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Last Updated : Sunday, 17 January, 2003 at 10:20 PM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget Hosted By... Last Updated : Sunday, 17 January, 2003 at 10:20 PM -0500 |
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Monday, January 13, 2003 |
Consider
You're a machinist. A professional with years of education and experience under your belt. Your boss comes into the shop, gathers the eighty or so of your fellow machinists together with you and says "Folks, we're going to move to merit pay. We're going to test your work as it leaves, and we're going to pay you accordingly. If your work fails, you don't get paid as much as the fellow who turns out consistently quality work. Thanks!"
You head back to your bench - it's the closest to the offices and break room, in the warm corner of the building. Furthest from the tool crib, and the material bins, but that's OK.
Until you notice that every morning, you arrive and find only the older, rusty tools. You head to the materials bin and get only the crappy stuff no one else wants.
At the end of the month, your co-workers sit down with the boss. He said "all right, that didn't work, let's form teams. We'll grade the team's output, and calculate your pay based on the team's average performance."
This time, you get decent material and decent tools - but the procedure you've got to follow is pure, unadulterated hell.
So the next month the boss says "all right, that sucked, so let's set it up so that we evaluate and average the entire plant, and pay for performance that way." Great, you all say.
And the following day your main supplier notifies you he's going out of business. The number two guy in the business brings in inferior overseas parts. Whaddya do?
You've just sat through the dilemma facing the state, and it's teachers, as we head into both contract negotiations and the "pay for performance" issue.
I'm no huge fan of educational infrastructures. In my high school we had four people, tops, who didn't have regular contact with the student body. The business manager, the "development manager" (the guy who raised money), and a couple of janitors. Not a whole lot of fat in the operation.
Now, as I understand it, there are administrations and major-league office buildings devoted to school management personnel. There are "unfunded mandates" which tell the school what they have to do, without providing money to do it. There are countless directives, requirements, restrictions, and specifications which must be followed to the letter - if only you had time to read them all the way through.
Merit pay for teachers sounds like a good idea until you look at it up close. Teachers who teach children who don't know English are going to have to work far, far harder than those kids from affluent suburban families who can afford to send their children to good daycares, good tutors, and get good tools to continue to teach their children.
It's like anything else. If you're going to treat everyone equally, then you've got to make certain that you've got the ability to give everyone the same raw materials to work from, and the same environment to work in.
We've got falling down schools, we've got homeless kids who get two hot meals at school - probably their only two good meals of the day. I think we need to get more for our educational dollar, but until we can level the playing field for the raw material they work with, "merit pay" is hardly fair.
Pull Yer Head Out, George
Yup. A two-fer.
Bush last week proposed an "economic stimulus package" which has all the hallmarks of Republican Class Warfare.
The dividend tax cut certainly makes sense on one level. The money's been taxed once as corporate profits. To tax it again is a bit of double-jeopardy, it seems to me.
Now, on the other hand, if you look at who owns the stock, there's 1% of the American public that owns something like 40% of the stock - and gets most of the dividends. Certainly, that 1% isn't the poorest segment of the population, but the richest.
Now I'm all for cutting taxes back when they were 97% of the dollar - that was near-criminal. But on the other hand, someone, somewhere, needs to point out that George W. Bush isn't Pooh with his hand caught in the honey jar this time - he's John Dillinger, looking to rob yet another bank.
Bush's "Economic Stimulus Package" will make exactly no difference in my family. I own a total of 31 shares of stock outside of my 401k funds. Of those, 20 shares pay dividends. Quarterly, I get a nice, fat, $7.40 check. Almost worth the trouble of putting it in the bank, some months.
Bush should offer a tax credit - any firm hiring someone who is currently unemployed should get the taxes on that individual (except social security) forgiven for one year. 50% off the second year, and 25% off the third.
Any firm investing in technology or other forward-looking infrastructure (not new shelves, but new "grow the business" stuff) should get a tax break on that investment. THAT would be a double-whammy - a tax cut AND an economic stimulus package.
Since it doesn't give money to the rich like God and the Republicans intend, it'll never get passed. I guarantee it.
BRRRRRRRR
Should you happen to be local and find various metallic marbles rolling along the side of the road, or anywhere else, really, look out. They're likely highly coveted and somewhat mythologized portions of various simians who've themselves been metalicized.
In other words, the poor ditch-digger's brass monkey lost his balls again. First time in a couple years we've dipped below zero for a long enough period for it to be noticed (as in it's still below zero when you get the car out of the garage in the morning). Brrr.
And, to add insult to emasculation, we got about two inches of snow tonight. That fine, powdery January snow that's dryer than sand and doesn't pack, at all, in warmer weather. Nothing like the November/early December wet sloppy snows, or the March snowstorms with howling winds and snowflakes the size of muskmelons.
Oh well. At least it's white.
Clarifications
Last week, I lamented the fact that one of my friends I've known since high school, and who is a few years away from twenty in the reserves, is nearing the edge of his "recall to active duty" notice. He was unhappy with the fact that he was going to be called up. He has two children, both under the age of four, and a stepdaughter who is headed into high school if not already there.
He's got a photography studio that does commercial work, and is very, very successful. He's in a band. He's got thousands of reasons to stay, and few at all to go.
But he's going. And he's not bitching about defending the country. For, you see, he's one of those people who signed up for benefits, but realized that benefits come with strings - with price tags that can't be paid off like he was. If he goes active, he's going to go to defend his right to travel, the opportunities he had, and make sure that his children will have the same.
Sure, he's not happy about the callup. Even less happy that this hadn't been taken care of twelve years ago. But he knows that when the call comes, the call has come - and there's nothing you can do to avoid it. It's all in a little four-letter word that we rarely use, and have an even smaller chance of understanding, unless we've stood in his, or very similar shoes.
That word is "Duty". He's going to do his. Being a free man, he's free to gripe about it, bitch about it, and not enjoy a single minute of travel to the other side of the globe to blow some asshole's face off it. But there's a job to be done, he's been trained for it, and he's knowledgable in his work. He knows that if he goes, it's going to keep some kid who knows this stuff from books from dying, because he's been doing it for years.
Balls!
More Balls, that is. This time, of the Tennis or softer variety (thank God).
Many, many of you have written with similar suggestions - same thing I did when I was fifteen and Dad got the new station wagon. Put a tennis ball on a string. Park the car in the garage, just far enough in so you can close the door, and attach the tennis ball to the roof/rafters so that it just touches the windshield. Then pull into the garage, and stop when the ball hits the windshield - you'll be far enough in.
I'm going to modify that suggestion slightly to save some sanity around here, if I can. I'm going to attach the cord to the top of the garage door, and then put a hook-eye in the ceiling, and run the cord through it. Then attach the cord to a weighted bean-bag or something heavy. When I close the door, the bag will rise up out of the way. When the door is open, the bag will be down. During the summer months, I can hook it off to the side to keep it out of the way, but during the winter months, it should work fine. More when I get things hooked up...
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Tuesday, January 14, 2003 |
Pheuf-da
That's Rhiannon's word combining "Phew" with "Uf-Da". Don't ask me where she got it, it's just hers.
It's cold, again, this morning. Clouds last night moved in, dropped snow, and then, just as you're thinking "ah, a blanket of clouds to keep what little heat we have in" - see ya - bye-bye. Gone. Kaput.
When I came out this morning, and the car thermometer finally settled down, we were looking at -5. When I took the kids out for the bus, same temp on the back yard thermometer (it's hung low on the railing, in the shade until about 10 am these days).
So yes, the snotsicles were out even before the driveway shoveling project started, but that's done, as well. Call it an inch and a half of very, very dry snow. I'm guessing you could get two feet of this stuff and not amount to more than an inch of rain (common measure up here is a foot of unpacked snow equals an inch of water. Could be as little as four inches of packed snow equals an inch, depending on the content of the snow, but there ya go).
We, like everywhere else, need the moisture. We're not as bad as some places, but we're dipping towards drought levels - and yes, this after the fourth-wettest year on record. Ugh.
So it goes. Complaining about the weather is a bit like ranting about the government. It releases frustration, but you know damned good and well that nothing you say or do will prevent the occurrence of more stupidity.
Budget Woes
Today is "Der Tag Eins" - Gov. Pawlenty announces what he's going to do, and to whom he'll do it, regarding this year's budget shortfall. If the rumors are true, higher education, capital projects, and road funding will get the hammer. Road funding, one of Pawlenty's campaign projects, will be replaced with borrowing instead of paying cash - not my idea of a smart move, but Pawlenty's not exactly a sharp knife, in my book. More of a butter knife at this point. He's not devolved to the status of Ventura (face it, Jesse was a toilet brush sans holder - always around, never when you need it, and gross and nasty in the corner), but then again, any sane human would have to make a real effort to out-do Jesse.
Please note that I do not consider anyone to have run for, and won, elected office to be automatically included in the "sane" category. Exactly the opposite, unless they've got certification to the contrary.
Problem Solved
This evening, while explaining to Ann that the most feedback I've received in six months has come from the "damned garage door problem" as she calls it - mine, not hers, she hasn't had a problem (then again, she isn't parking the car in the garage three times a day - just once, so far), I explained the tennis ball system, and my twisted modification of it.
"I'm going to put a screw-eye (lag bolt with a loop instead of a normal hex head on it) in the ceiling. Then connect the ball to a string, run the string through the screw-eye, and to a screw that will attach to the top of the garage door. When the door's up, the ball will be down. When I hit the ball with the windshield, it'll go up. In the warm weather, when I want the door open, the car out, and not to worry about the ball, I'll move it over to hook to the wall or something."
"Like Hell You Will" was the general directive which I received. Not being in a reinforced bunker, I weathered the storm, I thought, just fine. No serious flesh wounds, no permanent damage - except to my mental state - which is a bit like looking at a car after going through the crusher (which results in a two-foot-by-three-foot block of metal) and saying "well, she runs good". Not. Or, Not No More.
"Not In My House" she continued. And other rather serious ultimatiums continued to rain down for some time. None, fortunately, involving sharp objects, my anatomy, or sleeping out of doors (the low's projected to be ten below tonight). I merely did the mental tuck and curl and waited until the assault (which had not only established a beachhead, but taken the entire island by storm) ran it's course.
"Well, good, then, I got a better solution." Says I. Then ducked, for I allowed the entire tirade to be loosed (when it could be saved for far more useful moments, like when I forget to wipe the counters, as I do nearly every night - in my defense, there's enough shit on them to confuse anyone, but there you go). Mental note - if the tirade is not needed, stop the presses, or you'll regret it. This is the life I lead. It's a good life, albeit a bit weird, but then again, I apparently was behind the door when they asked about "luck" and I thought they said "ducks" - so I did. Ba-dum-bum.
While passing the clearance bin at Menards today (I needed a floor mat for inside the back door and a boot tray for dirty things to go there, per her direction), I found a device with an ultrasonic sensor, and three lights - looked like a stoplight with a remote control. A "Car Sensor unit for your automatic garage door clearance", says the box. I followed the directions, put it on the wall (it took more work than it should have, mostly because of the idiot who designed it, but that's below), and I now have a traffic-light gizmo mounted some six feet above the garage floor. Some twelve inches above the floor is a sensor, which points directly at the front of the vehicle. When I pull in, I get a green light until I'm getting to a point where I'm "close". When it goes "Red" I stop, shut off the car, and close the door. Amazingly, it's fairly accurate. I took the time to position the car with less than an inch of clearance to close the garage door. Then I calibrated the sensor (done by turning it on), and viola. Works like a charm. I closed the door tonight, then checked - I had the same clearance.
We'll see how it goes, but so far, it seems to have been a good investment of $9 - hey, considering I had a can of tennis balls, a package of cord, a six-inch lag screw with hook-eye, a step-stool, and a couple of other necessary items in the cart, and I could do away with all of them and try this thing, it was a good investment.
The bad news? This thing was designed by a penny-pinching baboon with inverted hemmorhoids. Let me enumerate the problems...
1) The ultrasonic sensor unit is attached to the light unit via a phone handset cord. The cord is coiled. The first time I put the sensor on the wall, it was too high - but I stretched the cord too far anyway. When I plugged the cords in and stood back, the bottom unit popped off the wall. How? They use the typical dot-and-slot method of mounting - a larger hole, with a slot above it. You use a large-headed screw, put it into the wall but not all the way. The lower unit weighs less than a quarter-pounder. First time, the unit popped up a good foot. Second time, when I mounted the unit lower, I nearly lost an eye when the cord came loose from the bottom unit (phone clips aren't all that strong in the tension department).
2) The package states, nowhere, that you need AA batteries. In fact, the in-box documentation doesn't state it either. It assumes power from either static electricity (if you're niave, of course), or apparently lightning. When you pick up the light unit and look at the back, there are faint arrows which show where the doors are removed. This, apparently, is what happens when one lives in a battery-operated society.
3) The individual who designed the battery "trays" ought to be taken out, beaten, and have what little engineering credits/licences he or she has taken away. The battery "trays" are criss-crossed with ribs, in bad spots, which makes compressing the half-inch spring (in a three inch space) something of a problem.
4) The whole unit feels incredibly light. They had a "platinum" unit which supposedly runs on AC power instead of batteries (I'd install both, but the manual says "if you have the platinum unit, use AC power only"). I don't think that weighed more, with the exception of the AC Transformer.
5) So far, the unit works just fine. In a year, or so, the batteries (all four) will need replacing. You turn the unit off, then on, and it re-calibrates based on where the car is. The range is supposed to be about 3" to 16 feet, but we'll see. Given the relative quality of the unit, I have my doubts.
I solved problem one by use of a three-inch screw put only partway into the wall, to hold the bottom unit "there" until such time as I can drive screws through the front of the case. There's a tip for them - make the front of the case snap-off. Saves them six screws and some serious machining. Snap the front of the sensor unit off, drive the screws through until they hit the plastic back, then snap the decorative front on. Makes sense to me.
Problem 2 solved by opening the package, at the store. Aha, says I. Problem 3 was only discovered at home, and after five minutes (I'm coordinated, yes, but this thing was a pain in the rear) resolved - temporarily, until the next time the unit needs batteries. Problem 4 is not resolvable. Item 5 is actually borrowing trouble, but I'd like to remember it for next time.
So far, it works, though, and took a lot less time and hassle to set up than the tennis ball. And allowed me to keep mine.
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Wednesday, January 15, 2003 |
Tone
In grade school, we had a "new kid" one year (given the fact that thirty of us started first grade together and twenty-four of us (in a 36-kid class) finished eighth grade together, that's saying something). This new kid, whom I'll call "George" had a method of speaking which drove the teacher absolutely insane. Every single sentence he spoke ended with an "up" tone, somewhat like a typical question does. The teacher would ask him something, he'd reply, but with his tone, he sounded as if he was asking, rather than telling.
One day, she blew her stack - not all that remarkable, given the teacher, mind you, but this was a spectacular eruption. After a few moments of her ranting, the rest of us hiding, and him responding, things calmed right down, and she had no further problem with him.
"You have to remember" she told us "your tone is often more important than your words." Tough lesson to learn at twelve.
For years, the telephone drove the demise of the written word. We grew to rely on our interpretations of tone and not of the words to rely on the statements of the individual. Consider the two words "you bastard." I can think of many more, but you could say that in three different tones of voice - softly, slowly, expressing admiration. Loudly, angrily, expressing outrage. Quickly, quietly, expressing frustration.
But on the written page, "you bastard" is just that. Two words. Without context, they mean exactly what Webster's says - an individual born out of wedlock.
While the internet and world-wide web are very much an interactive media, they are still, and will for a long time remain, a written media. Which is why I often get confused when people who write e-mails back and forth end up blowing up in a manner which makes absolutely no sense.
As a kid, I read a whole lot. Some of it came from enforced nap-times. Mom had four younger kids after me, and if anyone needed a nap, it was her. Which meant there was enforced quiet time, unless you were in school or beyond her clutches and didn't come back during the forbidden period of 12:30 to 3 pm, or thereabouts. Pee behind a tree, get a drink from the neighbors faucet, anything but disturb mom during her nap.
I read. A lot. And got very fast at it. In third grade, people thought I was just skimming. I ended up having to read a short story (22 pages, took me something like eight minutes) in fourth grade. The test they gave me had ten questions on it. What color was the character's clothes? What did he do to get from point a to b, and all the rest. I got 90% on the test (couldn't for the life of me remember that his rain slicker was gray, and not yellow), and they shut up.
But in sixth grade, I found out that I was still missing things. Subtle shadings. A character says one thing, but everything they do indicates they believe another. Subtlety was lost upon me. So I taught myself to read all over again. And by eighth grade, I was one of the better conspiracy theorists you'd ever find. Which lasted until freshman year in high school, when I turned in a paper on a one-sentence statement in a story we'd read which turned into an entirely different interpretation of the story - got a talking to, a request to tone it down and step back a bit, which I did, and I've tried hard to maintain a balance ever since.
What does this have to do with the above? Plenty. You can read as much or as little into the written word as you want. Some of the greatest works of literature can be re-interpreted in modern times and lose little of their power. For example, look at the Lord of the Rings. When I was a kid, there were rumbles about Sauron standing in for the menace of Communism. He could also stand in for nuclear weaponry, exploitation, or any manner of things. I personally think Sauron was just plain evil, and Saruman was the one who was exploited by the love of industry, turning a beautiful, beaucolic area into an industrial nightmare, until cleaned by the Ents.
But that's the best thing about the written word - it can be reinterpreted. Which is good. It's also bad. When you interpret a comment as an insult, or an off-the-cuff flip comment as a wise-crack that tends to work both for and against you.
And yes, there are some people who have the ability to write in tone and in manner which is immediately and utterly off-putting. They can say "thank you" and piss you off. There are others who can tell you to "bleep off" and you can become fast friends. It's all in delivery and tone.
I've learned, though, over the years that while there are many battles out there, few, if any, are yours. Sure, you can wade in and swing your sword (or pen) for the side you believe in, but unless asked, and unless you can offer something of value, you do nothing but increase the noise around the issue, and in doing so, muddle it beyond resolution.
It still sucks, though.
Oh, Stop It
No more whining about the cold. Next week, rumors are there will be a day where we might not break zero in the temp department. Can you say "BRRRRR"? I'm not going to any more. No more pissing and moaning about it. We'll survive, we always do. And when we hit upper nineties, with high humidity this summer? Gee, can we have one of those sub-zero days to remind us? Yeah. NOT.
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Thursday, January 16, 2003 |
That's Just Wrong
I was encouraged yesterday to get involved in a discussion with some friends regarding a couple of issues they were kicking around, ostensibly about opinions and those that differ based on age.
I'm full of opinions. If the old joke were true, and opinions were like assholes, I'd be a donut the size of Hudson's bay (think about it). Assuming they'd coalesce into a single aperature, that is.
But I couldn't warm to the discussion, and I couldn't figure out why. Then, at about 2:50 this AM, whilst taking my nightly constitutional round the house to make sure it was all locked and hunky-dorey, it occurred.
I'm no scientist, but I do tend to dislike generalizations. Lumping all of the data into a single bucket is not only counter-productive, it's wrong. Your data does not reflect only single points. A bell curve reflects some of it, but then again, so much of what we now call "data" is subject to slanting or "spinning" depending on how the question is asked. For example:
Do you support the constitutional rights to firearms guaranteed by our forefathers?
Do you support the rights of the criminals to have access to guns whenever they want?
Do you favor gun control?
Three questions. All of them capable of eliciting different responses, or more questions.
Any married woman can tell you that there is no question so simple that can't be slanted in such a way as to catch the husband in a neck-deep puddle of muck. It's a skill they get on the first anniversary, I think. A belated wedding present. So it's not surprising that the questions are capable of morphing far beyond the original issue. And that's fine.
What I couldn't get comfortable with was the gross generalization of age difference. There are many places these days where you'll see the terms "Baby Boomers" and "Gen-Xers". Aside from the fact that only the beginning of the "Boom" generation can be fixed with anything roughly approximating accuracy (some could argue for late 1944 births, though 1945 seems to be the consensus - however, to be a true "post-war" infant my money would be on any child born full-term after June 1, 1946, assuming 9 1/2 months following the signature of the peace treaty with Japan. But that's as black and white as the generational structure gets.
Consider - my parents were fans of big-band music, didn't have a TV for the first few years, grew up poor, but knew what was important in life, and sacrificed so we could have it. Where does that put me? My birthdate, in October of 1963, waffles on either side of the "boom" generation. One of my college sociology profs insisted that "generations are twenty-five years." His logic was that the entire system was so imprecise, one should take a date, then add twenty-five years to it, on the grounds that anyone born after that date would not reproduce for twenty-five years. That said, it was reasonable to call that batch of people born from Date X to Date X + 25 years "a generation". Granted, it's as firm as we ever got in sociology, but there's the "soft sciences" for ya.
Using Laughing Lee's equation, I take January 1, 1945 (seems like a good mid-point to the thing), add twenty-five years, and get 1970. Now, there is no way I would equate those kids who were "kids" in the 1950s, with rock-n-roll just breaking, with the structure of the 1950s morphing into the "Free Love" of the late 1960s/early 1970s, and figure they're all the same.
It doesn't take into account the "old soul" or the prematurely mature types, nor does it take into account children raised by older parents (or grandparents) who are in some ways a throwback. It just paints the whole bunch of people with birthdates in a certain range with a broad, often uncomplimentary brush.
Which brings me to the core of the issue. Using age to differentiate people on an issue is about as useful, and offensive, as using color. I've known some very, very mature teenagers. I also know some pretty immature senior citizens. Using a birthdate to differentiate people and their opinions and how they should act, react, or behave is just not useful, in my book.
But I suppose that's another addition to my Donut...
Ho Hum...
I'm not sure what the deal is any more with delivery companies. When I was a kid, the UPS guy would knock on the door, drop off the package, typically get a cookie or something for bringing it down our driveway, and that was that.
The other day I ordered a couple of adapters from PC Connection because my last working AT-plug keyboard had died (yes, shame on me), and I was sans AT keyboards. Rather than pay $50 or more for one, I figured there had to be someone out there that sold adapters. And, after hunting through a couple of vendors, I found the folks at PC connection. They had the PS/2 to AT keyboard adapters that allowed you to use the newer keyboards with the older systems, rather than the other way 'round, and they also had the PS/2 to 9-pin serial converters, just in case.
So I ordered them, and waited for delivery. I checked to make sure they'd ask for a signature. So, today, I'm waiting and waiting and waiting, and finally I go out to get Rhiannon from the bus. There, on the front step, is my package. No one rang, no one knocked on the door. Sheesh.
Other Than That
Not much going on. Got another burner working, this time somewhat reliably. I might have to pay for Nero at this rate - it worked, where the Roxio/Cradaptec stuff never did. Hmmm...
Off to build a Windows 2000 Server - sans security and all the rest. It's going to be sitting in a workgroup. Good grief. Meanwhile, I'm downloading Gentoo, with the goal of building a firewall for me, and for a consulting client. Could be useful. Could be a big, big disaster. This, we shall see.
I Could Do That - Better!
I can't help it. Some times, I find myself listening to the radio and it occurs to me. Not only could I do the job better, I could certainly pay attention to what I was doing.
Today while picking up Ann from her bus, I was listening to NPR - and one of their 90-second commentaries went to a gentleman who was a professor/scholar/fellow at some religious insttiute. I wish I could recall the name, so I could get a good laugh from their theology ("One man's theology is another's belly laugh" - Lazarus Long).
The humorous portion occured when the gentleman (I'd use the term Utter Bleeping Idiot, but I'm trying to be nice) attempted to use the bible to justify the coming attacks on Iraq.
He quoted numerous passages in the bible where Jesus said "I am the Lion of Judah" and "I will crush Satan beneath my feet". He built his entire commentary around the idea that since Jesus said he would, we could.
As I recall, didn't He also say "let he who is without sin cast the first stone"?
Sorry - much as I dislike Saddam, I can pretty much assure you I've hosed up. Good thing Bush never has. Must be nice to be in such a morally unambiguous place. Or at least, have the limited mental capacity to believe it.
Oh, No...
Ann just burst out laughing. Seems that her boss and the firm's CEO flew to Washington D.C. today to meet with the US Treasury department on some stuff. DC is about to get hammered - 6-8" of snow. And they planned a one-day stay. Oh, no...
And the really stupid thing? I saw video from the northern part of the state this week - we're brown up there, not white. No snow. Oh, no...
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Friday, January 17, 2003 |
Um, What?
"Daddy, are there such a thing as green cats?"
"No, Jack, why?"
"Just wondering."
"Okay."
Then the wheels started turning. There's a bucket of paint in the garage - bright green latex. We have two cats.
"Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"Where are the cats?"
"I have them in my room."
"Can you let them out?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"They aren't dry."
"JACK!"
"I was gonna give them a bath!"
"DID YOU PAINT THEM?"
"No, why would I?"
Phew. Later, he claimed he didn't remember the conversation. Or it could have been me. I just don't know.
Oh, Goodie
Well, I finally got the Gentoo ISO downloaded, and I'm preparing to load it onto the computer. I've also got a full-on freakout on my hands on another computer. In the last 24 hours, it's lost half it's RAM and refuses to recognize a perfectly good hard drive. Sheesh. I'm going to try flashing the BIOS, but this is just not a pleasant thing to have happen to the damned prototype server...
More Dumb Homeowner Questions
All right. You folks really came through for me (even though She Who Must Be Obeyed stomped all over the Tennis Ball On A String thing), and I've got to poll the peanut gallery yet again.
I've got a water softener in my home. There's no manual with it. No instructions. No "fill to this level" line. Nothing. When we moved in, there was a little water in the bottom, and some dried salt around the thing. It's about four and a half feet high, about two feet wide, and about a foot deep. There's a pump on one side, and a plastic top which you remove to reveal the pump. There's also a hatch you pull up and find the Salt Hold. Or whatever.
My problem is that I'm completely at a loss with what to do with this thing. I know you fill it with salt (I've been using pellets, rather than the finer grained stuff, because the "residue" left in the Salt Hold seems to be from pellets, rather than the finer-ground stuff).
How full do you fill it? All the way? Most of the way? Or like I've been, 40 pounds at a time whenever I see water in the bottom? My folks had Culligan when I was old enough to notice (a tank swap 2-3 times a month, yeah, the water was that hard. We had an iron filter, too - if you watered on the concrete or set the sprinkler like I did to hit the shed one time, you'd notice the rust pretty quick. A couple of hours, not much more than that) - before that, it was the big blocks of salt (I remember the blocks - I don't remember the rest of it).
So, comments, etc., to the usual in-box... Thanks!
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Saturday, January 18, 2003 |
I apologize for the lack of content, or the response on a number of e-mails which I hope to get out shortly. Today I received the "guide sheet for witnesses" that comes from the Diocese of Minneapolis/St. Paul concerning my friend's pending annulment.
Imagine, if you will, asking ME of all people to respond with as much detail as possible on questions like "describe what you know about the petitioner's upbringing and family life".
Then toss into the hopper the fact that I've known the fellow and his family for nearly 32 years now.
I've got close to eighteen pages, so far, and I'm nearly complete. I'm going to cut back to, hopefully, twelve, and then send them back their information - carefully - once I duplex it.
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Sunday, January 19, 2003 |
Bookends
Today started long before yesterday's "day" for me ended. Due to an over-abundance of I dunno what, I found myself staring at the television at 4:30 am this morning, much like I'd done pretty continuously from 12:30 am.
So the roust out of bed at 9:30 wasn't all that welcome. But, life goes on, and so do I. Got up, got moving, got things done. Ran a few errands, and came home to the phrase "deranged Rhesus Monkey". What a laugh. And I needed one.
I swear, my hand to God, the next time a friend calls and asks "can you help with my annulment?" I'll tell them no, just get me the address and habits of their "ex". When the whole divorce thing started, Ann and I joked only semi-seriously that death would be much easier to deal with than divorce. And when you add annulment to the mix, hell, I'd happily call out the hit. Better a widower than a divorcee, I guess.
After improving the formatting, etc., I'm up to nineteen gory pages of pure, unadulterated hell. Some of the worst writing I've ever done. Because it's far, far too close to me.
I'm Not Happy
No, as you might guess, it's none other than the nominal president of this nation which has again raised my ire. It is truly unfortunate that first-rate minds can hide behind second-rate shills and put forth old retreat ideas as "new and improved" and carry their way with nary a howl of protest.
Some of you might have been fortunate enough to hear on the nightly news of a nearby woman who experienced a horrible mistake in the medical lab. In her case, she went in for a standard test, got the diagnosis of a fast-moving and deadly cancer, and opted for near-immediate surgery - a double-mastectomy. Upon coming out of the anesthesia, she was told "we've made a horrible mistake."
No, not the old "you'll find a $20,000 charge on your bill, as the doctor lost his wallet and Rolex inside you" gag. Nope. This was even funnier. "Um, sorry, but you know that test we did? Uh, well, this is a real hoot, see, but you're not gonna believe this - you don't have cancer! In fact, uh, you never did. So sorry about that, good luck, and we'll see you at the Christmas party, eh?"
Her first reaction would have been just about what anyone's would have been. Oh, thank goodness, I'm not going to die because they missed a bit of cancer. Then she thought about it. She's had her breasts, both of them, removed, all because of a simple "oops" in the lab. Funny, eh?
And of course, Bush comes along and says "we'd like to limit the punative awards to $250,000." Right. I forgot, this is the same nincompoop who feels that the economy is dragging it's ass because his buddies aren't out there buying a few more of those damned Rolexes, BMWs, Champagne, Cavier, and assorted other high-flying items that those super-rich folk do to make sure we, the little people, get our income in line. Right.
The intellectual capacity of that man in the White House amazes me. Almost as much as the opposition Democrats do in having the incredible inability to articulate a message as simple as "It's the economy, Jackass" ("It's the economy, stupid" already having been done to death on his father).
Do I believe that the legal system needs some level of reform to insure that doctors don't lose everything because they sneeze in the operating room? Damn straight I do. Some of these court awards sound less like legal judgements and more like game show payoffs - and few Juries understand that it's not the company that "has to pay" - it's the rest of us - companies take care of themselves - in part, because if they don't, you ain't got a job, buster. But let's look at the larger picture.
We all complain about the health care system and costs. Here in Minnesota, there are state laws governing the health care systems, and we do not have for-profit hospitals. This keeps the larger corporations out of our health care pockets. But the costs go up just the same. Sure, malpractice insurance is a component - we've got the same species of shifty, weasel-eyed attorney that exists mostly world-wide (note that not all are shifty, nor weasel-eyed - there are ambulance chasers and then there are decent people, but as with any population, the good tends to comprise the bulk, while the scum tend to monopolize the headlines). But that's only a part of it.
Sure, drugs are going up in cost - we got Ann her prescriptions for various needs today, and one thing they did was changed her birth control from the brand name to a generic. Mind you, should this cause her any problems (aside from the usual side effects, at least one of which I fully expect to be diahrea), or should we suddenly get pregnant, I guarantee you I shall find me one of those shifty-eyed weasels to go after the penny-pinching bastard who decided with no justification other than cost to change our way of life forever - not that I wouldn't welcome another child, but there are a half-million or so major life changes that would come along with child three, which many of you could deduce for yourselves - one of us would have to quit work (typically, you can make enough to offset two children in daycare. Three children is a break-even point which only well-compensated women (which are the exception) can afford to continue to work), we'd have to shift bedrooms, and perhaps consider moving - all on a decreased income - just because some bastard didn't like the price tag on a package of pills.
But I digress - only slightly. Ann belongs to an HMO; most of us do anymore. And in Minnesota, they, too, are required to be not-for-profit, if I recall the law correctly. The local CEO of one of these not-for-profit HMOs was quite adept at moving money around and getting his as he grew the HMO he was responsible for. The state Attorney General, Mike Hatch, found incredible abuses, some of which were widely publicized, while others were just slipped into the tail end of the article in the paper.
For example, a man who gets a salary of $1.3 million a year, and a "withhold" ("bonus" to those of us who remember them) of $1.5 million more (and actually, that's the after-tax figure, if I read the article right), complained to his board that he wanted laser eye surgery, and wanted the company to pay for it. Sure, the $5000 is expensive for anything, but, I mean, this guy's taking home $1.3 million. Assuming Reagan's tax plan worked, and this fellow's paying no more than 42% of that $1.3 million in taxes, we're looking at a take home pay of about $750,000 annually. And you're telling me that a man who can manage a multi-billion dollar corporation can't find in his budget enough room over the course of a year to pay $5,000? Less than 10% of his MONTHLY INCOME?
So, while his employees were experiencing cuts in their benefits and health options (remember, this is an HMO), this buffoon (George Halvorsen, who is currently running Kaiser Permanente, according to the paper), he whined that despite his salary of $1.3 million, he couldn't afford to get the laser eye surgery, and wanted the company insurance plan to pay for it. The company's board, in an apparent rare show of backbone, said "no". After some whining back and forth, they said "sorry, we still won't pay for it through insurance, but here's a check for the amount for you and your wife, go get it."
Remind me when I get a job to whine to the boss about wanting to buy something and see if they'll give me a raise to cover it. I'm guessing that I'm still going to be enough of a plain old working stiff that if I don't get fired, I'll at least get laughed out of his or her office.
And this was on top of the news that this Halvorsen jerk-off postponed one of his annual bonuses because, while he received it during a year where he failed to meet his objectives to earn the bonus, he decided to postpone it so he could get the money later because it might look bad to the employees. And all of this was done under the table. What a crock. "Sorry, George, you didn't meet your objectives." "But I want my bonus!" "Oh, OK George, anything to keep you happy." "But don't pay it to me right away..." Makes you wonder what else he managed to postpone and later get his hands on.
Of course, this is the type of fellow whom Bush and his cronies are worried about. Lord knows that this fellow probably took a huge pay cut to run a bigger company (not), and is living hand-to-mouth but for his dividend income, which will, once untaxed, right all the wrongs in the economy. Is it any wonder that most people no longer like politicians, when most politicians aren't interested in anything other than milking the money tit for all it's worth when they get their success? The exceptions to the rules - people like Paul Wellstone, for example - tend to be more shooting stars than anything else. They burn bright, loud, hot, and short - and in the end, they're gone, and the big-money folks are still riding high.
But, since Bush and his high-flying friends aren't worried about the rest of us, we'll just have to muddle through somehow.
What really pains me perhaps the most is the damage that Jesse Ventura did to the third-party movement in this state, and, perhaps, nationwide. Ventura's victory four years ago could have marked a new and substantial increase in the validity of a third-party movement, a real "centrist party" coalition of people who are fiscally conservative, somewhat socially liberal, and in favor of less rhetoric and more common sense in government.
Instead, the buffoon who wore feather boas and tights in the wrestling ring showed that it wasn't a put on, there was no acting in HIS professional wrestling career, he was, indeed, a baboon in tights and had the IQ to back it up. His childish behavior, his complaints against "the media" for pointing out his buffoonery, and his continual whines that "it's not my fault" were just a great, sucking drain on what could have been a positive force. And few people want to be associated with a movement that has faces like Jesse Ventura and Ross Perot at the head of it.
So we're left with the party of the ultra-rich opposed by the party of the bumbling fools, and there are a fair number of us stuck in the middle trenches watching the rhetorical shells flying overhead. Wars are never pleasant, but we here in America tend to forget that typically we are not on the front lines. With the exception of September 11, 2001, we don't tend to experience horrible events like our homes being destroyed, our food supply devastated, and our places of work wiped out. And, to date, September 11th has been an isolated incident.
Yeah, in the long run, it's certainly likely that John Ashcroft will go into the history books as a bigger threat to what we used to call "American Liberty" than Osama bin Laden ever was - but in the end, the bottom line becomes "Is this country worth fighting for?"
There are long, dark days when I have my doubts. Locally, we have a governor who is so short-sighted that he'll grab any dollar just to avoid breaking a stupid campaign promise. While I agree with most of his $450 million in cuts, there are two that make no sense.
The first is a subsidy for state ethanol producers who convert corn to fuel. Now, it's not a huge market yet, and might never be. But the issue is primarily resolving itself to be city-versus-rural in the legislature - which is painfully stupid. The bottom line is that he is taking the remainder of this year's grants from the program, and says "well, all but three of these plants are profitable." Right. That's like saying "is your wound bleeding right now? Good, then you don't need these bandages."
Some firms like Microsoft have bank coffers which are bordering on obscene. What is anyone going to do with $40 BILLION in cash? I mean, really, Bill, pull yer head out. Other firms have a "profitable" year, and the profit ends up paying back some of the previous years' debt or expenses or investment. Face it, an ethanol plant isn't cheap to set up, and most of these plants are farmer cooperatives. Pawlenty would apparently rather gyp the farmers out of a chance at breaking even than he would like to see the rest of us pay another nickle or dime a gallon for gas. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a huge fan of raising taxes, but when the Governor of this state decides that the way of life our fathers worked to give us is just too much not to his liking, well, great. A $50 million cut to higher education now might not be that big a thing - but in five or ten years, when firms are again looking to expand and the economy is doing well, do you think they're going to rush to pay taxes in a state with a high tax rate and a poorly-educated workforce? I don't think so.
The second major cut I have a probem with isn't the educational cuts (they've got reserves which can absorb most of these, they say). The problem is actually a very small amount of money, but indicated just how stupid this guy really is.
The State of Minnesota has a Film Board. Never heard of the Minnesota Film Board? Have you ever seen any one of the Grumpy Old Men pictures? How about Jingle All The Way? Untamed Heart? Or Joe Somebody? Fargo? Purple Rain? Catch Me If You Can? Those were movies that were shot in whole or in part in this state. And the state film board managed to get through a bill which, unlike the Canucks north of the border, offers only a 10% return on money spent in this state by film companies (Canada offers 30%).
Why is this important? Well, three reasons. First of all, having movies out there which use Minnesota as a setting (even movies like Fargo) are good for the state, in that some people will look at the film and say "let's go there". In some cases, it's importing people into the state, spending money they earned elsewhere. In other cases, you get my second reason - it gets Minnesotans out of their homes - either to look at the stars brought in, watch the production, or whatever - but once out of our homes, we do tend to spend money.
Third reason? It's a REBATE. Say you, Mr. Big Shot Hollywood producer, come into town with a movie budget of $40 million. Of that, you might spend all of $7 million in the state of Minnesota. On that $7 million, let's say you spend $2 million on materials and other solid goods, while $1 million is spent on food. Call a million or so for utilities - phone, electric, water, etc. The other $3 million? Extras, local help, and the like.
So you brought your wardrobe and some stuff to the state - the $2 million pays for set improvements, wires, clamps, other things like that. With 6.5% state sales tax, we can say that you paid $130,000 in taxes on that. The $1 million on food? Well, if you weren't a big-shot hollywood director and got into a grocery store, and instead had caterers, cooks, and ate out a lot, you were looking at another 6.5% tax on prepared foods - or another $65,000 in taxes. There are also tax and municiple fees on the various utilities, but I won't include them here. So you've paid $195,000 in taxes - and the state's giving you back $700,000?
But there's the $3 million in extras and local help. And those folks pay some heavy income taxes on their pay - I know when I've figured my paychecks out, it came to something like 68% of my gross was my net - and federal taxes didn't take all of that - only about 23%. Which leaves employment taxes. Let's low-ball it and say 5% for the state taxes. There's another $150,000. But don't these people buy things? There's another rolled-over amount.
And, of course, part of the point of filming here is to get something you couldn't get elsewhere - not just the atmosphere. Thus, mostly local products make it into the film - which boosts their business, which means they pay more taxes, hire more help, and do more work.
It's the short-sightedness of this governor which has me tied in knots. And, of course, he's a Republican, just like our President.
I find it most unfortunate that the "Party of Lincoln" has managed to turn 180 degrees 'round and face the other way on so many issues, not just race, but economically, intellectually, and in every other way. Instead of a country and government by the people and for the people, we have a country by the rich, for the money.
Of course, we could have a country by the other rich, for just about anyone who wanted to, because we've got a program for that.
Yeah, I guess I'm irritated. Sorry about that.
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