Osmosis

One of the blogs I follow is a local economist who is a college professor of economics here at the University in my hometown. He's a centrist Democrat (I'm a centrist Republican) whose style is very readable and even-handed. His blog lead me to another economist's blog, a professor at Princeton, who is a little more complicated in his analysis, and that one led me to the blog of a professor at Berkely, which can get really complicated. (In fact, I find it difficult to absorb what I'm reading and get quite frustrated whenever there is any noise or distraction in the room at all.)

I have no background in economics, so you can probably imagine that macro-economics is way over my head. Much of it is. Sometimes they will put up a chart and say something like "as you can see from this, it's obvious that..." Well, no, I can't, and no, it's not. But I'm trying. One of them admitted to having a problem with YHTMAAAIYP*. Indeed, for the uninitiated, the esoteric nature of some posts can be quite daunting. For a while I was reading QE as Queen Elizabeth. But when the facts are at variance with things politicians are saying, all three can be quite entertaining (which is why I started following them in the first place).

But I didn't realize that I was actually learning something until I turned on the TV the other night, and the Nightly Business Report was on PBS... and I actually understood what they were talking about. This amazed me so much that I was totally riveted to the program. In fact, I realized that I could explain some of this in an over-simplified manner using a Risk game and Monopoly money.

It is said that it takes about 8-14 months to learn a language by immersion. If I had that much success from just following a few blogs, perhaps I should be reading Spanish newspapers more often.

*You Have To Many Abreviations And Acronyms In Your Posts

Obama the Snob

Recently, the President seems to be under attack by people who are refering to him as an elitist because of his stating that the reason people have problems with the Democratic agenda is simply that they don't understand it. In a Boston stump speech he reportedly said, "Part of the reason that our politics seems so tough right now, and facts and science and argument do not seem to be winning the day all the time, is because we’re hard-wired not to always think clearly when we’re scared. And the country is scared, and they have good reason to be.”
The Washington Post responded with an editorial entitled "Obama the Snob", which reiterated the charge from critics that he is a Harvard-educated millionaire elitist who is sure that he knows best and thinks that those who disagree just aren’t in their right minds. (A Facebook friend of mine posted a link to this article.)
So I have to wonder, what does that make me?
I believe that everyone in politics, Democrats, liberals, Republicans, moderates, traditional conservatives, modern "conservatives", etc., all have the capacity to be misinformed, disingenuous, and outright liars, and that because of that all have the ability to pass on bad information is support of their cause. I also believe that facts and data are not always on your side.
I believe that this country's greatest threat, greater than any threat of terrorism or any of our economic problems even, is the toxic hyper-partisanship promoted by the 24-hour propaganda "news" channels that constantly churn out reasons why we shouldn't trust this person, this group, this legislation, and reasons why we should be afraid...very afraid.
Well, I'm not afraid. And I don't want to be afraid. I want to be informed. And I think everyone should be informed, and if that makes me elitist, well so be it.
My brother and I have this discussion once in a while, about trying to stay not red, not blue, but purple. But the purple is made up of little dots that are red and blue, like in a Georges Seurat painting, and if the blue dots outnumber the red dots there is a decidedly blue cast to the picture.
So if facts and data support the "liberal" point of view, does that make my brother and me liberals? Our red-favoring friends seem to think so. We would prefer not, because devotion to an ideology tends to give people permission to ignore the facts and data, and thereby make poor decisions. If the dots are blue, it's not our fault.
Information is out there. And if you are failing to look for it, or selectively ignoring it because it doesn't fit your political ideal, it's not our elitist president's fault either.

Analogies Humor

The line separating painfully bad analogies from weirdly good ones is as thin as a soup made from the shadow of a chicken that was starved to death by Abraham Lincoln.

Here are some fine examples:

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

He was as lame as a duck --not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real lame duck, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like some who could tell the difference between butter and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.

The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee (D-Tex) in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill) in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the impeachment of President William Jefferson Clinton.

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.

Her lips were red and full, like tubes of blood drawn by an inattentive phlebotomist.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.

She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room temperature beef.

Her pants fit her like a glove... well, more like a mitten, actually.

She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

Her voice had a tense grating quality, like a first generation thermal paper fax machine that needed a band tightened.

The painting was very Escher-like, as if Escher had painted an exact copy of an Escher painting.

He was as bald as one of the Three Stooges, either Larry or Curly --you know, the one who goes "woo woo woo."

The sunset displayed rich spectacular hues, like a .jpeg file at 10% percent cyan, 10% magenta, 60% yellow, and 10% black.

Phone Call from the Census

The US Census office in New York has had to fire workers due to fraud. The new folks there must still be learning the ropes. This actual telephone call to Erik Gordon was transcribed immediately upon hanging up, so it's practically verbatim.
Ring. Ring.
ERIK: "Hello?"
CHARLOTTE: "Hello. This is Charlotte calling from the 2010 United States Census. We've left you a couple of messages over the past few weeks but you haven't returned our calls. I'm calling to ask you some additional questions about the census form that you recently completed. This should take only a few minutes."
ERIK: "Okay."
CHARLOTTE: "Can I start by verifying your address?"
ERIK: "Yes, it's the one you have on the form -- 68 East 78th Street in New York."
CHARLOTTE: "And is this the Gordon household?"
ERIK: "Yes."
CHARLOTTE: "And who completed the census form on behalf of the household?"
ERIK: "I did. I'm the only one who lives here."
CHARLOTTE: "And what is your name?"
ERIK: "Erik Gordon. Don't you have that on the form I filled out?"
CHARLOTTE: "Yes."
ERIK: "So why are you asking me again?"
CHARLOTTE (reading): "We need to make sure that the 2010 US Census is an accurate count of every person in the United States and that no person is double counted. This should take only a few minutes."
ERIK: "Okay."
CHARLOTTE: "So Erik Gordon filled out the census form on behalf of your household?"
ERIK: "Yes, I did."
CHARLOTTE: "And am I speaking to Erik Gordon?"
ERIK: "Um, yes. But I think we've covered this, no?"
CHARLOTTE: "Yes, but I need to ask the questions in the order they appear on my screen."
ERIK: "Okay."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, how many people were living at your address on April 1, 2010?"
ERIK: "Just me. I'm the only one who lives here."
CHARLOTTE: "So should I put 'One?'"
ERIK: "Probably."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, do you have children, babies or foster children living with you?"
ERIK (louder): "I'm the only one here."
CHARLOTTE: "It's a yes or no question, Mr. Gordon."
ERIK: "If I'm the only one here, then the answer is 'No,' right?"
CHARLOTTE: "Okay, I'm going to put 'No.'"
ERIK: "Good idea."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, do you have any other relatives living with you?"
ERIK: "I'm the only one here."
CHARLOTTE: "I can't put that."
ERIK: "I don't care."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, we need to make sure that the 2010 US Census is an accurate count of every person in the United States and that no person is double counted. This should take only a few minutes."
ERIK: "But all of this is on the form I filled out."
CHARLOTTE: "I know. I have it here."
ERIK: "So why are you asking me the same questions?"
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, this should take only a few minutes."
ERIK: "This should take no minutes."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, are you refusing to answer the questions? Because if you're refusing to answer the questions, I'm going to have to call you back."
ERIK: "I'm not refusing to answer the questions, Charlotte. I already answered them."
CHARLOTTE: "When?"
ERIK: "On the form you have in front of you."
CHARLOTTE: "Oh."
ERIK: "Yes."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, this should only take a few minutes. Can I ask if you have any nonrelatives, such as roommates or babysitters living with you?"
ERIK: "I'm the only one here."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, you know I can't put that."
ERIK: "No, Charlotte, no. I don't have anyone else living here!"
CHARLOTTE: "No roomates or babysitters?"
ERIK: "No!"
CHARLOTTE: "I'm going to put 'No.' Mr. Gordon, do you have anyone living with you temporarily?"
ERIK: "Charlotte, you know what I'm going to say, right?"
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, it's a yes or no question."
ERIK: "Charlotte, you've already asked me about relatives and nonrelatives. Who else could be living with me?"
CHARLOTTE: "Anyone living with you temporarily, such as any illegal aliens."
ERIK: "Yes, Charlotte. I forgot. I do have illegal aliens living with me."
CHARLOTTE: "How many?"
ERIK: "I live with approximately twelve thousand illegal Mexican immigrants. But please don't put that down, I don't want to get in trouble."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, I have to put it down."
ERIK: "Please don't put it down. They're nice people. They’ve traveled far."
CHARLOTTE: "I'm sorry, Mr. Gordon. I have to put it down."
ERIK: "Okay, put it down."
CHARLOTTE: "Okay."
ERIK: "Charlotte, did you really just put down that I live with 12,000 illegal Mexican immigrants?"
CHARLOTTE: "No. I just put twelve."
ERIK: "Why?"
CHARLOTTE: "I don't have enough room."
ERIK: "Okay."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, were you away from this address anytime in March or April of 2010?"
ERIK: "What do you mean?"
CHARLOTTE: "What do *you* mean?"
ERIK: "Are you asking me if I left my apartment anytime in March or April?"
CHARLOTTE: "Yes."
ERIK: "Then 'Yes.'"
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, where did you go?"
ERIK: "Charlotte, I went a lot of places."
CHARLOTTE: "I only have one line."
ERIK: "That's too bad, Charlotte, because I went *a lot* of places."
CHARLOTTE: "But I only have one line."
ERIK: "So what do you want me to tell you?"
CHARLOTTE: "I don't know. Do you want me to ask my supervisor?"
ERIK: "Actually, I think you should ask your supervisor."
CHARLOTTE (returning to the phone after putting me on hold for two or three minutes): "I think we should just put 'Don't Know.'"
ERIK: "Fine."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, in March and April of 2010 where did you spend most of your time: at your address in New York or in Don't Know?"
ERIK: "New York. Don't Know isn't a real place."
CHARLOTTE: "Okay. New York. Is there any other place you spent most of your time?"
ERIK: "Charlotte, what does that mean?"
CHARLOTTE: "You said you spent most of your time in New York. Is there any other place where you spent most of your time?"
ERIK: "Charlotte, how can I spend most of my time in more than one place?"
CHARLOTTE (after thinking it over): "I think we should put 'Don't Know.'"
ERIK: "Okay. Let's put that."
CHARLOTTE: "Okay."
ERIK: "Okay."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, other than New York and Don't Know, did you spend any time anywhere else?"
ERIK: "Pardon?"
CHARLOTTE: "Other than New York and Don't Know, did you spend any time anywhere else?"
ERIK: "Other than New York and Don't Know?"
CHARLOTTE: "Yes."
ERIK: "No. I spent all of my time in New York and Don't Know."
CHARLOTTE: "How about prison?"
ERIK: "How about prison?"
CHARLOTTE: "Did you spend any time in prison in March or April of 2010?"
ERIK: "No, I was only in New York and Don't Know."
CHARLOTTE: "Okay."
ERIK: "Okay."
CHARLOTTE: "Okay. Mr. Gordon, did you spend any time in the military?"
ERIK: "No."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, did you spend any time in a nursing home?"
ERIK: "Charlotte, can we just put 'Don't Know' for the rest of the questions so we can both get on with our lives?"
CHARLOTTE: "No, I can't do that. You need to answer every question. This should take only a few minutes."
ERIK: "It’s already been more than a few minutes."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, are you refusing to answer the questions? Because if you're refusing to answer the questions--"
ERIK: "I don't want you to call me back Charlotte. I did not spend any time in a nursing home in March or April of 2010. I was too busy in Don't Know."
CHARLOTTE: "What?"
ERIK: "No. No time in a nursing home."
CHARLOTTE: "Mr. Gordon, that was the last question. On behalf of the 2010 United States Census, thank you and have a good evening."

Chain Email -- The Good Kind

Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.

I want to die peacefully in my sleep, like my grandfather. Not screaming and yelling like the passengers in his car.

The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's still on the list.

If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong.

We never really grow up; we only learn how to act in public.

War does not determine who is right -- only who is left.

Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.

The early bird might get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

Evening news is where they begin with 'Good evening,' and then proceed to tell you why it isn't.

To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism. To steal from many is research.

A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. My desk is a work station.

How is it one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to start a campfire?

Dolphins are so smart that within a few weeks of captivity, they can train people to stand on the very edge of the pool and throw them fish.

I thought I wanted a career; turns out I just wanted paychecks.

A bank is a place that will lend you money if you can prove that you don't need it.

Whenever I fill out an application, in the part that says "In an emergency, notify:" I put " A DOCTOR."

I didn't say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you.

Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, but check when you say the paint is wet?

Behind every successful man is his woman. Behind the fall of a successful man is usually another woman.

A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.

You do not need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.

The voices in my head may not be real, but they have some good ideas!

I discovered I scream the same way whether I'm about to be devoured by a great white shark or if a piece of seaweed touches my foot.

Some cause happiness wherever they go. Others, whenever they go.

There's a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they can't get away.

I used to be indecisive. Now I'm not sure.

You're never too old to learn something stupid.

To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target.

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.

A bus is a vehicle that runs twice as fast when you are after it as when you are in it.

Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.

On Being Left Among the Right People

Years ago, when I was working at another hotel, I got into a conversation with a guest who had been with us for a few days. Previously I had mentioned in another conversation that I was gay, which seemed to bother him a bit. On this particular day, he decided to broach the subject again, and asked me, "So when did you convert to gayism?"

The question just struck me as funny, and I laughed and said, "I've never heard it put that way before." But I never gave him an actual answer.

Over the years, his question has stuck in my mind, and I've come up with several smart-ass answers:

"One day I woke up, looked in the mirror, and said to myself, 'I'm not wasting this on some chick!'"

"Convert to gayism? Why the hell would I want to do that?"

"Well let's see... I know it was before I converted to myopia-ism..."

"I'm not really sure. When did you convert to straightism?"

There were others, and all of them were meant to explain emphatically that I never converted to anything, while at the same time making fun of his question, but none of them conveyed the message as strongly as I would have liked. None of them adequately explained that I could no more convert to being gay or straight than I could convert to being right or left handed-- though one of the answers that I thought of was to hand him a pen and paper, notice which hand he took the pen in and ask, "When did you convert to right/left-handedness?"

The whole idea of comparing being gay to being left-handed intrigues me. After Sally Kern made some of her sillier statements to the press, I started noticing that one could substitute the word 'left-handed' for the word 'gay' into many of her statements just to see how silly they actually were, and the idea for this post started to grow in my brain. I've been thinking about it and discussing it with friends and co-workers (one of whom has started calling me "Lefty" even though I'm right handed.) And then a couple of days ago I found this paragraph in a New York Times article:

Compared with straight men, gay men appear to have a larger suprachiasmatic nucleus, a part of the brain that affects behavior, and some studies show most gay men have a larger isthmus of the corpus callosum -- which may also be true of left-handed people. And that's intriguing because gays are 39 percent more likely to be left-handed than straight people.

I liked reading that because it kind of underlined my idea. Here are some of my thoughts on the subject:

• One doesn't get to decide whether or not one is left-handed. As my co-worker Candy says, "You just have to play the hand you're dealt. (I'm not sure if she intended the pun.)
• Being left-handed is niether contagious nor a result of influence. You won't become left-handed by hanging around with left-handed people, nor will you become left-handed if your teacher is left-handed. If you are left-handed, it was decided long before you met any of these people.


• One starts using one's left hand predominantly long before one knows he is left handed. When I was in the first grade, Mrs Olbert explained how to properly hold a pencil when writing. She also explained that the left-handed students would be holding theirs a bit differently. Up to then I had no idea that there was such a thing as right or left handed, but I do know that I had always held my crayons in my right hand. I also knew nothing about same sex attraction until I was ten and one of the sixth graders said that I was a fag if I kissed my brother, but I had crushes on some of my male classmates, and was expressing curiosity about their bodies, from the age of six.
• Using the other hand doesn't change one's manual orientation. My best friend had a first grade teacher that believed that writing with the left hand was improper, and so he was taught to use his right hand. He still uses his right hand for writing out of habit, but he uses his left for everything else.
• The whole world is built for right handed people, and left-handers usually have to make some effort to adjust or find an item that fits their needs. The ignition switch in the car is on the right side of the steering wheel. The mouse on the computer is made to fit the right hand. The buttons on your digital camera are on the right side. Yes, one can buy left-handed scissors, and even Porsche and BMW are making cars with the ignition on the left side, but left-handed items are frequently hard to find, and usually more expensive. Straight people do not have to drive several states away just to find a valid marriage licence, just as right handers don't have to special order a can opener.

Now, of course there are a lot of differences, too.

• Nobody hates you for being left-handed. There's no one standing outside a military funeral with a sign saying that God hates left-handed people. Bullies at school don't taunt their victims by calling them "lefty."
• Similarly, there is no shame associated with being left-handed. Kids aren't killing themselves because they're afraid their parents might find out that they're left handed. They don't feel they need to hide their manual orientation from their peers.
• It doesn't make the news when some celebrity comes out as left-handed. The tabloids don't talk about left-handed scandals. It doesn't hurt someone's career if the public finds out that he's left-handed. A politician won't use his opponent's manual orientation in a negative campaign.
• There is no need for massive support rallies for left-handed people. There will probably never be a Left-handed Pride Parade. One's parents won't be joining PFL-H.
• Restaurant, hotels, and resorts don't advertize as "left-handed friendly."
  I also have doubts that there are left-handed bars, though I may be wrong. You don't see signs up in businesses saying "Left-handed owned and operated."

But most of all...

• No one complains about "special rights" when a left-hander wants a pair of scissors that work for him.
• No right hander complains that it is a violation of his civil rights to make left-handed scissors available.
• No one complains that providing left-handed scissors would change the definition of scissors.

Did you notice that all the ways in which being left-handed and being gay are different are in the ways other people see them? All the differences are merely social constructs, whereas all the ways they are the same have to do with intrinsic personal qualities.

And now all my answers to questions like the one above will be influenced by this line of thinking.

Houseguest

A friend called me tonight. His sanity-challenged girlfriend finally pushed him to the limit, and he's staying with us for the night. I fixed him a pizza and a coke and we sat out on the front porch talking till he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.
He's been a good friend for a long time, and only distance has kept us apart the last several years. The selfish part of me is hoping that whatever change he makes in his circumstance will allow us to see each other more often, but of course he's got to make decisions that work for him. I wish I could solve all his problems, but like most humans I can't be all wise and all powerful. I can only hope that something I said or did made a positive difference.

215,675,903 Channels, And Nothing's On.

I spend too much time on the Internet now that we have DSL. Actually we both do. But I've noticed lately that I'm staying online a lot even when I'm not being entertained or learning anything. Like now, for instance.

Anyway, last night was a terribly slow night, and I finished all of my tasks very early in the evening, so I spent some time surfing the web.

First place to go was to blogspot to check the blogs I follow. Gian had an awesome day. That's good. Band of Thebes had a book review. It didn't look particularly interesting, though I admit I was judging the book by its cover. Mickey Hepner (mickeyhepner.blogspot.com) wrote about how the new health care law is becoming more popular as people are figuring out what it's really all about (though you would never know it from listening to all the politicians running for Mary Fallin's seat.)

Mr. Hepner also wrote a commentary about a piece in the New York Times by David Leonhardt about lessons we should be learning from the Great Depression. According to Mr. Leonhardt, the government started getting panicky about all the deficit spending they were doing, and stopped supporting the ailing public sector, and thereby extended the Depression by several years. Lawmakers today, are also worrying about the deficit spending going on right now, and are wanting to stop government spending while the economy is too weak to do without it. That could send us into a double-dip recession or into a depression. This article covers a subject Mickey has commented on a few times before.

Nothing else recent on blogspot, so over to Facebook, where an invitation to join, or like, or befriend, or whatever, Senator Tom Coburn, who wants to stop out-of-control government spending. Knowing Oklahoma, that's likely to get him re-elected.

I see my friend Anthony has responded to the comment on his status. The day before he lamented about the lack of Supreme Court nominees who knew what the Constitution was. My comment was a cut and paste from the New York Times quoting nominee Kagan about the importance of the Constitution. He responded with an oblique reference to the Harvard incident where Dean Kagan upheld a pre-existing campus policy that pitted the military against civil rights. Ultimately, civil rights lost. I don't know what that has to do with his original comment, but...okay.

Well, I'm wondering if Ms Kagan has another quote I can use concerning this, so I go to the New York Times website to see if there's a quotable quote. As it happens, Ms Kagan was grilled by Senator Jeff Sessions about this very topic that day, and she did indeed have something to say about it, but the best quote was interlaced with other stuff, and...when you use...too many ellipses...it kinda takes the air...out of your...point, so I skipped it.

Nothing else of interest on Facebook, so now I'm off to Politifact.org to see what kind of silliness is going on in the world. Naturally, they're covering the confirmation hearings and have muchos entries, but I've already read most of them. There's a whole page of stuff about the Harvard Law School incident (I say incident, but in fact the policy was adopted in 1979 that required non-discrimination among potential employers in order for them to recruit on campus. The military, of course, was not able to sign such an agreement, and was not allowed to recruit through the school's Office of Career Services; instead, they recruited through the Harvard Law School Veterans Association.) I reread the page to see if there was anything more to learn from it. There's room to quibble on both sides of the argument.
There's an item about her saying that recruitment actually went up in 2005, the same year that the non-discrimination policy was put back in effect (Congress had applied some financial pressure [there's a word for that--it's not extortion, it's...] and schools across the nation had relented under protest. Harvard Law School let the military recruiters back in to the Office of Career Services for a couple of years, though it didn't make any difference in their success.) Politifact rated her statement as "Half-True" for reasons that didn't seem to have anything to do with the statement. Five is up from three, no matter how you slice it. If you check it out, let me know if you agree with them and why.

I wondered if the Washington Post had anything new or different to say about this, but you have to sign up to get their stories, and I was on the computer at work, so no. Anyway, enough of that.

How much would a DVD of "Bullets over Broadway" cost on Amazon? Ooh. Even with shipping it's less than $10. Tempting.

And then I couldn't think of a single other thing I wanted to look at. So I summoned all of my strength and moved the cursor towards the little x in the top corner...

The Victimization of a Yes Man

Ten bucks.
For an hour upstairs separating sticks from orchids when I could have been down front pulling cars for the departing wedding party at 5 bucks per car.
Now it's not her fault. How could she know that I was expecting at least six times that amount. No, I blame Peanuthead.
Peanuthead is not his real name, of course. It's just that his head is shaped like a peanut. Seriously. The guy should be wearing a monocle and a top hat with his grey valet uniform.
Actually, the real problem is that I'm too acquiescent (everybody sing: ♫ I'm just a guy that caint say no. I'm in a turible fix...♫), which doesn't go unappreciated by my indoor co-workers. I can sometimes wind up with a lot of overtime because someone says "Oh, Ron, before you go..." Somehow, though, it doesn't have the same effect when my fellow valets ask me to do something. Instead, I wind up stressed and broke.
There's a transition period between 2nd and 3rd shift. Most nights it lasts for a minute or two while the afternoon guys tell me about the day and what work is left over. Then they leave, and the night is all mine.
But on those nights that we have events that last into the night, they stick around to help out until such a time that it is determined that I can handle it all by myself without getting totally swamped. Even on the nights when I need them, I still think they are just in the way, and I want them gone. I also feel a bit out of control when they are there, which I resent because this is MY shift, and, unless someone is there who can trump my authority, I should be in charge.
On those busy nights when they are sticking around, somehow I get stuck with all the LAs (Luggage Assistance), which I actually enjoy doing, but often I know it's going cost me more money than I am going to make off of it because lately people are just not tipping well. I wind up with a fiver, which is what I can make pulling around one car, which takes less time, less effort, and a lot less personal interaction. The afternoon guys have already made twice or more what I can hope to make on the night shift, so why don't they do the LAs during the busy times, and let me have a chance at a good night?

It was just getting busy last night when the front desk called the bellstand requesting a bellman and bellcart to the 2nd floor. Peanuthead answered the phone, but he didn't go do it. I had gone to get a car for a couple who just need something out of the trunk, and Peanuthead offered to take the car back to the garage so that I could go up to 2 with a cart. I told him I would take the car back, thinking that that might force him to actually do something about the call that he got. But no, when I got back, he was still at the bellstand. Well, the job needed to be done, so...
When I got upstairs, the wedding planner directed me into the ballroom where there were three tables with about 40 or 50 flower arrangements that she said needed to be taken down to her car. One of the banquets guys and I loaded them all up on two carts and took them out to the foyer, where she told us that the actual flowers were to be trashed. We knew the banquet ladies would want to take the flowers home, so we separated the flowers from the filler and foliage. I got interrupted to help the mother of the bride take some wedding gifts up to the sixth floor, where we discovered that the food that was supposed to be delivered to the new couple had been delivered to the room the bride had been in the night before instead of the suite she was in now, and her sister was eating it.
After getting that all straightened out, I went back down to 2, where the sorting was almost done, and started loading the now empty vases back on the carts. The banquets head and I wheeled the carts to the elevator and out into the lobby, with the wedding planner right behind us. As we got out of the elevator, we passed by Peanuthead, who asked, "Where've you been?" I wanted to slap him, especially since he and the other guy were ready to go, which meant that all the business out front was done. Shit.
The BH and I loaded up her Jeep, then he went inside while I visited with her a bit more. She got out her wallet and pulled out a 20, about a third or less of what I felt I deserved. "Do you have change?"
My job is basically an acting job, so I acted like she hadn't just punched me in the stomach, and resisted the urge to say "Twenty IS change." Instead I said, "I believe so," and pulled out my meager take for the evening, and asked, "How much do you want back?" I gave her the ten dollar bill she asked for, but I had to turn away when she said she hoped that that was enough.

I told the morning guys about what had happened, and they understood exactly why my anger and disgust was centered on Peanuthead. One of them reminded me of Peanuthead's habit of standing with his hips pressed against the bellcart door like he's trying to prevent anyone else from getting to the keys. He pointed to the the hole in the door where the lock used to be before the new one was installed. "That hole is for [Peanuthead]'s penis." The one thing we couldn't decide on, though, was whether he was oblivious or sneaky.
Later, when I complained to someone else, I was told that I just needed to learn to stand up for myself. I know that's true. But I'm not confrontational. I can use my blog for some passive aggression and venting, but I need to take some more positive steps.
I've got the weekend to think about it.

So Apparently I've Stolen a Car

About 4:45am, Ms 804 called the bellstand and asked for her car. Now it only takes two minutes for me to pull around a car, so if she had called and left her room immediately, I would still have it out front before she was out of the elevator. But no, I had to wait in the lobby for her when I had other things to do (deliver newspapers).

Finally the elevator door opens, and asked the woman who stepped out, "Are you Ms 804?" She said yes, so I asked, "May I put your luggage in the car?" She said yes, so I took the suitcase out to the vehicle and put it in the trunk. She had some business with the front desk about her charges, and while that was being handled, she handed me her valet ticket, which I didn't look at, since the car was already outside. When she was done, I escorted her outside, gave her the keys and directions to the airport. She sat down in the Smoking Oasis to have a cigarette before she left. After a few minutes she was gone.

A couple of minutes later, Ms 804 came out of the elevator wanting the car I had pulled around. (Panic!)

Now we've got to figure out who that other woman was, and Vizzini is not panicking fast enough for me, until I remember that I have her valet ticket. Turns out, she was Ms 805, and I still have her car.

(I should mention at this point that I am using their room numbers as euphemisms for their last names, and their names sound nothing alike. The fact that their rooms were across the hall from each other was just an amazing coincidence.)

Since Ms 804 was also headed tot he airport, I asked if she'd be interested in taking Ms 805's car. She said she would rather not take on that responsibility, but she still needed a ride to the airport. I decided to take her myself in our van.

Our chef does a cooking show early in the morning on one of the local TV stations, and uses our van to transport all his supplies. He never cleans the van when he returns it, nor does he fill the gas tank. The van smells like old cooking oil, and it's an embarrassment to have to drive our guests anywhere in it. On this morning, I was spared that embarrassment because there were no seats in the van. I wound up taking Ms 804 and her companion in my car (I was so glad it was relatively clean), which is actually against the rules, but what choice did I have?

In spite of the tension being felt by all, conversation in the van was light. We talked about other snafus we'd been privy to in our lives, and they talked about their dealings with car rental companies. At the airport, there were apologies, thank yous and goodbyes. Then I headed back.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...I mean, hotel, Ms 805 has called to tell us she got the wrong car. When she arrived at Thrifty, they informed her that the car belonged to Hertz. She told Vizzini that she hadn't even noticed that it was a different car. She thought that I had just adjusted the seat. Looking into it later, I found that she had driven in to the hotel three days before, parked the car in valet, and hadn't used it again till it was time to go home. So at $50 a day for rental, plus tax, and $20 per night for valet parking, she spent at least $240 on a car when she could have spent $55 plus tip on two taxis. And since she hadn't seen the car in three days, she didn't notice that I had pulled around a light gray Corolla instead of her blue Optima.
Our Loss Prevention Officer called over to Hertz to make sure that the car had been returned, and the clerk he talked to went to check. While he was gone, LPO could hear Ms 804 in the background getting very upset with the other clerk who was telling her that since I had given the car to someone else, that I had essentially STOLEN the car and the police needed to be called, and that since her name was the one on the contract, that she was responsible for paying for it. Then the first clerk came back and told LPO that the car had indeed been returned.
LPO and Vizzini started making plans about how to return the Thrifty car. They decided that what should be done was to call Dane, the 6:00 bellman, to come in early (which they did), then the overnight houseman and I would drive the car and the van out to he airport. LPO decided he'd better call Thrifty to make sure that that was okay. I had arrived at the hotel by this time, so I got to witness the conversation.
The Thrifty clerk told LPO that since the contracted driver was no longer available, that they would have to send a tow truck out to the hotel to pick up the car, which would be charged to Ms 805. LPO said that couldn't happen, because we, the hotel, were ultimately responsible for what had happened. Can they charge it directly to the hotel? The Thrifty Manager would be in at 8:00; we would have to ask him.
Up to this time, I had thought that fixing the problem would just be a matter of getting the people and the cars where they belonged. I had no idea it would be made more complicated by contracts and liabilities and tow trucks.
Dane arrived "early" at about 5:59, so I went up to deliver the papers. The whole time I had a sick feeling in my gut because I didn't know if my job was in jeopardy-- or if I was going to be arrested. I decided the best course of action was to let HR know what had happened before anyone else. When I finished the papers, I went directly to the HR office, and told the head of HR the whole story. She asked if I had talked to the Director of Loss Prevention. I hadn't (he came in while I was delivering papers), but I was sure that LPO had. She called DoLP and found out that LPO had told him very little, and he suggested I come up and talk to him.
On the way, I ran into AFOM, who said he had talked to our General Manager, who had asked, "Were they similar cars at least?" "I think so, yes." "Well, don't worry about it. I've done that before. Well, not me personally; people who worked for me." That was a relief. At least I knew I could keep my job.
DoLP and I went into the office to talk. Halfway through the story, AFOM came in, so I had to tell the story again. While telling the story to him in his office, FOM came in, and I had to tell the story a fourth time. I was getting pretty good at it.
FOM suggested we call the call the rental agencies and find out where we stood. AFOM called Hertz, who said they had the car in their possession, and everything was taken care of. He called Thrifty, and the manager told him that it was perfectly okay for us to just bring the car out and drop it off. All that worrying for nothing.
By the time AFOM and I got back from the airport, it was almost 10:00. This problem had consumed five hours of my morning, and kept me at work 2½ hours late.
Of course, I've heard of this kind of thing happening. But this is the first time it's happened at our hotel, and it would have been nice if it had happened to someone else. But at least I have a story to tell.

Mudslinging

A question came up, which I posted on Facebook, about the vilification of Nancy Pelosi. My best friend responded, but instead of answering the question, he offered me more labels. I don't care about labels, I just want information, and I said so. Enter my brother, who decides to rub Jeff's nose in the fact that he didn't provide any real information. Jeff's not the kind who likes his opinions disrespected, and, with both of us objecting to his lack of an answer, he unfriends us both, complete with name-calling. Scott doesn't notice, and continues the nose-rubbing, this time complaining about the name-calling along with everything else.

I'm not sure what to think about all this. Once upon a time, Jeff and I could discuss things we disagreed about without needing to convince the other we were right. That's the kind of discussions I like. You tell me why you think what you think, I'll tell you why I think what I think, and that's good enough. It's hard to do that with Scott. Scott must persuade you that his point of view, his opinion, his understanding is the correct one. To our family, particularly our spouses, I refer to this as "he has to win". But we're getting better at talking with each other. I doubt Jeff and Scott will ever be able to talk civilly. Both are too stubborn.

Jeff moved to the land of Far Away (just this side of Far, Far Away), and Facebook is our constant contact. I like knowing about the mundane in his life, even if all he does is complain about the weather. But I miss him. We just don't see each other often enough, so the lack of Facebook leaves a void.

And I still don't have the dirt on Pelosi.

Scott objected to my use of the phrase "he has to win." He felt that he came across like Tonya Harding and that I was blaming him for Jeff's departure. So we discussed what I meant by the phrase, which wasn't easy for me because, in my mind, the phrase perfectly described situations I had observed. I suggested the word 'confrontational,' and he liked and understood that one, so I tried using it in this post. In context, it didn't work. It didn't describe what I was trying to say. I thought about 'contentious', which is closer both linguistically and contextually, but it had a connotation of belligerence that didn't fit. Scott honestly believes he's doing a service by convincing people he's right. He's not out to get you.

I had to laugh, though, when I realized that with all his complaining and pressuring me to make adjustments, the little bastard was trying to win again. In fact, I've been telling that as a funny story to some of my co-workers.

He did convince me of one thing, tho. An economy of language doesn't work if the reader can't understand what you're talking about. I use language that I think is implicit in order to shorten the story, but it winds up being too oblique or esoteric to be of any real communicative value.

So in an effort aimed at clarity, I have changed this post once again in order to

1) leave no misunderstanding about what I mean when I say "he has to win," and

2) make it clear that Jeff was reacting to both of us, not just one of us.

And if Scott doesn't like it, tough! I'm not changing it again.

Jeff did not just unfriend us. He deleted his Facebook account.

No Newspaper For You!

One of my nightly duties is to deliver the USAToday to all of the rooms that have been rented in the hotel. Each paper is put into a black burlap bag decorated with "SH" in white scripted letters, and hung on the door handle of each room.

Normally, the bags are the biggest problem I have each morning. As the maids clean the rooms, they are supposed to gather the bags and send them downstairs to the housekeeping department in the basement, where they will be gathered in bulk and taken to the bellcloset on the 1st floor. Since they do not have the code for the door lock, either security or one of the bellmen will let them in, where they can put the bags on the large roll-around spindle, thus making it easy for me to gather as many as I need to make my deliveries the next morning. This rarely happens.

Instead, I find them piled on the floor, on the shelves, on the spare bellstand--and that's if they make it to the bellcloset at all. Otherwise, they'll be in the basement piled on the laundry box in housekeeping, or on any other flat surface that's handy, or hanging from various protrusions of the housekeeping carts and machinery that happen to be around. Last week, I found 11 of them in the trash.

If they never made it to the basement, they're frequently in one pile or another on the service elevator landing of each of the guest floors, or hanging on some door handle. If I have time, I'll ask security to loan me the passkey so that I can raid the (23) maids closets,where I will find them still hanging on the maids carts, or just tossed in with the towels and linens.

Guests contribute to the problem, too. Stayover guests leave the Do Not Disturb signs on their doors, so the maids don't clean their rooms, and therefore do not have an opportunity to retrieve the bag. During conventions, this forces me to go down to the dungeoun for more, even when I know there are sufficient quantities in circulation already. Also, a lot of guests think that the bags are souvenirs, and take them home, not realizing that they are actually stealing them. Often the bellman or front desk clerk will catch them on the way out, which is why I also find bags in the office.

But the bags are only one problem I have to solve to do this job. Two days in advance, the night auditor is supposed to order enough newspapers to cover every occupied room. For reasons that have not been sufficiently explained, this doesn't always happen, and I get fewer than I need. In that case, I have to deliver to all Hilton Honors members (a contractual obligation), and the rest of the papers are brought back to the lobby for whoever else wants one. If I'm a few short on the number needed for the HH guests, I can use some of the other papers we carry.

But this morning, there is no paper delivery at all. We have 211 rooms occupied, 151 of which are HH members, and I got 75 newspapers. Being shorted by 76 papers for a minimum delivery, there is no way to deliver them equitably, and therefore all papers will be kept downstairs. Somebody will get yelled at today, and it won't be me.

Okay, here's the real scoop (but don't tell anyone.)

Ever since the Knicks told the press that they'd lost their game to the Thunder because the ghosts in the hotel had kept them awake all night, interest in the ghost stories at our hotel has gone up considerably. I personally get asked about them a lot, and I've decided that it would make a good blog post, so here goes.

The NBA teams usually come in pretty late, and they have a lot of equipment and personal luggage, so on those nights a couple of the daytime guys will come in and help out. On this particular night, the Knicks were arriving right at shift change, right at the beginning of my shift, so Bossman and a couple of other guys were there to take care of them while I took care of the other arriving guests. I actually got very busy.

Since it was still relatively early, a couple of the players decided they wanted to go out to one of the bars in Bricktown. They were waiting out on the front sidewalk for a taxi as I came out running to go get someone's car. I was halfway down the front sidewalk on the way to the parking garage when one of them shouted "Hey!"

I turned around and came back to them. "Yessir?"

"Is this place really haunted?"

I'm to busy at this time to start telling stories, so I just said, "We're not allowed to talk about it." They stiffened up and their eyes got real big. The taxi pulled up just at that moment, and I turned around and continued my run to the garage.

It actually is true that we're not supposed to talk about the ghost stories. AFOM used to keep a journal of things that have happened since the hotel re-opened, but the GM confiscated it, telling him, "This cannot exist." Now AFOM keeps a new journal at home.
The taxi drivers, however, are the worst about telling ghost stories. Not only do they love doing it, but the stories have nothing to do with the things that actually happen here. And now these two basketball players have a taxi taking them to get drinks. This can't be good.

Two nights later, a former co-worker sends me a newspaper article via Facebook about the Knicks blaming their loss on the ghosts in the hotel. Then, minutes later, I saw a promo for the news saying they'd be talking about the same thing. I called my dad. "Hey Dad! Watch channel four tonight. There's going to be a funny story about the hotel."
When I got to work that night, I told the security guys, "We were on channel four tonight."
They said, "We were on every channel tonight."
I walked out front and found Bossman at the counter. I said, "We made the local news tonight."
He said, "We made the national news tonight."
Now this can be good news or bad news. On the one hand, lots of people think its fun and exciting to stay in a haunted hotel, and we could get a lot of business from it. On the other hand, NBA players are very superstitious, and we don't want to lose a lucrative contract.

The reason Bossman was there was because the Spurs were coming in. (You know, the team with the gorgeous redhead.) We weren't busy otherwise, so I actually got to help this time. The Knicks' coach had tripped over the tiny little step at the west entrance, so it was my job to say "Good evening. Welcome. Watch your step" to these towering men who kept asking me, "Is this place really haunted?"
Our VIP liason is a tiny little thing, half as tall as the guys surrounding her. As she was passing out the keys they kept asking her, "Is this place haunted?", to which she emphatically replied, "Don't worry. I don't have any of you on that floor."

There is no "that" floor. Stuff happens on every floor. But only for people who have no clue that there might possibly be ghosts in the hotel.

Over the next few nights I found out more stuff about the Knicks' stay. One of the security guys told me that one of the guys complaining to the press about the ghosts was only on the court for three minutes, the other was on the bench all night. He also said that if the team had gone to bed the night before the game instead of staying up with the women, the beer, and the 4am chicken wings from room service, they might have won.
But the funniest part was that the coach, knowing that he had a nervous player on his team, had hired one of our morning bellmen to go up to that player's room and move his furniture.
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I went down to HR one Thursday morning and told HRBossette that I thought the Thunder would do pretty well against the Lakers that night.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I went up and down the halls with a tape recording of a baby crying last night."

She gave me a look of abject horror.

"I'm just kidding."

She grabbed her chest and started huffing as if she'd just survived a heart attack. Though her concern was real, we did have a good laugh over my little joke. (She and I have always had a good rapport. Fortunately. As evidenced by the fact that I still have my job.)

http//fr-fr.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=10150109154117366

Mood Indigo

I gotta break out of this funk.

Between the weather, and this thing with the brother, and the lack of time and money to do what I want to do, I just can't seem to get motivated to do anything constructive. It doesn't help that they're screwing around with my schedule at work just at the time that I need some normalcy.

NO. Nononono. Don't play the blame game. Turn off the computer, take a shower, put on a sweater, go out to the studio and figure out what needs to be done in the next 38ish hours that you have before you have to go back to work. And stop thinking about the things that just make you want to crawl in a hole. You simply don't have time for this.

Okay, I can do this. I think.

Belief in Santa Claus Is Not A Value

I unfriended my brother on Facebook.

He said something that offended me so much that I just decided I didn't want to deal with him for a while.

The thing is, I don't know why it hurt me so much. He didn't really say it about me; he said it about a version of me that only exists in his own head. Before, I was able to just dismiss whatever it was that he said about this other Ron, ignore it, even if I didn't like it. Not this time.

Several years ago, when Rosie O'Donnell had her daytime talk show, she talked about how much she liked reading about herself in the tabloids. She said that since none of the stuff in the tabloids had anything to do with her real life, it was like reading about a fictional character, Tabloid Rosie, who led a much more interesting life than she did.

I don't feel the same way about Tabloid Ron. Tabloid Ron, to me, is a smothering blanket that I must fight my way out of. I explained something like this to him the night I came out to him. Instead of just telling him I was gay, I actually took him out to my favorite club in order to "blow the sides out" of the box he had me trapped in.

Now, I have a tabloid Scott, too-- a version of Scott filtered by my interpretation of my experience with him. Scott is a force unto himself. He's got to dominate every conversation and be the center of attention in every room. Everyone is entitled to his opinion, and no one is allowed to have an opinion of their own. For him, it's a competition, and he's got to win. Any dissenting opinion will be punished: maybe not now; maybe 20 years in the future.
He'll remember what you said (or something like what you said, or maybe something someone else said that he attributes to you, or maybe he'll just take the words you said and jumble them around so that they can become something he can gripe about for the rest of your life), he just won't have ever known what you meant. He's simply not interested. You can try to explain, but it's a futile effort. He doesn't care what you think; he only cares about what he thinks about what he thought you said. This is the womb of Tabloid Ron.

Scott said once that he's a person who gets in trouble because he likes to ask "why". He doesn't. Instead, he asks "whether", which is a much more limiting question. "Whether" is a cage the truth must break out of before it can be itself. But breaking out of the cage requires a dissenting opinion, which is always going to be seen as an attack, and which, as I've already said, will be punished. It also requires a lot of words, all of which will be misunderstood, and every half dozen (or fewer) will require at least half a page of rebuttal... each. The rebuttal(s) will not have anything to do with what you said (meant). If you try to clarify, eventually you will find yourself drowning in quicksand.

Over the last few years I've come up with some guidelines for online communication.
1. Only answer answerable questions. Keep it short and to the point.
2. Do NOT respond to opinion. He's entitled to an opinion (even if you aren't), and it's just an expression of where his head is at at the moment. Comments are unnecessary.
3. If he asks for an opinion, approach with caution. Usually it's a trap. Keep it short and to the point. Remember the quicksand.
4. He loves "chasing rabbits". Don't follow him.

Needless to say, this severely limits our communication. At least online. But he lives almost 12 hours away, and Facebook and email are the easiest ways to keep in touch, especially with my schedule.

Somehow, though, when we talk on the phone, everything works itself out. Even more so than in person. Weird, huh? And this time, I had provoked him into wanting to know my point of view on our points of contention. So we talked. And talked and talked and talked. We talked about our different perceptions of things that had been said or done in the past. ("Christie sent you an email about..." "And I gave her a snarky answer because I thought it was you." "Yeah. Why did you do that?" "I didn't think you seriously wanted an answer. You were just looking for a reason to grind my face in the mud." "Ron, I'm always looking for an answer.") I explained that I care very little for debate, but do enjoy exchanging ideas, and that I feel his communication style makes me feel that my opinions aren't worth anything to him. He explained that it's not his intent to make me feel bad; he's just trying to pull out more information. All this took about four hours.
Anyway, as usual we've ironed things out for a while. And while we were talking, Scott got a new friend request, which he accepted.

Things I'll Never get Around To, Chapter 1

The subject of a T-shirt I want to make came up in a discussion a while back. For years I've had the idea to make a T-shirt reading "Amberfimbie and Crotch, " just to see if anyone notices. Gaby suggested that we should make two Ts, one with Amberfimbie, the other with Crotch.

I get dibs on the Amberfimbie.

Holidays

My brother, his wife(ish) and his daughter came to visit for the holidays. I had four days off work so that I could visit with them while they were here (unlike last year, when I had to work almost every night.) Because of his schedule, we actually celebrated Christmas on New Years Eve. This is normal for us. One year we had Chrismas ten days early, another it was in February.

Earlier that day, we all went out to eat at a local steakhouse. While we were hovering around the salad bar, I asked Christie to do something for me. When we got back to the table, she upset the vegetable equilibrium. Yes, that's right; she spilled the beans. She started asking questions about the wedding. So now my parents know...for sure. They might have guessed or suspected already. I'm not sure.

Anyway, now that it's out in the open, I guess I might expect one or the other to ask questions, maybe. Eventually. Or not. I can't tell.