tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67617246817191346612024-03-13T09:52:17.364-07:00Half Cocked Rants That Delay My LifeI'm not an expert. Just opinionated on right and wrong. Whether it be sports, politics, social injustice, religion, or things that make me go "hmmmm..." I've been said to have a strong "Justice Gene" whatever that means and perhaps my own definition of justice doesn't mesh with yours. Oh well. The problem is that I'll sometimes start this blog when I've got actual important things to do- simply because I need to vent a little. Enjoy.The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-29358168271239309702023-02-18T02:38:00.016-08:002023-02-18T03:26:29.946-08:00My Mother is Dying<p>February 18, 2023</p><p>Did I catch your attention? Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps your mother has passed on. Perhaps you don't like the thought of your mother dying. Maybe you think it's weird that I'm talking about something that hasn't happened yet. This is the kind of thing that gets my mind racing and I need to put it down on "paper".</p><p>We all love our mothers. Well maybe not all of us, but many of us. Our mothers bore us. They nurtured us. They might have smoked or drank while we were in their belly. But regardless of that, you and I were born and we are currently alive.</p><p>I come from an atypical family. My father was American-Caucasian. I'm talking Mayflower honkey white. Like 95% so. My dad was born so long ago that he was proud to have voted AGAINST FDR- all four times. This is 2023. How can my father- not grandfather, or great grandfather, have voted against Franklin Delano Roosevelt, not once not twice, not thrice, but FOUR times?!?!</p><p>He was born in 1911. Served in the US Army, under friggin George Patton in North Africa. Was ON the Champs D'Elysee on VE day- witnessing P-51s buzzing the crowd. So my dad was married, had a daughter had a marriage that ended poorly and was divorced in the mid 1960's. Math works, right?</p><p>So after the Korean war, my father was still active duty and he was base commander at Daegu in South Korea and he met my mother- a Captain in the South Korean Army. A nurse. He courted her and they were wed in 1968. In 1970, I was born. When my dad was 59 and mom was 34. As a side note, I have a younger brother born in 1972 and my mom is the same age as my half sister who was born in 1937. Technically my mom is one year older than my "sister". Fortunately, the Jerry Springer Show wasn't even born back then.</p><p>My father would be 112 if he were alive today. Unfortunately, he passed in 1991 at the ripe age of 79. I was barely able to legally drink back then. Flash forward, or better yet, naturally progress to today. I graduated college, got married, bought houses, had kids and now my kids are adults. I'm still years away from the age my dad was when I was born. And all this while, my mom has been my mom. Active, pious, cheerful, nurturing, and always my young mom.</p><p>The thing about Asians which has been made famous by numerous comedians and most notably by Ali Wong is that "Black don't crack, Asian don't die!" You white folk get old and die. Our black brethren are 20 years older than they look and Asians keep going and going and going...</p><p>But that last part is not reality. It may be a statistical fact (I don't care if it's true, it's a funny adage). But my mom in particular, is indestructible! She's been through any variety of ailments over the years but she has kept on going. She's always sending me ginseng and heart vitamins and hair vitamins and lotions I cant read. My daughter and wife randomly get packages with the latest balm or supplement for their skin, hair, nails- all from Halmoni. I have a favorite "from the mouth of children" quote (which is also my wife's least favorite). This came from my own daughter when she was three years old. You see, my Korean mother and my Eastern European mother in law were both born in 1936. And what did this 3 year old girl ask many years ago? "Daddy... why is Grandma Paliwoda so much older than Grandma Easton?" A bit insulting but a bit telling of the blunt perception of humans. Incidentally, both my mom and my wife's mom are STILL alive today. Which certainly shows that skin tone don't mean shit!</p><p>So anyway, my mom moved to Leisure World maybe 15 years ago. Leisure World is an "active adult" community who can take care of themselves. My mom loves it there. Tons of people she knows, lots of activities, in her hometown of Seal Beach, California. A few years after she moved in she bragged that "on Wednesdays I help feed the old people!" We always got a kick out of that.</p><p>My mom was a nurse as I mentioned. She was a nurse in Chicago. When I was a toddler she was a nurse at the Veteran's Administration hospital in Long Beach, California. This was 1972-74. So Vietnam War era. And oh yeah, she was a psychiatric nurse, and Asian, treating Vietnam War vets. Let that sink in.</p><p>My mom was very active in an association called the Korean Nurses Association of Southern California. She was the president at one point and all of her "cool" friends were presidents at one point. It was pretty sweet that my mom was part of the leadership of an organization that helps new and existing nurses of Korean heritage enter and expand opportunities within this profession. I remember going to parties at the Ambassador Hotel- where Robert F Kennedy was assassinated. I remember going to conferences where many nurses were in seminars. I remember when I'd come home from college, see nice cars in front of my house and think "yeah, the cool nurses are partying at my house!" </p><p>All the while, my mom was still a practicing RN in various roles. She was in the ICU. I'd visit and she'd say "come meet my patients" and almost every one was passed out or in traction or in some other way unable to "meet" me in return. She worked dialysis centers (which she hated). She'd fly to the Dominican Republic to help with poor people. At Thanksgiving, she'd say "who wants to do shots?" and then give us our flu vaccines.</p><p>Well, she eventually let her license expire. She then spent more time with church and being a grandparent and being active in the community. Whenever I saw her she looked a little frailer but still the mom I knew. By this time she had passed the age that my father died- 79. And still not really slowing down.</p><p>I've been blessed by a few things and one weird on is the avoidance of a really shitty part of life- death. When I say blessed, maybe I mean lucky. And I worry that I'm jinxing myself by even talking about it. I've been able to avoid tragic death in my life. My father died of old age. I knew he was dying. I was able to say goodbye. I smiled and actually celebrated his life at his funeral. Of course I've known people who have died. But it's never been someone super close or that I just had a conversation with the day before. Three of my fraternity brothers died last year within three months. I was friends with all three- but I hadn't talked to any in years. I met a really cool person in my neighborhood just a few months ago. She was recovering from breast cancer- and she died suddenly just a few weeks ago- but I just met her. Last year I found out that my childhood crush from 1st grade, the girl I went to the prom with- died... five years ago! But like I said, I haven't had very close friends or family die suddenly or unexpectedly, so the sudden loss of life has not ever hit me.</p><p>My mother was in a car accident two days ago. She stopped driving years ago but has a good friend in the neighborhood who is about 12 years younger and helps my mom a lot. They were driving straight through a green light and a car in the opposite direction turned left in front of them. When my uncle texted me about it two days ago, I stopped what I was doing and booked a flight from Arizona. My mom insisted that it was no big deal and that I didn't need to come out but I knew I did. When I got to the hospital, my mother was suddenly very frail and helpless. A bruised knee, scraped shin but most importantly a fractured T12 vertebrae. Her friend who was driving had two fractured vertebrae in her neck. They quickly did surgery on her and she's recovering with a great prognosis. But my mom's fracture is inoperable. Why is it inoperable? Maybe because it literally is inoperable but it feels like "she's too old". There's also the general anesthesia, possible infections, possible pneumonia, possible complications AND long recovery time and rehab. The alternative is brace it and physical therapy. It's like my mom doesn't understand that the brace, recovery and physical therapy is happening whether there is surgery or not. </p><p>But the challenge is that nobody in her sphere is suited to help her with the initial recovery. Sure I could move in but I'm not skilled to do all that for her. I live in a different state and have my own family and life. Maybe that sounds selfish, but we're just not the best candidates to help her recover and become independent. Her friend- the younger helper just had neck surgery, and based on a conversation with her son, that's the end of her driving. My mom's sibling are all in a similar age vicinity to my mom and can't help. What that means, is the dreaded "Skilled Care and Rehabilitation Facility" which as George Carlin would say is a euphemism for a "Nursing Home". A place where old people are sent to "recover" but a large percentage simple become neglected and die. It's a shitty thing to say but that's my opinion of the places.</p><p>So while in the hospital we had numerous professional visitors- nurses, CNAs, social workers, neurosurgeons, Occupational Therapists, Physical Therapists, etc. And what does my bad ass mom do? Pleads with each to get the spinal surgery. But I realize that I'm now making the decisions for her. Surgery is the wrong option. I start to advocate for finding her a home to go rehabilitate. And we found one. It's right outside of Leisure World. It's 15 minutes from my uncles and aunts. It's 5 minutes from her church and all her church friends and it's in her hometown of Seal Beach. It's going to suck but it's the ideal location and type of facility so we say yes.</p><p>She gets discharged from the hospital, loaded into the ambulance for the trip and I follow them there. It's across the street from the fire station I went to for cub scouts when I was 7. It's around the corner from the library I used to borrow the exact same Peanuts book over an over again. This is going to be great!</p><p>But then we enter and I immediately feel like we've warped onto the set of One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. The place is packed. We were pre-checked in so they told us her room number right when we walked in the door. The paramedics beelined straight there. There are people wandering the halls like zombies. People sitting in wheelchairs here and there, some looking comatose, and right across from her room is a room with a guy who yells at everyone who walks by- asking them to change the TV to channel 7. I actually went in and tried changing the channel for him and then realized that it was already on 7 and the guy wasn't all "there". We are not warmly greeted, her room is bare but luckily one of her church members is already there. Aunts and uncles show up shortly after and then nothing. 20 minutes go by without anybody coming in so I decide to ask. A man walks by and I say "excuse me" and he curtly replies "I'm too busy" and walks on... WTF?!? And now I know why my mom- the career rock star RN was dreading this option. She has seen hundreds or thousands of times- people going this route never to return, and now she fears the same fate for her. Is this the kind of place she envisioned her last days? I can see the fear in her eyes like a child. And I cry.</p><p>But Asian Don't Die!</p><p>My mom technically has a good road to recovery. She needs to have a good attitude. She needs to embrace the rehab to strengthen her core. She needs to keep herself hydrated and nourished. She needs to set short term and long term goals. She needs to be a bit selfish and ignore the people there who don't have support. She needs to be cheerful around staff who may be overworked. Six weeks until she visits the neurosurgeon to check status. Wearing that brace every single time she is supposed to. Fighting to get back to independence. Striving to live long enough to see her newest grandson reach 18 like she's proclaimed before (he's 2 now). And she can do it. She has her family who loves her and is there for her. She has her church members right there for her. She has skilled staff who is there for her. She has God who is there for her.</p><p>But she IS going to die, and for the first time, that really hit me today. It took until today for me to realize that my 86 year old mother will die and I will be grieved without her- not hopeless basket case but immensely grieved. Pained that I didn't ask her more questions about her life. Pained that another link to the past is gone. Pained that my champion is only with my in spirit from then on. Many years ago, this woman of science decided that she wanted to donate her body to science and she actually has an official card for that to happen when she passes. We've accepted that. But just today, I mentioned this and asked if it's still accurate and she quickly said "of course", but then just 15 minutes later while she was laying peacefully in her hospital bed she said, "maybe I should be cremated... so I can be scattered in the ocean... and then I can float forever with your dad and my mom..."</p><p>I love you mom. And whether you die tonight or 20 years from now, I will cherish this painful time that we are going through right now.</p>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0Seal Beach, CA, USA33.7414085 -118.10476825.4311746638211531 -153.2610182 62.051642336178844 -82.9485182tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-73498499956204066352018-11-29T14:42:00.000-08:002018-11-29T14:42:36.122-08:00The Police<div id="yiv1651569486">
Hey All,<br />
<br />
So my good friend Brian Murphy sent out an email about how he just saw a Pink Floyd cover band, and now I'm inspired to share a recent experience. So here is the first and only post in my "blog" that you won't find anywhere on the web.<br />
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As you may know, The Police announced that they'd be reuniting this summer after a 22 year hiatus based on bad blood or whatever bands typically break up for. Since I was 15 at that time, I never got a chance to see one of my favorite bands live. Oh yeah, as a youngster I saw Depeche Mode, New Order, the Thompson Twins and numerous other bands that in retrospect seem very gay- (not that there's anything wrong with that) <br />
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But The Police was one band that I just flat out missed in my youth and assumed I'd never see. Sure, I saw the Stones when they reunited in 1988 and the Eagles in around 1994- after all, those bands only reunited for one tour... so I HAD to see them before they disappeared forever... Add the Air Supply show at the OC fair and Flock of Seagulls at some small club in Long Beach (dang, more gayish bands!) and that's been the extent of my retro band concerts that I've seen- after they were in their prime.<br />
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Nadine and I went to see Smashing Pumpkins about 8 years ago and even back then we felt like the oldest people there. Lot's of aggressive piercings, black clothes and makeup, glitter, trenchcoats, etc. Even though that's a band I've always liked, we just felt old- and that was 8 years ago!- and the last concert band I've seen besides my brother's. Then this opportunity arose to see The Police and I had to go and drag Nadine along, even though she was more of a Garth Brooks/Bon Jovi fan.<br />
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So I scrambled to get presale tickets (thanks John) and secured some prime seats right next to the stage in Phoenix (where the Suns play). Was it cheap? uh no. In fact Nadine considers this my birthday present for the next few years. We made a real date out of it, got a sitter for the kids and went out for sushi before the show. Downed some Asahi Super Dry and changed the seat setting so that Nadine could pilot the rest of the evening.<br />
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Then we got to the show, and talk about culture shock- if that's the best description to use. In a nutshell, it felt just like a high school reunion. Most people there were between 35 and 45 and those that were younger were between 10 and 15- there with their parents. We got there early and the opening band sucked, so we decided to people watch a bit while we downed $7 Michelobs- perhaps they should have sold Bartles and Jaymes wine coolers for the occasion. While most of the people there appeared to be "normal" parents just like us- out for the rare evening, there were a few people who looked like they intentionally went retro in a subtle sort of way. Lots of girls with that 80's style hair and ripped jeans that they have kept in the closet since seeing Poison in 1989. Dudes with too-tight jeans. The smell of clove cigarettes lingering in the bathrooms (do they still make those) and the whiff of pot halfway through the band's first song. It was surreal- it was like the whole 18000 people were teleported back to 1982 but they brought their maturity level of today (no fights or drunks or flashers). Oh yeah, and lots of dudes with receding and thinning hairlines (of which I include myself)<br />
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So eventually the band comes on and everyone in the arena was standing for the entire 2 hours. They played all their hits. In all objectivity, the music was just OK. Nothing crazy, not great, not tight, not spectacular. Sting didn't even attempt the high notes and that made some songs just very plain. When they'd end a song and Sting would jump, he'd clear perhaps 18 inches. There were a few "medleys" which felt very "fairish" and some of their popular songs just sounded boring. Stewart Copeland was awesome and acted very reminiscent of how he did in their heyday. No Sting songs, no new songs, just greatest hits- and lots of their really early stuff before they became mainstream- so that was pretty cool. One comparison to the olden days- instead of lighters, everyone had their cameraphone busted out- taking pictures of the stage- it looked like a Cingular commercial.<br />
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During the set, part of me was disappointed, but that was short lived. I was able to put it in perspective when I realized that they have been apart for 22 years and they're all like 50 years old now. I wasn't seeing a cover band, or listening to a CD. I was seeing them live- and now I can go to my grave saying that I've seen them live. Oh yeah, and during the second encore, we looked at each other and said "let's go" so we could beat the crowd. Very "unGeorge".<br />
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Why am I sharing all of this with you? Well, for the most part, I've known most of you for like 15 to 20+ years now, so I figured some of you might enjoy a bit of nostalgia- whether you were a fan of Van Halen, the Doors, Quiet Riot or Simply Red, we all remember what it was like when those bands were great- and we were young(er). We're by no means old now, but we're not exactly as cool as we might think. Our daughter loves it when I listen to the classic rock station in the car. She's a big fan of "Another One Bites the Dust". I'm now going to try and find a copy of "Short People" for her so she can get a little more culture from pops. She's still at the age where mom and dad are cool- gotta enjoy that while we can. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm a nostalgic person- maybe more so than others- I still can't get over the extinction of the Montreal Expos and I know that an ex-girlfriend has my vintage first issue Swatch- two things I still can't get over.<br />
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Salut</div>
The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-20420548783079225232013-04-08T02:55:00.001-07:002013-04-10T08:21:38.587-07:00The Anger of ADHDA recent CDC study shows that<a href="http://www.inquisitr.com/598282/adhd-diagnosed-in-almost-one-in-five-high-school-boys/" target="_blank"> 20% of high school boys has ADHD</a>. While my son is only in 2nd grade right now, he'll be part of that 20%. <br />
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A seven year old with ADHD? We must be bad parents who just threw our kid on medication. We must have a broken home. We must be looking for the easy solution. To those who think that I tell you to <b>fuck off</b>. Now if you've read my writing you should know that I never resort to those two words in conjunction or any derivative. It cheapens your message. But I'm angry as hell about this whole situation. That's why I boldfaced it.<br />
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Cole is our second child. Our daughter Madison was an angel of a child. Sleeping through the night at 6 weeks. Good potty training. No terrible twos. Very polite. Very creative. Good student. A few errors in judgement during second grade... But she's now 11, so all bets are off- right?<br />
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We read all the books when we had Madi. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Expect-First-Second-Edition/dp/0761152121/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365413190&sr=8-1&keywords=sandee+hathaway" target="_blank">What to Expect</a>... <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Baby-Wise-Giving-Nighttime/dp/1932740139/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1365413228&sr=1-1&keywords=babywise" target="_blank">Babywise</a>... activity books... parenting, etc. So when she was about three we figured we had this parenting thing down. So when Cole came along, one could say that we were a little cocky. Not arrogant, but I'm sure my wife will agree that we were a little lax with him. And eight years later, she's still on a good track. Was that the cause of his ADHD?...<br />
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Cole had terrible twos. <br />
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Cole also had terrible threes. We started disciplining him- timeouts equal to his age followed up with recounting why the timeout occurred and lots of love. We did the same thing with Madi. The problem with Cole is that it would take him 45 minutes to finish his three minute time out and life had to stop during that timeout. And those timeouts turned into some "handling" to put him back in his timeout, and thrown things and elevated voices... Was that the cause of his ADHD?...<br />
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Cole had terrible fours. We would get calls from his preschool saying that he hit other kids or was disruptive during story time. This was the same teacher who taught Madi at that age so we had some good history. Did this teacher suddenly dislike our family and exaggerate because she didn't like our son? Very doubtful. So whenever we'd hear of these incidents we'd try to talk about it with him. The response was always "I don't remember" or "I don't know". How do you parent hearsay that isn't acknowledged by the accused? Was this the cause of his ADHD?...<br />
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When he started kindergarten, I had a heart to heart talk with his pediatrician. The one we've had for years and has known us since Madi was three. I recounted my youth and how I saw some similarities with Cole. Sure we had discussed it in the past, but this was the first time we had discussed it specifically as a hereditary thing. But I never took medication, and I did fine in school, and I went to college and I was able to find gainful employment and find a wonderful wife and be responsible and not hurt myself or become an addict or make irrational- life changing impulsive decisions. So even if he did have ADHD, that's a BS over diagnosed prognosis of this generation for lame parents who are too lazy to actually be good parents. But he nonetheless said that Cole might have ADHD.<br />
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We went to a naturalistic specialists to work on his diet and how what he consumes might be the cause of his behavior. Red and Yellow and Blue- among other things. We sent his poo in the mail to get an analysis.<br />
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We tried rewarding his good behavior. We got a parent coach. We prayed and prayed and prayed and requested that our church also pray. We got him involved in Tae Kwon Do. But none of it worked. Or if it did work it was short lived success. Are we parents guilty of getting lazy? Are we guilty of seeing some success and thinking we had fixed the problem, only to see backsliding? Why would we put him on medication if it was our own inability to stay focused that was leading him to bad decisions.<br />
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My own biggest challenge is that Cole is very intelligent. We're talking about being a natural at math and even helping his sixth grade "gifted" sister with her homework. Very logical. Very bright. Without medicine smart. And not "nerd" smart. Sure he's good at math, but he also loves so many other things and wants to learn about things. So my attitude was that he's smart enough to understand scholastic concepts- why couldn't he understand that his actions affect how others perceive him? Why couldn't the logic of math or spelling be transferred into correlating cause and effect and why people don't like being around him? I always believed that there was a correlation between intelligence and learning social queues.<br />
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Almost two years ago- when he was done with kindergarten, before we took our first long distance family trip, and when he was five years old, we made a decision. We were going to go to a psychiatrist because we had finally opened our minds that he might really have ADHD and that no matter what we tried outside of medicine, it would not do any good or would only have temporary success. He was diagnosed and we put him on medication. And we modified until we found something that seemed to keep him in control when he needed to be- in a classroom. <br />
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With that "improvement" came a lack of appetite, nocturnal bruxism, chewing on his shirt collar and a lack of interest in doing much outside of the house. But he wasn't hurting other kids. And he wasn't disrupting class. And for once we didn't have to worry during church, or during school, that we'd get called to come pick him up. Was that success? Sort of...<br />
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He'd still be emotional, be extremely competitive- even crying when he lost a simple game of Chutes and Ladders- and he understands odds and that sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. And whenever I would lose to him at a game, I would always give the example of being a gracious loser and relating it to him and how he acts when he loses. But then he'd go brag about beating me. And the next game when I beat him he'd have an epic meltdown including throwing things and being flat out hysterical. And this is the odds maker kid!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(btw, what's up with all the fat kids?)</td></tr>
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So a year into our experiment with Cole being on medication, sure we were somewhat satisfied with the successes. But we were still troubled with the side effects. And neither of us want our children to be dependent on anything- especially a controlled substance. So we started exploring another counselor- this time a sort of kum ba ya counselor. She's great. Very positive, very anti-medication, very pro-communication. But at the same time she's the kind of counselor who is a chameleon based on her client. "Are you spiritual? What are you?" (regardless of what you are or aren't) "the [leader of your religion] once said [cliche but meaningful quote from that leader of your religion]". I mean I'm sure I could say that I follow Gozer the Gozarian and she'd have an inspirational quote chambered. I often wonder if she's eventually going to offer us a bong rip...<br />
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Now despite my cynicism of how she relates to us, I truly do want to get our son off medication and truly believe that what she teaches has merit. I don't go just to keep my wife happy. I don't want my son on medication. I'm sick of it. But at what point does the parent trying to learn a better way (while at the same time still possessing our own same frail personality traits that we've collectively had for more than 80 years) give in? The question becomes- why should my inability to change my way of life affect my second graders ability to have a birthday party where "friends" will actually come? So the question becomes- can these old dogs be taught new tricks? We're talking people who have to work and commute and cut the grass and clean the pool and clean the house and go to the ER for kidney stones or whose vision is failing or who has to go to the ER for gallbladder stones or who have to get dental work. Oh yeah, did I mention that we have another child? One who needs help with her homework, who is on the cusp of puberty, who behaves most of the time, who desperately wants her parent's affection and attention, who herself has social angst and is a year younger than all her friends.<br />
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So for the past three weeks we have not given Cole his medication. We have tried to control our own natural tendencies towards yelling and provoking and doing things that would set him off. He hasn't played video games for two of those weeks. He wants to be outdoors all the time. He want's to find friends in the neighborhood to play with all the time. He's eating more. He goes to sleep easier. But he's also gotten in trouble several times for hitting other kids. His teacher admitted to giving him "green" for the day because she knows that if he doesn't get green he will go ballistic, melt down in front of the whole class and really lean on his percentage of the 25 to one ratio of his class. He's lost two friends that he's had for a year. He hits his sister more. He doesn't listen to quiet request number one, quiet request number two, firm but quiet order with emphasis that he's been asked twice, raised voice request with naming of consequence, flat out yelling that is met with "daddy's yelling" and then emotional crumble and undoubted long term scarring. <br />
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When we reward his sister for good behavior after we told him that good behavior equals reward and he not only did not react with good behavior but instead had destructive behavior- like breaking the hazard lights in mom's new car, or slamming and tearing off the cabinet door in the garage, or throwing rocks in a full church parking lot, or breaking something with a ball five seconds after we've told him not to throw the ball in the house and the response in anger is "it wasn't on purpose- you don't have to yell!", you sort of wonder what's a more important side effect- personal dental care, a good nights sleep, diet, or no peers who are friends and bullying and being ostracized for being a crybaby in the second grade.<br />
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I actually started writing this for a general purpose, but now I've gone on about Cole in particular. Perhaps I needed to vent a little. Sure some of you will say we are horrible parents and I'll resort back to my vulgarity in paragraph one- no need to repeat it. So why am I so mad?<br />
<br />
Where did ADHD come from in its present form and why does 20% of our male adolescent population supposedly have it? Before Cole, my default answer was pharmaceutical companies, lazy parents, lazy school officials and overzealous doctors who are quick to "fix" the problem instead of addressing the cause. Now that I am on the other side and myself have an ADHD kid, where does it come from? I believe it's something more than my prior answers. Here's a few where in 30 years, someone might find a direct correlation:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Is it pesticides? </li>
<li>Is it those food dyes? </li>
<li>Mario and Luigi? <img height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRjpFymKEiUufZNUkDjRhEWEkD2lscN0ai70I4QSQPy2uGGlaoz" width="152" /></li>
<li>Saltwater pools? </li>
<li>Snuggle fabric softner?<img src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR0GTGBAPsMwB9QuqYDrfiMfTFbwLmG7LUW7GWHvs2ZU8N3Qqd2" /></li>
<li>Pyjamas made in certain factories in China? </li>
<li>Chuck-E-Cheese tokens?</li>
<li>The music of Katy, Kesha, Rianna, Brittney and everyone else? <img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTfiOt_4sNRlXU8Fn_fHXMyIrhJvs92nS2aY9v3POCasrdazuSw" /></li>
<li>The Tivo sound?<img height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSw0ZkyEHefhmSbRM3kj7K9C447Ek_XgROleorXLIAp3u1je75S" width="178" /></li>
<li>Paint on certain playground equipment? </li>
<li>Bottled water? </li>
<li>Bicycle helmets? <img src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSj5LpgxzL3aPoF8xmv9YjqCF8UYS9wGq9fDbl-pGvHDgPcpI7jTA" /></li>
<li>"Everyone's a winner" sports leagues? </li>
<li>Pixar movies? <img height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTX1Oiuc8U90BrBXFu5csOIuSUeC68AWnqROAU4e6qK586P5G-E" width="135" /></li>
<li>Country Crock spread? </li>
<li>Certain brands of disposable diapers? </li>
<li>Costco hot dogs? </li>
<li>Caillou? <img height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT97MWjJe27hbwx2SveGRpAN9awt7yR2UVFnAk4l_XfDLR0Y5u36A" width="146" /></li>
<li>Monster Energy drinks? </li>
<li>Apple computer? </li>
<li>Cuties? <img src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTHDkvwXrSn2frQoCPGgI3MPJtCv_knMTfzu-y26lOYAkSqoDVk" /></li>
<li>The Internet? </li>
<li>Tyler Perry?<img height="137" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ94G2E1qpFIL0Y7G8PpSDN9DUsfCOxXzg6xy4hFt6wHkLZz83z" width="200" /></li>
</ul>
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Regardless of the cause, it's a ridiculous epidemic that's now kept me up til 2:30AM on a work night. Sure I might be a little glib about it, but that's how I keep my sanity and how I seek comfort in my decisions as a parent. As one who prior to Cole was angry at parents who accepted the ADHD diagnosis, I have long since embraced the other side of the equation. But it's not algebra- it's the crazy kind of formula that Will figured out so easily, and I am NOT a math guy.</div>
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The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-69893825748011307572013-01-17T12:54:00.000-08:002013-01-17T19:31:39.716-08:00Farewell Old Friend<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Farewell oh transporter of my young children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we first met, you were a pristine piece
of automotive engineering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We needed you
desperately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, you were the
status symbol of a young family with little kids!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cows gave their lives for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were smooth as a newborns behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were proud to have you in our family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You protected our children, entertained with
movies and carried us in comfort to our destinations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img class="mainImage" src="http://www.milehighmaids.com/motors/Honda/Odyssey/2003-blue/5.jpg" style="background-color: white; height: 450px; width: 600px;" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>You endured the minor spills of Cheerios and
candy and crumbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your windshield was
blemished by projectiles from the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then our dog Molly decided that she didn’t like riding in you, so she
threw up on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we had
learned from our mistakes and let her throw up out the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="453" src="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/221747_1081291877660_2805_n.jpg" style="height: 453px; width: 604px;" width="604" /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>We hung our young son out the side to poop in
the snow… while he peed on the floor…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You happily allowed a full gallon of milk seep into the spare tire well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you made sure that the entire carpeting
absorbed as much as it could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
allowed me to essentially hose you down- on the inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> You have smelled like a thousand high school boys gym socks ever since. </span>You let our son put felt in your CD
player.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we couldn’t coax you to go
backward, a friend told us “I got a guy” and we listened to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although you were fixed, we learned that now we
didn’t need to put on the brakes before we made you go- very safe…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> When I brought this up with the friend who referred us to the friend, we found out that he was in jail for selling meth...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You let us close the garage door before you
were all the way in, so your namesake was shorn off in shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You took us part of the way to Lake Powell,
until you decided to let your heart run, but your legs didn’t know it was time
to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we subsequently abandoned
you by the side of the road with a note saying “take me and fix me”, you stayed
put and guarded over the boxes of discarded fruit that simply would not fit in
the caravan vehicle that took us while you waited patiently in the hot sun for
someone to fix you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the way back from
that trip, when I went to the shop where you were taken, I had to jump a fence
and avoid and keep an eye out for the junkyard dog- who turned out to simply be an elderly
fella who just wanted to be petted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><img src="http://blueridgeblog.blogs.com/photos/uncategorized/junkyard_dog_blog.jpg" /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When
there was nobody there to give you back to us, I had to search the grounds for
the man who fixed you- worried that I’d find him dead in a trailer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he said that you were fine, I was
incredulous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Were you simply cramping
up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the next year, you showed no
signs of relapsing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when you did,
you really did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had you fixed so that
your heart would communicate with your legs and you seemed great… until we went
to San Diego and your legs gave out again as we reached the summit of the pass
that takes us to town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that you
made it to that point was a miracle as we could essentially coast the rest of
the way to a respectable establishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But there they told us that whomever fixed you before used voodoo and
cadaver parts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We realized that we had
been duped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But by this time, you were
old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was it still worthwhile to keep you
going?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">our</b> wonderful chariot… Not <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">my</b>
wonderful chariot- for you see, the matron of the family had already written
you off and cursed your very existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, I still believed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
still believed that you were a trooper and that you still had time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We put the reindeer antlers and red nose on you one more time this Christmas. </span>Sure you made lots of funky noises and I worried
that one of your shoes would simply fall off one day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sure the kids knew the “tricks” to open your doors and sure you only
acknowledged that you were locked every once in a while- no rhyme or reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, two strange dents appeared on your
roof- as if someone had closed a garage door on you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But nobody fessed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may have had random wires hanging out
from under the steering column, but by golly, those are simply age spots… </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we decided to drive to California for a week and we conspicuously loaded up the sedan instead of you, I think you knew it was close to the end. Even when the kids protested that the car was so small for a long trip, I saw that tear come from your headlight- even though you tried hiding it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, two days ago, with a few bald tires and after 150,000
miles, one of your shoes wore out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thankfully, I was on a surface street so I appreciate the courtesy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took you to a shady part of town and paid a
guy $10 to patch that shoe- cash only, no receipt, no questions asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null"><img class="mainImage" src="http://pics3.city-data.com/businesses/p/5/0/2/0/5885020.JPG" style="background-color: white; height: 360px; width: 480px;" /></a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You knew
that it was over at that time didn’t you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I finally told mom to take some time to look into other options,
she happily complied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And within another
six hours, your replacement had been found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But don’t fret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t leave
you for another of your kind- the trophy wife, “this year’s model”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, that part of our life is over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids are old enough and there will be no
more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The needs are different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feel safe in knowing that it wasn’t you, it
was us… it was us being done with you…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Farewell oh Honda Odyssey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
an Odyssey it has been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-50710556419385654792013-01-17T12:03:00.001-08:002013-01-17T12:03:30.323-08:00Air Travel For A DummyI don't fly much. I love flying, and when younger, I was blessed to have travelled a good amount- Hawaii, Europe, Canada, Guatemala, Honduras, Korea, across the U.S., etc. I knew my planes and had ridden on everything that was around.<br />
<br />
But as an adult, my flying frequency has dwindled. We drive to California to visit grandma. Some buddies fly to Arizona to visit during spring training (where I live), and I'm an appraiser, so I never have time to go anywhere, nor do I typically need to for my profession.<br />
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So when with my new company, I was invited to visit corporate headquarters in Northern California, I got a chance to take a trip. Packed, boarding pass, carry on, on time, good to go...<br />
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When going through the TSA checkpoint I was interested to see the new full body scanners in action, but I'd been used to taking off my shoes and belt and emptying my pockets. Everyone was pleasant and it went pretty smoothly.<br />
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When they had a second person do a quick pat down, I was cool. No invasive groping. But then they asked me to step over to another area. They let me out my shoes back on, and my belt and fill my pockets- even get my tablets closed up. But then the girl asked if had any sharp objects. "No ma'am, no sharp objects." She asked this as she was rummaging through my carry on bag- the bag I take to work with me every day, with a few books, pens, business cards, etc. it's one of those bags with a bunch of pockets.<br />
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So when I confidentially told her I had no sharp objects- like Penn and Teller asking "is this your card?", she pulled out my leatherman. "Oh shit!"<br />
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"Oh man, I totally forgot about that, I never fly and had no idea that I had in there. I'm so sorry!"<br />
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She looked at me for a beat and I asked "now what?"<br />
<br />
She coolly replied "you can check it"<br />
"But I already checked my bag. What other options do I have?"<br />
"You can mail it to yourself or throw it away"<br />
"What do I have to do to mail it to myself?"<br />
"Go back out, find a place to package it and mail it"<br />
"Yeah, I don't have time for that. Can you save it til I come back?"<br />
"No"<br />
"How bout you take it home and give me your phone number and ill call you when I get back?"<br />
"No"<br />
".... Ok... Dang that was a wedding groomsmen gift... Alright, chuck it"<br />
"Sorry"<br />
Lesson learned- I guess. But letting a shaved head guy with a knife go through without further grilling was pretty lucky I guess.The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-24317039736556838622011-09-15T01:35:00.000-07:002011-09-15T13:27:40.099-07:00Remembering Dads and Dogs<div>
<strong>Of Dads...</strong><br />
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It’s my dad’s 100th birthday on September 15, 2011. No he’s not one of the new era of Japanese centurions who are in the press today. He actually passed in 1991 so he died just short of his 80th birthday. That would make ME how old now? 80? 70? 60? Let’s just skip 50 and tell you that I’m 41. So from early on in my life I had to contend with the notion that my dad probably wouldn’t live to see me reach certain milestones in life. He saw me through little league, soccer, buying my first car, high school graduation, pledging a fraternity and that’s about it. Now I’m not trying to belittle the time we had together, but let’s face it, not meeting your son’s wife or grandkids is kind of sad. In fact, my kids have never known met their own grandfathers- on either side- as my wife’s dad passed before we were married. And I never got to meet my own grandfathers. I was a baby when I met my mom’s dad, but that doesn’t really count.<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652461198099573234" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pcC1Iz9JXTc/TnGTgvtnafI/AAAAAAAAGiw/eVYu9-b_sdY/s400/daddave.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 246px;" /><br />
So my father has been gone just as long as he was with me on earth. Here’s a brief synopsis of his life. Born in Kentucky, lived in boarding schools with his older brother David, went to University of Oklahoma- <img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652462990202798914" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HQvfuehiW8Q/TnGVJD0Ug0I/AAAAAAAAGi4/xCCuAmDYJQc/s320/boomer-sooner.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 251px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" />ROTC, served in World War 2 in among other places under Patton in North Africa and he was actually on the Champs -Élysées on VE day, became a full colonel in the Army, has pictures with Bob Hope, Mickey Hargitay and Jayne Mansfield during what appears to be USO shows. He was married before my mother and had a daughter who now lives in Maine. He served a full career in the Army and then went on to become a vice president of the Long Beach, CA Chamber of Commerce. He worked for a startup company that did hazardous waste cleanup. He was pretty much retired when I was a kid, attended every practice and game, took me to every rehearsal. He kept going to college even when he was old- learning more foreign languages and whatnot. He always had stories to tell of his military friends and adventures, and he always had a semi-racist joke chambered which always left me a little uncomfortable. We had a clear generation(s) gap to contend with but to this day, I still love hanging out with old people.</div>
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We travelled a lot when I was young- Hawaii, Tahiti, a Eurail Europe vacation, an “Across America” tour which included Canada and Guatamala. He had a lung cancer scare years after he quit smoking- they took out a third of a lung and he made a full recovery. He loved to garden, meet people of all cultures, bring cold beers to the guys working on the utility problems in the neighborhood. He had a big belly for as long as I could remember- thin as a rail except for that gut. I never saw him drink a touch of alcohol (where did that gut come from and how do I avoid it?)</div>
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During college, I knew that he was getting on, so every visit home ended with a crying goodbye as I wondered if it my last time seeing him. I’d lay with him in bed and sometimes talk about things though I don’t remember what about- I was more concerned with his breathing and thoughts of death. I had no clue what I'd do after college, how to find a job, network, deal with office politics, etc. But it was kind of late to start discussing it with him. He eventually succumbed to age and I was able to visit him in the hospital before he actually passed. He had a little dementia before the end and a few scares- like the time he disappeared in his Cadillac and ended up in Dana Point (about 30 miles south of home). His final hospital stay was pretty short and I told him I loved him and although he couldn't say it back to me, I knew he could hear me and that if he could answer he'd say the same thing. The day I got the official call that he had passed, (I was back at school) I had a final. I took it and did fine. I didn’t really cry at his funeral- I guess because I was prepared. It actually took me like a full year to cry after he died. My girlfriend at the time joined me at a veterans cemetary by school and I spent some time at the flag since he was actually buried at sea and we had no actual place to visit his remains.</div>
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Our mom (I have a younger brother named Bobby- we’ll get to him later), still grieves about him regularly and on his actual birthday, she and my brother will go to the Seal Beach Pier like they’ve done many times before and say a prayer and throw some flowers in the ocean. I live in Arizona so I’ve never actually shared in this private ceremony with them. I guess this year, I’m remembering by writing this. Perhaps I’ll even share it with mom and Bobby. I really do miss him and I talk to my kids about him and I show them pictures of him. But just like my dad’s parents are to me, my kids won’t think of him fondly as a family member they’ve met. But that’s ok. Happy Birthday Dad…</div>
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<strong>Of Dogs...</strong><br />
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Now I could easily end this here, but the timing of certain events will double this little entry. So if for some reason, this has made you a little sad, I need to go over another topic that’s related.</div>
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When I was a kid, my parents got a Dalmatian for the family. Of course we named her Spot and she was a cool dog. She ran like the wind, only knew how to “sit” and she was an outside dog. If ever she did get inside she’d do these insane laps around our giant two story house. She’d run up to my parent’s master closet and just start digging at the floor- like she was looking for a bone. When she’d get out of the yard, she’d just bolt. And the only way to get her back was to physically get the car, chase her down and open the door. She was flat out nuts like so many other Dalmatians, or dogs in general. <br />
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But even though we got her as a puppy, she eventually got on in years. At one point she got a tumor in her chest so we had it removed. Later, her hips started giving out on her. She started going blind- to the point where when we’d take her for a walk, when she got to a curb, she’d instinctively try and hop up the curb and collapse when she landed. It was pretty sad. </div>
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I was in high school about that time and one night when I was at my part time job at the CD Center, I found out that my dad had taken her to the vet to put her to sleep. I was a little shocked at how quickly this happened. But what was sadder was that my dad told me that he was sitting out back in his chair in the afternoon, and Spot ambled up to him and placed her head in his lap, and looked up at him with sad eyes. My dad knew what she was telling him and he decided that it was time. Sure it’s the humane thing to do, and at first I took it at face value. But later, I found out that my dad was especially upset about it because he revealed that he always assumed that HE would pass before Spot and would never have to endure another lost dog. That story always makes me sad.</div>
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So how does this event from 21 years ago relate to recent times? Well, my brother Bobby is still single and besides living with roommates, he’s unattached. Some years ago, Bobby inheirited a dog simply named Girl. Now Girl came from an abusive owner and had been permanently scarred with a fear of men. Whenever we’d go visit his house, Girl would always go hide. I could never go wrestle with her or even leaving her alone with the kids was a little sketchy as she was very much a regular dog- protective of her space and stuff. We on the other hand have our own dog named Molly who will always shy away from overfriendly dogs, will never growl, will never bite and will even let you scrape the tarter from her teeth without much protest. I guess we have a weird dog- but now I've strayed from my point...<br />
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Bobby was pretty much the only male that Girl trusted. He has pictures of the two of them on trips and just hanging out. Several years ago, Girl got a crazy illness caused by foxtail that bores into dog skin. It caused enormous boil-like sores and essentially can cause organ damage if not surgically removed. Bobby rallied his friends to have a “help pay for Girl’s surgery” party and he was able to offset the costs. Within this past year, Girl got sick with a pneumonia-like illness with a nasty hacking cough. As Bobby is a musician in a touring band, he couldn't really stay home with her, but he did make the right decision to postpone a trip out to visit us to take care of her instead. She recovered somwhat from that too thanks to his love and affection.<br />
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But last week, Girl took a turn for the worse. As he posted on Facebook: <br />
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And then just yesterday:</div>
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Our mom was with Bobby when she was put to sleep. My brother was crying a lot. And she took one last photo of the both of them with her iphone (it is now the photo that pops up when he calls me)</div>
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It's Girl right before she went to eternal rest. Bobby purposely wore one of our dad's shirts for the ocassion.<br />
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Goodbye Fuzzy Angel, Happy Birthday Dad. We miss you already and always.</div>
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The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0Queen Creek, AZ, USA33.2486638 -111.634299333.1955468 -111.7132633 33.3017808 -111.5553353tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-29665519112005416562011-09-10T00:53:00.001-07:002021-09-10T07:18:24.003-07:0010 Years Since That Infamous Day<div>
Where were you ten years ago? It's hard to forget where you were. After all, there are only some things that will be etched in our minds forever- depending on your age. For me, it was the day the Challenger exploded and where I was when OJ was set free. Both sad days. </div>
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However, the day I'm talking about- ten years ago- was also the day that Ed McCaffrey broke his leg on Monday Night Football. It was one of those gnarly events that rivals Joe Theismann (actually pronounced THESE MEN) or Moises Alou or Willis McGahee or even Freddie Mitchell. It was flat out gruesome and I will never forget it. <img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650636857222071730" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lrmi8ofQVd0/TmsYSIVzhbI/AAAAAAAAGig/yNCwbB8JMMQ/s400/ed-mccaffrey-broken-leg.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 259px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /><br />
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But let's get serious for a moment. We all know what really happened ten years ago. Sure I can try and gloss it over with some humor- however gross it may be, but those who don't care about it are either insensetive, unAmerican or just flat out bad people. Let me recount my perspective...</div>
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It started off like most other days. I was getting ready for work. I was dressed and ready to leave the house and my wife Nadine called upstairs in a very serious voice for me to come downstairs. The big joke to this day is that I replied with "do I have time to check my email?" She replied with silence, so I knew that it was something that couldn't wait.</div>
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So when I came downstairs, I realized the severity of my insensetive request. We got in the car and drove in near silence down Interstate 5 from Vista to La Jolla, California. Traffic was moderate. I kept looking over at her but she was staring out the window- I could see that she was crying. I tried to make light conversation but was met with more silence. We kept the radio off.</div>
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Luckily we arrived at our destination safely, but as soon as we walked in the building, we knew that this whole incident was reality. We were rushed to our safe haven to brace for the worst.</div>
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Then the emotions really hit me and I started to tear up. It was overwhelming. And within a few hours we felt like things were over. And we prayed and we knew that we would never forget.</div>
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It was at that point that I realized that the world would never be the same. Like most other sane people in this situation, we knew that our vigilance must be heightened from now on and that it would be hard to trust certain people. Call it what you want, but when you see certain "types" of people, you really need to be on your guard- call the police, inform your neighbors. My wife even asked if I would kill one of "them" if the need arose. She was halfway joking, but yeah, I just might if one of them did harm or threatened to do such harm. I have guns now and I even think there's a country song about "cleaning my gun" just to make a point.</div>
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So now a full decade has gone by. My hair is thinner. My waistline is... about the same. And yes we've gone through it again since that memorable day. But it could never be as indelibly stamped in my brain like it was ten years ago. I finally caved in and bought a cell phone, desk aquarium and Angry Bird plush doll to commemorate the ten year anniversary- we all do it differently so don't criticize...</div>
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Our Madison is now 10 today. Happy Birthday Madison! September 10, 2001. We will do our best to remember your special day each and every year and not let it be overshadowed by the realities of the world- like thunderstorm during pool parties or rained out miniature golf and water park parties.<br />
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<a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1042096697805.6988.1387212158#!/photo.php?fbid=2402036615453&set=a.1042096697805.6988.1387212158&type=1&theater">Madison Today</a>
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The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-1887556387745415552011-08-15T18:43:00.000-07:002011-08-16T08:19:54.745-07:00Jury Duty (aka The Most Boring Story in the World)I'm now 41 and have been a registered voter for 23 years. For the first time, I got called for jury duty. My wife served on a brutal murder trial earlier this year and she was a trooper despite the details I heard after the case was closed. So, I on the other hand wasn't really thrilled with the notion of being stuck on a week long jury. After all, I've got a job and don't want my work to suffer from having to do it at midnight for a week.
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<br />I usually get to my real job at like 7AM so I figured I'd make the 8AM check in time no problem. Of course I slept in a bit, and left the house a little later than usual, but then I hit what I'm not used to- morning traffic. What should have been a 40 minute drive didn't appear reasonable. And since I left the house at 7AM I quickly realized that I'd be screwed. But rather than freak out about it, my thoughts wandered to the countless "citizens" who get jury summons and simply blow it off- or make a lame excuse on why they can't go.
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<br />When I pulled into the parking lot at 8:10AM, I hustled to the courthouse only to be met by- a line. A line of about 50 people to be exact- and not just people going into court, but the jury pool line. By the time I got to the front of the line, there were another 25 people behind me.
<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641302371294942018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="Maricopa County Superior Court" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xh5ox6Kuw1w/Tknunieak0I/AAAAAAAAGhw/qup68lNhsPw/s400/courthouse1.jpg" border="0" />
<br />Once in the jury selection room or whatever it's called we sat there until 9AM watching CNN, knitting, reading, fiddling with our smart phones, setting up laptop workstations, or simply sitting. Me and my 400+ new friends- and I guess you could call it "standing room only", or some people were simply too xenophobic to sit next to someone else.
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<br />So exactly at 9AM, a girl gets on the speaker and immediately announces a trial that will last 26 days that they need 80 people for. She'd call out names and you answer yes or no- but if you answered "no" you had to fill out an explanation form on why you couldn't do it. Once she got to 80 yeses, she was done- my name wasn't called. But Winnie Cooper was... and Elizabeth Banks too- so that was pretty cool...<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641302530446476274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 253px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 199px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="Winnie Cooper" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-hYjKc1Utw/TknuwzXGQ_I/AAAAAAAAGh4/6hb9Vbumq4s/s320/winnie.jpg" border="0" />
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<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641302649974945474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 275px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 183px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="Elizabeth Banks" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_lRHK1ONasA/Tknu3wo59sI/AAAAAAAAGiA/R5G0lDrsDQg/s320/banks.jpg" border="0" />At 9:30, the girl announced where we're supposed to park and then said that if you didn't park there, you could get up right now and move your car. So of course my thought is "oh my God!, it's going to be another half hour before we do anything else!" But instead she starts orientating up with the refreshment table, smoking locations, lunch policies, etc. It was pretty straightforward. Then we watched a 15 minute video on how great jury service is. I noticed that the flat screen TV I was watching was the only non-tube in the room. If I haven't already painted an adequate picture of the room, let's say that it was a combination of an airport waiting area, sprinkled with a lot of DMV, but with a doctor office cleanliness.
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<br />At 10AM they put on the first "in flight" movie- the blockbuster hit "Are We Done Yet with Ice Cube and John <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">McGinley</span>. I've got to admit that the image I had was Ted <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">McGinley</span> of such hits as Happy Days and Married with Children, but then I realized it was his cousin- casting favorite of Oliver stone, star of Platoon and Wall Street... oh well, they're cousins or something like that so- close enough<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641303299385906322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 254px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="Ted McGinley" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ruPjB8PkD4U/Tknvdj4i1JI/AAAAAAAAGiY/O2OYxt39pu0/s320/ted.jpg" border="0" />
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<br />At about 10:10 they started calling the first group- 80 people whom each took a 8x10 laminated paper with a big number on it. They were shuffled away by the female bailiff (sorry Rusty, but feminism is key!). Almost immediately after, they took another 80- with another female bailiff. After a 15 minute gap, they called the next 80- third female bailiff- if you haven't figured it out yet, I hadn't been called yet. It was during this time that the same woman was called 3 times, but never answered. So she got there, checked in, and then split.
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<br />Next thing I knew, it was 11:20 and they told us we could go to lunch until 1PM! Great, downtown Phoenix in 109 degree heat. Luckily I yelped a local deli and found a decent sandwich. I've never actually walked around downtown Phoenix during the day- and I'm really not envious of those people. So while at lunch I texted a friend who flips properties and asked where they do the auctions- he told me so I boogied over there and "observed" the frat house atmosphere. It was like the cast of Jersey Shore to be honest with you. And because it's sort of a good "old" boys network of 25ish Ed Hardyish types, I got a lot of glares- even though I had my jury badge and kept a distance from the activity.
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<br />So I got back at about 12:45 and there was some other movie on... but it was another black-centric movie which I then found to be odd- because out of like 400 people, there were no more than 10 blacks in the whole jury pool. As my lunch started to settle, I found myself dozing a tad and did the head nod into the post next to me. But I was saved by the announcement girl welcoming everyone back and going immediately into the next group. And guess who was number 31?
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<br />So our bailiff- just like all the others was also female and she shuffled us up to the 11th floor for our trial. We lined up in order along a hall and she announced that we needed to separate the triplicate form we filled out when we arrived and she told us what was about to happen. A few dudes in ill fitting suits paced back and forth, three police officers and a fireman were huddled together and then two youngish lawyer types walked by with an aerial image of an apartment complex and a pool with an arrow pointing to the pool.
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<br />My imagination is now racing- civil suit for a drowning? murder?... OK, race over. We go in, the court staff is standing there courteously- like we're the guests of honor- and except for a white dude in a suit with tattoos all up his neck and a fat young Hispanic lawyer type, everyone else was female. No big deal, but I saw a weird sexist theme going on with lots of estrogen ruling the courthouse.
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<br />The judge introduced the staff and explained what everyone does and then asked some questions about if we'd be able to serve 3 days (not counting today). Like all other questions, we were to lift our card and then they'd call us by our number to explain our answer. Like 8 people said they couldn't serve that long and after explaining their situation, the judge and lawyers chatted and let 5 of them go. Then the judge explained the case- it was an alleged parole violator who was caught with a gun.
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<br />Then came questions about whether we had positive or negative opinions of police or the court system. Then questions on if we have family who are criminals, been victim of violent crime, etc. And by this point I realized that there are a lot of people with criminal connections, or who have been victims of crime, etc. It was actually pretty scary to think about that. But I also notice that in most cases, it was the same people answering yes to every question. I didn't raise my number for any of these so I guess I'm just boring. But here's a few things I learned:
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<br /><li>one woman witnessed her drug addict brother get tased multiple times by the cops</li>
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<br /><li>one man's son was in tent city and had been for the prior year and got pneumonia and lost his job, so the dad was a little pissed at the lack of swift justice</li>
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<br /><li>one guy is a chaplain at county jail and gets to hear the alleged criminals confess to him</li>
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<br /><li>one woman kept answering "it's personal" which hinted that she was victim of a violent crime</li>
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<br /><li>one guy was a prison guard for the past 5 years before moving out here</li>
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<br /><li>one girl got kicked off a jury after trial started because she couldn't stay awake</li>
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<br /><li>one guy got roughed up by the cops because he was part of a street fight and he was bitter that he got singled out when there were many others involved</li></ul>They next asked about guns and our opinion on them. They asked if we own guns and I got to raise my card for the first time. A few guys had to go down the list of all the guns they own- (some people just like to hear the sound of their own voice). Finally, they asked us to get up and tell our job, amount of time doing it, kids, spouse and if we'd served on a jury before. As I'm a nuclear family kind of guy and we've already established that I'd never been on a jury, I got a sinking feeling that I might be chosen. I did some simple math- there were like 35 people left, about 12 had enough "history" to raise questions on their objectivity and I was reasonably articulate... but then again, I usually get singled out at the TSA screening line so who knows what was going to happen. They told us to leave for 45 minutes and that a jury would be selected when we came back- it was now 3:15PM
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<br />At 4PM, they called us into the room and had us all sit together. They'd call out our number if we were selected and then assign us an actual jury number, so even though I was 31, if they called me first, I'd be juror #1. "Number 5, you are juror number 1. Number 6, you are juror number 2, Number 8, you are juror number 3, Number 10, you are juror number 4..." Mind you, there are 10 jurors for this trial, so I'm thinking that I might not be picked. "Number 24, you are juror number 9. Number 25, you are juror number 10" I didn't get picked.
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<br />But even more surprising were that
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<br /><li>they picked taser sister girl</li>
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<br /><li>the entire jury was women!</li></ol>
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<br />At that point, I was done and a little relieved- even though I know that I could be objective and fair and a pretty good juror- if I could stay awake. But it made me think that this poor <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">schlub</span> who will probably get convicted had a loser court appointed lawyer who couldn't get a single dude on the jury... but then again, maybe there's a method to the madness- I'm no lawyer</p></div></div></div></div></div>
<br />The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-31394643185757546902011-06-02T01:21:00.000-07:002011-06-02T06:17:38.748-07:00My Fraternity is No More!<div><div><div><div><div>Back in my college days, I joined a fraternity. Let's just call it Alpha Tau Omega- because that's what is was called. I was actually part of the fourth pledge class since the chapter started on campus so it was a new group of guys. And when they started the chapter, they got guys from two other schools to help get the initial local guys involved. The problem was that the two seed schools had two vastly different types of ATO chapters. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>One seed was USC- a very well established "Animal House" style chapter- and by that I mean that it was around from at least the 1950s, prestigious school, lots of history, lots of jocks, and pretty much one of the more popular houses at USC. The other seed chapter was from Cal Poly Pomona... which was not like the USC chapter. In fact, it was everything the USC chapter was not (or vice versa). These guys were pretty new to their school, the school was not even division I sports, and from what I heard, these guys were how shall I put it.... So who were the first members of my school's chapter? That's right- a mixed bag.<img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 297px; height: 400px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613541616747251522" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eoi9c9-vT6Y/TedOW84Xh0I/AAAAAAAAGG8/yVjHUwY-VBU/s400/ato.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>So for the years that I was an undergraduate, my house had an identity crisis. I think everyone wanted to get laid and get drunk and have parties, but there was a huge clash of who to let into the chapter and our chapter image. Did we want to become "top house" and be the jocks at school? Did we want to be the "pretty boys"? Or did we want to just "be". I was part of the cool house faction (despite my own lack thereof) but there were plenty of guys who simply didn't care- or they lost their interest. It was downright nasty at times with accusations of racism, quantity vs. quality and lots of subgroups within the house. We even had a house cleaning in my latter years that was pretty awful in concept. Don't get me wrong, I was proud to be a Tau and I had enough confidence (and hair) to not really care about what outsiders thought about me personally, but I was concerned with keeping the engine going with people wanting to join rather than us trying to keep our numbers up so that we could continue as a viable house. Plus, it doesn't hurt when the sororities like you too- which was definately a concern back then.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Moving forward, our house actually knocked off the top athletic house before I graduated, we were the second fraternity to actually get our own fraternity house (yes, most chapters didn't even have an actual fraternity house), and by the time I graduated, I felt pretty good about my fraternity and a lot of the guys who came in after me. My ultimate measure of satisfaction would be flash forwarding to when my kids were looking to go to college. When we visited my alma mater (University of California at Riverside), I'd go up to a random hot sorority girl and ask who the cool fraternities were. And if she said "ATO" then I'd be happy.<img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 400px; height: 288px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613542084790212274" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LE6A3Amshgg/TedOyMegVrI/AAAAAAAAGHE/7Wqp0Ly9pBY/s400/plex.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>Well, boys will be boys... And boys will get crazy in college. And bad things can happen in college and my little chapter made some bad choices over the years. I'll be honest when I say that I wasn't involved after I graduated like a chapter advisor, and I never went to any reunions on campus, but some of my closest friends are my fraternity brothers that I carried home (ok, maybe they carried me home) when we were young and wild. Sure we did some jackass stuff- like knocking down a half-built home, or tagging our mark all over campus and at other schools, or general humiliation of newer brothers, or getting in minor fights, or causing the sherrif's helicopter to raid a secret ceremony- or get banned from a church... but we were good lads.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>However, over the years, I guess my chapter got caught doing some <em>really</em> bad stuff- and I won't even speculate as it would be hearsay. And by no means am I trying to finger wag or finger point- I'm just talking about something that's a part of my life. But needless to say, they were actually put on probation a few times over the years. In the meantime, the Pomona chapter that helped found ours is now gone- as are several other more established chapters throughout the state and country. But for some reason, my own chapter- at one of the lesser UC schools- persevered through the years- 20 whole years! I can only imagine how many can say that they were Riverside ATOs. I was something like #200.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>So now it's 2011- the 20th anniversary of our chapter getting chartered- which means the trial period was over, and in 1991, the UC Riverside chapter of Alpha Tau Omega was legit. I'm an old man now. And guess what came in the mail a few months back- a letter from the national president of Alpha Tau Omega. The gist of the letter was that over the years, the Iota Theta chapter of ATO had screwed up, but they always managed to jump through the hoops to set things right again- and all the while they were a chapter that people wanted to join. But the real gist was that after all the chances, enough was enough and the charter was finally revoked. Alas, Alpha Tau Omega at UC Riverside is no more. Talk about a bummer of a 20th anniversary celebration.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>I still keep my ATO membership plaque on my wall, along with my little brother paddle- and I'm permanently marked, and I have a set of letters somewhere in my closet (even though it always finds its way to the semi annual family garage sale). I'm well beyond reminiscing with my "bros" and I don't live in the past in an unhealthy way. But every once in a while, a fond memory is triggered into my head for a second and makes me laugh- usually it's related to a Mike Tyson fight, or lots of Taco Bell (because you forgot that you were hungry before you put on the Metallica album) or Blades of Steel on Sega Genesis, or "asking" pledges to knock down trees, or defiling a cake that sorority girls brough to a social and only telling certain bros what you did, or impulse Vegas trips. Sure it was fun while it lasted, and the friends I still have are priceless, but it's sad that our chapter is no more.</div></div></div></div></div>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-83039209402997169002010-12-22T23:58:00.000-08:002010-12-23T01:00:07.069-08:00Time To Get Sliced!In 2009, after much deliberation, I decided… OK, let me start over. My wife and I decided last year that it was right time for me to get a vasectomy. After all, we’re done having kids, she’s the one who took the birth control pills all those years prior to that, she’s the one who carried the kids, she’s the one who had to launch them- all I did was coach her breathing, encourage her and try and comfort her.<br /><br />When we got married we had what I thought was a pretty ingenious rationale for the number of kids to have. You see, I come from a small family with just me and my brother. My dad came from a family with just him and his brother. But my mom comes from a family of 8 siblings. My wife comes from a family of 8 kids and her mom came from a family of 8 kids. So I wanted a bigger family than what I came from but not crazy big. So we settled on two for sure with a mutual option for three (with a limited buyout clause). Here’s the math. If we had one boy and one girl, we’d definitely have a third. But if our first two were girls or both boys then we’d have to go to winter meetings with that option thing- after all, the idea of having a four to one ratio in a household was just too suffocating for me (and my wife. But if we started with one and one, then who cares what the third kid was. Make sense?<br /><br />Well our daughter enjoyed the spoils of well educated parents- and when I mean well educated, I’m talking about baby-educated. We read all the books and we took the birthing class. When she was born, we kept her on the perfect schedule and she was sleeping through the night by week 6. She enjoyed lots of classical music and enrichment activities. We read the books on what to expect with your kid and we kept on top of it. And I hope I’m not jinxing myself by putting it down on paper, but up until this very moment in time, she’s a pretty good kid.<br /><br />When we finally decided to have a second child we got a little cocky. Let’s just say that we didn’t review our coursework like we should have. Couple that with already having a first child in the house to share attention with, and our second (this time a boy) got a very different set of early development guidelines. We knew we were in trouble when he wasn’t sleeping through the night- <em><strong>after</strong></em> his first birthday. We knew we were in trouble when he’d pee in his humidifier. We knew we were in trouble when he’d run away from us <em>into</em> traffic- we're talking about stuff our daughter would NEVER do.<br /><br />Because of our son, (who is a wonderful and sweet boy whom we love dearly), we lost interest in having any more kids- so there went my super perfect trifecta plan for a “bigger” family. In fact, it was quite humbling as it was yet another example of how we aren’t able to make these grand plans and we’re stupid to think that we can control our lives so perfectly.<br /><br />Our son is now almost six, I’m 40 and my wife is officially in the first year of her perpetual “39s”. So even if we wanted to have another birth child, it’s not in our best interest to do so from a medical persepective. Now here’s where we get a little personal. Ready? Wait for it… we’ve been using condoms only for the last 8 years. (I know, it’s gross just thinking about it. And if you know me personally, then you’ll never look at me the same way again) And when you consider that they say that condoms are like 98% effective, then that means that we should technically have about 7 more kids than we currently do… (again, sorry for the visual)<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 410px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 330px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.tripbase.com/articles/images/restaurants/Cabbages%20and%20Condoms.jpg" /><br />So getting back to me getting a vasectomy, we decided that it was the best thing to do. I love my wife. Although we may want to go Jolie-Pitt style one day and adopt a child, we’re getting too old for doing it on our own, and it’s just the responsible thing to do isn’t it? But wait, now we’re getting into a morals/ethics issue aren’t we?<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff0000;">I think child molestors and rapists should be castrated. I think people on “permanent” welfare who have multiple kids should be sterilized. I think there should be some sort of government tax break/incentive for getting sterilized regardless of your social situation. I think the solution in Africa should not be only raising money for food and clean water, but birth control. There, I said it. And if you disagree with me, the too bad. I remember about 25 year ago when Bob Geldof and all the British bands I grew up with (but had no idea that many were gay), sang a song about Christmas and Africa and feeding the world. I remember taping the entire Live Aid concert back then too. And just last year, on American Idol, they raised something like a billion dollars for African aid. And my very own church has adopted a village in Chikudzulire, Malawi, Africa where we have drilled wells and built buildings and sent clothing and medical care. But is my church the very first one to ever do something like this?... So my point is that some people in this world have too many other challenges that are only made more complicated by having more kids that can’t be taken care of properly- BY THEIR OWN PARENTS.<br /></span><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/c-w-CmCCF7k?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/c-w-CmCCF7k?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />So, even though my wife and I have the resources and love that a child <em>should</em> have, we don’t want to have any more babies. Did you know that some religions consider any sort of medical procedure like the one I’m doing to be sinful? Now I’m a Christian, but if God didn’t want us to get vasectomies, then he wouldn’t have wanted us to get stints in our hearts or take antibiotics when we’re sick, or have cavities filled, or put on band aids, or shave (like I have to do to my privates tomorrow morning) or wipe our butts. Yeah I know I may be getting a tad extreme with the whole slippery slope attitude, but I consider a vasectomy a moral responsibility.<br /><br />Enough with the uncomfortable and polarizing talk, let’s talk about what's actually happening with me getting my balls decommissioned!<br /><br />When 2010 hit, I promised my wife I’d get it done. Of course the idea of it makes me a tad squeamish, but I told you why it’s a small price to pay considering the discomfort she has endured. Well guess what happened in January- that’s right, I got a kidney stone. Never had one before, but I was sort of forced to meet a urologist who helped me get through the concept of sitting down to pee in a strainer to hopefully catch a rock that would come shooting out of my… self. He even gave me a telescoping portable cup like I had when I was a cub scout- except this cup had a strainer at the end. “Is that a can of Skoal in your pocket?” “No, it’s a cup I use when I sit down to pee at Costco”. So this went on for like 5 weeks and no stone came out, so I had to go in for a CT scan to see if it was still there and sure enough it was gone… so now I could look back in retrospect to all the wonderful memories of sitting down to pee for 5 weeks when the stone most likely passed between the Sunday night that I went to the ER and they saw it on the scan til the next day when I first visited the urologist who analyzed the 12 hour old scan which showed a stone. Awesome.<br /><br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 314px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 470px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://gallery.photographyreview.com/data/photography//508/medium/DSC_1078-3-4x6-640.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 378px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.therapak.com/catalog/img/lg/75109_new.jpg" /><br /><a href="http://static.funnyjunk.com/pictures/eva2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 499px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 616px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://static.funnyjunk.com/pictures/eva2.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div>Couple this wonderful experience with a few unrelated but significant life changes with our family and the vasectomy talk took a back burner. But then in November, my wife had her annual visit to the doctor and while she was there she got a prescription for the old tried and true birth control pills. When these gave her bad headaches and I googled the medication that said “you shouldn’t take these when you hit your perpetual age 39 milestone” and I immediately told her to stop and called my urologist.<br /><br />Back when I was going through the kidney stone, I mentioned the vasectomy to my doctor and he gave me the rundown. I jokingly said that I’d let him film the procedure so he could put it on Youtube if he gave me a discount, but he then enlightened me that there was already <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qlaqa7PBP68">one online</a> of his technique (notice that I'm giving you the option of clicking that link if you really want to see how it's done instead of forcing you to watch it). When he said “What I really need is a video on proper scrotal shaving”, I felt like C3PO excitedly talking to Uncle Owen. His response at the time was to get through the kidney stone. But, there's already a video for that one- and don't worry, it's PG.<br /><br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1TiJNewpCnY?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1TiJNewpCnY?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br />So I had my real initial consultation a few weeks ago and of course his office is staffed with attractive women, and they all know why I’m there. He comes in and bluntly asks how many kids I have, why I want it done, etc. He then goes into warning about how it’s not reversible and that if I get a divorce I won’t be able to have kids naturally again. Now this is perhaps the biggest challenge with men who choose to get a vasectomy. Regardless of your relationship with your wife, the idea that you are cutting off your ability to procreate- by choice, is a harsh reality. Going back to our plan of three kids and the fact that we are a little older now, there’s no reason why we couldn’t logistically have another child now. We know plenty of couples who had an unexpected late child- heck my wife is ten years younger than her next youngest sibling and she’s the most wonderful person in the world. So officially saying “I’m done”- not “We’re done” can really affect a man’s ego. But I’m ready.<br /><br />My doctor was humorously candid about it all. He pre-empted the typical questions with the answers- “Will it affect my ability to enjoy things?” “Won't I feel all pent up all the time?” etc. He then jumped without inquiry with “By the way, the amount that guys <em>do</em> in porno movies is not normal”. And then, for the first time in my life, I let a man play with my penis and balls... and I paid for him to do it... and it was perfectly legal... and he complimented me on my wonderful vas deferens... </div><br /><div></div><div>And here’s the kicker- my out of pocket for this whole thing- $52. Remember when I went off on how the government should encourage these sorts of procedures? I’d say a small tax incentive is a small price to pay compared to an individual’s drain on our public school systems and depending on how they end up- our welfare systems, prison systems, etc.<br /><br />Oh, so I’m getting this done on December 23rd- that’s right, sort of a Christmas present to my wife… And guess what gets delivered to our house the day of my procedure- that’s right- a very large and heavy trampoline for the kids that needs to be set up either by Santa in the middle of the night or on Christmas day.<br /><a href="http://www.solarnavigator.net/images/trampoline_europa_super_tramp_garden_home_use.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 375px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 374px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.solarnavigator.net/images/trampoline_europa_super_tramp_garden_home_use.jpg" /></a> So if you don't hear from me for a few days, now you'll know the reason. I probably won't bore you with the aftermath recovery stuff as my will to live will be gone :( I'm sure I'll find something else to go off on. Don't look back!<br /><br /><a href="http://cache-01.gawkerassets.com/assets/images/7/2009/07/custom_1245664436340_wall-street-bull.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 340px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 455px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://cache-01.gawkerassets.com/assets/images/7/2009/07/custom_1245664436340_wall-street-bull.jpg" /></a> </div></div></div>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-19482988806315670882010-11-22T02:43:00.000-08:002010-11-22T02:52:37.847-08:00Can My Kids Be Happy?Its weird how at certain times your brain goes into different modes- there’s work mode, play mode, shutdown mode and unfortunately for me right now at 2AM on a Sunday night, I’m in high anxiety mode, and the only cure (so that I can fall asleep) is to get it down in writing.<br /><br />At 40 years old, I have come to recognize this brain mode. It’s when I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about what needs to be done. Or what hasn’t been done, or that I haven’t reached a life goal that I was hoping to achieve. It’s when I reflect on my life so far and think of the failures and the successes, and what else I need to do.<br /><br />When I was a teenager, I’d think about social acceptance. I was by no means a loner, but I was the kind of guy where I’d always liked girls above my comfort zone and the girls who liked me were below my comfort zone- I guess I was never happy with my social caste. I did get teased some for several reasons- I was half Korean/half Honkey in an era where that was weird- but now I can say that I was a pioneer! My dad was 60 when I was born which limited physical activities and resulted in lots of “why is your grandpa here on father-son day?” I was given a name that was a little past its heyday- (sorry George Washington and George Westinghouse and Babe Ruth, but you dudes were dead way before I was even a glint in my father’s eye). But now I’m confident in who I am. I think I’m pretty friendly with pretty much anyone. I still may judge those who are above or below me, but I don’t envy them, and I try not to be a total dick to them. When an ex girlfriend of mine (who was white) broke up with me and married an Asian guy, I always rationalized that she missed me and wanted kids who looked like me.<br /><br />As I got older I’d have anxiety about money or career or meeting the right spouse. As a B student ADD type I was always reasonably intelligent, but always found a way to slack off enough to let my grades suffer, so that I couldn’t go to a top tier college. I learned music and could play piano, clarinet and guitar… but I could never jam or make music (like my brother can). I pretty much learned how to play songs. My dad loved music and had a huge reel to reel tape collection- I ended up working at a CD store and have a huge CD/MP3 collection... I played soccer and baseball long enough to know the games well. I loved baseball and hated soccer… but I was mediocre at baseball and good at soccer- that translates to no high school sports and hence no real team camaraderie beyond youth. But by golly I can watch any baseball game at any skill level and enjoy it.<br /><br />After college or even when college was almost over, I was a typical Generation Xer and had no real focus or expertise. Unfortunately my own father had passed by then, so when I really needed and wanted some guidance, it was too late and I had no other father figure or mentor. My dad was actually a career Army guy- a colonel who served in World War II. Then he was president of a major metropolitan chamber of commerce. Then he was VP of a start up company- but in my youth, he was stay at home retired dad. Although no Malcolm Forbes, the guy had some decent life experiences. And unfortunately for me I let that slip away without tapping into it.<br /><br />When I was engaged to my wonderful wife, I had an anxiety dream that I was losing my hair. I got out of bed, went to the mirror and it turned out that wasn’t a dream, I was really losing it. Oh well.<br /><br />So now that you know a little background on who I was, keep in mind that that’s not why I’m awake. I now can’t sleep because for once in my life it’s not about me. I mean, of course it’s about me, but I’m actually thinking about my family and how their brains work and how they have these same sort of anxieties. I’m anxious on how I can use my past to help them through their present and their future- all without sounding like a preachy parent.<br /><br />I’ve been married for 12 years now, we have 2 kids and I am a business owner and am also gainfully employed in an industry that I am very capable at. We’ve gone through a few rough patches with the economy and like others; we have our medical scares from time to time. But now we have food in the fridge and a roof over our head. That’s the 10,000 foot view of my life today, but let’s zoom in a bit.<br /><br />I have a short fuse, I’m lazy, I complain, I’m selfish. But are those bad traits? I get my temper when something doesn’t go the way I plan, or when people don’t meet my expectations. I find the negative in many things and vocalize it much to the chagrin of others. When I’m tired or hungry or burned out I need to sit, eat, watch tv and surf the internet. You remember that I’m folically challenged right? I sound like a real catch don’t I? Well, I’m not putting together a personal profile for eharmony. I don’t want to impress anyone. I love my wife and in fact we just renewed our wedding vows last weekend.<br /><br />You see, part of tonight’s anxiety is my worry that my kids will end up like me… And any adult with kids can recognize that this is pretty much what happens in life. We may end up in different careers or environments, but our personalities are our parents’. Unless we have just plain bad parents who are abusive, negligent or dishonest, we really don’t have a reason to hate them. Assuming that a parent loves their kids and tries to provide for them and gives them a safe home, that’s pretty good in today’s world. Many kids go through the phase where their parents “just don’t understand”. But then later in life, assuming that they make it through to the other side intact, it all comes together. And then the cycle repeats and we end up having many of those same character traits for better or worse. My mom has a temper and her own idealistic mindset of how things should turn out. My dad was studious, curious, an alcoholic, an adventurer, and eloquent- perhaps that’s why I like to write sometimes. But forget about my parents. Let’s talk specifically about my kids.<br /><br />I have a 9 year old daughter and a 5 year old son. Now assuming that they never read this, or when they do they are much older and wiser and self assured, then I’m going to lay it out there.<br /><br />My daughter is very intelligent, very calm, creative, a quick learner in music, good with money, considerate, funny, an avid reader, a cook, an idealist, independent and she’s a daddy’s girl. But at the same time, she’s in 4th grade and has no real close friends, and she is already questioning why she needs to learn things, and she doesn’t practice piano much, and she’s forgetful, and she’s scared of getting hurt and she cries when I try to help her with her homework or piano lessons. Now I have no problem saying all these negative things about her because that was me at that age and I turned out OK. But at the same time, I had that point in my life in between riddled with teen angst and social awkwardness- all that other stuff that she is on the cusp of going through.<br /><br />My son on the other hand has a few years before teenage stuff, but he’s very intelligent, a good reader, a troublemaker, a crybaby, belligerent, good with math, greedy, fearless, stubborn, and one who is prone to cause calls home about his behavior at school, bus, church, etc. Since I called our daughter a daddy’s girl, unfortunately I need to call him our mama’s boy… Our primary concern is that my wife and I are already fearful of how he might be categorized or shunned for his behavior despite his abilities or that despite watching episodes of Super Nanny and parent coaching (which we have completed), it might require a medical solution.<br /><br />So, here am I with my traits. I won’t even go into my wife and her traits which are by no means terrible but just as human as anyone else- not to mention her completely opposite upbringing compared to mine, and two very different kids that we call our own. That is why I can’t sleep.<br /><br />I always pray for guidance and I pray for individual needs for my kids and wife, and I know that worrying does not make it better- just ask my sparsely populated scalp. I feel confident that God will show me the way- whether it’s helping me to be a better person or bringing the right people into the lives of our children or his actual touch on our children’s souls. At this moment, I actually feel like my own needs are third on the list. I really want His will to be done, and then I want the welfare of my loved ones. But by golly, when I get hungry or tired then I shove my way to the top of the list and those who need my prayers or example just see the opposite of what they need. And those that I love observe my selfish actions and although they might not say anything, they sure as heck act on it.<br /><br />I’m only speaking for myself, but when I look at how my son acts, I usually blame myself. And when I look at how my daughter acts- in a very different way, I feel that it is a result of my actions. My boy fights back and my daughter clams up. In either case, that’s not the right way to raise kids.<br /><br />I want to be a good example. I want my kids to do well in school. I want them to be musical and creative and athletic and funny. I want them to have “a motor” – not necessarily a cutthroat drive, but a relentless motivation to put thoughts into action. I want my kids to be finishers- not a jack of all trades and master of none. I want my kids to have good friends and meet good people and find true love. I want my kids to be happy so that when they are adults they won’t have such a tough time passing it on to their kids.<br /><br />Sadly, it really is about me isn’t it?<br /><br />Goodnight.The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-34204351207481157142010-05-09T09:11:00.000-07:002010-05-09T09:48:40.384-07:00Transaction Fee? Really?We all need to make a buck don't we? You get your hourly pay, or you get your sales commission, or if you own a company then you strive for profitability. If you're a kid you do your chores. Or if you're an American, then you can always count on the government to bail you out for doing nothing! But there's some things that just upset me when I see a little inconsistency.<br /><br />I use my debit card about 95% of the time. Dining, clothes, groceries, gifts- it's the ultimate way to keep your hands clean so that you don't have to be fiddling with cash. I know there's a fine line between debit and credit cards- especially when one can be used for both purposes, but it is very convenient. But did you know that vendors in many cases get charged a transaction fee for accepting plastic? It's how the transaction companies make a buck- I get it. But do they jack up the price accordingly to cover that fee? Actually, in some cases they do. I remember buying furniture once and they told me they'd cover the tax if I paid cash vs. credit. So in essense they were charging me less to avoid that cost that they'd have to bear. But they didn't give me a total and then tell me it would be more if I paid with credit. And besides- this was not a chain furniture store it was some boutique mom and pop shop. So how they keep their books is fine with me as long as I got what I needed at the price I wanted.<br /><br />But what really irks me is when big chain companies charge you a transaction fee for buying with debit. Two cases in point are Carls Jr. and AM/PM. Now I haven't been to Carls in a while but I remember actually avoiding that place just for that reason- unless I had cash- but it always chapped my ass to only eat there if I had a ten-spot in my pocket. But AM/PM- I just went there last week.<br /><br />I live in Arizona and used to live in California so perhaps you don't have this company where you are. It's essentially a big convenience store that also sells gas- the brand of gas you ask? Well it used to be ARCO and still has that label but that's now owned by BP... (how timely!). <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469310965006004674" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/S-blWFNU8cI/AAAAAAAAFtc/gw72U2F2wF4/s200/101_2809.JPG" /><br /><br />So before you get your gas, you put in your card and they warn you that they're going to charge .45 cents to use your debit card. 45 cents divided by 20 gallons is 2.25 cents per gallon- so since their prices are about 3 cents cheaper than their competition in many cases it's no big deal right? Right? WRONG!!!! <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469311222347454386" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/S-bllD4T17I/AAAAAAAAFtk/cmcC2FoveHY/s200/101_2808.JPG" /><br /><br />Why should they and only they charge this stupid fee in the first place? I'll tell you why they shouldn't.<br /><br />1. More pay at the pump activity means decreased staffing needs. Less employees means less payroll. Pretty simple<br />2. More pay at the pump activity means fewer accounting errors. Humans make mistakes and clerms might give the wrong change or accidentally accept counterfeit money<br />3. I can't imagine the staff at a convenience store making a ton of money so you have the risk of employee theft- the more cash transactions, the more cash on hand<br />4. Along those same lines, more cash on hand means a higher likelihood of robbery which would mean increased security measures and associated costs.<br /><br />So by accepting debit in a seemless personless transaction, the company benefits- thus justifying the transaction fee that the processor takes! And I don't even work for one of these companies or any other interested parties. I'm just a dope who sees a ridiculous policy carried out by a very very large company!!!<br /><br />But anybody who's ever bought gas there knows about this charge so when they drive by and see the price per gallon which is a few cents cheaper than the Chevron across the street then they already know the game. I flat out avoid AM/PM/ARCO/BP exactly for this reason... unless I'm out of gas and there's nothing else around which then fuels my anger and makes me write about it!<br /><br />Here's another bone of contention regarding this recent experience.<br /><br />When I was done, the machine then told me "Out of paper, see attendant" Are you kidding me? Don't they get notified when they are out of paper? Now I need to walk into the actual store to get my receipt? Add to this the recent BP spill in the gulf and there's no wonder why I'm the only guy in the parking lot! And another thing- I get in there, tell the guy that I need a receipt on 12 (his nationality is unimportant), and he asks me "How much was it?"<br /><br />"REALLY? YOU NEED ME TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH IT WAS SO THAT YOU CAN PRINT ME A RECEIPT? YOU THINK I'M TRYING TO PULL SOME CREDIT CARD FRAUD USING THE LAST 4 DIGITS ON THE RECEIPT? YOU THINK I MOVED MY CAR AND SOMEONE ELSE SUBSEQUENTLY PUMPED GAS ON THE SAME PUMP IN YOUR EMPTY LOT AND I MIGHT ACCIDENTALLY GET THEIR RECEIPT? JUST PRINT THE VERY LAST RECEIPT FOR PUMP 12!!!!!!!"<br /><br />alright, maybe I didn't need the quotes on that last part. I'm not sure how to emphasize what goes on in your mind.The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-36337518167845447792010-03-10T22:27:00.000-08:002010-03-10T22:50:03.377-08:00We need to talk about your TPS reportsSo I took on a contract position auditing fraudulent appraisals for a major national lender. I wasn't too thrilled about potentially going back into the corporate world- even if it could turn out to be a home based situation- but either way, I'm in and for the month of March, we have a designated trainer in the offices. It's a cube farm- lots of grey, identical setups for each and I was "contracted" along with 13 other appraisers and we all started on the same day.<br /><br />After the first day of classroom training where I realized that there are a lot of computer-illiterate people out there, I started the second day at my cube and got crackalacking.<br /><br />So about 10AM I decided to relieve myself and when I came back to my cube, I saw a bunch of random browser windows open, plus MS word and excel. I stood over the keyboard and thought "what is all this crap on my computer?", so I quickly closed all the windows and sat back down. When I looked over to the yellow pad on the desk, I realized- "that's not my handwriting- this isn't my cube!". I stood up, moved one cube over and hunkered down.<br /><a href="http://www.kbiltd.com/images/MDI%20Siemens%20Cube%20farm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 639px; height: 456px;" src="http://www.kbiltd.com/images/MDI%20Siemens%20Cube%20farm.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />About an hour later, someone was at my cube "George, can you show me how to do something?" I had no idea who it was, but I'm a helpful guy, so I said sure and followed him to his cube- right next to mine... He asked me how to move something from one monitor to another and then asked "How do I save my work?" I wasn't sure if he was trying to call me out, so I matter of factly told him how to do it.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NVkEk-ci8xk&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NVkEk-ci8xk&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-25529947801899819092010-03-07T06:47:00.000-08:002010-03-10T20:17:26.085-08:00The Plan Update 5- GardeningThis past Saturday, the kids were all <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">geeked</span></span> out about playing baseball as a family. Spring training is in town, soccer season is over, we just got a new baseball bat, and it was a beautiful day in Arizona. So I loaded up the car while the family was chilling in front of the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wii</span></span> and then I announced that we had about an hour to play before our church's grand opening <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">pre</span></span>-party. Cole got all excited and went out front with just socks on trying to hit rocks with the bat, Madison got all dressed, and then I noticed something on the counter- a FedEx envelope. <br /><p><br /><img src="http://30gms.com/images/uploads/CastAway_2000_39_001.sized_thumb.jpg"><br /><p><br />I asked Nadine how long it had been there and she said that it was on our doorstep after soccer. My eyes went wide and I announced that it was the loan <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">modification</span> package. I ripped it open and found 8 pages and a FedEx return envelope. I didn't want to read, I just wanted to look at terms. Page 1- words, Page 2- words, Page 3- three payment coupons which are 80% of our current payments, Page 4- words, Page 5- words and three date/payment items that corresponded with the payment coupons from page 3. I felt like I was missing something (and considering that I'm not a speed reader, and that I opened the package 30 seconds prior, perhaps that was why my daughter's worst subject in school is reading comprehension). So I enlisted Nadine to read as I read.<br /><br />We started from the beginning.<br /><ul><li>Page one says: I qualify for the workout plan. My monthly payments are based on the income information that I provided, and my payments during the test period are an estimate of what it will be if I pass the test period. They will charge me for an appraisal or <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">BPO</span></span> (broker's price opinion- which is provided by an Realtor) or in my case, I heard the last rep say that he'd order an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">AVM</span></span> (automated valuation model). Page 1 continues with saying that if I can't handle the payments, they will still work with me to figure out a solution. It concludes by saying that if my payments are received, they consider that I have agreed to the terms of the plan.</li><br /><li>Page two is: three payment coupons that are about 79.8% of what my current payment has been. Now keep in mind probably the biggest challenge with loan modifications- A mortgage payment can consist of a handful of line items. Those line items can include (but aren't limited to) interest on your mortgage, principal on your mortgage, private mortgage insurance premium, property tax estimates, property insurance estimates, late fees. Now what a lot of people do is pay as little as they can to the mortgage company and figure they can take care of the rest on their own- specifically the taxes and insurance. Now these items are required for everyone who has a mortgage, but in our paycheck to paycheck society, a lot of people would rather pay those specific items exactly when they are due and perhaps with a credit card- as opposed to setting money aside each month in anticipation of those payments. So mortgage companies set up what called an Escrow Account specifically for this purpose. If you haven't been set up like this prior to your loan mod, then your revised payment can easily be MORE than your old payment. Say your mortgage payment was $2000 per month and that is just principal and interest. You pay $2500 a year in property taxes and $500 a year in homeowners insurance but you pay those on your own. If your mortgage company reduces your payment to $1800 a month, that's pretty cool isn't it? But now they will require that your taxes and insurance are <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">escrowed</span></span>, so your monthly payment will now be about $2050 per month- hardly any monthly relief, but in the big picture, you're still saving $2400 a year in immediate cash flow. If you're not clear on this, feel free to add a comment below- I'm in real estate so it's easy for me to understand, but that doesn't make me smart in whatever it is YOU do for a living!<br />So, bottom line is that we already had an escrow account and so if and when my loan was modified, I knew that those items were already part of the equation. To summarize, my new trial payment is now several hundred dollars less than what it was.</li><br /><li>Page 3 tells me what to do now: to accept this offer, simply pay the coupons on the previous page instead of what I had been paying. I have to send payment to a different address and if I send the wrong amount, it screws up the process. They don't require any additional documentation. They gave me a phone number to call if this new plan is not practical. They say that any foreclosure sale would be cancelled if the terms are complied with. It says that my credit score may be affected by accepting the modification. It states that my debt-to-income ration is 31.01% (I assume that means with the new payment). It states that if my debt-to-income ratio is over 55% I'm required to seek credit counseling from a HUD-approved agency.</li><br /><li>Page 4 looks like a contract/agreement and is full of "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">legaleeze</span></span>": It is a statement that says that they will modify my loan permanently if everything I've provided is true and if I make the three payments. It says that the modification will be an amendment to my current mortgage.</li><br /><li>Page 5 is the second page of the agreement: It says more of the same plus: "the lender will hold the payments received in a non-interest bearing account until they total an amount that is enough to pay my oldest delinquent monthly payment in full (I have no delinquent payments). It says that if I miss a payment during the three months or if they find out that any condition of my documentation is not true, that the plan will terminate. It also says that this is NOT a modification and that the modification only goes into effect if I've met the payment terms of the trial period and if my documentation remains true.</li><br /><li>Page 6 is a FAQ (frequently asked questions). Of note are "How was my payment determined?"- 31% of total gross monthly income. "How will my credit be affected?" If already late, then normal reporting, if my payments are current then no effect on credit as <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">long</span> as I make the payments. "When will the modification be permanent?" If all three payments are made they will re-evaluate my qualifications and a decision will be made within 20 days of final payment. "Will my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">interest</span> rate and principal and interest payments be fixed after modification?" Interest rate and monthly payment will be fixed unless the new modified rate is below current market interest rates. If that's the case, it will be fixed for five years and then it may increase by 1% until it reaches the cap- the cap is determined when the loan modification is made permanent- so you have five years advance notice of what that cap will be. "Are there incentives for being current?" (this was the interesting one) Once modified, you may qualify for a pay-for-success incentive, where if you make your payments in full and on time, you'd get sort of a cash benefit of up to $1000 per year for five years (to help built equity). But the benefit is lost if 90 days late on a modified payment.</li><br /><li>Page 7 is a boilerplate HUD statement warning the consumer about foreclosure rescue scams as well as contact information for the Special Inspector General for TARP (troubled asset relief program) in case you do encounter any fraudulent activity.</li></ul><br /><p>Now it only took about 1 minute to really get the gist of the letter, so no time was lost on the day. So, I guess you can say that a solution has been reached (sort of). Until those three payments are made and the loan is <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">permanently</span> modified, then this is only an interim solution, but it's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">definitely</span> a step in the right direction.</p><br /><p>Then Nadine disappeared. I gleefully <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">rangled</span></span> the kids into the car to go play baseball, but when I called Nadine, she was in the backyard, trimming a bush... I snapped at her about baseball and then I realized what she was doing. And so for the next hour we trimmed the bushes that hadn't been trimmed in over two years- a little bit of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">home ownership</span> pride was restored and she wanted to get right on making out house beautiful again. I wish I could have gotten a picture of her jumping in the trash can to compress all the clippings.</p><p>Don't give up hope in your situation!</p><br /><p><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-2009.html">Preview</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-update-1.html">Part 1</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-update-2-back-story.html">Part 2</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/02/plan-update-3-real-action.html">Part 3</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/02/plan-update-4-returned-serve.html">Part 4</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/03/plan-update-5-gardening.html">Part 5</a>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-4161071476958735502010-02-26T12:10:00.000-08:002010-02-26T12:54:09.861-08:00Another Straw on the Medical BackI believe in health care reform- not socialised medicine, but a tweaking that would limit lawsuits, lower costs and make <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">health care</span> more of a pleasant financial endeavour. And although it sucks to have to pay $1000 out of pocket on a $9000+ 4 hour hospital stay to monitor a kidney stone, it sure as heck beats paying $9000 out of pocket. So $1000 is a big <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">chunk</span> of change- no doubt, but I'm more concerned with the $28.41 bill I got a few weeks ago.<br /><br />I turned 40 this year so over the past 5 years I've dreaded the idea of a doctor "using the whole fist" to check my innards. In December, I scheduled a physical to go over where I am physically- you know, a physical. I went in, perfectly healthy and they checked my vitals, ordered blood, urine and stool tests and the doctor asked me if I had any questions. I told him that my wife and I are pretty much done procreating and I want to find a urologist for a vasectomy. I also told him that I've had one of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">these</span> fungus toenails- you know those nasty <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">jobbies</span>. I actually got that about 1988 when skiing with my buddies Neil and the Whip. I had long toenails, rented equipment, and my left big toe went black, fell off and never grew back correctly. My dermatologist back then called it "20 year athlete's foot" Well, by golly, 2009 was 20 years and I've still got it.<br /><br />Now, I can't really sue Dr. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Brossia</span> since he's dead, but I'm holding this whole "20 year" thing at its word. My buddy Matt used to work for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Novartis</span> and he has been bugging me about getting it taken care of, but I finally brought it up with my doctor and got a lab request and then prescription.<br /><br />So flash forward to mid January- I paid my $25 copay, but all of a sudden I get a bill from the doctor for $28.41. I called the billing company and they tell me that on top of the physical, I was diagnosed with an upper respiratory infection and that was the reason for the additional charge...<br /><br />I then call the office manager at the doctor's office and she reiterates this- but then adds that a physical is for when you're not sick, but the line item for upper respiratory infection was not a "well visit". I hate to be a jerk, but I wasn't sick when I went in. So I present this logic:<br />"Was I charged for the urologist referral?" No<br />"Was I charged for the toenail diagnosis?" No- but I did pay to have <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">lab work</span> done<br />"What does the doctor have down as the course of action for this supposed upper respiratory infection? Did he prescribe me anything? Did he suggest over the counter medicine? Did he say it will run its course?"<br />Now the office manger hits me with "Dr. ***** wouldn't have put this on there if it wasn't true." to which I replied that I wasn't questioning his honesty, but perhaps that this was input/charged by mistake. The office manager took offense to this and before she could say another word I said "If I was sick when I came in I don't remember it, but why wouldn't it show a course of action?" She's just not getting my logic (BTW, I've lost well over $28.41 in productivity so far by writing this blog)<br /><br />I then ask her to check with the doctor on what the recommended course of action was for this URI. She tells me that she will get back to me- I ask when, and she replies "Next Week", I ask what day and she says Friday.<br /><br />So this morning, she called me up and said that she had a conversation with the doctor and that he did not enter it by mistake and that the staff did not key it in by mistake. I ask her what he has down as the course of action for the URI and she doesn't answer. I ask her again and she said that it was in the late stages and that it would run its course. I ask her why she didn't tell me that in our conversation last week, and she basically ignored that question.<br /><br />Does our health care system need reform? Sure. Does it require <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Obamacare</span>? No. Is it fair for me to spend another $28.41 out of pocket when I shouldn't have to? No. Are there idiots in the world who don't understand that it's crap to get away with this sort of thing? Absolutely. Have I wasted too much time on this? You betcha.The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-73278454156884245412010-02-22T10:41:00.000-08:002010-03-10T20:10:28.260-08:00The Plan Update 4- Returned ServeMy <a href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/02/plan-update-3-real-action.html">last entry</a> was from February 16th- 4 business days ago. We sent in our loan modification package to our lender with the expectation that they'd call in 10 days to confirm receipt and discuss any additional information they require, with a total 60 day turnaround time before a solution is offered. Got a call today from the company and she had a simple income question which we worked out in about 5 minutes. She said that everything was complete and I'd have an answer within another two weeks- That would be 3 weeks total!<br /><br />However, after talking with a Realtor friend of mine I had a question, so I called them back and first off, the guy answered my question, but secondly, he actually went through my package again- despite the fact that I just told him that I was informed that it was complete. He pointed out that we didn't send a signed tax return and that we needed to provide the lender contact information on the form that would be used to request a copy of my taxes from last year. So, he proactively helped ensure the completeness of my package. Very cool.<br /><p><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-2009.html">Preview</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-update-1.html">Part 1</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-update-2-back-story.html">Part 2</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/02/plan-update-3-real-action.html">Part 3</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/02/plan-update-4-returned-serve.html">Part 4</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/03/plan-update-5-gardening.html">Part 5</a>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-30040431004532896572010-02-16T11:28:00.000-08:002010-03-10T20:10:57.109-08:00The Plan Update 3 "Real Action"Eight months.<br /><br />That's how long it's been since I've done anything at all related to our loan modification/housing situation. To get you up to speed, check out the post from way back in <a href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-update-2-back-story.html">April 2009</a><br /><br />To summarize, we have a 5 year interest only loan coming up to the "adjustment" in July 2010. It will essentially become an adjustable rate loan at that point with our loan amount of a shade over $300k. We bought when values were high and now they're low.<br /><br />As our standard of living has been manageable for the past year, the loan mod has not been a top priority. However as that July 2010 date creeps ever faster towards us, the time to act is now.<br /><br />The irony of these sort of situations is that when business is good, it's easy to make your mortgage payment. When a family member loses their job and thus regular income, it's sort of difficult to qualify for a new loan in today's tightened lending environment. So, the right time to do something like this is while you still have stable job security- something that is becoming more difficult for Americans every day.<br /><br />So my wife is gainfully employed and I own my own company and 2009 was a decent year for us. But unfortunately, I've had a real negative attitude about our home for the past 2 years. A plant dies- I don't want to replace it. Carpet has a stain- I don't want to clean it. Don't get me wrong, we're not slobs by any means (despite having two kids and a dog). But why would you want to put another dime in your upside down home when nobody appreciates those investments any more. I'm not saying that nobody appreciates a clean nice looking home, but when you're in the black and you want to sell, you want to get as much out of your home- for yourself. When you are going to get foreclosed on or if you are short selling your home, it really doesn't affect your personal bottom line whether you have a dead tree in your yard or dirty walls.<br /><br />So finally, in December 2009 I called my lender- and surprisingly, it went pretty well. I called the main 800 number on my statement, was channeled to customer service and was transferred to the loan modification department. And here is where our fearless leader- Mr. Obama stepped in- The lady asked me three questions:<br /><br /><ol><li>How much are your homeowner's association (HOA) dues?</li><li>Do you have less than $4700 in liquid assets?</li><li>Is your gross monthly income less than $5000?</li></ol><p>Based on those three questions, within 30 seconds it was determined (based of course on our particular loan) that we do NOT qualify for the "Making Homes Affordable" plan. So the kind lady transferred me to the Loan Servicing Department.</p><p>Once there, the gentleman whom I spoke with told me his employee number and told me that I would need to fill out the Financial Analysis Package which is on their website. He told me that once that application is returned, I'd get a call within 15 days confirming receipt of said package and that within 60 days, they would have a loan modification option that I would be able to accept or decline. The only cost associated with this would be a drive by appraisal of my home at the cost of between $100-$150, which would then be tacked onto our loan balance.</p><p>As you may already know, I am a real estate appraiser. I actually do appraisals for my lender (coincidentally), and I actually do them for the department that I was contacting. I could tell a side story of why my 2009 was pretty good, but that's too much of a tangent- let's just say that appraisals are more in demand when the market is going bad. If you'd like to learn more about my work you can check out my professional blog at <a href="http://advantageappraisals.wordpress.com/">Appraiserdude</a>, or follow my on Twitter <a href="http://www.twitter.com/appraiserdude">@appraiserdude</a>.</p><p>So since I "talk the talk", I asked some questions which I'm sure are not uncommon (remember, these are with my lender only and might be different with another lender):</p><p><strong>What is the typical solution?</strong> A chunk of your principle is deferred as a balloon payment and your new loan is based on the reduced principle balance. So if you owe $300k, they might defer $100k, and give you a new 30 year fixed loan with a $200k balance- When you sell your home, you still owe the entire balance. They typically give you "step" interest rates on your payments, so for the first 6 months, your interest rate might be 3%, then it kicks up to 4%, etc.</p><p><strong>How does this affect my credit?</strong> It does not affect your credit as there is no credit check. The decision is based on the information you provide along with your payment history with the lender.</p><p><strong>What out of pocket costs are there?</strong> None- the only cost would be an appraisal and the fee is rolled into the loan balance.</p><p><strong>What other stipulations are there?</strong> If you don't have an escrow account for property taxes and or homeowners insurance, they would be required. So if your current mortgage payment covers principle and interest and you pay your property taxes and or homeowners insurance as those bills arrive, they'd require those to be rolled in. This typically freaks people out since their new payment might actually be more than their current one, but the lender is simply making it more practical for them as those two required payments are now part of the deal (and don't get me started on the fact they the lender earns interest on that escrow money before it's actually due to the insurance company or municipality).<br />Also, they would require that your mortgage payment is automatically drawn from your checking account- so no more mailing payments.<br />Finally, he told me that the new loan would not be assumable. That means that if i sell the home, the new buyer wouldn't be able to take over my loan and its terms.</p><p>Fortunately for us: our escrow is already part of our payment, our payment is already automatically withdrawn and assumable loans are not common in the first place and I have no need for one.</p><p>Also of huge importance for this sort of situation, we only have our first mortgage. So there is one loan on our house. On past homes we've had second mortgages or home equity lines of credit (HELOCs) which means that two entities (besides us) had a financial interest in our home. If we owed $300k for our first, $75k on our second, and our home was worth only $200k, then it sort of throws a wrench into the whole process as the lender who carries the lien on the second mortgage will probably get shafted in the process.</p><p>As I had built a rapport with the guy from loan servicing, and since I understand his world (a little) I flat out started venting to him a little. Anyone who knows me knows that I talk a lot. So I expressed that it sucks that responsible people who try to play by the rules are getting hosed for trying to do the right thing while people who know the system are taking advantage of it, walking away from loans even though they can pay them and in fact profiting from the situation our housing market is in. Sure there are guys like Bernie Maddoff who flat out commit fraud, but there are those who take advantage (legally) of the fact that the real estate market is inundated with foreclosed homes, the government has bailed out banks and any other loophole they can find to make a buck.</p><p>He then told me that I could simply skip a payment and the bank will automatically send me a preapproved loan modification package... that's what floored me.</p><p>So, if I play by the rules, fill out a form, put together a profit and loss statement for my business, show my family cash flow, get copies of pay stubs, copy my 35 page tax return, and then send that in, I'd have the same results as if I simply skipped a single mortgage payment. Doesn't that make you sick? Whatever happened to being responsible? Whatever happened to maintaining a good credit history?</p><p>When a friend of mine can short sell a million dollar house simply because he's upside down and immediately buy a $500k house- while at the same time buying a Cadillac Escalade and Jaguar, it makes you wonder.</p><p>So, bottom line is that today, I sent the loan modification package to my bank. Yes, I've really started the process. Stay tuned for updates and post a comment if you have any questions about this or anything else. I look forward to it.</p><p>PS. If you haven't figured this much out yet: You can do it yourself. Turns out that banks are willing to get something done (at least they claim to). So before you call a "loan modification" company to help you out, call your own bank and see what needs to be done in your situation.</p><p>PPS. After I posted this blog, I got a new follower on Twitter whose website is an absolutely FREE loan modification help site. <a href="http://modificationpackage.com/">Check it out</a>.</p><br /><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-2009.html">Preview</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-update-1.html">Part 1</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2009/04/plan-update-2-back-story.html">Part 2</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/02/plan-update-3-real-action.html">Part 3</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/02/plan-update-4-returned-serve.html">Part 4</a><br><br /><A href="http://geaston.blogspot.com/2010/03/plan-update-5-gardening.html">Part 5</a>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-26112704051914884522010-02-01T15:56:00.000-08:002010-02-01T16:26:21.572-08:00Where's the Beep?Since all the morning shows talk about the awards shows, I decided to tune in a little for the Grammy awards so I didn't "miss" anything... Just a little to whet my appetite. Lots of lame musicians, some politically incorrect conversation between my wife and I about why there's the Black Entertainment Awards, the Latin <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Grammys</span>, yet no "White <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Grammys</span>" awards (but that's an entirely different subject).<br /><br />We watched part of a live performance by <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Eminem</span> and Lil Wayne. Now pardon me for not being hip to hip hop. I hate to age myself, but the hip hop I like is <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Coolio</span> and LL Cool J and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Beastie</span> Boys. Sure I know <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Eminem</span> and I think he's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">ok</span>, but I couldn't name a song by Lil Wayne, Jay Z, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kanye</span> West or any of the "newer" crop. But even that's not the point. I grew up with plenty of vulgar lyrics to songs, whether it was Nine Inch Nails, Two Live Crew, or heck, "Skyrockets in Flight" by Starlight Vocal Band. So I'm hardly offended. I just choose what I want to listen to.<br /><br />But during the aforementioned <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Eminem</span>/Lil Wayne bit, there were huge gaps of silence. Of course the first thought is that it was a transmission problem with the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">satellite</span>, but of course, the realization that they're <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">being</span> "bleeped" out was a more practical answer. So since the track seemed to be about 30% obscured, it was really annoying. And I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks it was annoying. So my question is, why did they change the censorship from the "beep" to just plain silence? And what's the protocol for that? Any reality show has the beeps and in fact Jimmy <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kimmel</span> has his weekly "This Week in Unnecessary Censorship" to make fun of the beeps.<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/g2MV7DLUq-E&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/g2MV7DLUq-E&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br />So why weren't the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">Grammys</span> beeped? Perhaps would it have been.. <em>TOO ANNOYING</em>? And then maybe with so much beeping, people would have realized that the track had a ton of inappropriate lyrics (for network tv), and complained to the network. Jimmy <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kimmel</span> is late night. Most reality shows are on cable or the cursing is accidental or incidental. But in the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">Grammys</span> they knew what songs would be performed. And they knew what the lyrics were. Yet instead of beeping like they should have, they went with silence. Does that equal less complaints? Is silence golden? Is that one heck of a cop out excuse for allowing this crap on TV with minimal pushback?<br /><br />Am I the only one who see's rigth through this schtick?!?!?!The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-23411411841697322452010-01-28T10:04:00.001-08:002010-01-28T19:16:29.044-08:00A Wife's Pain, A Husband's Journey, Who's the Jackass?Our daughter Madison was born September 10, 2001. She was our first and because we were ignorant newliweds we were slow at going to the doctor to confirm the pregnancy. So at about week 12 (after a full 3 missed period), we called her doctor and the receptionist basically freaked out and scolded us for waiting so long. So we go into her doctor and lo and behold, she was pregnant. So besides the joy of knowing that we would be parents, we were met with 2 pieces of bad news- 1) we'd have to deliver at a hospital 45 minutes from our house because everything was already booked in advance at the nearby hospitals 2) our embryonic child's kidneys were too big- a red flag for Downs Syndrome. The hospital situation was chalked up to ignorance, but the kidney thing was a conversation stopper.<br /><br />The doctor quite bluntly said that we had a very short window in which to terminate the pregnancy and that we'd need to do the amnio test and meet with a genetic specialist to confirm and advise us in more of a specialized manner. So between that doctor visit and the genetic specialist appointment we were faced with the discussion of how to proceed once we had that second appointment. Now back then, Nadine was Catholic and I was Christian, but we weren't practicing our faith. And our faith was more based on how we were brought up instead of any sort of Road to Damascus moment.<br /><br />Well, for the first time since we got married, we prayed together about this and to be honest, there was no decision to be made. It was not our will, it was His. Flash forward to the genetic counselor appointment and the results- we were actually a month more pregnant that we though. So our daughter's kidneys were big because they weren't that big. You call that what you want, but to us our faith in Christ was renewed that day.<br /><br />Now for those gentle readers who are reading this next paragraph despite the possibility that you might not be Christian and perhaps you belittle religion or you you are pro-abortion, you can rest easy because my little testimonial is complete. It's time to return to what I do.<br /><br />So on September 10, 2001, I was getting ready to go to work and Nadine was home for the final few weeks before she was due (doctor's orders bedrest). I head to the home office to check my fantasy baseball stats when Nadine calls- "It's time". To this I reply "Just a second, I need to check my baseball stats..."<br /><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S2b0pC3J4hw/SkmHZrWI12I/AAAAAAAAAY8/hgl0pNUBcYQ/s400/larry-walker.jpg" /><br />Next thing I hear is a banging into a doorway. I run downstairs to see Nadine dragging her overnight bag to the car. Needless to say, she was not happy. I got the message, loaded up the rest of our stuff and we headed to the Scripps Hospital in La Jolla- in rush hour traffic- 45 miles from our house. The conversation on the way there went a little like this "Are you ok?" "..." "Are you doing alright?" "..."<br /><br />Now although I'm sharing the story of our first child's birth, that is not the point of this post, it's just background. But to finish off this part of the story: water broke when we walked in the hospital, 45 minutes of labor, Ed McCafferey broke his leg on Monday Night Football, nurse woke us up the next day to tell us that the World Trade Centers had been destroyed. Happy birthday Madison.<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RkZKGhDfFPQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RkZKGhDfFPQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Flash forward to yesterday- January 27, 2010: I had been having some back pains a few times this past week- not muscle paid- Nadine said it was gas, so Tums, hotpad and some whining by me. Two nights ago, I finished my work at 4AM so I got 3 hours of sleep, and last night I wrapped up my work (and politial analysis) by a respectable 3AM. I rest my head and wake up to excruciating pain in my back- it's now 3:12AM. But this time I couldn't get comfortable no matter what. I'm talking about debilitating, leg shaking pain. Nadine got up and donned the Google MD hat and figured that I've got the symptoms of kidney stones. Meanwhile, the cheapest man in the world (who just finished paying $6000 for his son to spend the night at a mountain resort hospital) was wondering how he's going to get to the hospital. I could tangent about the fact that there's a <a href="http://www.eastvalleytribune.com/story/149509">brand new state of the art hospital </a>5 minutes from my home, but I'd only get upset that it sits dormant- 1 year past the grand opening date due to the economy. So I know that the next closest hospital is 20 minutes away. It's good that it's raining and that I couldn't sit down or stand up or lie down.<br /><br />And get this- for the sake of keeping our kids dreaming of Mario Kart Wii, I grabbed my cell, and my bible and got in my car to drive myself. I turned out of our neighborhood and the sweat began. Did I mention that it was raining? I got 5 miles away and I was basically between any commercial development, and I thought I was going to die. I really thought I was going to pass out- I figured that if I pulled over on the side of the dark road, I might get stuck in the mud, get out of the car and fall iinto the road, or I'd call 911 and they wouldn't be able to find me. So I pressed on. I got about halfway there and pulled into the Dunkin Donuts center. No, I wasn't hungry, I just needed a checkpoint, a halfway house, a well lit place to die in dignity... I got out of the car and tried to walk it off but felt worse. So I prayed for just a little more strength and got it on. No choice but to get it on.<br /><br />The rest of the drive was a blur. A little under the speed limit, the most comfortable position was my chin resting on the steering wheel, Nadine was texting me like crazy, the Classical music station was playing 1812 overature- hardly Baby Mozart material, the Christian station was playing some hardcore praise music- not really bringing me closer to God. Maybe in the Nine Inch Nails way, but not in the way I was hoping for. I got to the hospital, drawn in by the bright EMERGENCY light and I pulled into the emergency vehicle dock by mistake. No time to freak out, I calmly flipped one and found the real parking. Got out of my car (did I mention that it was raining) and walked up to the lobby like a jell-o man. The hall monitor jumped up and shoved a thermometer in my mouth. I couldn't look up, I couldn't tell you what color hair she had, and I spit the thermometer out and asked her grab me a something to throw up in. I almost asked her hold my hair back so it wouldn't get puke on it as my memories of college flashed back to me, but then I realized that I had no hair. The feeling passed for a moment. I went into the admittance room, staring at the ground now, sweat pouring and then I expelled. The non-MDs were singing "Kidney Stone" acapella and I was admitted.<br /><img src="http://www.myfloridaurology.com/imgs/procedures/18/Kidney_stone_1.jpg" /><br />IV, CT scan, morphine, 3 units of saline and it was confirmed. Did I mention Morphine? I've never had it before. I was expecting the nurse to put a big M on my forehead. And while I didn't need a cathedar to blow up the stones, I still thought I was going to die. Once I peed in a cup, I was sent home by 8:15AM with a prescription for FloMax- that's right, the old guy medicine! I had a conversation with my nurse during a later bout of more pain<br />Me: "Am I being a wuss about all of this? I mean do I really need this pain medicine?"<br />Her: "Passing a kidney stone is the male equivalent of childbirth"<br /><br />So now it all comes together. 8 years later, kidneys, a painful drive, trying to find cheap punch and judy hitters on the waiver wire. I have finally made up for my inconsiderate actions of 2001. As I left the hospital, Nadine called me to say that the kids were off to school and that she's on her way to work. In my croaky and exhausted voice I said "We're even". She laughed and I love her for that.The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-35039564776206745192010-01-12T12:22:00.000-08:002010-01-12T13:30:31.124-08:00Who's to Blame for McGwire's Steroid Use?<div>I'm a baseball fan first and foremost. I've had periods when I was really into hockey or football, but I've always been a fan of baseball. Back to my youth of little league, trading my extra Ricky Henderson rookie cards away, cherishing my oversized Brooks Robinson card, growing up watching the infield of Garvey, Lopes, Cey and Russell all those years, standing on the rail of the right field foul pole at Anaheim stadium and watching Dave Henderson kill the Angels, rooting for a team in a French speaking non-American country and year after year watch them cut payroll by getting rid of more stars than you can imagine, and yes, turning on the TV during my honeymoon to watch the homerun chace of 1998.<br /><div><br /><div>But then Ken Caminiti started saying that 40% of players use performance enhancing drugs (PED), and Jose Canseco came out with allegations of rampant steroid use- even going so far as naming names. Now some of our biggest names of recent years have been labeled PED users or cheaters. We're talking Sheffield, Tejada, Giambi, Alex Rodriguez, Palmiero, and now Mark McGwire. And with those players I just named, through the 2009 season, they have made $889 MILLION dollars... and they are cheaters! And that's just some of those who have admitted it. You and I can both name two giant names who are still denying allegations, and who else knows the truth about other offenders.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://bobsbaseballmuseum.com/yahoo_site_admin/assets/images/mark_mcgwire_jose_canseco.211221132_std.jpg" /></div><div>Now I'm not defending the use of these drugs in the first place, but why were they using these drugs in the first place? To hit home runs? To return from injury? To get a job? To keep a job? Because everyone else is doing it?</div><br /><div>Sorry to jump ahead, but allegedly, Barry Bonds was upset with the attention that Sosa and McGwire got in 1998, so he decided to put himself on the same level by using PEDs (allegedly). This is a guy who was already a superstar as far as stats go. He was already beloved by the fans of San Francisco. He already had a ton of money. But the longball is what people wanted.</div><br /><div>My favorite baseball team IS the Montreal Expos. The experiment to the north started the year before I was born and they went through the typical expansion team era where they were just plain bad. But then they developed a team, got fan support and by the late 70's the Montreal Expos were THE game in town. Sure the Montreal Canadians hockey team was always popular, but the Expos had enormous fan support. But just like a majority of teams (no not the Yankees, Cubs and Red Sox), when the team doesn't win, the fans don't come. And when the team doesn't win consistently, then that fanbase gets worse and worse as people change their lifestyles away from going to the stadium. </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 452px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 431px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://findfederalagency.com/i/ffa/img0097.jpg" /> Now this is not an essay about the Expos, but they are the perfect example of what went wrong with baseball in the early/mid '90s. The Expos had an awesome team in 1993 and in <a href="http://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/MON/1994.shtml">1994 it was even better</a>. The fans were there and the team was in first place- by a lot. But then a players strike killed the end of the 1994 season and for the first time in 90 years, the World Series was cancelled. Come 1995, the Expos had to get rid of their stars because they deserved more money and the team couldn't afford it, and the true decline of the Expos ensued.<br /><div> </div><div>But beyond the situation in Montreal, baseball fans in general were upset. What about the Yankees of 1994- they were on track for the postseason- and Don Mattingly was probably upset. Tony Gwynn was close to hitting .400 and with his friend Ted Williams still alive, that would have been a great storyline. Frank Thomas and Matt Williams and Carlos Baerga all missed out on record breaking seasons.</div><br /><div>The fans suffered and Major League Baseball as an entity suffered, and they needed reasons to come back. Sure we had feel-good stories in the next few years- like Cal Ripken passing Lou Gehrig's record for consecutive games, a world series won by an expansion team and othe rindividual milestones, but it was the home run that brought fans back.</div><br /><div>Guys like Bonds, Williams, Bichette, Galarraga, Walker, Thome, Beltre, Jones, Belle, Griffey, Ramirez and Ortiz were crushing it. Guys like Luis Gonzalez suddenly became home run hitters. Heck, one year there was a commercial with Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux (and Heather Locklear) talking about chicks digging "the long ball". Home runs became the reason for fans to come out to see the games.</div><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4ltD21rYWVw&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4ltD21rYWVw&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><div></div><br /><div>Did anyone question this power surge? Was anything done about it? Were PEDs allowed in MLB? As you may know, I'm a real estate appraiser by trade. Was the housing boom caused by individual loan officers, realtors and appraisers? Or was it caused by lax policies coupled with hype? But when the real estate market crashed, who got the blame? The loan officers, realtors and appraisers.</div><br /><div>Who promoted home runs? Who benefitted from the additional fans at the park? The merchandise purchased? Naming rights? Television contracts? Concession sales? It was THE OWNERS and the head of the PLAYERS UNION, and yes, THE COMMISSIONER himself.</div><br /><div>I just saw "8 Men Out" again a few weeks back and in the end, the gamblers and owners got away clean- and rich. And it was the players- the face of the team, who suffered the consequences. Never mind that some of them took bribes. Never mind that our current crop of players got huge salaries. They are still the pawns of this big scheme.</div><br /><div>Guys like Canseco and Caminiti spoke out and were criticized (by whom?)</div><div>Guys like Giambi, A-Rod and Pettitte denied then admitted and they were praised</div><div>And guys like Bonds, Clemens and McGwire have denied amid overwhelming evidence.</div><br /><div>Mark McGwire finally came clean for his own reasons. Perhaps one day Clemens and Bonds will too. Will they do it to get in the hall of fame? To free their soul? Heck, pretty soon, players will be considered a minority if they <em>didn't</em> use PEDs.</div><br /><div>But how many players and past players have escaped suspicion and finished off their careers without incident? I'm sure the hallworthy ones will be under a cloud, but what about the career .280 guy who played 13 seasons and finished off his career with 1800 hits, 260 home runs, a few all star games and perhaps a gold glove- I'm not talking about anyone in particular, but that's a pretty solid career isn't it? And a player like that could make $5MM a year in baseball. Not bad if you're taking PEDs and not getting caught. </div><br /><div>I've forgiven Mark McGwire because it was the system that failed him. It was the leaders of baseball who failed him. It was the greed of rich men who wanted to get richer who failed him. And they've done a disservice to the game.</div></div></div>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-31326405287316039432010-01-11T00:37:00.000-08:002010-01-11T01:13:25.700-08:00Midnight Sun- a Twilight Zone AnalysisOK, so I'm brining to the table a "no duh" revelation. It's the sort that's similar to the old joke of building a wall between Mexico and the U.S. to keep illegals from coming in, "Yeah, but who do you think is going to build the wall?". Yuk yuk.<br /><br />So, it's dang cold out there. Orange juice crops in Florida are on the brink of devastation, the rest of the South is seeing the rare snowfall. Record snow is falling in South Korea and China, and Europe sees no end to the cold snap (of course all of this is as of January 11th, so I'm sure things will improve soon).<br /><br />But since it's the hot topic, the subject of global warming is what I'm thinking about. Yes I know it's not about seasonal extremes- heck I live in Arizona where it's routinely 115+ in the summer and I had to run barefoot in my skiivies today to get the newspaper (barefoot of course). But with more attention to Climategate, and the seeming disappearance of Al Gore, you've got to wonder what the heck is going on.<br /><br />No real commentary besides my opinion that the Al Gore/Ted Danson camp is wrong. No, not wrong about the world needing to change its habits for our future, but wrong about the impact of human polution and activity. We're more likely to end up like Wall-E earth than Waterworld and the fact that my town voted AGAINST curbside recycling made my stomach turn (but that's an entirely different topic). <img style="WIDTH: 56px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 84px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.lib.washington.edu/Media/new/images/dvd/jan09/wall-e.jpg" /><br /><br /><img style="WIDTH: 56px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 78px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://sjove-film.dk/movie/large/Waterworld-3259190304895-01.jpg" /><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p>So for the uninitiated, I bring you the third part (can't find the complete episode uncut, but the first two clips are available on youtube) a classic from almost 50 years ago- a Twilight Zone episode I remembered watchin with my dad in the 70's. The plot is simple- the earth has been knocked off its orbit and is moving closer to the sun. People move to colder regions, but some loyal city folks stay behind- and suffer the consequences as the rising temperatures either kill them or drive them insane. When the heroine passes out the scene cuts to reality- it was all a dream... and the reality is actually the opposite of what the dream was. Compelling.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Lhe72STTn7k&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Lhe72STTn7k&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></p>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-57312818277115242872010-01-07T16:26:00.000-08:002010-08-30T02:16:38.092-07:00"The Sherriff is a..." *GONG*Groups like the ACLU have a certain standard to maintain- I touched on that in a previous rant about racism. But now there's more fuel for my fire.<br /><br />While not exactly the ACLU, a publisher in the Netherlands has decided to change the title of a Joseph Conrad book from "[profanity word used to describe a black person] of the Narcissus" to "<a href="http://www.wordbridge.net/reprint/narcissus.htm">N-Word of the Narcissus</a>". Is that absurd? And get a load of my own hypocritical crap! I won't even spell out what it used to be called because I don't use that word since it's offensive!<br /><br />At least when it was first published in America, the publishers took the liberty of changing the name to "The Children of the Sea: A Tale of the Forecastle". I like that better than "N-Word" of anything.<br /><br />Let me ask you this, when you hear a newscaster say "the N Word", what do you think of? When said newscaster says that and your 8 year old asks "what's the N Word", how are you supposed to answer so that she will never have to wonder again what it means while at the same time never use said word?<br /><br />"The N-Word" is actually worse than the word it stands for. And now that the press is all gaga about this edited title of a book, "The N-Word" has been uttered countless more times. Had you even heard of this book before?<br /><br />I F-word ing hate it when these S-word head mother F-word ing politically F-word ing correct C-word sucking P-words, waste everyone's time fixing every F-word ing thing that <em>may</em> be offensive to some stupic J-word C-word with a fragile ego. As far as I'm concerned, N-words, H-words, TH-words, D-words, S-words, C-words, K-words, G-words, F-words, or any other "minority" of which I consider myself a part of (after all, i'm a HB-word- just like Cher) can shut the F-word up and focus on important things in this world.<br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cjNIARQGIYA?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cjNIARQGIYA?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />I'm out!The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-39283300093924212022009-12-01T15:35:00.000-08:002009-12-02T02:49:53.212-08:00Standing up for Sarah Palin (along with 1500 others)I did something a little unusual today (at least by my standards). I actually cleared my schedule so that I could go get Sarah Palin's book signed at a local Costco. Now the last time I did something like this was when Tony Gwynn visited my wife's Gateway store and signed memorabilia. Since she was a manager there, I didn't really have to wait in line, but I got a little sense of the autograph line culture. Before that, I saw Dan Quayle's plane land at March Air Force base (1991), went to see George HW Bush at a fundraising event in a hotel (in 1988), and during high school, some buddies and I ditched school to go see Oliver North speak at an airport hangar. Now where you might see some sort of political pattern here, please don't be dissuaded from reading further (that is, if you're of the liberal bent). I'm trying to be objective here! <div><div><div></div><br /><div>So as I got in line for the book signing, I found myself near the back of a line of about 1500- many of whom got there 4+ hours before me. I'm not that hardcore- in fact I had a meeting with a client in the morning and while talking, didn't really look at my watch because this book signing event was to be more of a curiosity than anything else. So I get in line right around 11AM and immediately, the Costco employee said "There's no way that you'll get her autograph". He repeated this to anyone else who got in line behind me. I was hoping that this would discourage many of the "weaker" liners but nobody seemed to be giving up hope- oh the audacity!</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410582270330666482" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/SxY_6IsV_fI/AAAAAAAAFoU/CSvWnAOtRpA/s200/101_0834.JPG" /> <div>I'm very ADD so standing in a line is actually good for me because I can't wander around on the internet or flip channels or find another tangent to go off on. So I decided to document my play by play of the event. But the line moved very very slowly and my thumbs got tired and I realized that my phone battery was dying so I sort of resigned myself to just observe.</div><br /><div></div><div>I expected some hate speak in the crowd- you know, anti Obama talk, etc. but overheard none. I did observe your typical folks with patriotic clothing or buttons, the conservative radio station was there as well as a few local news channels, but it was pretty tame. A few politicians were walking the crowd to thump their platform- including <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chris_Simcox">Chris Simcox</a> who plans to run against John McCain in the next senate primary. Also a handful of meek folks with clipboards or flyers slowly walked the line- not taking advantage of their captive audience of I assume mostly conservatives.</div><div></div><br /><div>Every once in a while someone would come back our way, make the typical "man, this is a long line" comment and say stuff like "you're never going to get in"- not to anyone in particular, but just to hear themselves speak I guess. There was one guy who was on his phone as he sauntered back the line saying "yeah, she was supposed to do 500 signatures and she's at 750 now. and there's about 1200 people still out here". My paranoia wondered if this guy was trying to psyche out those of us in line. But nobody bit.</div><div></div><br /><div>As the door of Costco came into view, we were now by the tire center and a Costco employee moved a Toyota into a bay. The bumper sticker said "Obama/Biden" to which about a quarter of the crown started booing- not the owner of the car, not the Costco employee, but the car... that was a little nutty if you ask me. Still tame, I got a chuckle out of it.</div><div></div><br /><div>At around this time- 2 hours into the ordeal, they made an official "end of line" point- well ahead of where I was, so I was now mentally at about a 5% chance of getting an autograph- still a tad of hope. But nobody left the line. Another half hour later, we were told "don't leave, they've figured something out for everyone", to which a happy buzz permeated the crowd or rejects. Sure enough, a few minutes later, several Costco employees came out with a box... of stickers... with Sarah Palin's autograph on it... and nobody left the line... and nobody freaked out... There was actually a news crew there to capture the reaction of some people who got stickers.</div><div></div><br /><div>So now the autograph mission is over- sure it was a failure by definition, but I was cool. However, it was only 1:30 and she was leaving at 2pm, so I figured I'd go into Costco to check out the spectacle. As I walked in, the twang of some country song was being pumped from the middle of the store- I like country music, but I couldn't tell you who it was or the name of the song, but it was a female singer and the lyrics were pretty much "I'm a redneck girl". Then I felt like I was at some sort of celebrity event as people were snapping photos from all angles- and not close ups. Sure I had my camera so I tried, but I'm talking about 40 feet away, through a crowd, with her sitting down. As AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" cued up, and then "Baracuda" by Heart, it felt more and more orchestrated. This wasn't some radio station, or album- it's handpicked songs that "represent" Sarah Palin (go ahead and insert your own sarcastic song suggestions in the comment section below)</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410583807953974530" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/SxZBToyTtQI/AAAAAAAAFoc/P5LogiKecyM/s400/101_0845.JPG" /><br /><div></div><div>So since I couldn't meet Sarah Palin (or even reach those $12.99 jeans if i wanted to), I decided that I should now go into full on "fly on the wall" mode, and here is the ultimate fly on the wall moment. As I walked by the jewelry kiosk to buy the $38,000 tennis bracelet for my wife, I got distracted by a small crowd taking photos. Of course I was curious, so who could it be? Only a Costco employee- walking around with Sarah Palin's youngest child- the special needs one! And everyone is taking pictures of him or <u>with</u> him and the Costco employee! Of course I got a picture of this myself, so I'm just as guilty. But check out the dude who is flat out posing below. At this point, my day was done and I felt that I had seen enough, so I packed it in and left.</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410584467047253474" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/SxZB6AGZBeI/AAAAAAAAFok/EF6Ts0opsHU/s400/101_0850.JPG" /> <div></div><br /><div>Now before you get the idea that all of a sudden I don't like Palin because of this experience, I can tell you that I still do. She's now in full on prep mode and every move "she" makes is pretty much out of her control. And that's cool. From a distance she looked genuinely happy to be there- but the idea of signing your name 2000 times in one day (she went to New Mexico that afternoon) made me ill and I imagine that any author eventually ends up like Bob Dole with that goofy dead arm action. I feel like I've gained a little insight firsthand (which I'm sure is anything but unique) More on Palin later.</div></div></div>The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-28100188034277890082009-07-20T13:48:00.000-07:002009-07-20T14:53:28.210-07:00Shhh... I'm a Sneaky ThiefI went to the grocery store a few weeks ago to buy a few things for dinner. It was pretty slow at the store with only one customer ahead of me. A young white couple was buying their stuff.<br /><br />Having been born in America, reasonably un-tattooed, wearing close toed shoes with socks, a polo shirt, and of half asian, half blue-eyed devil decent, I'd describe myself as a little bit "normal" looking (whatever that means). Plus I tend to shower daily, am reasonably well groomed, and I brush my teeth regularly. So I guess I'm somewhat pleasant to the senses as well (at least nobody's complained... to my face).<br /><br /><br />So anyway, I put my stuff on the checkout conveyer belt and there was like an 18 inch gap between their stuff and mine. And what does the woman do? She looks directly at me, doesn't smile, and then she puts the official grocery load separator between our orders.<br /><p align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/SmTZqEPH3_I/AAAAAAAAFms/DPpIXpnAFuY/s1600-h/PIC-0120.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360648773192638450" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/SmTZqEPH3_I/AAAAAAAAFms/DPpIXpnAFuY/s200/PIC-0120.jpg" /></a></p>Sure I know what the separator is for, and when it's a busy day and you have to butt your food up to the next customer's I <em>get</em> the purpose of it. But it was a slow day and this lady looked at me like I was trying to pull something akin to Oceans 11. Do I perhaps have the look of a grocery store checkout line thief? Is there a look?<br /><br /><br />So I pose the question and would really appreciate some feedback: Please tell me when was the last time that someone tried the old "piggyback my food with your food for free" trick at the grocery store? And what were the logistics once the customer ahead of you paid for your food? Did you then distract them when they were loading their groceries in their car and quietly take your items? Or if you were the victim of this crime, how did the exchange take place or did you even notice? Did you have to call the cops? Or perhaps you thwarted the whole thing when you saw that look that I must have, and pre-empted the attempt. Whatever the case, I've got to know!<br /><br /><br />I guess my best solution would have been to ask the couple ahead of me what their previous negative experience was so I could better understand it, but I had milk to take home.The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761724681719134661.post-37022043356817897782009-05-15T16:30:00.001-07:002009-05-15T17:24:08.147-07:00Multi-National CollaborationI try to buy American. OK I used to. I owned a Chevy, a Ford, a few more Chevy's, another Ford, a Dodge. But then I bought a Honda and now I own another Japanese car... I used to own a Motorola phone and I own HP computer equipment. But even if it has an American name, it's typically not made here.<br /><br />Remember Mr. Rogers? My favorite part of the show was when he'd go to the crayon factory or the shoe factory or whatever other manufacturer was interesting and available. I'm sure that 90% of those companies are gone now, or at least the factory that Fred visited is now gone. It's pretty sad.<br /><br />I still love watching How it's Made because I love how things are manufactured. But I just bought something today that was a little disturbing and got my mind wandering. It's actually sad, but everything is made in China. In fact my 7 year old checks stuff at the store to see where it's made, and I don't have to tell you that 99% of the time, it's China.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/Sg4DsL7GkbI/AAAAAAAAFls/6OPg8st_uxs/s1600-h/blackjack-0046.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/Sg4DsL7GkbI/AAAAAAAAFls/6OPg8st_uxs/s200/blackjack-0046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336206666130428338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hand Carved Kenyan Couple in Traditional Attire- made in China of course.</span><br /></div><br />No, that's not what I bought. I'm just making a point. And of course I have a 5PM real work deadline so writing this is the worst thing for me to do, but I'll try to be brief.<br /><br />Ever hear of a Vintnor's Blend variety of wine? Ravenswood makes one and it's actually quite good for an inexpensive wine.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ravenswood-wine.com/images/vintners_pic1.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 143px; height: 187px;" src="http://www.ravenswood-wine.com/images/vintners_pic1.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">But isn't that just a fancy way of saying "Mat Drink"? As my fellow imbibers might know, a mat drink is what you get at a bar when the bartender collects the overflow booze that spilled when he was filling shots. That means that the mat has vodka, tequila, gin, whiskey, schnapps, and whatever other alcohol was served. There might even be some beer and mixer juice as well.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.scorpion.com.hk/data/Unsorted/Bar-mat-big.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 104px;" src="http://www.scorpion.com.hk/data/Unsorted/Bar-mat-big.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></div><br />If you order a mat drink the bartender picks up the mat and pours the contents into a glass for you to drink. Yummy.<br /><br />So this brings me to the purpose of today's entry. I shop at a local Kroger's chain of stores called Fry's. You know Kroger? They're a national grocery store chain that has regional names like Fry's, Ralphs and Smiths. It's no Trader Joes, but it's just as good if not better than your mainstream grocery stores. So I went in to buy a few things for a BBQ we're having tommorrow and the ad said that 93% ground beef was like $1.99/lb. That's pretty good so I figured I should stock up. I get to the meat section and the butcher points out that the ones on sale are tubes of ground beef wrapped in plastic- sort of like the Jimmy Dean sausage or Pillsburry cookie dough.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/Sg3_jkoP-cI/AAAAAAAAFlM/bItNTF8XfNU/s1600-h/100_7748.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/Sg3_jkoP-cI/AAAAAAAAFlM/bItNTF8XfNU/s200/100_7748.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336202120096905666" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Now I've never bought this format of beef but I know the store and assume that it's good quality. So I bought like 4 of these things and took them home to split into one pound servings to freeze. And that's when I noticed something. Remember, I like to buy American... but I guess some products come from other countries. Sure enough, the label of the package says "Product of U.S.A., Canada, Mexico, New Zealand <span style="font-weight: bold;">AND</span> Australia. That's right, the operative word is "AND".<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/Sg4CvAdFmtI/AAAAAAAAFlc/Fv7U9wNBFwI/s1600-h/ingredients.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 476px; height: 27px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yCMDrp8i53o/Sg4CvAdFmtI/AAAAAAAAFlc/Fv7U9wNBFwI/s400/ingredients.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336205615079725778" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br />So how does this work? Do they get a mix of international cows, slaughter them and ensure that there is an equal mix of each country? What happens if the Kiwi cows are running late because their ship is stuck in customs? Could I claim false advertising because my family is being gypped of our normal Nicole Kidman beef? And how do I prove this? And are the overseas cows alive on the big freighter just mooing and getting seasick? I've now got a Far Side image in my head that I can't shake with them staging a coup of the ship. Or is it a technicality since they don't clean the grinding machine regularly, so you might be getting bits of Aussie cow with your Canadian variety. And since we're being disgusting here, when you eat a chicken sandwich, you're eating one half a breast from one chicken. But the thought of multiple cows blended together is enough to make me want to hang out with Pamela Anderson... you know, for PETA purposes- I wouldn't stare at her, I'd just hold a protest sign next to her and talk about the weather.<br /><br />Gotta run! We're having tacos tonight and I'm cooking!<br /></div></div></div></div><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Owner/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" />The Voice of Reasonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10692540067235958968noreply@blogger.com1