimming in their own waste and actually use the bathroom like it had been designed to function.
Maybe the People of Town could have hope again.
But mostly Brandon felt good because it feels good to actually solve problems and be self-sufficient.
Brandon was smart and good and felt good about himself for helping others.
When Brandon got home, he told his guardian-salespeople/step-whatevers about what had happened to him today.
They grounded him for breaking and entering into a public building.
They grounded him double for taking a hoodie that didn't belong to him (oh yeah, Brandon had taken the hoodie from the bathroom hoping to return it to its owner, making him a theif in the eyes of step-insurance salesguardians).
Then, the female authority figure shamed him for being bad and thoughtless.
Then, the male authority figure pushed him down and around for being dumb.
They then reported what Brandon told them to the police so that they proper authority figures could take care of this issue.
The Hoodie was made an example of, and political commentators said that the hoodie was just as much to blame for the broken door as the broken door itself.
Just look what happens when you wear a Hoodie!
And people took sides, for the Hoodie or against the Hoodie.
Black Hoodies Matter, after all.
And some people wanted to find the owner of the Hoodie, and they set up charities so that people could give money to blah blah blah and assuage their guilt about not doing anything actually helpful.
And the police told the new mayor of Town about the bathroom and the door and the hoodie and the crack in the wall and... Braden? Brenden? Something like that. He's just a kid.
And the mayor realized there was a crack problem.
Children were playing with crack, and a War on Crack was declared.
And the first step was to remove the crack.
So the wall and everything around the wall was demolished.
And secretly, the mayor was thankful that nobody realized that the crack was actually surrounded by the bathroom that no politician or adult could find a way to get into. The mayor was thankful that nobody remembered the bathroom was a good thing for the town and the people. The mayor was thankful they didn't remember that no solution was discovered for the problem-- the problem of a hoodie zipper getting in the way of opening to door-- by the people who had been elected, hired and promoted to fix the problem. It was embarrassed that tax money had been spent on something that didn't actually work, and then thing that did actually work was a child playing a child game.
A child who didn't care about politics or money.
A child who just wanted to fix a problem.
Well thank Christ that child was no more.
Was it legal to burn children anymore? No?
Well, can we incarcerate him? Maybe? He is, obviously, smart. Surely we can use that to say that he should be tried as an adult, right?
And then we can lock him up for a long time, yeah?
Oh good.
That'll work.
And the mayor of Town told the people that a new tax had to be paid in order to properly prosecute Brecken, the black boy... he isn't black? He's half Hispanic, half Russian? That's kinda black, isn't it? And definitely communist... Blappen, the Black Communist boy who played with crack and illegally crossed our borders in order to steal our jobs away from us good, hard-working tax-payers of Town.
There are real problems, People.
And your tax dollars will fix these real problems.
And the people weren't even given the option of voting for the tax increase anymore.
Because taxes are needed to pay for goods and services that help the people of Town.
They were just told taxes were going to happen.
And it happened.
Please focus on what you can control, like backyard wrestling videos and Angry Birds.
And Brandon sat in a jail cell for years while people tried to figure out how to prosecute him. Can you prosecute a communist in a free-market society? Nobody could remember from their economics class if that was something you could do or not, and nobody had kept their textbooks past the end of the semester, so there was no way to check if that was even a possibility.
And the long-forgotten bathroom and its long-forgotten broken/fixed door were something almost nobody thought about.
And when they did, it was sorta like remembering the Ed Sullivan Show, or Walter Cronkite and Integrity in Journalism, and television quiz programs that actually awarded knowledge rather than awarding grown-ass adults who are willing to eat a handful of maggots in order to win a stainless steel juicer, and walking to school, and exercise, and reasonable portions of food, and spending time with your family, and valuing education, and working toward the good of everyone in the country rather than the profit of the individual's bank account. It was a dusty thought, an old thought. A thought that really had no place in today's world. A thought of times past. Like Rome. It wasn't really even worth thinking about.
There were real problems, People.
Thinking thoughts wouldn't help fix those problems, People.
But I know how to fix your problems.
My Fellow Townies,
I am just a simple blogger
I come from humble beginnings
And blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.
The door wouldn't open.
Normally, this wouldn't be a huge problem.
Except this door was the only entry point, and for that matter exitry point, to the bathroom.
And the people of Town were going into the ocean to pee and poop.
It was getting to be a hassle.
Plus, Greg said "Hey, after a while of us peeing and pooping in the ocean, won't we stop wading out into the ocean to pee and poop and just be wading out in other people's pee and poop?"
No, not exactly, Greg, but that thought was enough to light a fire under the people to get the broken door fixed.
Pete was mayor of Town.
He looked at the door.
And he made speeches to the people.
"My Fellow Townies," he said, "this door blah blah blah," and other words that politicians say when they want people to believe something is being done.
Pete and his advisers looked at the door.
They tried to open the door.
It opened just a little bit, but then stopped.
"Well I'm stumped," Pete said.
Pete got the people of Town to vote on a tax that would pay for a new door.
Obviously the door was broken, and a new one would open unlike this old door.
The people, eager to stop wading in their own waste, agreed to the tax.
This would allow the bathroom door to open, and then the People of Town could stop standing in ocean-watery shit all the time.
The people were taxed.
Workers were hired to replace the door.
And, after turning the five-lane highway into a one-lane highway for 8 months during peak driving times without any sign of work being done, one day, seemingly overnight, the door was replaced with a new door.
It had that New Door smell.
And the People of Town rejoiced.
Pete addressed them.
"Today, is a day that will yadda yadda yadda."
And the people pushed on the door.
It opened a little, but then stopped.
Just like the old door.
What?
The door had been fixed.
It had been replaced.
We were all going to be able to go to the bathroom, the people of Town collectively seemed to think together.
Well, apparently not. This door worked as unwell as the last door.
And the People of Town had to continue to wade out into the ocean of excrement to do their business.
Pete was voted out of office.
Sheila was voted into office.
Sheila made speeches about fixing the door.
She didn't need to visit the door.
We all knew it was broken, and it needed fixing.
She proposed another tax to pay for another door from a different door construction corporation.
That, Sheila promised, would fix our door problem.
The people of Town voted for the tax.
They paid for a different corporation to block traffic for 8 years.
And at the end of it, they had not only forgotten that a tax had been imposed on them, but they also saw a brand new door on the bathroom of Town.
Hooray, they all said, and they even spelled it "hooray" rather than "hurray" because "hooray" is the better way to spell it and "hurray" just looks stupid and only dumb people spell it that way. But nobody was really hopeful.
It had been so long since the door had actually worked nobody really remembered what it was like to pee and poop in the bathroom. Nobody really remembered what the bathroom looked like. Fewer and fewer people were around who could remember what it was like to actually have access to the bathroom. And with every passing year that the bathroom wasn't accessible, hope for a functioning door faded. At this point, years had passed, and hope was just an old man, sitting in the corner, having overstayed his welcome at the party, having consumed too many drinks, and now the hosts of the party were left wondering why Hope was still around and how the hell do we get him out of the kitchen so we can feel comfortable going to sleep? Didn't this party end a long time ago? Why does he still have a bottle of whiskey? And why the hell is Hope drinking whiskey? Seems out of character.
So, at last, the new door was there.
And Sheila said words that, essentially, reduced to Elect Me Again.
And a semi-big ceremony happened where they drank cheap champagne and wore rented tuxedos.
And a genuine ribbon made out of imitation, processed ribbon spread was used and cut with oversized novelty scissors.
And then Sheila pushed on the door.
It opened a little, and then stopped.
And the people weren't really surprised.
They had been through it before.
And Sheila blamed the other political party.
They were to blame.
And somehow children were involved. They needed to be educated so that doors could be fixed.
And somehow evil people were trying to hurt the people of Town. Terrorists, or maybe immigrants. Certainly the atheists were to blame, they want chaos.
And somehow it all tied into the broken bathroom door.
Which still didn't work.
And the People of Town kinda gave up on having a working door.
What was the point? It wasn't going to work, and nobody was going to get it fixed.
Let's focus on more positive things, things we actually have control over.
Like... oh, I dunno... videos of cats jumping off bookshelves, or the latest episode of According To Jim.
And they did.
Did you see that one where Larry Joe sat down and farted, but he blamed it on the pleather couch? Hysterical!
Brandon was just a boy when he found himself in the bathroom of Town.
He had been playing hide and seek with his friends, and he found this super good crack in the wall, and, of course, he crawled into it.
And just beyond the reach of the outside light, inside this crack, Brandon found The Bathroom.
He had sorta heard his legal guardian/step-something talk about it with her new lover/insurance salesman, but he didn't really listen to them much. They didn't have much to say that was important ("Did you see the one where Larry Joe was fat and did something fatty? Hysterical!"). And he didn't really care too much about current events, like bathrooms.
But here he was.
In the Bathroom of Town.
It was kinda dusty and dark in the bathroom. It hadn't been used for a very, very long time.
It sorta looked dated, like it was built in a different time with a different mindset.
When people put thought into things like faucets.
And shapes of toilet seats.
And making things strong so that they don't break.
Break... wasn't there something broken in here?
Oh... maybe the door? Is the door broken?
Brandon went over to the door.
It was far away from the window, in the darkest part of the bathroom, and Brandon had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could make out the door and it's silvery handle.
He pulled on the handle.
The door opened a little.
And then stopped.
And he heard a very slight crunch.
He looked to where the crunch was heard, and he noticed another shiny something.
It looked like a zipper pull?
As his eyes adjusted more, he could tell that the zipper pull belonged to a zipper, which belonged to a hoodie, which was hung on the back of the bathroom door.
The zipper pull had fallen in between the door and the inside door jamb, and was getting stuck in that space in such a way that it was preventing the door from opening completely.
Brandon removed the hoodie.
He pulled on the silvery bathroom door handle.
The door opened a little.
Then the door opened completely.
Brandon smiled as he put together what he knew about the history of this door.
The door had worked at one time.
Then the door didn't work.
And Brandon guessed it stopped working when the owner of the hoodie very honestly forgot the hoodie on the back of the bathroom door.
Sometimes things can get intense in a bathroom, and it was very possible that somebody had taken off the hoodie in haste in order to properly take care of business, and then when the relief of Business Taken Care Of arrived, it was equally as possible that the hoodie had been completely forgotten, hanging on the back of the door.
Where the zipper fell into the space between the door and the jamb.
And the hoodie zipper caused the door not to work.
And workers had been hired to fix the door.
The door had been replaced several times.
And each time, Brandon guessed, the workers had simply replaced the hoodie back on the new door because it had been there when they arrived so it must belong there. The workers hadn't been hired to create a working door, after all, they had only been hired to replace the old door, which they did. Making the door actually work wasn't their job.
Brandon was kinda excited, because he was certain he had just done a good thing.
People had lost hope about the bathroom door for so long, maybe now it would be cool to stop swimming in their own waste and actually use the bathroom like it had been designed to function.
Maybe the People of Town could have hope again.
But mostly Brandon felt good because it feels good to actually solve problems and be self-sufficient.
Brandon was smart and good and felt good about himself for helping others.
When Brandon got home, he told his guardian-salespeople/step-whatevers about what had happened to him today.
They grounded him for breaking and entering into a public building.
They grounded him double for taking a hoodie that didn't belong to him (oh yeah, Brandon had taken the hoodie from the bathroom hoping to return it to its owner, making him a theif in the eyes of step-insurance salesguardians).
Then, the female authority figure shamed him for being bad and thoughtless.
Then, the male authority figure pushed him down and around for being dumb.
They then reported what Brandon told them to the police so that they proper authority figures could take care of this issue.
The Hoodie was made an example of, and political commentators said that the hoodie was just as much to blame for the broken door as the broken door itself.
Just look what happens when you wear a Hoodie!
And people took sides, for the Hoodie or against the Hoodie.
Black Hoodies Matter, after all.
And some people wanted to find the owner of the Hoodie, and they set up charities so that people could give money to blah blah blah and assuage their guilt about not doing anything actually helpful.
And the police told the new mayor of Town about the bathroom and the door and the hoodie and the crack in the wall and... Braden? Brenden? Something like that. He's just a kid.
And the mayor realized there was a crack problem.
Children were playing with crack, and a War on Crack was declared.
And the first step was to remove the crack.
So the wall and everything around the wall was demolished.
And secretly, the mayor was thankful that nobody realized that the crack was actually surrounded by the bathroom that no politician or adult could find a way to get into. The mayor was thankful that nobody remembered the bathroom was a good thing for the town and the people. The mayor was thankful they didn't remember that no solution was discovered for the problem-- the problem of a hoodie zipper getting in the way of opening to door-- by the people who had been elected, hired and promoted to fix the problem. It was embarrassed that tax money had been spent on something that didn't actually work, and then thing that did actually work was a child playing a child game.
A child who didn't care about politics or money.
A child who just wanted to fix a problem.
Well thank Christ that child was no more.
Was it legal to burn children anymore? No?
Well, can we incarcerate him? Maybe? He is, obviously, smart. Surely we can use that to say that he should be tried as an adult, right?
And then we can lock him up for a long time, yeah?
Oh good.
That'll work.
And the mayor of Town told the people that a new tax had to be paid in order to properly prosecute Brecken, the black boy... he isn't black? He's half Hispanic, half Russian? That's kinda black, isn't it? And definitely communist... Blappen, the Black Communist boy who played with crack and illegally crossed our borders in order to steal our jobs away from us good, hard-working tax-payers of Town.
There are real problems, People.
And your tax dollars will fix these real problems.
And the people weren't even given the option of voting for the tax increase anymore.
Because taxes are needed to pay for goods and services that help the people of Town.
They were just told taxes were going to happen.
And it happened.
Please focus on what you can control, like backyard wrestling videos and Angry Birds.
And Brandon sat in a jail cell for years while people tried to figure out how to prosecute him. Can you prosecute a communist in a free-market society? Nobody could remember from their economics class if that was something you could do or not, and nobody had kept their textbooks past the end of the semester, so there was no way to check if that was even a possibility.
And the long-forgotten bathroom and its long-forgotten broken/fixed door were something almost nobody thought about.
And when they did, it was sorta like remembering the Ed Sullivan Show, or Walter Cronkite and Integrity in Journalism, and television quiz programs that actually awarded knowledge rather than awarding grown-ass adults who are willing to eat a handful of maggots in order to win a stainless steel juicer, and walking to school, and exercise, and reasonable portions of food, and spending time with your family, and valuing education, and working toward the good of everyone in the country rather than the profit of the individual's bank account. It was a dusty thought, an old thought. A thought that really had no place in today's world. A thought of times past. Like Rome. It wasn't really even worth thinking about.
There were real problems, People.
Thinking thoughts wouldn't help fix those problems, People.
But I know how to fix your problems.
My Fellow Townies,
I am just a simple blogger
I come from humble beginnings
And blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Seizure Mom
15 year old girl applies for disability review. This means that she was already receiving disability from a previous application, and she would like to continue receiving disability benefits based on her continued allegations that she is disabled.
She states she cannot function normally because she has seizures.
Mother agrees.
I request records for this girl.
The doctor's records state that she is having seizures once every six months and she's doing quite well. He states this on more than one occasion. In order to continue to receive disability benefits, she needs to have seizures at least once a month during the day. At this point, she would no longer receive disability benefits.
Except...
Her school records indicate that she needs a helper, a paraprofessional, in her classes because of "intellectual disabilities".
Because of this one statement, I am now required to investigate her mental status. I send the case off to one of our doctors and ask what he would like to do. He says we need to order an exam in order to have a record of any intellectual disabilities.
I order a mental exam.
Then the mother calls, very frustrated and angry, saying that her daughter should receive disability benefits because she has seizures. I am not allowed to tell her that her daughter isn't going to receive benefits anymore because, according to the law, I'm not allowed to make that decision, therefore I'm not allowed to tell anyone that is the decision. However, despite what the law says, I know she will not be receiving benefits because of her seizures. If she is going to continue receiving benefits, it will need to be because of another reason. I tell the mother that I am not a doctor, nor am I the person who will ultimately make the decision whether her daughter continues to receive disability benefits or not. What I know is that a doctor has requested a mental status exam, and unless she can give me some kind of evidence to take to the doctor, the exam is needed.
The mother then tells me that her daughter has no mental issue, has no intellectual disabilities, has no emotional issues, and the only reason why she has a paraprofessional with her is because of her seizures, which "happen all the time, every day". Then she asks if this is enough to make the mental exam not necessary. I tell her the best I can do is make note of what she has said and send it back to the doctor. The mother then starts to speak angrily at me, telling me that I don't know what it's like to deal with a daughter who has seizures all the time every day, and it's very draining and frustrating to have to deal with the likes of me. I try to tell her I understand, but she doesn't want to hear it.
What I know, as I'm being verbally battered by this lady, is that she has just made her position worse. Her daughter doesn't have the medical records saying that she has seizures all the time, and that's what's important to Social Security. You can't just call up Social Security and say, "my daughter has seizures all the time, check please!" They need proof from a doctor. And the proof from that doctor is that this girl is fine. So her best hope to continue to receive benefits is to go to the mental exam and be super depressed or retarded. And with her mother saying she's neither of those things, I've got no more reasons to say she should continue to receive benefits.
And I know all of this while she's getting more and more angry with me. And I continue to tell her that I'm doing what I can for her, but at this point, the best that I can do for them is not rush this case through the system, because the quicker I rush the case, the quicker mother is going to find out Social Security isn't going to send you checks anymore.
And I think about all of that and become mildly concerned about why people don't listen to me fully, with open ears and hearts, when I tell them this is what is in your best interests for a positive outcome on your case.
And then I think about my recent interactions with lawyers.
And therapists, for myself and my wife.
And I realize that those people are impediments in my mind.
Stumbling blocks of egos I must traverse and climb around in order to protect and help my family.
They don't have ideas that help.
They do more damage than good.
They are not worthy of listening to.
And they proved that over and over and over.
And I think this mother has probably lived through that prior to getting me on the phone.
"This jerkoff isn't worth listening to," she thinks to herself about her interactions with me.
And I can't say that I blame her.
People are fucking shitty.
She states she cannot function normally because she has seizures.
Mother agrees.
I request records for this girl.
The doctor's records state that she is having seizures once every six months and she's doing quite well. He states this on more than one occasion. In order to continue to receive disability benefits, she needs to have seizures at least once a month during the day. At this point, she would no longer receive disability benefits.
Except...
Her school records indicate that she needs a helper, a paraprofessional, in her classes because of "intellectual disabilities".
Because of this one statement, I am now required to investigate her mental status. I send the case off to one of our doctors and ask what he would like to do. He says we need to order an exam in order to have a record of any intellectual disabilities.
I order a mental exam.
Then the mother calls, very frustrated and angry, saying that her daughter should receive disability benefits because she has seizures. I am not allowed to tell her that her daughter isn't going to receive benefits anymore because, according to the law, I'm not allowed to make that decision, therefore I'm not allowed to tell anyone that is the decision. However, despite what the law says, I know she will not be receiving benefits because of her seizures. If she is going to continue receiving benefits, it will need to be because of another reason. I tell the mother that I am not a doctor, nor am I the person who will ultimately make the decision whether her daughter continues to receive disability benefits or not. What I know is that a doctor has requested a mental status exam, and unless she can give me some kind of evidence to take to the doctor, the exam is needed.
The mother then tells me that her daughter has no mental issue, has no intellectual disabilities, has no emotional issues, and the only reason why she has a paraprofessional with her is because of her seizures, which "happen all the time, every day". Then she asks if this is enough to make the mental exam not necessary. I tell her the best I can do is make note of what she has said and send it back to the doctor. The mother then starts to speak angrily at me, telling me that I don't know what it's like to deal with a daughter who has seizures all the time every day, and it's very draining and frustrating to have to deal with the likes of me. I try to tell her I understand, but she doesn't want to hear it.
What I know, as I'm being verbally battered by this lady, is that she has just made her position worse. Her daughter doesn't have the medical records saying that she has seizures all the time, and that's what's important to Social Security. You can't just call up Social Security and say, "my daughter has seizures all the time, check please!" They need proof from a doctor. And the proof from that doctor is that this girl is fine. So her best hope to continue to receive benefits is to go to the mental exam and be super depressed or retarded. And with her mother saying she's neither of those things, I've got no more reasons to say she should continue to receive benefits.
And I know all of this while she's getting more and more angry with me. And I continue to tell her that I'm doing what I can for her, but at this point, the best that I can do for them is not rush this case through the system, because the quicker I rush the case, the quicker mother is going to find out Social Security isn't going to send you checks anymore.
And I think about all of that and become mildly concerned about why people don't listen to me fully, with open ears and hearts, when I tell them this is what is in your best interests for a positive outcome on your case.
And then I think about my recent interactions with lawyers.
And therapists, for myself and my wife.
And I realize that those people are impediments in my mind.
Stumbling blocks of egos I must traverse and climb around in order to protect and help my family.
They don't have ideas that help.
They do more damage than good.
They are not worthy of listening to.
And they proved that over and over and over.
And I think this mother has probably lived through that prior to getting me on the phone.
"This jerkoff isn't worth listening to," she thinks to herself about her interactions with me.
And I can't say that I blame her.
People are fucking shitty.
Single Cabin Boat Schedule
i was on the boat, and i had a roommate.
and i hadn't had any privacy for more than 6 months.
and, honestly, i didn't have anywhere i could masturbate.
so i asked if it were even possible to get cabins shifted so that each of us might get to be in the single cabin some of the time.
and, somehow, i did something wrong just by asking me, and everybody got their feelings hurt.
and my roommate yelled at me.
"you didn't even think about me, did you?!"
well, no. i was really only thinking about masturbating, but if you'll tell me why you, also, wouldn't enjoy masturbating, i'd love to hear your side of this thing.
plus... yelling? really? what's with the yelling? why are you yelling at me? i still don't get it.
so our company leader took some time and then called a meeting.
in the meeting, he handed us a piece of paper.
the paper had two possible schedules printed on it for who would be in the single cabins and who would be sharing a cabin with somebody else.
he told us that i had wanted to change, and so we were going to change cabins.
i wanted to say that i had asked if it was possible, but i didn't.
it was too far passed that time.
he said that he had tried to work out a schedule for everyone to have the single cabins, and on the paper he handed us were the only two possible schedules he could come up with for us to vote on.
two of our members were leaving soon, and they wondered why they were being called to be a part of this meeting, which had nothing to do with them.
the company manager told them that they were part of the company and needed to help vote on this issue since they were still here.
this is what the schedules looked like
Schedule 1
single cabin shared cabins
week 1: me everyone changes
week 2: me everyone changes
week 3: me everyone changes
week 4: me everyone changes
week 5: me everyone changes
week 6: me everyone changes
week 7: me everyone changes
week 8: me everyone changes
week 9: me everyone changes
week etc: me everyone changes
Schedule 2
single cabin shared cabins
everyone changes monthly everyone changes monthly
the visual of that schedule is still vivid in my mind. my name down the left side of the page, while on the right, everyone else changed weekly.
*i* had asked for a change (which i hadn't), and she he made sure that it inconvenienced as many people as possible, including the people that wouldn't be involved in the decision.
*I* was the cause of this issue.
and then the insult of the schedule.
*I* didn't even want to vote on the schedule that had me in the single cabin the entire time.
it was so grandly lopsided, in life and visually on the paper, that it was embarrassing.
i was being shamed.
for wanting some privacy to masturbate.
i wanna let go of this.
but it still hurts.
why did they do that?
why did they hurt me like that?
i'm guessing i did something to hurt them, but i don't know what i did.
and i don't know how to apologize for something i didn't know i did.
stuff like that comes back every so often and stings me.
i just don't get it.
how did i come out so wrong that i don't understand why people do stuff like that?
it's this kind of thing that makes me want to rage.
somebody is hurt and they lash out at me.
and i don't understand why.
and they continue to lash out at me.
a lot.
over and over.
and it continues.
it's not just once, but repeatedly.
and i keep being forced to live in a world that doesn't make sense.
i act one way, i am lashed.
i act a different way, i am lashed.
i don't act at all, i am lashed.
well, motherfucker, if i'm gonna be lashed no matter what i do, then fuck you and everyone like you. i'm gonna fucking rage all over you and fucking fuck it all!
and then, when i'm done raging,
i'll go back to being confused and hurt and baffled.
what in the world did i do?
and i don't buy it that they were jealous.
or that i was good and they wanted to destroy me to give themselves a better ranking in our group.
i don't buy that anymore.
i've been jealous before. i didn't try to destroy people. i didn't intentionally shame the person or people.
what IS it??
it's SO hurtful, and i'm SO confused by it all.
just so super confused and i can't seem to let go of it.
and i hadn't had any privacy for more than 6 months.
and, honestly, i didn't have anywhere i could masturbate.
so i asked if it were even possible to get cabins shifted so that each of us might get to be in the single cabin some of the time.
and, somehow, i did something wrong just by asking me, and everybody got their feelings hurt.
and my roommate yelled at me.
"you didn't even think about me, did you?!"
well, no. i was really only thinking about masturbating, but if you'll tell me why you, also, wouldn't enjoy masturbating, i'd love to hear your side of this thing.
plus... yelling? really? what's with the yelling? why are you yelling at me? i still don't get it.
so our company leader took some time and then called a meeting.
in the meeting, he handed us a piece of paper.
the paper had two possible schedules printed on it for who would be in the single cabins and who would be sharing a cabin with somebody else.
he told us that i had wanted to change, and so we were going to change cabins.
i wanted to say that i had asked if it was possible, but i didn't.
it was too far passed that time.
he said that he had tried to work out a schedule for everyone to have the single cabins, and on the paper he handed us were the only two possible schedules he could come up with for us to vote on.
two of our members were leaving soon, and they wondered why they were being called to be a part of this meeting, which had nothing to do with them.
the company manager told them that they were part of the company and needed to help vote on this issue since they were still here.
this is what the schedules looked like
Schedule 1
single cabin shared cabins
week 1: me everyone changes
week 2: me everyone changes
week 3: me everyone changes
week 4: me everyone changes
week 5: me everyone changes
week 6: me everyone changes
week 7: me everyone changes
week 8: me everyone changes
week 9: me everyone changes
week etc: me everyone changes
Schedule 2
single cabin shared cabins
everyone changes monthly everyone changes monthly
the visual of that schedule is still vivid in my mind. my name down the left side of the page, while on the right, everyone else changed weekly.
*i* had asked for a change (which i hadn't), and she he made sure that it inconvenienced as many people as possible, including the people that wouldn't be involved in the decision.
*I* was the cause of this issue.
and then the insult of the schedule.
*I* didn't even want to vote on the schedule that had me in the single cabin the entire time.
it was so grandly lopsided, in life and visually on the paper, that it was embarrassing.
i was being shamed.
for wanting some privacy to masturbate.
i wanna let go of this.
but it still hurts.
why did they do that?
why did they hurt me like that?
i'm guessing i did something to hurt them, but i don't know what i did.
and i don't know how to apologize for something i didn't know i did.
stuff like that comes back every so often and stings me.
i just don't get it.
how did i come out so wrong that i don't understand why people do stuff like that?
it's this kind of thing that makes me want to rage.
somebody is hurt and they lash out at me.
and i don't understand why.
and they continue to lash out at me.
a lot.
over and over.
and it continues.
it's not just once, but repeatedly.
and i keep being forced to live in a world that doesn't make sense.
i act one way, i am lashed.
i act a different way, i am lashed.
i don't act at all, i am lashed.
well, motherfucker, if i'm gonna be lashed no matter what i do, then fuck you and everyone like you. i'm gonna fucking rage all over you and fucking fuck it all!
and then, when i'm done raging,
i'll go back to being confused and hurt and baffled.
what in the world did i do?
and i don't buy it that they were jealous.
or that i was good and they wanted to destroy me to give themselves a better ranking in our group.
i don't buy that anymore.
i've been jealous before. i didn't try to destroy people. i didn't intentionally shame the person or people.
what IS it??
it's SO hurtful, and i'm SO confused by it all.
just so super confused and i can't seem to let go of it.
Listening to the Ravenous Tigers
You stand before two doors.
In front of each door, there stands a guard.
One door leads to Good.
One door leads to Bad.
One Guard always tells the truth.
One Guard always lies.
Each Guard knows which door leads to Good and which door leads to Bad, knows which Guard always lies and which Guard always tells the truth, and knows that both Guards know the same things about this entire situation.
You are allowed to ask the Guards one question.
Both Guards must be asked the same question.
What one question, when asked to either Guard, will lead you towards going through the door with Good behind it?
I always loved this puzzle. Something about it really intrigued me. I guess something about it still does. There are some versions of this puzzle where the doors lead to Heaven and Hell. I don't care for those. There's another version where one door leads to the sexiest woman I've ever imagined, and the other door leads to a ravenous tiger who will eat me. I don't like that one either because who's to say I'm not interested in seeing what the Guards would do when faced with a ravenous tiger being released from behind a door? A sexy girl is just sexy with no guarantee of sex, and seriously, isn't that why she's "sexy" to begin with? It's not like she's "intellectually stimulating" or "the most perfect person to spend the rest of your life with". No. She is "sexy" to make you think, "A sexy woman, huh? Yes, I would love to have sex with a sexy woman!" Except she's just a sexy woman, she's not necessarily a sexy, Willing To Have Sex With You woman. She's just sexy. You might as well give me a blow-up doll for all the good an Unwilling Sexually sexy woman does me. But a ravenous tiger and three humans scampering to save their lives?? Now that's entertainment! Plus you get a really good story out of it! "My dearest Blow-Up Doll, You'll never believe what happened to me today in front of the two doors. I let the tiger out, and he ate the Guards. Then I opened the other door while he was digesting the two Guards and... well, you know the rest. Sincerely, the Unsexy Yet Willing Man On Top Of You."
If you're still trying to figure out the answer to the puzzle/riddle, then don't read any further. I'm going to write the answer in the next paragraph. So if you're still reading and you want to figure it out on your own, you should have stopped when I told you to stop reading. Okay, you've been warned.
The one question that will lead you to knowing which door reveals Good is, "What door would the other Guard tell me to go through to get to Good?"
The Guard who always tells the truth knows that the lying Guard will tell you the incorrect door, so the truthful Guard will tell you the lying Guard will tell you the wrong door.
The Guard who always lies knows that the truthful Guard will tell you the correct door, so the lying Guard will lie and tell you the truthful Guard will tell you the wrong door.
Whether you ask both or just one, the answer from either Guard will be the same: the wrong door. Therefore, you hear their answer, and then choose the other door-- the door the Guards didn't mention-- and you've found the door leading to Good!
I think this riddle is always kinda floating around in my head, sorta like a childhood memory that never really leaves you, but you're not really aware of it always.
I've been wanting to make movies for a long time.
But I don't have the motivation.
Or the motivation.
Or the energy or motivation.
But some days, I fool myself into thinking I'm going to make a movie.
Because I really want to.
And I fool myself into thinking it's going to be important.
Or entertaining.
Or fun.
Or... a completed movie.
And in those moments, I get to thinking about what I could make a movie about.
I don't really have access to actors, or sets, or costumes, or lights, or scripts, or special effects of any huge range.
I kinda just have me and cameras.
Sounds like I have the set-up to make a documentary, doesn't it?
So, of course, one needs to find a subject for the documentary.
What is your documentary going to be about?
Well, the least amount of work would be to pick a person, any person, and make the documentary about them.
Turn the camera on them and start shooting.
But, honestly, I don't really know a lot of people who would agree to me making a documentary about them.
And I don't know a lot of people I would be interested in watching in documentary form.
"Beverly got up. He shaved. He went to work. He sniffed his fingers. He wished he hadn't agreed to having me narrate his life out loud and is now running across the parking lot trying to escape me. Beverly has fallen and is bleeding. Beverly is asking me why I'm not calling an ambulance. Beverly is crying deeply."
Bo. Ring.
So I gotta come up with something for them, my people, to do.
Some story.
Some gimmick.
Some something.
Okay, how about if I put people in a room and then ask them questions.
Great, I love it.
What if they were exciting, taboo, oft-unasked questions? Questions about sex, politics, religion, love, conservative ideas, homosexual agendas, things we don't really have solid answers for. Answers that would change from person to person.
Okay, I'm still listening...
But how do you string together a bunch of people talking about politics, sex, and things we don't have solid answers for?
That's not a documentary, that's called The Evening News.
Or A Current Affair.
(I'm dating myself now... I guess the kids are calling it TMZ... or Vlogging...)
And I'm not interested.
Okay, wait a minute.
I get the feeling, just listening to the general discourse, that people aren't listening.
Politicians aren't listening to the people they represent.
The people they represent aren't listening to each other.
Nobody is listening to anybody else.
For example, prior to the 2008 presidential election, my father told my 8-year-old brother and 7-year-old sister that he was not going to vote for Barack Obama because, "...he's pro-abortion." I stopped my father, saying that he wasn't pro-abortion, as that made it sound like my father was saying that Barack Obama wanted to force everyone to get an abortion. My father said that's exactly what he meant: Barack Obama wanted to force everyone to have an abortion. At which point I circumvented the lunacy standing next to me in the shape of my father and addressed my brother and sister. "Abortions are currently legal, and nobody wants to get one. There's a big difference between saying you have the freedom to treat your body in the best way you know how, no matter how difficult the choice may be, and saying you don't have that choice. Nobody wants abortions. And nobody wants to force you to get an abortion. And saying that they do is irresponsible, especially when you know it's a lie, and if you don't know it's a lie, you are being willfully ignorant and belligerent to the detriment of a difficult national issue."
That was not the last time I saw my father, but it was close. But I digress...
So people aren't really listening to each other.
Is there a way that I could get them to listen to each other?
What if I made a documentary like the puzzle/riddle. Sorta.
You have to know what the other guy is going to say.
So you get a group of willing participants together.
And you ask them questions about themselves.
How do you identify yourself politically? Sexually? Gender?
How do you get your information? How many different sources do you check before making up your mind about things/life?
What is your educational background?
How did you pay for your education?
How do you make a living?
How many times have you been married?
And when you know where people stand, you make them answer like they're the other people.
So you make the Conservative debate the Liberal on gun control or abortion or immigration, you know, subjects that are typically divisive based solely on political affiliation, but you make them debate the other side's views. The Conservative, then, must debate why gun control is a good thing, based solely on what he or she knows about the liberal gun control argument. And the Liberal must debate the gun control issue based solely on what the conservative argument is.
You ask all the straight people when they chose to be straight.
You ask all the people making $60,000 a year or less why they aren't working harder to become wealthier and, ultimately, become part of the 1%. Why are they too lazy to achieve the American Dream?
And maybe, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe that's a stupid idea.
Because nobody is listening.
So you'll get a whole bunch of Fox News watchers saying that Barack Obama is wanting to force people into getting abortions.
And you'll get a whole bunch of MSNBC watchers saying that the NRA wants to kill babies by putting large-capacity magazines in their breast milk.
And it won't go anywhere.
Maybe if I got high school debaters together...
but that's not exciting.
That's a debate.
Do you remember who won the third presidential debate in 2012?
No.
Or if you do, you will remember it differently depending on who you wanted to win.
If you liked Barack Obama, he won.
If you hated Barack Obama, Mitt won.
Nobody actually liked Mitt, by the way.
Mitt was just the guy who wasn't Barack.
You "liked" Mitt because you hated Barack, not because you liked Mitt.
In the election of 2008 and 2012, you either voted for or against Barack Obama.
You see how that turned out.
The reason I'm so confident about that is not because every single political commentator has said this, but because I saw this happen in 2004. You either voted for G.W. Bush, or you voted against him. It's difficult-- nee, impossible-- to cast a vote against somebody. Strangely, they want to you cast a vote for somebody. You don't win if you're casting votes against. Only the "for" votes get counted.
I guess my documentary idea is dumb.
Plus I'm tired and I'm being forced into a mandatory background check at work. I just got an email. Meeting is tomorrow. And that just makes me even more tired than I already am.
So fatigued and exhausted and tired.
Just done. Supremely done.
I'm really, really, really, really, really ready for some relief.
Sometime really, really soon.
In front of each door, there stands a guard.
One door leads to Good.
One door leads to Bad.
One Guard always tells the truth.
One Guard always lies.
Each Guard knows which door leads to Good and which door leads to Bad, knows which Guard always lies and which Guard always tells the truth, and knows that both Guards know the same things about this entire situation.
You are allowed to ask the Guards one question.
Both Guards must be asked the same question.
What one question, when asked to either Guard, will lead you towards going through the door with Good behind it?
I always loved this puzzle. Something about it really intrigued me. I guess something about it still does. There are some versions of this puzzle where the doors lead to Heaven and Hell. I don't care for those. There's another version where one door leads to the sexiest woman I've ever imagined, and the other door leads to a ravenous tiger who will eat me. I don't like that one either because who's to say I'm not interested in seeing what the Guards would do when faced with a ravenous tiger being released from behind a door? A sexy girl is just sexy with no guarantee of sex, and seriously, isn't that why she's "sexy" to begin with? It's not like she's "intellectually stimulating" or "the most perfect person to spend the rest of your life with". No. She is "sexy" to make you think, "A sexy woman, huh? Yes, I would love to have sex with a sexy woman!" Except she's just a sexy woman, she's not necessarily a sexy, Willing To Have Sex With You woman. She's just sexy. You might as well give me a blow-up doll for all the good an Unwilling Sexually sexy woman does me. But a ravenous tiger and three humans scampering to save their lives?? Now that's entertainment! Plus you get a really good story out of it! "My dearest Blow-Up Doll, You'll never believe what happened to me today in front of the two doors. I let the tiger out, and he ate the Guards. Then I opened the other door while he was digesting the two Guards and... well, you know the rest. Sincerely, the Unsexy Yet Willing Man On Top Of You."
If you're still trying to figure out the answer to the puzzle/riddle, then don't read any further. I'm going to write the answer in the next paragraph. So if you're still reading and you want to figure it out on your own, you should have stopped when I told you to stop reading. Okay, you've been warned.
The one question that will lead you to knowing which door reveals Good is, "What door would the other Guard tell me to go through to get to Good?"
The Guard who always tells the truth knows that the lying Guard will tell you the incorrect door, so the truthful Guard will tell you the lying Guard will tell you the wrong door.
The Guard who always lies knows that the truthful Guard will tell you the correct door, so the lying Guard will lie and tell you the truthful Guard will tell you the wrong door.
Whether you ask both or just one, the answer from either Guard will be the same: the wrong door. Therefore, you hear their answer, and then choose the other door-- the door the Guards didn't mention-- and you've found the door leading to Good!
I think this riddle is always kinda floating around in my head, sorta like a childhood memory that never really leaves you, but you're not really aware of it always.
I've been wanting to make movies for a long time.
But I don't have the motivation.
Or the motivation.
Or the energy or motivation.
But some days, I fool myself into thinking I'm going to make a movie.
Because I really want to.
And I fool myself into thinking it's going to be important.
Or entertaining.
Or fun.
Or... a completed movie.
And in those moments, I get to thinking about what I could make a movie about.
I don't really have access to actors, or sets, or costumes, or lights, or scripts, or special effects of any huge range.
I kinda just have me and cameras.
Sounds like I have the set-up to make a documentary, doesn't it?
So, of course, one needs to find a subject for the documentary.
What is your documentary going to be about?
Well, the least amount of work would be to pick a person, any person, and make the documentary about them.
Turn the camera on them and start shooting.
But, honestly, I don't really know a lot of people who would agree to me making a documentary about them.
And I don't know a lot of people I would be interested in watching in documentary form.
"Beverly got up. He shaved. He went to work. He sniffed his fingers. He wished he hadn't agreed to having me narrate his life out loud and is now running across the parking lot trying to escape me. Beverly has fallen and is bleeding. Beverly is asking me why I'm not calling an ambulance. Beverly is crying deeply."
Bo. Ring.
So I gotta come up with something for them, my people, to do.
Some story.
Some gimmick.
Some something.
Okay, how about if I put people in a room and then ask them questions.
Great, I love it.
What if they were exciting, taboo, oft-unasked questions? Questions about sex, politics, religion, love, conservative ideas, homosexual agendas, things we don't really have solid answers for. Answers that would change from person to person.
Okay, I'm still listening...
But how do you string together a bunch of people talking about politics, sex, and things we don't have solid answers for?
That's not a documentary, that's called The Evening News.
Or A Current Affair.
(I'm dating myself now... I guess the kids are calling it TMZ... or Vlogging...)
And I'm not interested.
Okay, wait a minute.
I get the feeling, just listening to the general discourse, that people aren't listening.
Politicians aren't listening to the people they represent.
The people they represent aren't listening to each other.
Nobody is listening to anybody else.
For example, prior to the 2008 presidential election, my father told my 8-year-old brother and 7-year-old sister that he was not going to vote for Barack Obama because, "...he's pro-abortion." I stopped my father, saying that he wasn't pro-abortion, as that made it sound like my father was saying that Barack Obama wanted to force everyone to get an abortion. My father said that's exactly what he meant: Barack Obama wanted to force everyone to have an abortion. At which point I circumvented the lunacy standing next to me in the shape of my father and addressed my brother and sister. "Abortions are currently legal, and nobody wants to get one. There's a big difference between saying you have the freedom to treat your body in the best way you know how, no matter how difficult the choice may be, and saying you don't have that choice. Nobody wants abortions. And nobody wants to force you to get an abortion. And saying that they do is irresponsible, especially when you know it's a lie, and if you don't know it's a lie, you are being willfully ignorant and belligerent to the detriment of a difficult national issue."
That was not the last time I saw my father, but it was close. But I digress...
So people aren't really listening to each other.
Is there a way that I could get them to listen to each other?
What if I made a documentary like the puzzle/riddle. Sorta.
You have to know what the other guy is going to say.
So you get a group of willing participants together.
And you ask them questions about themselves.
How do you identify yourself politically? Sexually? Gender?
How do you get your information? How many different sources do you check before making up your mind about things/life?
What is your educational background?
How did you pay for your education?
How do you make a living?
How many times have you been married?
And when you know where people stand, you make them answer like they're the other people.
So you make the Conservative debate the Liberal on gun control or abortion or immigration, you know, subjects that are typically divisive based solely on political affiliation, but you make them debate the other side's views. The Conservative, then, must debate why gun control is a good thing, based solely on what he or she knows about the liberal gun control argument. And the Liberal must debate the gun control issue based solely on what the conservative argument is.
You ask all the straight people when they chose to be straight.
You ask all the people making $60,000 a year or less why they aren't working harder to become wealthier and, ultimately, become part of the 1%. Why are they too lazy to achieve the American Dream?
And maybe, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe that's a stupid idea.
Because nobody is listening.
So you'll get a whole bunch of Fox News watchers saying that Barack Obama is wanting to force people into getting abortions.
And you'll get a whole bunch of MSNBC watchers saying that the NRA wants to kill babies by putting large-capacity magazines in their breast milk.
And it won't go anywhere.
Maybe if I got high school debaters together...
but that's not exciting.
That's a debate.
Do you remember who won the third presidential debate in 2012?
No.
Or if you do, you will remember it differently depending on who you wanted to win.
If you liked Barack Obama, he won.
If you hated Barack Obama, Mitt won.
Nobody actually liked Mitt, by the way.
Mitt was just the guy who wasn't Barack.
You "liked" Mitt because you hated Barack, not because you liked Mitt.
In the election of 2008 and 2012, you either voted for or against Barack Obama.
You see how that turned out.
The reason I'm so confident about that is not because every single political commentator has said this, but because I saw this happen in 2004. You either voted for G.W. Bush, or you voted against him. It's difficult-- nee, impossible-- to cast a vote against somebody. Strangely, they want to you cast a vote for somebody. You don't win if you're casting votes against. Only the "for" votes get counted.
I guess my documentary idea is dumb.
Plus I'm tired and I'm being forced into a mandatory background check at work. I just got an email. Meeting is tomorrow. And that just makes me even more tired than I already am.
So fatigued and exhausted and tired.
Just done. Supremely done.
I'm really, really, really, really, really ready for some relief.
Sometime really, really soon.
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