Vote for Change

Precious Little Snowflakes
One of the great things about the internet is the absolutely insane amount of information available at our fingertips. In some ways, this makes it harder to find anything, since the information is more than any one man, woman, child or computer can really handle. On the other hand, it does make reading about some of our favorite topics a great deal easier.

One of my personal favorite topics happens to be about that precious generation of people raised right after me. You know, the people who entering college now and are out of college for a few years now. Those people who were raised thinking they could do no wrong and would set the world ablaze with their amazing skill sets and dynamic energy. I like to think of these fine people using the wonderful term, Snowflakes.

Every week, there is always some article in one of the multitude of online available newspapers discussing the challenges facing this generation. It seems that all the people who were being ground up into little pieces by their jobs forgot that these very children would also someday be required to hold a job, earn an income and suffer in the same ways that they were suffering at that point in time. It was almost as if the workplace so damaged these adults that they tried to shield these snowflakes from the same indignities that they themselves were suffering.

Of course, as we all know, work has if anything, become more difficult in the last generation due to mobile communication and around the clock attention and surveillance. There is no more nine to five or even eight to seven, but instead we are all considered on the clock, all the time. As one might suspect, this grinding lifestyle does not suit the Snowflakes well. And the newspapers are filled with a love and a certain amount of hate for these people. It's wonderful!

They are filled with stories of overprotective parents, calling college professors to provide better grades or for more assistance with timeliness for assignments, because in the real world, my mother calls my boss all the time so I can go home at a decent hour and rest, rather than work 11 hour days...oh wait, she doesn't and I suck it up and do it, because I enjoy things like eating far too much not to.

Even better, some parents take it further and call human resource departments and ask for special considerations for work options and raises. And at work, these fine young people expect their egos to be stroked for doing the bare minimum at their jobs, much like they did in school, getting rewards and high marks for being themselves instead of doing what is asked for.

Sometimes, people defend these wonderful creatures, saying they will bring a technical savvy and a willingness to enact change that previous generations lack. I imagine that techinical savvy mostly revolves around logging onto Facebook at work and posting important company information on Twitter. Change is likely predicated on a willingness to cry about every grievance against them, real or imagined, and insisting they know better on all fronts, because when you have never been wrong, it is hard to be humble enough to be wrong enough to learn.

As you might imagine, I think this is another nail in the fine coffin being built around our fine nation!

Tax Time
Once a year, we all begin on an annual rite of spring. Not sacrificing a goat or a virgin to ensure a good yield for the crops, though this might not be a bad idea in today's topsy-turvy economic climate. No, it is time to do our taxes. That dreaded time when we gather all of our records and try to figure out how can I give the government less money, which is what we all dream of doing.

Usually, I wait until the very last day and gather the W-2s and 1099s and other forms of income and rare deductibles together with 20 or so paper copies of the tax forms purloined in batches of two or three from the local library. Given that I have a law degree and earned an A in Federal Income Tax law in law school, I usually feel this is the best route, since I likely know better or at least like to think I do. Of course, since I have no charitable giving or anything of a nature where I am giving to someone else, I can usually zip through in about 45 minutes, mostly looking at the tax tables and whatnot.

However, this year, I was forced to file electronically. In an attempt to place my one paper W-2 in a very safe place, I managed to make it so safe, that even I am unable to locate and properly use the W-2 in an envelope. Luckily, I had my last paycheck from my old job, my last year's W-2 and enough know how to make my own form for the electronic tax release.

So, it started simple enough, typing in names and numbers, qualifying for the free TurboTax federal and admitting it was worth $30.95 not to have to deal with HR to get another W-2 from the company I used to work for and does not exist. In fact, I was blowing through the entire form with great ease. I was even on pace to get a refund, instead of the incredible reaming I took last year. But then I realized my old job taxed me at 15% for three weeks we worked together, making the money melt out of the refund. It was like watching a perverse, electronic version of Mountainclimber. I could hear the yodeling as the money flew out of pocket and into the government's needy hands. Sadly, I ended up owing the government money, but fortunately, it was only to the federal government and the state will pay me back, since my state is still solvent, unlike the suckers who live in California.

So, I reach the end of the road and I am ready to file, when I get to the needing the either my 2007 Pin Number or my 2007 AIG, neither of which I had possession of. Luckily, with some prompting, I was given a phone number to call the IRS, who have surprisingly useful hours for a government agency. I dialed and expected a wait, you know, the ten minute wait whenever anyone makes a phone call to a gigantic entity. The music begins and the time begins to pass. Five becomes ten, ten becomes twenty, twenty becomes not quite thirty. As the classical music piece fades into a ringing phone, I reach a live person.

I forget the man's name, but he introduced himself as Mr., which was a nice change. I greeted him in a friendly manner and gave him my social security number. From there, it gets crazy. Usually you answer one question to get information, maybe two. This process had ten. Ten questions, things most people would not know, like how many deductions they took the year before. I remembered, but it was touch and go. From there, I was able to get my AIG and finish my taxes, leaving this entire sordid affair behind me for another year.

Inner Oral Violence
Well, as I embark down the long winding road of modern dentistry I have learned the processes are generally not painful thanks to our good friends Lidocaine and Novocaine, but tend to be exceptionally time-consuming and somewhat discomforting.

Today, being my fourth appointment in the last three weeks was by far the worst appointment I've faced. I went for what was to be a simple root canal, my second one, followed by some light posting and temporary capping. This ended up being far more complex than I would like to imagine. I arrived, fiancee in tow, ready for an hour and a half of oral surgery, ready to be at my desk to take care of a few issues by 2 PM at work. (My appointment was an early 10:45 AM.) Well, the first root canal went alright, with a minor change after initial setting, but no pain and minimal discomfort. We were done around 12:45 or so. I figured we would have a quick posting, slap something over the top and away I would be, by 1:30, a little late, but not totally dismayed.

Well, posting went alright, because the dentist does it and I will be the first to admit that I picked one great dentist. However, from there, the dentist left the room and left the hygienist or assistant to finish things up. I hadn't dealt with this hygienist before today, but it made my day awful.

First, everything took for forever. I understand that dentistry is microsurgery and they understand I am scared to death of being there. They should also understand that novocaine has a shelf life in your mouth before it wears off. First, there was an impression, which took forever. I have a strange bite and even though the dentist warned her, I believe she was frustrated with my inability to get the tray set immediately, though she was quite able to cut the back of my gums with tray number 5. This didn't sit well with me, but I swallowed my pain and my pride and soldiered on, like a blissful coma patient.

Finally, we were able to get some impressions set, but only at the expense of 45 minutes worth of time and some severe pain in my jaw, making things like chewing or biting down harder. From there, we began putting in the temporary crowns.

My god! Each one, there were two of them, took about 25 or so tries to get just right, which at this point is debatable. As my back went into spasm, I noticed sensation in my mouth towards the end of fitting one. Sensation was about the last thing I wanted to feel in there...OK, next to last thing after a new hole of some sorts, yet sensation I felt. At this point, I reached a crossroad, do I get another set of novocaine injections, which are absolutely terrible to take or do I man up and hope she gets it done fast.

Like a fool or deranged lunatic, I chose option 2. The first five or so tries, the novocaine was wearing off, but by try six all I felt was material being jammed into my now very sensitive gums. As she kept jamming things in there, I tried very hard to suck it up, but I was in obvious pain. After try 15, which was about the three and a half hour mark in the chair, the dentist returned and asked how things are going, to which she told him, we were almost done. Almost, of course means five minutes or three tries, not thirty minutes or ten tries. Which continued endlessly as the pain became more intense with each try from the lessened novocaine and continual jamming and pulling. Lest this be the only wound inflicted, the hygienist realized that after four hours in a chair, in excrutiating pain, that it was the right time to insist that I needed to use an electric toothbrush and was doing everything wrong.

I see, I was unaware there was nothing wrong with what I was doing, given the incredible number of thousands of dollars I wrote a check for on Monday or the fact I spent 4 hours in a chair accompanied by the sounds of bone saws and blow torchs. What I really needed was the hygienist to get on her high horse and lecture me about everything I'm doing wrong. Yes, let's pick on the person deathly afraid to be here, who you have been working on for four hours to moralize to. Needless to say, I started screaming about the pain she was inflicting, since I was a customer in pain and started to scream and cry enough to be discomforting to anyone in the back of a dentist's office. Surprisingly, she was able to finish a lot faster at this point and give up on her need to have her friends gang up on me to prove a point, which is where she wanted to take me next.

Luckily, the dentist came out and was very calming. The remainder of his staff was wonderful as well and was really trying to help. As we talked, the dentist told me that the work I had done today was the amount of work the average person has in three or usually four visits, but we crammed it into one fun-filled, adventure-laden day. I will of course, go back in two weeks to begin my series of 16 to 20 weekly Friday afternoon visits, since a good dentist is hard to find, but I will also ask to avoid having this harpy work on me ever again, since there is no need to punish those who have already asked for salvation at the end of an especially arduous session. There is nothing gentle or reassuring about that at all.

Conspicuous Consumption
Some days, I sit in my living room and wonder how all of it arrived in this small space. It did not generally come in twos or threes, but ones, added slowly over time. Sure, sometimes things arrived in large batches, but one at a time, this collection assembled.

Tonight, I spent five minutes going through a box. A crate, more correctly, made of black plastic which allows me to see most of the contents of the crate at once. The other day, I took all of the items off the floor and placed them in the crate. Each box in the crate holds one disc, designed to be played in one of the three video game systems sitting below the television or perhaps a DVD for the DVD player nestled between. Inside the box were just a small portion of these discs which appear to rule my living room, if not my life.

I went through and finally picked a different video game to play, which was not too hard, considering I own plenty of half-finished and barely started video games from the last few years. I mean, I purchased Rock Band on a whim one day, which worked out in the sense that I've played it regularly or regularly enough to justify the high purchase price, unlike the Street Fighter IV joystick sitting in a box waiting to be sent to back to the company, due to its inability to work more than a week after purchase.

But everywhere around me, in bookcases, boxes and god knows where else in this apartment, there are video games to be played and DVDs to be watched and no time to get to them. I figure if I don't purchase another video game this year, I could easily be playing unfinished video games into 2010 and likely watch first and second run movies and television shows piled everywhere. Part of me feels guilty about owning all of these items which serve little purpose at this juncture in my life, but more likely, I will continue to fill this apartment with more shiny, shiny, shiny plastic discs filled with "entertainment".

I Still Have the Password
I realized today it was approximately a year and a half since I made any kind of effort to make a post in my online journal. Over the years, six of them to be precise, I've made postings on at least three different forums and probably more that I started once or so and let lapse like my Catholic upbringing. Nonetheless, I misclicked on one of my old journal links and thought, "Wow, I was a far better writer five years ago than I am today."

I suspect this is due to two reasons. Reason one is simple, I rarely write anything longer than a work related E-Mail anymore. I write to my fiancee every day before I leave for work, but three sentences is rarely sufficient to get any kind of written momentum going. I also write less to my friends, as I find my time becoming scarcer and scarcer, with greater work commitments thrust upon me and greater commitments at home, planning a wedding, preparing for a new life.

Reason two is probably more important, but also more complex. I am often busy, but rarely challenged, which is terrible for growth. I spend a great deal of time at work, which does not provide intellectual challenges very often, save those in finding the self-restraint to suppress my inner rage and dissatisfaction at the things around me. Admittedly, when I started my job, it was easy and required no thought. Which was wonderful for things like creativity, since staring at a screen and mindlessly clicking boxes greatly increases your ability to come up with perverse with to entertain people with, but dealing with people and actual problems beyond the scope of what is right in front of you is tiring and not productive to the flights of fancy and reason which fill up page after page of thought in our lives. What time is not spent there, is spent on logistics for weddings and dentists and new places to live, not for discovering myself. So while I am able to keep an apartment and eat well, like all people, the need for survival is destroying the ability to create.

But that is what life is. You start young and optimistic, then you fail, then you fail again, then you succeed by failing, then you find someone who wants to share this with you and then you end up here, tip-tap-typing away at a live journal, rather than trying to get one more E-Mail to one more person out the door, so one day without your presence does not derail the efforts of others.

So, perhaps I will start writing again and rediscover the person with the controversial thoughts and the ability to give them a meaningful life, but more likely, I will just manage to tell you how much I love going to the grand excess of Costco and fail miserably to ever rediscover the edge that made it all work.

Troubled Waters In Maryland
Weight Watchers meeting and times. I would probably go to Columbia, Glen Burnie or Catonsville. Any time, really. I work Tuesday evenings, so not then.

I just signed up for the Monthly Pass -- $40 a month for unlimited meetings and online WW. It's worth it when the meetings alone can cost $11 a week.

...I've been having dreams of a skinny me. I need to make those reality.

Hope you're having a good Father's Day with the Mule's. I got an e-mail from Pam telling me I really need to talk to Gina. "10 years of friendship is too much to throw away. Think about it."

Guess I should tell her it's not because of me. Gina said she does not want to be my friend anymore. And I honestly do not want to be friends with someone who puts shopping for trivial work items ahead of friendships. (that's not the main reason to not be friends...that sounds kind of petty. but it's an example of the behavior she exhibits that I will not tolerate.)

It's one thing if I told you, "oh Bonnie, I'm sorry. I can't come over today because I have to go shopping for work." Because we talk to each other on a fairly regular basis and at least make efforts to hang out, those "trivial" trips aren't bad. It's another thing if I never returned your phone calls, never made an effort to hang out or talk to you and then told you, "oh, I was shopping for work. I was too busy for you."

I respect Pam for trying, but it's her sister. What am I supposed to say? Your sister is a selfish B-tch and puts herself ahead of anyone and everyone. And she doesn't include friendships among her priorities. Not even top 4 on her list.

Anyways, good luck today. I'm going to see Brad's "grandparents." His step-dad's family. THey smoke, so I'm not looking forward to it. Oh well! It'll be ok.

Let me know about the meetings. We can talk about them.

Luddite Enters 21st Century
Well, as you know likely know, I have a new job...or more correctly, new masters for the same job, who give me an equivilent paycheck and seemingly far more techonological options. The upside of moving from a company of under 100 to one over 10,000 in strength is that you can get discounts on things, especially technological things.

So, with my new discount and expiring cell phone contract, I bought a new cellphone. Or more correctly, a new cellphone plan with a new phone number and text messaging plan. In addition to joining the wave of text messaging, my phone also has a camera. I have already taken two pictures and even use one of them as my wallpaper.

Even better, as part of my job, I need to carry around a fancy PDA which has a keyboard. That's right, not only have I moved to a real cellphone, but I also need a second one which delivers E-Mail for work purposes. All this technological insanity is wearing me out with my various devices keeping me tethered to the world.

Why Mike Huckabee Hates You
With Mike Huckabee and his fundamentalist charm coming from the back of the pack to the front with his Iowa caucus win, perhaps we should stop and take a look at a few of his policies.

One, Mike Huckabee wants to end all national income taxes. Alone, this sounds like a positive idea, leaving us with more disposable income. Two, Mike Huckabee wants to replace the lost revenue with a Fair or Value Added Tax. Essentially, we would pay a tax on every good or service we possibly use, with a check being sent to us each month to cover all spending up to the poverty line. Of course, the tax rate for the Fair Tax would be very high and most goods and services would not come down in price at all, since while there are taxes rolled into the costs of good and services, what right-minded businessman is going to lower the prices of his products, instead of stating that taxes were not the real reason costs were so high, but other concerns which still exist. Additionally, what is going to stop people from creating highly lucrative black market enterprises, avoiding tax collection. And will not we as people be required to file even more complex tax forms for all the services we provide where we do not get a paycheck. If I offer to give someone a ride somewhere and they offer to pay for gas, should not I be forced to collect a Fairtax on that and report it at the end of the year. Otherwise, I would be enabling the black market in the transportation context.

Even better, Mike Huckabee wants to change our health care system to a national health system, which sounds like an admirable goal. What Mike Huckabee really wants to do is eliminate employer-subsidized health care without creating a national health care system. A national health care system frightens me on some level, because I am suspicious of the government's capability to provide healthcare to a quarter billion people in any kind of rational manner. That being said, it is far preferable to no health care at all or encouragement from the government to eliminate health care subsidies. My health care is subsidized by at least 75% by my employer and I am certain most people get some kind of subsidy ranging in the 30 to 100 percent range as well. Eliminating that with no provision for improving my plight will make health care even more expensive, since I do not see doctors changing their fee structures because business is no longer paying its share.

Essentially, the Mike Huckabee plan is to lower America to a second world nation, so we can once again become a nation of exporting manufacturers with low standards of living. If that does not frighten you, I am not sure what will make your blood run cold, because even my blood gets colder thinking about it.

A Most Invigorating Show
Sunday night I drove into New York City. I know, blasphemy using an automobile when I can take the train for the same price. However, since I was uncertain what time the Slackers Holiday Show was going to end, I decided it was best to have reliable transportation on hand, rather than relive all night in Manhattan, which is a story only one person knows to the best of my knowledge.

So, driving through the strong rain, nerves strained from the memories of April, I arrive at the Holland Tunnel relatively calm and strong. I was especially excited by the complete lack of traffic entering the tunnel, since I waited for no cars, which must be some kind of holiday miracle, unlike when I drove up to Hoboken the same way last year and wanted to commit all sorts of horrible acts on the city planners who designed this stretch of road and all of the mouth breathers trying to escape in the same direction. Confidence brewing, I drove into the heart of downtown Manhattan and began the fabled hunt for parking.

The slow crawl down Canal lasts about three blocks before I head left and try to find street parking by the Bowery Ballroom. Somehow I end up on Mulberry Street and make my way through Little Italy. At one point, I spy a parking garage and give it a long thought, before I realized I am adamantly opposed to paying $17 to park my car. My patience was rewarded when half a block away I found a spot on the street that was easy to enter and exit...and legal. From there, I head up from Prince Street to Houston and begin my search for the Bowery Ballroom in earnest.

The search was long, but not arduous. I found a map in a bank window and said...Delancy is three blocks away, off of Clinton Avenue. Now, Clinton Avenue was 12 or so blocks from where I was and given my up, down and back managed to traipse thirty blocks to the Bowery Ballroom, the same Bowery Ballroom which was five blocks away.

Inside, I make slow progress through the downstairs bar, but eventually get to the Ballroom up a second flight of stairs across the bar from the stairs I just went down. I circle the merchandise table a few times and find none of the shirts in my size are out, so I wander around and wait for the opening act. The opening act was fair, nothing worth talking or complaining about. Towards the end of the act, I head downstairs and purchase a bright blue T-Shirt with the Slackers logo and a buxom redheaded pirate over the slogan "Sleazy but sensitive" along with a Special Potatoe CD, because I am a sucker for anything with a Slackers track I don't own. So, with my fourth Slackers shirt in hand or hooded sweatshirt pouch as it may be, I headed up for the show.

The show itself was excellent. I've seen the Slackers ten times and never once have they disappointed. The first set was highlighted by most of the standards I expect at a Slackers show, like Sarah and what not, along with appearances by Alex Desert from Hepcat, Swingers and Becker and Steve Jackson from the Pietasters. The second set was a departure from just Slackers songs as they performed The Fool by Hepcat with Alex Desert and Girl Take It Easy by the Pietasters with Steve Jackson. The encore was almost a third set, where I got to hear And I Wonder live for the second time along with rousing versions of classics like Married Girl.

To give the story a proper ending, I need to tell you about what happened during the second set. I was up at the front, because it's a good place to be at a ska show, despite the fact a crowd surfer almost fell on me. (Seriously, crowd surfing is dead and only people who act like lobotomy victims/patients still do it. This wisp of a gentleman and his cro-mag friends obviously are late to the party with the underdeveloped frontal lobes.) But towards the front there were also a lot of women, mostly with their boyfriends. More than halfway through the set there is this woman, really more of a girl, since she was not wearing a bracelet which would allow you to purchase alcohol who is most certainly giving me the eye. Not just any girl, not some dumpy twenty year old desperate for attention from anything resembling a male, (like the girl at work who accused me of resorting to whipping to get results, I retorted I was contractually forbidden from doing so, trying to defuse an awkward moment on the floor.) but a girl who in my estimation was one of the three prettiest females in the room. After confirming the whole scenario, I laughed the whole thing off, because in reality, do I need any contact with a twenty year old who likely lives in New York City. You think the answer is yes, but we all know the answer is no, because that doesn't properly fit my life. Nonetheless, I greatly enjoyed being a youthful looking 29 year old being given the old look by a foxy 20 year old. In fact, I enjoyed it so much I had to tell everyone on the internet about it.

The IKEA Cycle
Today, I buckled down and removed every extraneous box from my apartment, save a mailer which had my name in the middle of the box, requiring more effort than I cared to exert to remove it. Additionally, in the near to distant past, I ended up taking on some items, actually a lot of items from my ex-girlfriend during her eviction, as the storage locker was full, as was my car, which was quite problematic that night and most days when I would avoid the corners of my bedroom where items were piled in my exhausted haze. (Note: Helping a helpless person move for the better part of a week is quite tiring, even more so when you are playing fun games like "Hide the Bottle" and "You Want These CVS Wooden Blocks, but Not the Pictures of Your Children". For the record, I won game one and lost game two.)

I piled up all those terrible boxes and dragged them outside under the cover of darkness, since in all honesty, I have no idea what I am supposed to do to dispose of them. Perhaps it is an arcane ritual involving black magic and twine, but I settled for large boxes behind the dumpster and small boxes in the dumpster. After removing the boxes, I picked up every possible bag that would fit in the largest box, as it remained in the apartment. Filling the box with bags, boxes and those stupid wooden blocks, I pushed and pulled and pushed and pulled...and no it is not nearly as satisfying or erotic as it sounds, until the freakin' box was in the back left corner of the closet. From there, it was bags and baskets of glassware on the top shelf, the mirror which was on the floor (which provided me endless amusement while getting dressed in the morning...you would have done the same thing, so take your judgment elsewhere) into the closet, along with the various jackets covered in fur, real and fake.

Finally, I could seal the closet, leaving two reminders in my bedroom. First is a wooden chair. There is nothing remarkable about this chair, other than it is in my apartment, but it fills a corner of my bedroom at the moment and makes me feel better about things. The second and more worrisome object is a faux or second generation Tiffany lamp sitting on my dresser. Let's be honest, I am not a Tiffany lamp guy. It's all blue stained glass with a hideous base that looks like someone lit a lamp on fire and made a new lamp out of the melted mass. Yet, somehow this lamp signifies class and wealth, whereas the $15 IKEA lamp that provides excellent life proves that I am a shiftless, lower class moron who enjoys good light at the expense of good taste. Still, a reminder of my old relationship rests on my dresser, a portal to a variety of questions no one wants to answer in life.

Before we get to the crux of my new problem, let me explain why things went into a closet, in lieu of say a dumpster. First, I am not the kind of person to throw away the items of a person who I know, even if I would charitably describe our conversations, mostly rare calls from me where I pretend to care if only to see if there is an opening to rid me of another's junk, as cold. Second, throwing out items is a lot of work. If I am going to undertake throwing away these items, I will probably just sell the good stuff on Craigslist, since I think a few hundred dollars justifies the risk of inviting a stranger into my home to violate me in ways I can completely comprehend. Third, while this is, on some level, my new possessions and problems, I want to do the right thing for a while and help out. Actually, I just don't want to tote all that heavy glass down those stairs again, let's be honest.

Of course, having removed all the boxes and junk of others I am left with all of this space, primarily in the bedroom, as the living room was filled out by new bookcases from IKEA in the last few weeks. Now, I cannot accept having all of this space, unused or covered by furniture. But I have no idea what items I need to procure from IKEA to fill the physical void in my life. Though by doing so, it will serve as a solid Plan B for the emotional void in my life. Yes, there is a Plan A and Plan A may be working, but I might also be delusional about things, which in all makes it a tough spot, not made any better by the old holiday slowdown. So, if anyone has any ideas as to what terrible IKEA furniture I need, which will fit in the back of a small Toyota, let me know.

Of course, buying more furniture means buying more boxes, which means I have to start all over again with the magic of making boxes disappear.

Juno
I am almost at a loss for words to describe how amazing Juno was. I went today, Christmas Day, to an early showing of Juno and walked out utterly amazed, trying to figure out which films I've seen that were definitely superior. (The list is two for the moment: Animal House and Ghost World.)

Obviously, what makes the movie go is Ellen Page, who has the potential to be the best actress of her generation. She conveys so much emotion, feeling and thought with her face that any scene with her in it, you are just drawn to. The experience is even better on the big screen where you are not forced to look at her and just feel. I don't think I've ever said that about anyone's performance in a movie before, but I've now said it twice about her.

Of course, the rest of the cast puts in great performances as well. What Michael Cera may lack in range, he makes up for in really playing one role exceptionally well. Even better was Jason Bateman. Watching him, I find it hard to believe there were not better roles for him for the decade between the Hogan Family and Arrested Development. He plays the role of the adopting father to perfection and the moments with him and Ellen Page are a sheer delight. (Wow, that sounds overly giddy, even for a movie review.) Even Jennifer Garner puts in a good performance as the non-attractive woman whose life is clearly heading downward from the first frame. I don't know why people think she is wonderful, but she has a face that is a half-step away from Sarah Jessica Parker, something no amount of airbrushing or cinematographical skill can make up for.

And the story works, because neither the emotion nor the plot seem artificial. It is the story of a stubborn teenager who finds herself pregnant. And despite this, the movie is neither moralizing or overly joyous as to how people react to situations. So, if you are looking for a movie this holiday season, it is surely worth the longer journey to see Juno than to cop out and see something like Walk Hard, which I also saw this weekend and thought was terrible. (Note: John C. Reilly trying to be Will Ferrell trying to be a musical legend in a movie that feels like an Airplane ripoff is not a good idea.)

While the Rest of You Are Spending Time with Kith and Kin
I am thinking about tomorrow. Not Christmas, which is a highly overrated holiday, which generally forces us to spend time with people we secretly or usually openly hate in the interest of family, but the upcoming years.

2008 is upon us and I cannot shake the feeling that soon we are facing one of those great moments in human history. We face political uncertainty in America with a variety of bland, flavorless candidates jockeying to place themselves at the head of the wagon into the abyss. And globally, we face an incredibly frightening future, filled with positive uncertainty and negative forces made worse by governmental failure and epic greed. And we haven't even touched upon the potential for social unrest and the terrible things we do to our world on a daily basis.

And honestly, I'm excited. I've come to accept there will never be a war of the scale past generations lived through. But perhaps through the complicity and failings of our "masters", we too can be part of a genuinely important time in history.

The true test of the human condition is extreme adversity. In our current states, we will not starve or suffer or any of those things. We will complain of petty injustices, nurse grudges which have no real meaning, think we have succeeded, when we have undoubtedly failed. All of this is meaningless. Once we watch politicians attempt to put a salve to our numerous wounds, it will become clear to all of us that the past is our link to the future and we can see if we are weak and the remnants of the past or if the indominatable American spirit courses through all of our veins and allow us to rebuild a new world, not necessarily a better world, but a world of our own, rather than the world of our past which encroaches upon us in ways beyond our ability to comprehend.

Wonderwall
The last nine days have been a surreal experience. Ten days ago, I could not imagine I would imagine how incredibly strange, but incredibly correct my life is and that something as horribly cliched as Wonderwall by Oasis would be my song du jour, because it just fits. I'm at the highest possible level of upheaval I could possibly imagine while feeling safe and secure at my desk in my apartment.

Last Thursday was a walk into a world of terror with missteps and landmines everywhere, yet somehow I navigated them all beyond what I thought my skill set could handle. After that, I removed myself from my world for four days, journeying through airports and rental car counters to arrive in Florida, where life just stopped, except for the thoughts about returning to a world of uncertainty, which I was thrilled about on some level, though at the same time horribly fearful of. Monday, I spent seven hours in an airport, reading Gravity's Rainbow, which is akin to bits of fantastical, imaginative writing wrapped in an endless mound of nonsensical garbage, so much like real life. After watching old women eat Happy Meals, I boarded a plane, watched Saturday Night Fever and arrived home to ice and snow.

I am not certain I could even explain Tuesday even if I was allowed to or even wanted to, but suffice to say, it was not a superficially bad moment and excellent sandwiches were served. Wednesday was 30 minutes at work and four hours with dinner, which is on the whole, usually a good way to live life. And yesterday was the holiday party at work, which after a zany day at work started slow and ended awkwardly well, though even the uninebriated tell the strangest stories at an office holiday party. But somehow, it all makes sense.

Governmental Excess
In a shocking, shocking twist, the libertarian in the room is supporting the libertarian Republican candidate for President. That's right, I'm on the Ron Paul bandwagon. Do I know that it is a losing cause. Yes and no. In the sense that Ron Paul is highly unlikely to win a general election, yes it is a losing cause. However, in American politics, there is a grand tradition of third parties running for general election to further the cause, rather than win the post. Ron Paul is the champion of those who are sick of our bloated government. And I am frighteningly ill from our Washington largesse.

That being said, some parts of the Ron Paul candidacy trouble me. First, he is as stridently pro-life as I am pro-death. Abortion is important. First, women should have the right to choose to terminate the lives of the parasites within. Nowhere does it make sense to force people to carry babies to term they do not desire. And in a surprisingly statistical analysis, crime rates tend to drop dramatically fifteen to twenty years after abortions become legal. Really, unwanted children who grow up in tough households where they were never wanted and viewed as burdens become hardened criminals? While not shocking when presented to you, it is a gigantic leap of faith...one I readily accept.

But all candidates have their flaws and since I do not expect him to win, it is a flaw I can overlook. However, Ron Paul believes in freedom, a peculiar brand of American freedom. He is anti-gun control, which is a positive, since owning a gun as an American is a great historical tradition. The reason Americans were allowed to own guns was two-fold. First, as a militia, it created an armed populace in case of foreign invasion. Second, it allowed the people to retain more power by rising up and creating revolution in the face of oppression. I would fully support any fool who wanted to own their own tank or warship in the name of freedom, as it is the greatest value we have as Americans.

He also opposes foreign intervention in our government. Multinational organizations allow non-elected bureaucrats to dictate our behavior. I cannot begin to tell you how appalling I find that. It is bad enough we have a bloated government we can partially control. Do you want to organizations like the International Criminal Court telling us which of our soldiers are criminals or the Kyoto Protocol forcing our nation to make bigger sacrifices than some up and coming powers in the world? That does not improve our world, it only serves the horrible, yet utterly realistic vision of the future put together by Kurt Vonnegut in Harrison Bergeron to existing. (In the story, equality or the twisted sense of equality has removed all freedom from the people. Quite possibly the scariest story ever written.)

Ron Paul also understands privacy as a form of freedom. We are vigilantly watched by the government at all times, the same government beholden to special interests. How can this be in our best interests? Don't answer, it is rhetorical. My stand for Paul is about my understanding of the dying American spirit, which I want to see live on in a small government, rational world. Is he perfect? No. Is he the best answer for me? Yes.

Shoplifting
After work today, I decided I very much wanted to recapture a small part of my youth and purchase The Triumph and Tragedy of World Class Championship Wrestling, which was my favorite wrestling promotion in my youth. The movie contains the exceptionally sad story of the Von Erich family, who were repeatedly struck by an incredible string of tragedies, making for an exceptionally compelling narrative.

So, after Blockbuster, Target and K-Mart yielded no copies of this documentary, I went home, searched the internet and after being unable to find it anywhere but Best Buy for a price higher than I wanted to pay. This meant it was time to head off to the Walmart/Sears complex. Sears was a surprising strikeout, but in Wal-Mart, after finding an empty display, I found one of the two remaining copies in the store and pleased with the price, I head to the front of the store.

Arriving at the register from the side was a Hispanic woman carrying two boxes of diapers, Huggies if I am not mistaken, so in a rare show of good sportsmanship, I let her go first. The wait in line was short, two or three people. She is absently thumbing through one of those celebrity magazines, In Focus or something and I was engaging in people watching. By the register itself was a rack of Frito-Lay snack chips, well ravaged by people consumed with hunger during their stay in the store. The woman takes the Fritos, the strange twisted BBQ ones and opens the bag.

At this point, I realize two things. First, the woman has two different sizes of diapers. Not just two different package sizes, but also diaper sizes, indicating she probably has two young children in her care. Second, beneath her right eye, there was a bruise, punctuating the sense of lost hopelessness and sadness in her life. All the while, I remain fixated on the open bag of Fritos, just sucking the money out of her wallet.

So, the cashier rings up the 100 pack of diapers, then the 54 pack of diapers and asks the woman if she knows the diapers are in different sized packs. The woman, missing the question, says she realizes the diapers are different sizes, confusing the cashier. During this time, the Fritos move onto the conveyor belt, beside the scanning station of the register and back into her hands, as she holds them, like a small child desperately trying to conceal something in plain sight. At this point, it hits me, she is plotting to take these Fritos with her without properly reimbursing Wal-Mart. Eventually, the cashier bags the diapers and it ends up costing the woman four dollars more than expected. So, she reaches into her wallet and puts four singles with her two twenties, pays the clerk and leaves.

In the moment, it seemed surreal. This woman, was what I believed to be brazenly taking a product from the store without paying for it. I contemplated saying something, since theft of this nature is obviously wrong. But I stopped. Part of me was afraid that somehow, my eagle-eyed nature missed a scan, creating the possibility of creating a situation where no situation was warranted. Also, I thought, here was this poor woman trying to find a little solace with her two children and possibly an abusive significant other through a bag of Fritos and thought how horrible her life must be to resort to stealing Fritos to improve her quality of life. If I was capable of emotion, I would have felt terrible for this poor woman, but in reality, all I wanted to do was go home and watch my new DVD, which turned out to be excellent.

This Could Be So Much Worse
I have taken a strong interest in our current and future national crisis in relation to the American economy. Perhaps my favorite part of the entire issue is the subprime mortgage mess, both levels really. It is not just an issue of people buying houses, but the way money continued to flow into the bank as people were buying houses through exotic funding schemes that are amazing for both their inventiveness and their absolute lack of redeeming value.

The major question on my mind was when was the government going to intervene and how. For almost a year, it seemed like a forgone conclusion the government would do something to prop up bad loans out in the market. I mean, if people can get loans for $400,000 without proving assets or a job, eventually the wheels are going to come off. Of course, by giving people loans like this, you overinflate the value of property, making a home affordable only to the rich, the previously locked-in or the criminally stupid. I mean, honestly, if I give you money, do you not think you will have to come up with some way to pay it back. Even with the easy credit, I still like to believe the average person knows that all money spent must be earned or repaid.

I assumed government intervention would take the form of money being given to moron X, rewarding their bad behavior, allowing them to keep their homes and the artificially inflated prices on the homes. Now, as you might suspect, I am adamantly opposed to any form of government intervention, since I think housing prices need to fall, if not collapse, in order to make homes affordable for people again. Of course, not being a home owner, I should think such things. I also realize home owners are voters and there is no chance of that happening.

Today, the White House actually released a plan for helping home owners out. And honestly, I did not feel the need to throw up or hold a complete funeral for personal responsibility. Though personal responsibility is still on life support and would like you to come down the hospital and visit some time, sit with it for a few minutes, tell stories of things you did for yourself or at least send some flowers.

The plan is simple. Allow homeowners five more years at the teaser rate if they are unable to make the necessary payments on their homes at a new rate starting in 2008. Also, you need to be current on your payments and not have a 60 day delinquency on their home. This plan is fairly logical. It keeps marginal owners in homes for a few more years, allowing them more time to sell their homes without making the market a bloodbath all at once. By reducing foreclosures, you keep the housing market tighter, which in turn allows prices to deflate instead of crash. This assumes rational action, rather than people sitting on a loan, paying only the interest for five years, increasing their later payments to a point they are unmanagable, due to having to pay the principal on their homes in 22 years instead of 30.

Supposedly, the plan only affects between 10 and 15 percent of all subprime mortgage holders. Well, you can't allow people to keep homes they can't afford to make the minimum payments on, nor should people who can actually afford to make the payments get a boon for others being incompetent.

Of course, there is a hitch in the plan. The hitch is you cannot easily trace who owns which mortgage anymore, since mortgages were not sold as individual units, but packaged and sliced in a variety of ways. It might even be possible that there is no saving these homes without the intervention of the financial markets, since they might be the only people who have the ability to sign off on these mortgages. I bet you were unaware that your home loan might be cut up so that one person, company or government entity gains the interest on the loan, while another from that group of potential owners receives all the payments related to the principal. Now, package a bunch of those together, with different people getting payments out of the group over years and you have no ability to sign off on any changes.

And if you have a pension plan or your local government does, they likely own some of these "fool-proof" securities. So, in essence, these decisions effect everyone, since if the state pension cannot meet its obligations, you, the taxpayer, will be squeezed by your government and court system until blood is drawn from a stone, so let us up cooler heads prevail and a slow deceleration process of the housing market takes effect, rather than the absolute bottoming out of the economy, which we could pay for until we are all very dead.

An End of Civility
I went to the grocery store yesterday, a normal exercise where people move around with a small amount of consideration for others around them. Entering the store, I made a right turn towards prepared foods and baked goods, instead of entering through the open area of produce. To get to my destination, one must move past the dreaded South American Shrimp display, larger and more unwieldy than you would expect such a niche product display to be. I was behind a middle-aged woman who certainly appreciated the supermarket more than say I do, or at least the eating portion. Arriving at the display case, she decides to stop, which is normally fine, as there is plenty of space in front of the counter to enjoy samples and shop in relative freedom. Of course, there would be no story if she wisely stopped in front of the counter. No, instead she decided that stopping at the side of the counter, blocking a major artery into the shopping areas was a far better idea.

Stuck behind this woman, who I would charitably call portly or uncharitably make a mocking comment about how I would not need to squint to watch a movie shown on her plus-sized derriere, I park my cart tight behind her, since there was no way I could crash through the oncoming traffic. While slightly annoyed at this woman's lack of supermarket grace, it was a manageable inconvenience, akin to someone forcefully driving through a lane to cut people off at the head of a merge. So, the first two or three people move through with smaller carts, but eventually a woman with a full sized cart gets stuck trying to move past. I then apologize, stating there was nowhere for me to move my cart to, a true statement, as I was completely boxed in. The woman in front of me, finished grazing over the shrimp display for her sample, but no sale, moves her cart, stating with the righteous indignation reserved for only the stupid and committed in life, "Well, now you have somewhere to go." Her premise was that I was a monster for daring to insist that a public space is shared by others and our actions need to be judged in a greater context. Of course, she believed anyone who would dare question her was a social miscreant, unable to accept that her needs were greater than the average person's.

As a response, I did the only thing which crossed my mind as supermarket appropriate and shame worthy. I slow clapped at her. Six or seven antagonizing, shaming sounds made from hands meeting designed solely to show her up by stating she was not nearly the victim or god forbid hero she believes she is. Upon being degraded in front of thirty or so people for her actions, she pushes her cart to the side and bleats out in one of those haughty and obnoxious middle class tones, "If you are in such a hurry, perhaps I should let you go in front of me." As she was giving her speech, I was already roaring past her, since there may never be another chance to get by again, replying with "The first show of good sense you've shown today, ma'am." Let it never be said that even when provoked I lose my manners.

Honestly, what is it about people and public spaces that prevents them from showing good judgment. If you want or need to use a certain part of the store, do not park something in a main area of commerce. Grocery stores especially are designed to allow you to pull over your cart into safe, non-travelled areas. It is akin to deciding, you know what, I want a smoothie, stopping your car in the middle of the street, running out and coming back with a smoothie. You put your car in a parking space and your cart in a non-travelled area. It is a simple concept that the average person seems to have trouble with. Monsters, one and all.

The Cycle or Versus Women Volume 48
I have come to accept that my life now includes a fascinating cycle relating to women. Since moving into my own apartment, I get this fancy idea that what my life needs is a girlfriend, which is somewhere between a half-truth and a myth. (Fact: My life needs a purpose, though a girlfriend would be nice.) So, having spent my formative years away from people and being exceptionally shy and retiring with new people, I do what any sane person with a limited skill set would do. I go to the internet. On the internet, I spend hours looking at profiles and postings, then spend an inordinate amount of time creating elaborate introductory messages, which I then usually send.

Of course, because I invest a great amount of time in each message, it bothers me when they fail. This feeling is then magnified by my intense fear of failure, which is brought to center stage by these failings, which most people deal with. Every so often, in the wreckage of my failed messages, I get a response. From there, one of two things happens. I either realize I cannot stand these people or it works out I go on one date, usually ranging from hideous to boring. After the date, I become disillusioned again with the whole process, since when I feel effort is not reward with positive reinforcement, the desire to add effort to the mix wanes, until some jarring event happens, which leaves the balance of fear of being alone for now or forever becomes stronger than my resentment towards my failures. In short, this is the life pattern I have either chosen or become a part of, which is somewhat frightening and somewhat comforting, like all life patterns good and bad.

So, why is this relevant? Well, after turning 29, I had one of those moments, you know the sobering ones where you realize how poorly you spent the last year, even though it was one of the better years I've had. During this moment, I realized it was time to get back out on the horse and see how far it is going to throw me this time. I have my suspicions that I will be thrown in about two weeks and quite far, as I am out to prove I learned nothing from the last time. Of course, we have to wait until I am thrown from the horse for me to reveal the kicker and make my statement about what my liberal arts education taught me.

What Are You Doing About the Economy?
I, like you, and everyone else is doing nothing other than writing about the fact the economy, local, national, global, is completely going into the tank. As an intellectual ghoul, I enjoy knowing there is a giant problem we are all just looking the other way from. As a human being, I am somewhat frightened there is a giant problem we are all just looking the other way from. As a person, I feel there is little I can do to change it, so like everyone else, I will sit here and expect someone else to do something important for me.

The article I read today, was of the opinion that Europe is starting to feel the global pinch as everyone who deals in petroleum products or American products is trying to exchange their "hard-earned" dollars for Euros, considered a far more stable currency. Of course, the European housing market is suffering from the same deflation, strikes are plaguing France and companies are realizing that the dollar was the universal standard and any contract between an American company and European company means that goods and products were sold on an exchange rate that has long passed, making it far more expensive to export goods to America...like Airbus airplane. Of course, the increased value of the Euro is problematic, as most of Europe's exports are made Euro-currency products and paid for in deflating American dollars.

There are two possible reasons why no real change is happening. First, small groups of powerful people probably stand to profit from this. I reckon if people can think that selling low-grade debt as high-grade debt was a viable and successful idea, at least some of these same people must have prepared for the eventual decline that any shock or fear in the system would create. I think we often forget about the role of fear in finance, but the only reason a $20 bill is worth 20 times a $1 bill, is because we all believe that these pieces of paper have real value. If we all stop agreeing to these things, our lives become worthless. This is a very sobering thought we are all loathe to have.

Second, I doubt anyone has an answer as to how the economy can be fixed. The rising price of oil is frightening, because in the past, it was just a small segment of the world dependent on black gold, but now as more nations become Westernized, which is little more than a polite way of saying First World, more nations are now dependent or at least, highly interested in oil. This is no longer a problem which will be fixed by a decrease in oil price. These prices all have to be paid for in the economy, including the American economy, which as far as I can tell is smoke, mirrors and service...and I think most people have enough smoke and are running close to capacity on mirrors. I mean, does anyone know anyone who actually creates something, rather than just "adding value" to a finished good or providing a service. I suspect we will need a complete reimagining of economic theory to make the world running well again. Until then, I suspect we are all doomed, but at least we can take solace in the fact we are doomed together.

Under New Ownership
No, I am not under new ownership, but I might lease myself out for the right price, oh wait, we call that work. It seems that not one, but two laundromats changed hands in the local area, making me ponder, does anyone care if a laundromat is under new ownership.

With this in mind, I went and did a few loads of laundry today, not just to fulfill my curiousity, but because I also love clean pants and such. Aside from the new banner, announcing a Grand Re-Opening and new ownership, there was a dark green sign in the window, which was new for the laundromat. The sign, was informative in the sense it listed all the services a laundromat held, but honestly, what kinds of services are there for a laundromat, washers, dryers, drop-off laundry service and surprisingly pick-up laundry service, which seems a bit much even by my crazy standards. However, these were all the services they had before and as far as I can tell, there was no day the laundromat was closed.

Inside, things seemed pretty much the same. The same washers and dryers were in the laundromat at the exact same prices, which is really all I am interested in from a laundromat, but there was some new furniture. Gone was the rattan sofa set and it was replaced by a new sofa set which looked like it was covered in some kind of vinyl. In addition, there were three new chairs in the laundromat, which looked more inviting than the old plastic patio chairs, as the chairs were padded with metal frames, like one would expect in school or office cafeteria.

So, I go and start my laundry and then take a seat in a chair between the two televisions, one showing soccer and the other showing some strange program, the details of which are beyond my recall. While sitting there, the attendant or perhaps new owner, an older African-American woman with a strange accent and halting command of the language asks if I have a card. I say no and she returns, asking me how much I spent, which was three dollars. Well, with three dollars of laundry, I get a punch on a card towards a free wash, which I get if I spend three dollars, six times. So, after eighteen washes, I get the nineteenth free, which is not a bad deal, but not really a major incentive to go to this laundromat. The real incentive is not using the laundry room in the basement where I literally could have drowned in, something I rarely make issue out of. But otherwise, the laundromat was the laundromat and I could not figure out why there was a need for an Under New Ownership sign.

Was the issue there was a thought people were not coming to the laundromat because the old owner was a less than savory character? Possible, but unlikely.

Are there people looking for a new laundry service? Doubtful, because I would suspect the average person would prefer not to know someone new is handling their clothes with more people learning horrible secrets about them.

Really, I think there is just this idea that change is good and we should promote change in self-serving ways anytime someone will let us. Honestly, it says to the world, look at me, I am making a bold stand against life in a laundromat or restaurant, showing the world that I too can take a bad idea and fail with it, better than you can world. And you will enjoy my new status by partaking in the excitement of a new laundromat or a new restaurant, since we all know every place improves once new owners take place. (This guarantee expires after three weeks or the new purchase smell wears off. I mean, they were sweeping down the new couch today, which screams new owner. We'll see how things are in three months when the new couch is ripped to shreds by customers who care not about the material possessions of a business, only their own petty, sordid lives.) Sometimes, I want things to stay the same, a good thing to continue. I don't need false excitement in my laundromat, since I can get enough of it at work.

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