Today while I was out driving around, I saw a small Japanese sedan (maybe a Honda) with no rear bumper whatsover. It was like the car had been driven off the assembly line before the rear end was finished. It occurred to me that when I learned to drive, every single car built in America had front and rear bumpers made of chrome-plated steel. I started watching all the cars that passed me, coming or going, and of the hundreds I checked, I saw one bumper on a monster pickup that looked like it might have been chrome-plated steel. All the rest had the usual body-colored plastic bumpers. Call it my delayed recognition of the end of an era, I guess.
Showing posts with label Biographical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Biographical. Show all posts
Friday, March 30, 2012
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Public Sector
In Wisconsin and many other states where Republicans are the governing majority, the primary goal these days is to chip away at budget deficits by making life as miserable as possible for the public labor force. The GOP recognizes an opportunity when it sees one, and isn't about to let a chance to demolish labor unions pass when they can claim it's necessary to protect public interests. My interest in most American political controversies is purely academic, but this time I have a dog in the fight.
My first job was mowing lawns for ladies in my neighborhood when I was in junior high. During my senior year in college, I was a courier for Western Union and delivered telegrams about twenty hours per week. Those two jobs were the full extent of my employment in the private sector.
I worked in cotton fields in the summers following my junior and senior years in high school, earning roughly 76 cents an hour. The labor was necessary for breeding experiments, and I was paid with a government check. Every other paycheck I received thereafter was issued by the federal government, the state government, or a local independent school district. After college, I was a public school teacher, an army officer, a GA in graduate school, then a caseworker in the state public welfare department and a unit supervisor in the same agency. All some form of government work, all paid from some public treasury or another.
I was never a member of a labor union, never a party to a collective bargaining agreement, and always earned considerably less than my friends working in the private sector for companies like Brown and Root or Halliburton. Except for the ones from the U.S. Army, every check I received had a deduction for both FICA and state retirement. In jobs offering health coverage, insurance premiums were also deducted. Federal income taxes were withheld, and nearly every dime I earned was circulated back into the economy. All the jobs were demanding and required variable amounts of uncompensated overtime, and I was always pissed off when some piss-ignorant fucking yahoo wrote a letter to a newspaper bitching about public employees slopping at the taxpayer trough and freeloading in general.
My father and my wife spent most of their careers in state employment also, and it wouldn't be a stretch to say that in many ways my life has depended on government jobs... so excuse me if my empathy with public employees in Texas and other places is offensive.
My first job was mowing lawns for ladies in my neighborhood when I was in junior high. During my senior year in college, I was a courier for Western Union and delivered telegrams about twenty hours per week. Those two jobs were the full extent of my employment in the private sector.
I worked in cotton fields in the summers following my junior and senior years in high school, earning roughly 76 cents an hour. The labor was necessary for breeding experiments, and I was paid with a government check. Every other paycheck I received thereafter was issued by the federal government, the state government, or a local independent school district. After college, I was a public school teacher, an army officer, a GA in graduate school, then a caseworker in the state public welfare department and a unit supervisor in the same agency. All some form of government work, all paid from some public treasury or another.
I was never a member of a labor union, never a party to a collective bargaining agreement, and always earned considerably less than my friends working in the private sector for companies like Brown and Root or Halliburton. Except for the ones from the U.S. Army, every check I received had a deduction for both FICA and state retirement. In jobs offering health coverage, insurance premiums were also deducted. Federal income taxes were withheld, and nearly every dime I earned was circulated back into the economy. All the jobs were demanding and required variable amounts of uncompensated overtime, and I was always pissed off when some piss-ignorant fucking yahoo wrote a letter to a newspaper bitching about public employees slopping at the taxpayer trough and freeloading in general.
My father and my wife spent most of their careers in state employment also, and it wouldn't be a stretch to say that in many ways my life has depended on government jobs... so excuse me if my empathy with public employees in Texas and other places is offensive.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Rehab
Rep. Gabrielle Giffords has been relocated to Texas Medical Center in Houston to begin rehab. A few years ago I spent time in a rehab center following brain surgery, and since then I've had a particular interest in following the stories of people with traumatic brain injuries. I suppose deep down I want to compare notes with people who've shared the experience. For me, there were parts of rehab that I dreaded every day, and I usually couldn't wait to get back in bed to lie down. It was only after I was discharged and had been home a few days that I began to develop tremendous admiration for all the people who took care of me and worked with me through the process
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Life in the slow lane
A little over a month since the extraction of all my teeth, and once again I'm learning that, facing a lack of alternatives, I can eventually get accustomed to just about anything. On the positive side, I haven't needed to spend a red cent on toothbrushes, toothpaste, or dental floss. My weight has stabilized, more or less, between 164 and 166 pounds, and my clothes fit more comfortably than they have in years. I've developed a fondness for hot cereal and scrambled eggs, and assorted other foods that don't require much in the way of chewing. I've also observed that gum tissue will eventually enclose exposed bone if you leave it alone and allow natural healing to occur. All in all, there's enough upside to toothlessness that I'm in no hurry to get dentures and start another transition period.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Gumming it
During the surgery to remove my remaining teeth, I was supposed to be knocked out, sedated, whatever. For some reason, I came to my senses right in the middle of the process, and had to endure the agony of teeth being pulled out when they didn't want to be. The good thing about it is that I may have survived the most painful experience I'll ever have. Or maybe not. I always try to look on the sunny side.
At any rate, the pain has pretty much subsided now. Every place a tooth was yanked, there's a socket surrounded by swollen gum tissue that's puffy and tender. The combination of holes and swelling produces an effect that is similar to having my mouth packed with small chunks of foam rubber.
Among things that I took for granted were the number of times I pronounced words by pressing my tongue against my lower teeth. It was just something I never gave much thought to until I couldn't do it any more.
If I had it all to do over again, knowing what I know now, I think I would've taken more steps to prolong the life of my teeth. Hindsight is always 20/20.
At any rate, the pain has pretty much subsided now. Every place a tooth was yanked, there's a socket surrounded by swollen gum tissue that's puffy and tender. The combination of holes and swelling produces an effect that is similar to having my mouth packed with small chunks of foam rubber.
Among things that I took for granted were the number of times I pronounced words by pressing my tongue against my lower teeth. It was just something I never gave much thought to until I couldn't do it any more.
If I had it all to do over again, knowing what I know now, I think I would've taken more steps to prolong the life of my teeth. Hindsight is always 20/20.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Gummed up
Last night, for the first time in many, many years, I went to bed without a single tooth in my mouth. My old teeth were ugly to look at and gave me trouble now and then, but they were mine and I miss them. The surgery to remove them was as close to torture as I'll ever come, God willing, and now the inside of my mouth looks like a tiny bomb went off in there. Most of the pain was gone by late yesterday afternoon, but talking and eating have become a whole new experience. I hope this is the very worst part of the transition to dentures and that it'll be over in a few weeks or so, but who knows ? There should be a rule that life gets less complicated as you get older, but things just don't work that way.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Telecheckmate. Again.
A few years ago, I had my first head-to-head encounter with a company called Telecheck. During a 20 percent discount sale at Half Price Books, I went on a shopping binge and tried to write three checks in a 48-hour period. The third check was rejected, and it really pissed me off. I called Telecheck and ended up hearing an automated message explaining that personal checks may be disapproved based on the frequency and amount of checks written at a merchant participating in their system. It was my first experience with a profiling process. The check wasn't refused because of insufficient funds, but because I fit the profile of a hot-check artist ?
Somehow, I've become ensnared in the Telecheck matrix again -- Half Price Books is refusing to accept my checks because Telecheck won't approve them. Today I called Telecheck again, and jumped through all the hoops required to speak to a human representative. It was a hassle, but I was too fucking mad to be shuttled off to some machine. The young man who handled my complaint had an accent and fit the profile of someone filling an outsourced job, but he was courteous and confirmed what I already suspected.
People who think racial profiling is a good thing have not been profiled themselves and don't expect to be. I've been profiled as a hot-check writer --- it's humiliating and inconvenient and it influences my attitude toward the whole issue of profiling people.
Somehow, I've become ensnared in the Telecheck matrix again -- Half Price Books is refusing to accept my checks because Telecheck won't approve them. Today I called Telecheck again, and jumped through all the hoops required to speak to a human representative. It was a hassle, but I was too fucking mad to be shuttled off to some machine. The young man who handled my complaint had an accent and fit the profile of someone filling an outsourced job, but he was courteous and confirmed what I already suspected.
People who think racial profiling is a good thing have not been profiled themselves and don't expect to be. I've been profiled as a hot-check writer --- it's humiliating and inconvenient and it influences my attitude toward the whole issue of profiling people.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Splat
For several years, the core of my exercise program has been a three mile walk nearly every day. My goal is to complete three miles in 45 minutes, or as close to that as I can make it. In the summer, the hot weather tends to slow me down; I can still usually complete the route in less than 48 minutes. But in the winter months, mid-November until late February, the weather cools off and I can really move. The colder it gets, the faster I can go.
On the Hot Water blog, I wrote about a recent dream and ended with a remark that it would be cool to ignore the effects of gravity anytime I wanted. Tonight, gravity decided to let me know she was still around and on the job.
I was late starting the walk, nearly 6:00 pm and practically dark outside. Temperature around 56 degrees, not cold but not warm either. Ideal weather for the three miles, in fact.
When the weather's chilly, I walk some but add what we used to call quick time and double time, and if it's cold enough I even throw in some sprints, running as fast as my aging legs will allow. I had just completed about half the route and decided to try a short sprint. It turned out to be shorter than anticipated; I'm not sure what happened but I was running at what for me is full bore and apparently stubbed a toe against the curb. If I'd been walking I wouldn't have noticed it, but at the velocity I was traveling it was enough to get my feet higher than my head in a hurry.
Trust me on this - concrete sidewalks can be unforgiving. I had a three pound weight in each hand, and my chest landed on one of them. It took only an instant to get from vertical to horizontal, but I rolled off the pavement onto the grass and spent a minute or two contemplating the laws of physics in what had become a world of pain mixed with a serious helping of humiliation and embarrassment.
A nice lady in the vacinity heard the sound of my weights hitting the concrete, saw me lying on the grass, and trotted over to see if there'd been any survivors. She offered to run me home in her SUV, and although I could've walked on in, I decided to take her up on the offer.
I got home where there was good lighting and checked the damage. Right hand has five nasty knuckle scrapes and a bloody scrape on the heel. Left hand has a moderate bleeding scape on the wrist, just below the face of my watch. Painful scrapes on right elbow and both knees. The biggest problem is the constant pain in my sternum, roughly the center of the breastbone. Feels like I may have fractured something, but probably it's just the afterglow of coming to a sudden stop. With luck, it'll be no more than a minor nuisance in the morning. Fortunately, I'd been dressed for wind chill, which kept the abrasions to a minimum. But all in all, I'm too damned old for this shit. Those are five seconds in my life I'd like to do over differently.
On the Hot Water blog, I wrote about a recent dream and ended with a remark that it would be cool to ignore the effects of gravity anytime I wanted. Tonight, gravity decided to let me know she was still around and on the job.
I was late starting the walk, nearly 6:00 pm and practically dark outside. Temperature around 56 degrees, not cold but not warm either. Ideal weather for the three miles, in fact.
When the weather's chilly, I walk some but add what we used to call quick time and double time, and if it's cold enough I even throw in some sprints, running as fast as my aging legs will allow. I had just completed about half the route and decided to try a short sprint. It turned out to be shorter than anticipated; I'm not sure what happened but I was running at what for me is full bore and apparently stubbed a toe against the curb. If I'd been walking I wouldn't have noticed it, but at the velocity I was traveling it was enough to get my feet higher than my head in a hurry.
Trust me on this - concrete sidewalks can be unforgiving. I had a three pound weight in each hand, and my chest landed on one of them. It took only an instant to get from vertical to horizontal, but I rolled off the pavement onto the grass and spent a minute or two contemplating the laws of physics in what had become a world of pain mixed with a serious helping of humiliation and embarrassment.
A nice lady in the vacinity heard the sound of my weights hitting the concrete, saw me lying on the grass, and trotted over to see if there'd been any survivors. She offered to run me home in her SUV, and although I could've walked on in, I decided to take her up on the offer.
I got home where there was good lighting and checked the damage. Right hand has five nasty knuckle scrapes and a bloody scrape on the heel. Left hand has a moderate bleeding scape on the wrist, just below the face of my watch. Painful scrapes on right elbow and both knees. The biggest problem is the constant pain in my sternum, roughly the center of the breastbone. Feels like I may have fractured something, but probably it's just the afterglow of coming to a sudden stop. With luck, it'll be no more than a minor nuisance in the morning. Fortunately, I'd been dressed for wind chill, which kept the abrasions to a minimum. But all in all, I'm too damned old for this shit. Those are five seconds in my life I'd like to do over differently.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving thinking
Today's Thanksgiving and for me it's a quiet one, particularly compared to last year. I haven't spent much time on any of the blogs lately, so I might as well take advantage of the peace and quiet to make a few notes.
This morning I got a phone call from a buddy I haven't talked to in months. He lives in Baytown, and we don't get together much these days. He was my closest friend from grades 7 through 12, so I enjoyed the chance to chat a few minutes. We exchanged thoughts about the dreadful season the Texas A&M football team has experienced, and bet a Coke on the outcome of tonight's game in Austin. For the hell of it, I took Texas minus 35, strictly because I know the horns have the ability to drop that kind of asswhipping on the Aggies and after consecutive upset losses, the motivation as well.
For roughly forty years, I lived for football season. My interest in the sport began in 1967, the first of my two senior years in college. After graduation I became a Dallas Cowboys fan, since I just couldn't seem to get enough football to satisfy my needs by following only the Southwest Conference. Year after year, I rose or fell each weekend with the Aggies and the Cowboys. If both won, I was on top of the world and if both lost, I'd stay depressed for two days. My passion was such that I began following all of college and professional football, so that I could compare my favorite teams to those they were competing against. I bought every football magazine I could get my hands on and expanded my interest to include high school recruiting and the NFL draft.
Here's the thing about football: A man can only maintain a passion for the game if he has a particular rooting interest in at least one team, and rooting interests are by definition contingent on a team's ability to be competitive week in, week out. The descent of the Aggies and Cowboys into extended periods of subpar performance caused me to lose most of my enthusiasm. The season's nearly over and I've yet to watch a single college or pro football game from beginning to end. It seems like there's a void in my life; for most of the fall I filled the space with politics and election news. Now I don't have that either. Even Wasilla Wondermom dropped out of sight - she was always good for a paragraph or two.
At any rate, A&M lost to Baylor and is officially the sorriest team in the Big 12 South. The new coaching staff hasn't done anything to inspire confidence the situation will improve. I need a new team to root for, which would probably be Southern Cal if their games were regularly televised in Texas.
I haven't been to the movies in a year. The last time I was in a theater was the day after Thanksgiving in 2007, when I saw the excellent No Country For Old Men.
I'm thinking about taking Mrs. bee to see the new movie Australia with Nicole Kidman. It looks like the kind of picture she'd enjoy, with elements to hold my interest as well. These days, I usually watch movies on DVD or cable television. Last night in fact, I watched a movie that deserves a guarded recommendation. It's Reservation Road, starring Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Ruffalo. This is a movie that didn't create a splash when it was released last year, and seems to have been dismissed by most of the reviewers. I probably wouldn't succeed as a movie critic because I thought it was very good, if not excellent. The plot concerns the death of a child in a hit-and-run accident and how that affects members of two families. This is a sober, serious film, hence the restricted recommendation. Reservation Road earns an eight on a scale of one to ten.
Added 10:38 pm, Thanksgiving night
Final score: Texas 49 Aggies 9. I had a hunch that taking the teasips and laying the 35 points was a safe call, given the way TAMU has been stinking up the joint all year. Cellar dwellers. TAMU's football program started to skid out of control in 1999 and has basically been sliding deeper into a hole for a decade. Will it ever end ? Fuck if I know.
This morning I got a phone call from a buddy I haven't talked to in months. He lives in Baytown, and we don't get together much these days. He was my closest friend from grades 7 through 12, so I enjoyed the chance to chat a few minutes. We exchanged thoughts about the dreadful season the Texas A&M football team has experienced, and bet a Coke on the outcome of tonight's game in Austin. For the hell of it, I took Texas minus 35, strictly because I know the horns have the ability to drop that kind of asswhipping on the Aggies and after consecutive upset losses, the motivation as well.
For roughly forty years, I lived for football season. My interest in the sport began in 1967, the first of my two senior years in college. After graduation I became a Dallas Cowboys fan, since I just couldn't seem to get enough football to satisfy my needs by following only the Southwest Conference. Year after year, I rose or fell each weekend with the Aggies and the Cowboys. If both won, I was on top of the world and if both lost, I'd stay depressed for two days. My passion was such that I began following all of college and professional football, so that I could compare my favorite teams to those they were competing against. I bought every football magazine I could get my hands on and expanded my interest to include high school recruiting and the NFL draft.
Here's the thing about football: A man can only maintain a passion for the game if he has a particular rooting interest in at least one team, and rooting interests are by definition contingent on a team's ability to be competitive week in, week out. The descent of the Aggies and Cowboys into extended periods of subpar performance caused me to lose most of my enthusiasm. The season's nearly over and I've yet to watch a single college or pro football game from beginning to end. It seems like there's a void in my life; for most of the fall I filled the space with politics and election news. Now I don't have that either. Even Wasilla Wondermom dropped out of sight - she was always good for a paragraph or two.
At any rate, A&M lost to Baylor and is officially the sorriest team in the Big 12 South. The new coaching staff hasn't done anything to inspire confidence the situation will improve. I need a new team to root for, which would probably be Southern Cal if their games were regularly televised in Texas.
I haven't been to the movies in a year. The last time I was in a theater was the day after Thanksgiving in 2007, when I saw the excellent No Country For Old Men.
I'm thinking about taking Mrs. bee to see the new movie Australia with Nicole Kidman. It looks like the kind of picture she'd enjoy, with elements to hold my interest as well. These days, I usually watch movies on DVD or cable television. Last night in fact, I watched a movie that deserves a guarded recommendation. It's Reservation Road, starring Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Ruffalo. This is a movie that didn't create a splash when it was released last year, and seems to have been dismissed by most of the reviewers. I probably wouldn't succeed as a movie critic because I thought it was very good, if not excellent. The plot concerns the death of a child in a hit-and-run accident and how that affects members of two families. This is a sober, serious film, hence the restricted recommendation. Reservation Road earns an eight on a scale of one to ten.
Added 10:38 pm, Thanksgiving night
Final score: Texas 49 Aggies 9. I had a hunch that taking the teasips and laying the 35 points was a safe call, given the way TAMU has been stinking up the joint all year. Cellar dwellers. TAMU's football program started to skid out of control in 1999 and has basically been sliding deeper into a hole for a decade. Will it ever end ? Fuck if I know.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Trying to make the best of bad situations
The best part of being retired is that I seem to have more control over my life than I did when I was working. There are lots of things that are beyond my control, but more things are within it. For example, I've never stayed in bed until noon (other than on sick days), but it's nice to know I could if I wanted to.
For years I was a real lardass, with my weight ranging between 250 and 260 pounds. There was a lot of stress in my job and one way I handled it was to overindulge in comfort food. I loved cheddar cheese, and could scarf down 600 calories worth as a between-meals snack.
My blood sugar levels were elevated for several years, and in 2004 my doctor officially diagnosed me as diabetic. I'd done some reading on the subject of diabetes, and decided it was too serious a condition to ignore. The doc told me I could probably get my blood sugar under control if I lost fifty pounds.
FIFTY POUNDS ? Are you kidding me ? was my initial reaction. After I considered the alternatives, though, I decided to give it my best shot.
It took a few months, but I lost weight and got my blood sugar back to normal. The process required some major decisions regarding lifestyle changes and a lot of self-discipline (which hadn't been my strongest suit). Calorie counting and routine exercise weren't agenda items during my working years, and I rationalized sloth and gluttony as products of job pressure. But I learned old habits can be replaced with new ones when there's enough incentive to do so.
What brings all this to mind is the price of gasoline, currently $ 3.999 at the corner Exxon station where I fill up. The upside of retirement is being able to sleep late if I want to; the downside is living on fixed incomes that don't readily accomodate rapid increases in the cost of living.
Diabetes forced me to make some lifestyle changes and four dollar gasoline is forcing me to make some more. I'll be using less of it every month, and the next car I buy won't be another SUV that barely gets 19 mpg in city driving. I'm spending less time tooling around town and more time around the house, and learning to enjoy it. I can't control the price of gasoline, but I can control the amount I buy, thanks to retirement.
For years I was a real lardass, with my weight ranging between 250 and 260 pounds. There was a lot of stress in my job and one way I handled it was to overindulge in comfort food. I loved cheddar cheese, and could scarf down 600 calories worth as a between-meals snack.
My blood sugar levels were elevated for several years, and in 2004 my doctor officially diagnosed me as diabetic. I'd done some reading on the subject of diabetes, and decided it was too serious a condition to ignore. The doc told me I could probably get my blood sugar under control if I lost fifty pounds.
FIFTY POUNDS ? Are you kidding me ? was my initial reaction. After I considered the alternatives, though, I decided to give it my best shot.
It took a few months, but I lost weight and got my blood sugar back to normal. The process required some major decisions regarding lifestyle changes and a lot of self-discipline (which hadn't been my strongest suit). Calorie counting and routine exercise weren't agenda items during my working years, and I rationalized sloth and gluttony as products of job pressure. But I learned old habits can be replaced with new ones when there's enough incentive to do so.
What brings all this to mind is the price of gasoline, currently $ 3.999 at the corner Exxon station where I fill up. The upside of retirement is being able to sleep late if I want to; the downside is living on fixed incomes that don't readily accomodate rapid increases in the cost of living.
Diabetes forced me to make some lifestyle changes and four dollar gasoline is forcing me to make some more. I'll be using less of it every month, and the next car I buy won't be another SUV that barely gets 19 mpg in city driving. I'm spending less time tooling around town and more time around the house, and learning to enjoy it. I can't control the price of gasoline, but I can control the amount I buy, thanks to retirement.
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Point at them and laugh
Summer walks in Texas
Judging by the amount of water on driveways and sidewalks and in the street, some Texans seem to think you can grow concrete and asphalt using lawn sprinklers.
Six-Word Memoir
Most of my balloons were popped.
