It's six in the morning on a Wednesday. I've had the last two nights off, for which I am grateful. Much of last year my weekends were split because of my counterpart's school schedule and other availability problems. This is the third week in a row that I've had two days off together, and I've been making the most of them. The biggest problems, as usual, are sleep and computer, both of which can really screw up the way I use my time.
This morning I've been up since 3:30, and I've spent all of the last three hours on the computer. I cleaned out my message page on Facebook and my email inbox. Some of what was there became the previous blog post.
I didn't expect to be up this early, and I'm still in my pajamas. I'd like to get dressed and go work on the projects I've been busy with this weekend, but I don't want to wake Gaby. If I wait till the sun comes up I won't have to turn on a light to find my clothes, and I can be quiet enough to let him sleep.
We weren't been very happy with each other yesterday, but to explain why requires a bit of background.
I own some ancient cookware, some of which is at least thirteen years old, and it was cheap stuff to begin with. Naturally, much of the non-stick surface is worn away. He says it's because I use metal utensils (which I do occasionally, but not often enough to warrant concern), but I believe it's because they're old and cheap.
Recently we aquired some new expensive cookware, but they are rarely used unless the old and cheap ones are dirty. Overnight, while he was asleep, I made some mashed potatoes in one of the new expensive saucepans because I couldn't find the old and cheap one that I really wanted to use. Our potato masher happens to be metal, but it has no sharp edges and I used it carefully, and then used a plastic spatula to scoop out the potatoes.
As soon as the sun was up, I threw myself into a woodworking project that I'd been wanting to get to for some time, and while all of my mental and physical energies were being thrown into this project, he came out to complain about my use of that saucepan. Naturally all he got from me was a blank stare because I didn't know what he expected me to do about it while I was completely engaged in something else. He then came out with one of our cheap but brand new frying pans and attacked the surface of it with a metal fry scooper. That was uncalled for, and I could have said something about it, but, as I said, I was busy.
When I got to a stopping point, I came in for lunch, and checked Facebook. He had posted about how difficult it was to live with someone who didn't care about what he cared about. That's ridiculous. Not caring and completely disagreeing are two different things. I typed back, "Not guilty." He later deleted that post.
I spent the rest of the afternoon working on my project, and was pretty pleased with how it was going. I had one setback, but it was easily fixed, and I discovered that I was out of paint, so I had to go to Lowe's. When I got to my next stopping point, I was starving. It was at that moment that he asked me to fix the window on the front of the house.
He pointed out later that I could have said no. And he was right. I could have told him how hungry I was. I could have told him that we didn't have all the materials we needed, and that I didn't want to spend any more money at Lowe's or the time or gasoline it took to get there. I could have just told him I had other plans. But I didn't, for two reasons.
First, we have a different approach to things. He wants something done, I want it done well. The result is that I will put things off until I have the time, the resources, and the mental focus to get it done. (This is a form of procrastination common to Frustrated Perfectionists.) He, on the other hand, has too much time on his hands, and I was a little afraid of what the result might be. (I was mad enough that I actually said something to him about this where I wouldn't have normally. He was a bit offended.)
Second, and most importantly, I didn't want to give him more ammo for his "he doesn't care" rant.
On top of that, we were running out of daylight, and if we were going to do it, we had to do it right then. Ultimately the project came out just fine. We worked together, and we were very pleased with the results. It just needs some paint.
Later I found this on his Facebook:
Gabriel Guerrero-Savage
According to psychologists and psychiatrists, it is healthy to gripe about the things that bother you with your spouse. Things about him or her that makes you feel unappreciated, etc. They say it's better than keep [sic] them to yourself because that can get you physically and emotionally sick. Then you start hiding thing from them and growing apart. But they don't say what's next after you have griped! hehehe
2 people like this.
Saúl Peña The "cold shoulder" maybe?
Gabriel Guerrero-Savage Yes Saúl, I'm afraid that's what we got...
Saúl Peña Things will go back to normal real soon. Don't worry. It's part of the process.
Thing is, I wasn't giving him the cold shoulder. I was just preoccupied.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
So Wrong
It Made My Day - Little Moments of WIN – Chuck G.
itmademyday.com
A friend of mine told me how he rear ended another car yesterday. The person he hit happened to be a midget. The guy got out of his car and walked to my friend’s window, looked up and said, “I am not happy.” To which my friend replied, “Then which one are you?”
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All drugs have two names, a trade name and generic name.Example, the trade name is Tylenol and its generic name is Acetaminophen. Aleve is also called Naproxen.
Amoxil is also called Amoxicillin and Advil is also called Ibuprofen.
The FDA has been looking for a generic name for Viagra.
After careful consideration by a team of government experts, it recently announced that it has settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bill and his wife Blanche went to the state fair every year, and every year Bill would say, "Blanche, I'd like to ride in that helicopter."
Blanche always replied, "I know, Bill, but that helicopter ride is fifty bucks,and fifty bucks is fifty bucks!"
One year Bill and Blanche went to the fair, and Bill said, "Blanche, I'm 75 years old. If I don't ride that helicopter, I might never get another chance."
To this, Blanche replied, "Bill that helicopter ride is fifty bucks, and fifty bucks is fifty bucks."
The pilot overheard the couple and said, "Folks I'll make you a deal. I'll take the both of you for a ride. If you can stay quiet for the entire ride, and don't say a word, I won't charge you a penny! But if you say one word it's fifty dollars." Bill and Blanche agreed and up they went.
The pilot did all kinds of fancy maneuvers, but not a word was heard. He did his daredevil tricks, but still not a word.
When they landed, the pilot turned to Bill and said, "By golly, I did everything I could to get you to yell out, but you didn't. I'm impressed!"
Bill replied, "Well, to tell you the truth I almost said something when Blanche fell out, but you know, Fifty bucks is fifty bucks!"
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SLEEPING WITH BOB The guys were all at a deer camp. No one wanted to room with Bob, because he snored so badly. They decided it wasn't fair to make one of them stay with him the whole time, so they voted to take turns.
The first guy slept with Bob and comes to breakfast the next morning with his hair a mess and his... eyes all bloodshot. They said, "Man, what happened to you? He said, "Bob snored so loudly, I just sat up and watched him all night." The next night it was a different guy's turn. In the morning, same thing, hair all standing up, eyes all bloodshot. They said, "Man, what happened to you? You look awful! He said, 'Man, that Bob shakes the roof with his snoring. I watched him all night."
The third night was Fred's turn. Fred was a tanned, older cowboy, a man's man. The next morning he came to breakfast bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "Good morning!" he said. They couldn't believe it. They said, "Man, what happened?" He said, "Well, we got ready for bed. I went and tucked Bob into bed, patted him on the butt, and kissed him good night. Bob sat up and watched me all night."
itmademyday.com
A friend of mine told me how he rear ended another car yesterday. The person he hit happened to be a midget. The guy got out of his car and walked to my friend’s window, looked up and said, “I am not happy.” To which my friend replied, “Then which one are you?”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All drugs have two names, a trade name and generic name.Example, the trade name is Tylenol and its generic name is Acetaminophen. Aleve is also called Naproxen.
Amoxil is also called Amoxicillin and Advil is also called Ibuprofen.
The FDA has been looking for a generic name for Viagra.
After careful consideration by a team of government experts, it recently announced that it has settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bill and his wife Blanche went to the state fair every year, and every year Bill would say, "Blanche, I'd like to ride in that helicopter."
Blanche always replied, "I know, Bill, but that helicopter ride is fifty bucks,and fifty bucks is fifty bucks!"
One year Bill and Blanche went to the fair, and Bill said, "Blanche, I'm 75 years old. If I don't ride that helicopter, I might never get another chance."
To this, Blanche replied, "Bill that helicopter ride is fifty bucks, and fifty bucks is fifty bucks."
The pilot overheard the couple and said, "Folks I'll make you a deal. I'll take the both of you for a ride. If you can stay quiet for the entire ride, and don't say a word, I won't charge you a penny! But if you say one word it's fifty dollars." Bill and Blanche agreed and up they went.
The pilot did all kinds of fancy maneuvers, but not a word was heard. He did his daredevil tricks, but still not a word.
When they landed, the pilot turned to Bill and said, "By golly, I did everything I could to get you to yell out, but you didn't. I'm impressed!"
Bill replied, "Well, to tell you the truth I almost said something when Blanche fell out, but you know, Fifty bucks is fifty bucks!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SLEEPING WITH BOB The guys were all at a deer camp. No one wanted to room with Bob, because he snored so badly. They decided it wasn't fair to make one of them stay with him the whole time, so they voted to take turns.
The first guy slept with Bob and comes to breakfast the next morning with his hair a mess and his... eyes all bloodshot. They said, "Man, what happened to you? He said, "Bob snored so loudly, I just sat up and watched him all night." The next night it was a different guy's turn. In the morning, same thing, hair all standing up, eyes all bloodshot. They said, "Man, what happened to you? You look awful! He said, 'Man, that Bob shakes the roof with his snoring. I watched him all night."
The third night was Fred's turn. Fred was a tanned, older cowboy, a man's man. The next morning he came to breakfast bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "Good morning!" he said. They couldn't believe it. They said, "Man, what happened?" He said, "Well, we got ready for bed. I went and tucked Bob into bed, patted him on the butt, and kissed him good night. Bob sat up and watched me all night."
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Have Yourself A Melancholy Christmas
I've been thinking a lot lately about the future of Christmas in my family. My parents are in their 70s now, and though they both are in pretty good health, still they are the lynch pin that holds this holiday together for the family. What will it be like after they're gone?
Christmas has never been a religious holiday at our house, even though my brother and I grew up in church, and my parents are still very active in theirs today. Nor has it really been about Santa, even though we all look forward to the gifts, both as givers and recievers. It has been instead all about the family getting together, and even when it seemed that portions of the family were splintering, this holiday still brought us together.
Our house became the place the extended family came to for Christmas since before I can remember. I know that that's true, but the earliest Christmas I can actually remember was in 1969. It was truly magical for us. My brother and I woke to find an HO guage railroad set up for him, and a Hot Wheels track set up for me. At the time, it seemed gifts filled the whole room. That's the last year I remember believing in Santa.
My mom loves Christmas. She loves the tradition of it, she loves decorating the house, she loves the food, she loves entertaining (any time of year). But somehow, Santa was never a big deal at our house. My classmates at school would get into heated arguments in the lunch line about whether he actually existed or not, but I never participated, because I didn't care. (They also argued about whether "The Wizard of Oz" was a movie for "babies.") On the other hand, my mom, my brother and I had some serious discussions about which was the "real" Santa Claus: the one at Sears, the one at the tree lot, or the one at Penn Square. We decided the real one was at Penn Square, and I think it was because he had to park his sleigh at the Antique store on Classen Circle, just down the street from the mall.
My only other Santa memory is from a day in the middle of summer. I think I was six years old, my brother four. An older cousin of ours had come over with some large jingle bells. My brother and I were in the kitchen, when we heard him start shaking them. When we ran into the living room, my Dad said that Santa was doing a summer check to see if we were being naughty or nice. We raced out onto the front porch and stared at the sky while our cousin howled with uncontrolable laughter.
Somewhere between 1969 and 1971, Mom had casually mentioned that Santa was just Dad in a red suit. I don't remember why this came up in conversation, but I do remember that we were in the car on our way to a mall in the city on a sunny afternoon. It didn't surprize me, since Santa had my dad's handwriting, but I did wonder where Dad hid the red suit, because I'd never seen it. But from then on, everytime Santa was mentioned at Christmas time, my brother and I always responded with that smile one has when one is in on the joke.
Christmas of 1971 was celebrated on Christmas Eve for some reason. Santa was passé by that time, so there were no questions about how that would affect his visit. Previously that summer, I had discovered plastic model car kits, and I had spotted one that I really wanted. It was a Monogram model of a souped up fire engine called the Firecracker. That was at the top of my list for presents.
My Dad had a little shack out back of the house that served as his man-cave. That's where he had been hiding the presents that year, and my parents were not finished wrapping gifts when the family started arriving. I heard my Dad struggling with the back door, so I went to help him. When I opened the door, he started yelling "Go away! Get outa here!" I left, but not before I spotted the Firecracker in the stack of boxes he was bringing in. I had to act surprized when I opened it later. I may have overdone it.
I still have that model. It's in the china cabinet in my dining room.
For some reason, whenever I think of the family coming to that house, the face that stands out most is that of my cousin Gary. We never saw him any other time of year, and I could write a whole 'nother post about his sad life. He died of alcoholism just a few years ago.
In 1973, we moved to a new house, one that had a real dining room, and my mom became the hostess for the family's Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts. But her mother died in 1989, and there were marriages and divorces, and kids moving across the country, and other things that happen in the evolution of a family. Thanksgiving just seemed to disappear from the calendar in a way. And yet, Christmas always brings us together. The extended family is no longer there, and the significant others have changed. We don't even celebrate the holiday on the actual day anymore; we have to work it around everybody's schedules. (One year we celebrated on December 15, and another was in February.) But my mom works really hard to bring it all together, regardless of the changing circumstances.
I've always loved giving gifts, and I love it even more if they're truly appreciataed. My first Christmas as a working man (I was 16), I got my brother a Pachinko machine. He loved it, and I loved that he loved it. Now he lives halfway across the country, and I know little about his home life. As a result, I'm having trouble this year figuring out what to get his significant other. I imagined she might be having the same difficulty, so I sent her a suggestion for one particular family member. She reacted with anger, and I was confused by that reaction until I talked to my mom, who told me that the current economy has been bad for them. She apparently took my suggestion as a demand at a time when they could ill afford even the trip. Then we find out that she can't get off work, and won't be coming this year, which is very disappointing. So she's been on my mind a lot this season.
But that situation also made me wonder about the future of the holiday in my family. Without Mom and Dad, Scott's family actually has no use for Christmas, and I'm thinking in particular that I wouldn't ever see his daughter again. I'm seeing Gaby and myself, grey-headed, sitting in a Cracker Barrel, exchanging small gifts over turkey and dressing, and trying to get that game down to just one golf tee. I hope the future is a bit brighter than that. Who knows, maybe by that time we'll be able to take a cruise or something.
Christmas has never been a religious holiday at our house, even though my brother and I grew up in church, and my parents are still very active in theirs today. Nor has it really been about Santa, even though we all look forward to the gifts, both as givers and recievers. It has been instead all about the family getting together, and even when it seemed that portions of the family were splintering, this holiday still brought us together.
Our house became the place the extended family came to for Christmas since before I can remember. I know that that's true, but the earliest Christmas I can actually remember was in 1969. It was truly magical for us. My brother and I woke to find an HO guage railroad set up for him, and a Hot Wheels track set up for me. At the time, it seemed gifts filled the whole room. That's the last year I remember believing in Santa.My mom loves Christmas. She loves the tradition of it, she loves decorating the house, she loves the food, she loves entertaining (any time of year). But somehow, Santa was never a big deal at our house. My classmates at school would get into heated arguments in the lunch line about whether he actually existed or not, but I never participated, because I didn't care. (They also argued about whether "The Wizard of Oz" was a movie for "babies.") On the other hand, my mom, my brother and I had some serious discussions about which was the "real" Santa Claus: the one at Sears, the one at the tree lot, or the one at Penn Square. We decided the real one was at Penn Square, and I think it was because he had to park his sleigh at the Antique store on Classen Circle, just down the street from the mall.
My only other Santa memory is from a day in the middle of summer. I think I was six years old, my brother four. An older cousin of ours had come over with some large jingle bells. My brother and I were in the kitchen, when we heard him start shaking them. When we ran into the living room, my Dad said that Santa was doing a summer check to see if we were being naughty or nice. We raced out onto the front porch and stared at the sky while our cousin howled with uncontrolable laughter.
Somewhere between 1969 and 1971, Mom had casually mentioned that Santa was just Dad in a red suit. I don't remember why this came up in conversation, but I do remember that we were in the car on our way to a mall in the city on a sunny afternoon. It didn't surprize me, since Santa had my dad's handwriting, but I did wonder where Dad hid the red suit, because I'd never seen it. But from then on, everytime Santa was mentioned at Christmas time, my brother and I always responded with that smile one has when one is in on the joke.
Christmas of 1971 was celebrated on Christmas Eve for some reason. Santa was passé by that time, so there were no questions about how that would affect his visit. Previously that summer, I had discovered plastic model car kits, and I had spotted one that I really wanted. It was a Monogram model of a souped up fire engine called the Firecracker. That was at the top of my list for presents.
My Dad had a little shack out back of the house that served as his man-cave. That's where he had been hiding the presents that year, and my parents were not finished wrapping gifts when the family started arriving. I heard my Dad struggling with the back door, so I went to help him. When I opened the door, he started yelling "Go away! Get outa here!" I left, but not before I spotted the Firecracker in the stack of boxes he was bringing in. I had to act surprized when I opened it later. I may have overdone it.
I still have that model. It's in the china cabinet in my dining room.
For some reason, whenever I think of the family coming to that house, the face that stands out most is that of my cousin Gary. We never saw him any other time of year, and I could write a whole 'nother post about his sad life. He died of alcoholism just a few years ago.
In 1973, we moved to a new house, one that had a real dining room, and my mom became the hostess for the family's Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts. But her mother died in 1989, and there were marriages and divorces, and kids moving across the country, and other things that happen in the evolution of a family. Thanksgiving just seemed to disappear from the calendar in a way. And yet, Christmas always brings us together. The extended family is no longer there, and the significant others have changed. We don't even celebrate the holiday on the actual day anymore; we have to work it around everybody's schedules. (One year we celebrated on December 15, and another was in February.) But my mom works really hard to bring it all together, regardless of the changing circumstances.
I've always loved giving gifts, and I love it even more if they're truly appreciataed. My first Christmas as a working man (I was 16), I got my brother a Pachinko machine. He loved it, and I loved that he loved it. Now he lives halfway across the country, and I know little about his home life. As a result, I'm having trouble this year figuring out what to get his significant other. I imagined she might be having the same difficulty, so I sent her a suggestion for one particular family member. She reacted with anger, and I was confused by that reaction until I talked to my mom, who told me that the current economy has been bad for them. She apparently took my suggestion as a demand at a time when they could ill afford even the trip. Then we find out that she can't get off work, and won't be coming this year, which is very disappointing. So she's been on my mind a lot this season.
But that situation also made me wonder about the future of the holiday in my family. Without Mom and Dad, Scott's family actually has no use for Christmas, and I'm thinking in particular that I wouldn't ever see his daughter again. I'm seeing Gaby and myself, grey-headed, sitting in a Cracker Barrel, exchanging small gifts over turkey and dressing, and trying to get that game down to just one golf tee. I hope the future is a bit brighter than that. Who knows, maybe by that time we'll be able to take a cruise or something.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Thoughts on the Occupy Movement
My job involves driving the cars of a wide variety of people. Often those people will leave their radios on in the car, and I get a peek at the type of music they like, where they get their news, and their tastes in humor and religious programming. One night I heard Bill O'Reilly on FOX Radio talking about the Occupy movement, and it was pretty obvous that he was completely clueless.
At that time I had just finished reading Bethany McLean and Joe Nocera's book "All the Devils Are Here: The Hidden History of the Financial Crisis", so I had a decent understanding of how the whole financial crisis happened. Also, in the blogs I read, the wonkish economists have a lot to say about the perils of the current income disparity. It's not hard for me to understand why people are out protesting in the parks.
I have a good friend who is a left-of-left liberal. His Facebook page is filled with Occupy messages, some on the mark, some not so much, and I was inspired to write a blog post about my own impressions of the movement. But I never actually started anything until one of my friends from the other side of the spectrum posted a link to a story about Wall Street execs showering the OWS in New York with McDonald's employment applications. In the ensuing discussion he said this:
"I think whatever the Occupy movement tried to represent, it was co-opted long ago by anarchists, union thugs, etc. This movement won't help me pay my student loans. And, frankly, wanting a "free ride" is not what most Americans want. Hand-outs don't work. Never have, not long term. And that seems to be what the Occupy movement's underlying message is: 'You have something, and I want it. I'll have the government take it from you by force and give it to me.'" It was pretty much exactly what Bill O'Reilly had said that night on the radio.
So I started collecting notes from my various reading sources online, and collecting newspaper articles, just to have references to construct a meaningful blog post. But I didn't yet have the core piece that would bring it all together.
Then I found this. It's a comment on a post on the Frum Forum, a Republican blog with a centrist-to-right point of view. To me it summed up the whole thing and made all the rest of what I had collected unnecessary.
"Ray_Harwick // Dec 12, 2011 at 12:56 am
My sister is an RN at a non-union hosital where the Job Creators run the cartel. This year **all** of the staff, with the exception of the doctors and executive staff, were forced to take a pay cut; thereby widening the gap between the highest earners and even college-educated nurses and technical staff. For my sister, it meant she picked the wrong place to live because the amount of her pay cut was equal to the amount of money she spends on gasoline monthly to commute to work. Or it means about half of her mortgage payment for a two bedroom farm house of 1,200 sq. ft. that she had to save money for the downpayment for until so was 40 years old.
I get your point. Somebody has to win, right? And you want to continue the status quo of the top earners not only staying at the top, but holding the power of determining prosperity over everyone else. Win-win for the highest wage earners.
Gannett Publishing, owner of a couple dozen newspapers around the country, boasted about how they’d held down expenses for their stock holder’s benefit. Yes. They did. They layed off some 3,000 workers nationwide, mainly those on the news side, then rewarded their 57 year-old retiring CEO who “met Gannett’s challenges of the 21th century” with $39 MILLION good-bye present. I’m gonna say you’re beaming with pride over that, Mr. Foster, since it meets you ideal of keeping the living wage power in the hands of the Job Creators. Give yourself a pat on the back.
This is why I love to see the other extreme flaunt its power. I proudly point to the NBA Players Association which represent a couple thousand near, or actual millionaires who are the actual BACKBONE of the NBA. You know, the talent? Sort of like what the nurses who do all the work at hospitals are? Anyway, the NBAPA is equal in the argument for their sport. Too bad pro baseball is forbidden by law to do what the NBA players can do. But I suppose that’s why we can have minor leaguers playing for peanuts and holding down jobs at car washes in the off season.
The best question that came from last night’s GOP debate, in my opinion, was the one from a Yahoo commenter who asked “When was the last time you had to cut back on *necessities* in order to survive?” Did you notice that *none* of the candidates gave a direct answer and, of course, when Mitt Romney can bet $10,000.00 (or about 0.0055% of his net worth) on a *trivial* political point, it stands to reason why he’d have to admit that he *never* in his life had to cut back on *anything* in order to survive. He had to reach back into papa’s early days. Bachmann still clips coupons with her net worth in the millions! Poor girl. Rick Perry had to bath in a #3 wash tub, just like I did, and gee, what a great real estate oracle he turned out to be. So this millionaires club running for the nomination couldn’t even answer the question. Makes you feel cozy, don’t it. You’re working for them and as soon as you’re used up, the Job Creator cartel will dump you without so much as a going away party at the Motel 6 Hospitality Room."
The point of the Occupy movement is simply this: The system has been rigged, through a variety of methods, to send the wealth of the nation to a few at the top in such a way that the many at the bottom are deprived of the very opportunity to succeed, to advance, sometimes to even survive. It has nothing to do with a free ride, hand-outs or taking from rich to give to the poor. It has only to do with the removal of the artificial obstacles that keep people of good character and great potential at the bottom of the pile.
At that time I had just finished reading Bethany McLean and Joe Nocera's book "All the Devils Are Here: The Hidden History of the Financial Crisis", so I had a decent understanding of how the whole financial crisis happened. Also, in the blogs I read, the wonkish economists have a lot to say about the perils of the current income disparity. It's not hard for me to understand why people are out protesting in the parks.
I have a good friend who is a left-of-left liberal. His Facebook page is filled with Occupy messages, some on the mark, some not so much, and I was inspired to write a blog post about my own impressions of the movement. But I never actually started anything until one of my friends from the other side of the spectrum posted a link to a story about Wall Street execs showering the OWS in New York with McDonald's employment applications. In the ensuing discussion he said this:
"I think whatever the Occupy movement tried to represent, it was co-opted long ago by anarchists, union thugs, etc. This movement won't help me pay my student loans. And, frankly, wanting a "free ride" is not what most Americans want. Hand-outs don't work. Never have, not long term. And that seems to be what the Occupy movement's underlying message is: 'You have something, and I want it. I'll have the government take it from you by force and give it to me.'" It was pretty much exactly what Bill O'Reilly had said that night on the radio.
So I started collecting notes from my various reading sources online, and collecting newspaper articles, just to have references to construct a meaningful blog post. But I didn't yet have the core piece that would bring it all together.
Then I found this. It's a comment on a post on the Frum Forum, a Republican blog with a centrist-to-right point of view. To me it summed up the whole thing and made all the rest of what I had collected unnecessary.
"Ray_Harwick // Dec 12, 2011 at 12:56 am
My sister is an RN at a non-union hosital where the Job Creators run the cartel. This year **all** of the staff, with the exception of the doctors and executive staff, were forced to take a pay cut; thereby widening the gap between the highest earners and even college-educated nurses and technical staff. For my sister, it meant she picked the wrong place to live because the amount of her pay cut was equal to the amount of money she spends on gasoline monthly to commute to work. Or it means about half of her mortgage payment for a two bedroom farm house of 1,200 sq. ft. that she had to save money for the downpayment for until so was 40 years old.
I get your point. Somebody has to win, right? And you want to continue the status quo of the top earners not only staying at the top, but holding the power of determining prosperity over everyone else. Win-win for the highest wage earners.
Gannett Publishing, owner of a couple dozen newspapers around the country, boasted about how they’d held down expenses for their stock holder’s benefit. Yes. They did. They layed off some 3,000 workers nationwide, mainly those on the news side, then rewarded their 57 year-old retiring CEO who “met Gannett’s challenges of the 21th century” with $39 MILLION good-bye present. I’m gonna say you’re beaming with pride over that, Mr. Foster, since it meets you ideal of keeping the living wage power in the hands of the Job Creators. Give yourself a pat on the back.
This is why I love to see the other extreme flaunt its power. I proudly point to the NBA Players Association which represent a couple thousand near, or actual millionaires who are the actual BACKBONE of the NBA. You know, the talent? Sort of like what the nurses who do all the work at hospitals are? Anyway, the NBAPA is equal in the argument for their sport. Too bad pro baseball is forbidden by law to do what the NBA players can do. But I suppose that’s why we can have minor leaguers playing for peanuts and holding down jobs at car washes in the off season.
The best question that came from last night’s GOP debate, in my opinion, was the one from a Yahoo commenter who asked “When was the last time you had to cut back on *necessities* in order to survive?” Did you notice that *none* of the candidates gave a direct answer and, of course, when Mitt Romney can bet $10,000.00 (or about 0.0055% of his net worth) on a *trivial* political point, it stands to reason why he’d have to admit that he *never* in his life had to cut back on *anything* in order to survive. He had to reach back into papa’s early days. Bachmann still clips coupons with her net worth in the millions! Poor girl. Rick Perry had to bath in a #3 wash tub, just like I did, and gee, what a great real estate oracle he turned out to be. So this millionaires club running for the nomination couldn’t even answer the question. Makes you feel cozy, don’t it. You’re working for them and as soon as you’re used up, the Job Creator cartel will dump you without so much as a going away party at the Motel 6 Hospitality Room."
The point of the Occupy movement is simply this: The system has been rigged, through a variety of methods, to send the wealth of the nation to a few at the top in such a way that the many at the bottom are deprived of the very opportunity to succeed, to advance, sometimes to even survive. It has nothing to do with a free ride, hand-outs or taking from rich to give to the poor. It has only to do with the removal of the artificial obstacles that keep people of good character and great potential at the bottom of the pile.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
These Eyes
Gaby went to our optometrist's office today and picked up our new glasses. He didn't take any money with him, so I have to pay for them when I go to get my pair adjusted tomorrow. He did bring the bill, though, and boy am I glad we have insurance. My pair alone would have cost us nearly a thousand dollars. And I'm not even sure I like them. I'm practically blind, so picking out frames that look good on me is not easy. Now that I can actually see what they look like, I think my head needs to be taller and thinner. I guess I'll get used to them. If not, I'll just have to get poofier hair and lose some weight in my jawline.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Uhn Expeermnt in Communicayshn
Oklahoma, as a state, will be 104 years old this coming Wednesday, and I decided to try something on Facebook to celebrate: for one week I'm going to write all my posts with an Okie accent. I think I can do it well, but the hardest parts will be remembering to do it everyday, and rewriting reposts.
The seed for this idea was planted in my head a few years ago when I overheard a conversation among a family at an art show. One young man was bringing the food from one of the food vender's for the rest of the family, and when they asked him what took so long, he responded, "Stdnlahn fr boutnour." (I stood in line for about an hour.) For some reason, that got stuck in my head, and I wondered, 'how would you spell that?'
The second time I thought about this was when I was visiting my buddy Ted in New Jersey. He introduced me to two of his friends, who commented that I didn't talk like I was from Oklahoma. I said, "Well, I'm urban. But Ahcn tahk jss lahk my cuzznz down'n Antlers."
The third, and ongoing impetus is that I've been trying to teach myself Spanish for a while, and now that I have Gaby here to help, he tells me that I don't always pronounce my vowels correctly. This is a problem, because as an Oklahoman, I don't actually use vowels that much. In Spanish, if you don't pronounce your vowels, you might wind up saying a different word.
Gaby's family name is Guerrero, pronounced gay-r-r-reh-do (warrior), not guh-r-r-reh-do (dirty clothes.) As an Okie, I have trouble hearing the difference. We tend to not pronounce most of our vowels at all, and when we do, it's just a schwa (ə).
So, with these things in mind the other morning, I posted this: "Skina wundrin whut kina rsponss I'd git fi startd doin' awl my Facebk posts withnOkie axnt." (I was kind of wondering what kind of responses I'd get if I started doing all my Facebook posts with an Okie accent.)
The responses I got were:
"Huh?"
" i say, dear sir, your charming yet incomprehensible dialect has compelled me to leave you a rather generous gratuity. Cheerio!"
"Sum kinda cownty fair bringin the hayseeds intah town?"
"Weeel, idunnno, but ain't tooo muchin wrawg witit!"
This told me two things. One is that even people who are from here think Okie equals hick, and that just isn't so. We just have a definite way of talking. We don't sound like we walked out of a Ma and Pa Kettle movie or an episode of Hee-Haw. We don't have a drawl like Southerners; we speak at a normal speed. We don't double our syllables like the Tayuxans; that would require too many vowels. (In fact, the name of the state south of us has no vowels at all.) We do sound a bit redneck once in a while, but we don't flatten as many vowels as is done to the south and east of us. In fact, a lot of words are actually pronounced correctly in normal speech.
Besides the lack of vowels, we also tend to run words together to make new and often shorter words. Hence, "I was kind of" becomes "skina". We may use 'aint' and 'y'all', but we also have 'whollago' and 'yoosta'.
The other thing the responses told me was that people don't listen to the way they talk. For me, this is going to be an exercise in listening to myself. No exaggerations, no faking it for the laughs. When you read it, you should be able to hear me just the way I talk all the time.
One rule I plan to stick to wherever possible is that all punctuation, including capitals, will be correct (as in 'anOkie'). Apostrophes will be used once in a while for clarification (as in m'uthr).
So, I'm gunnaduit! Startn nex Wenzdy (Statehud Day), I'm gunna postenOkie awl week. Allyall Okies out thercn join me ifyalike.
The seed for this idea was planted in my head a few years ago when I overheard a conversation among a family at an art show. One young man was bringing the food from one of the food vender's for the rest of the family, and when they asked him what took so long, he responded, "Stdnlahn fr boutnour." (I stood in line for about an hour.) For some reason, that got stuck in my head, and I wondered, 'how would you spell that?'
The second time I thought about this was when I was visiting my buddy Ted in New Jersey. He introduced me to two of his friends, who commented that I didn't talk like I was from Oklahoma. I said, "Well, I'm urban. But Ahcn tahk jss lahk my cuzznz down'n Antlers."
The third, and ongoing impetus is that I've been trying to teach myself Spanish for a while, and now that I have Gaby here to help, he tells me that I don't always pronounce my vowels correctly. This is a problem, because as an Oklahoman, I don't actually use vowels that much. In Spanish, if you don't pronounce your vowels, you might wind up saying a different word.
Gaby's family name is Guerrero, pronounced gay-r-r-reh-do (warrior), not guh-r-r-reh-do (dirty clothes.) As an Okie, I have trouble hearing the difference. We tend to not pronounce most of our vowels at all, and when we do, it's just a schwa (ə).
So, with these things in mind the other morning, I posted this: "Skina wundrin whut kina rsponss I'd git fi startd doin' awl my Facebk posts withnOkie axnt." (I was kind of wondering what kind of responses I'd get if I started doing all my Facebook posts with an Okie accent.)
The responses I got were:
"Huh?"
" i say, dear sir, your charming yet incomprehensible dialect has compelled me to leave you a rather generous gratuity. Cheerio!"
"Sum kinda cownty fair bringin the hayseeds intah town?"
"Weeel, idunnno, but ain't tooo muchin wrawg witit!"
This told me two things. One is that even people who are from here think Okie equals hick, and that just isn't so. We just have a definite way of talking. We don't sound like we walked out of a Ma and Pa Kettle movie or an episode of Hee-Haw. We don't have a drawl like Southerners; we speak at a normal speed. We don't double our syllables like the Tayuxans; that would require too many vowels. (In fact, the name of the state south of us has no vowels at all.) We do sound a bit redneck once in a while, but we don't flatten as many vowels as is done to the south and east of us. In fact, a lot of words are actually pronounced correctly in normal speech.
Besides the lack of vowels, we also tend to run words together to make new and often shorter words. Hence, "I was kind of" becomes "skina". We may use 'aint' and 'y'all', but we also have 'whollago' and 'yoosta'.
The other thing the responses told me was that people don't listen to the way they talk. For me, this is going to be an exercise in listening to myself. No exaggerations, no faking it for the laughs. When you read it, you should be able to hear me just the way I talk all the time.
One rule I plan to stick to wherever possible is that all punctuation, including capitals, will be correct (as in 'anOkie'). Apostrophes will be used once in a while for clarification (as in m'uthr).
So, I'm gunnaduit! Startn nex Wenzdy (Statehud Day), I'm gunna postenOkie awl week. Allyall Okies out thercn join me ifyalike.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Eavesdropping
Okay, I know this is none of my business, but you guys were talking loudly just a few feet from where I was working, and I couldn't help but overhear practically every word, and naturally I developed an opinion on what you were talking about.
First off, judging someone for being judgemental, I think, is the height of hypocrisy. Now that's not a criticism; hypocrisy is human nature. But it is a contradiction that weakens your argument.
Secondly, I'm guessing that you are, what? in your mid-thirties or thereabouts? So your parents would be at least in their mid-fifties, right? That would mean they've already settled into the people they will always be. If you can deal with that, good. If not, get out. If you want a change in the relationship, it's going to have to come from you, because they aren't going to do much changing.
Thirdly, most people aren't going to live their lives to meet your expectations. The only exceptions might be your kids or your employees, but even that's gonna have some huge limitations. If you don't like the people your brothers have become, tough. They're not here to please you; they have their own lives to live, whether you approve or not.
The big question that I see, and that your friends didn't ask, is 'Why do you feel the need to have everyone conform to the image that you think is right for them?' But like I said, this is none of my business.
First off, judging someone for being judgemental, I think, is the height of hypocrisy. Now that's not a criticism; hypocrisy is human nature. But it is a contradiction that weakens your argument.
Secondly, I'm guessing that you are, what? in your mid-thirties or thereabouts? So your parents would be at least in their mid-fifties, right? That would mean they've already settled into the people they will always be. If you can deal with that, good. If not, get out. If you want a change in the relationship, it's going to have to come from you, because they aren't going to do much changing.
Thirdly, most people aren't going to live their lives to meet your expectations. The only exceptions might be your kids or your employees, but even that's gonna have some huge limitations. If you don't like the people your brothers have become, tough. They're not here to please you; they have their own lives to live, whether you approve or not.
The big question that I see, and that your friends didn't ask, is 'Why do you feel the need to have everyone conform to the image that you think is right for them?' But like I said, this is none of my business.
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