Remember Writing College Papers?

I do.  I typed them on an electric typewriter with tape cartridges for correction or to add different colored type.  (My parents bestowed this gem of a machine on me when I graduated high school.)  I hated putting together college papers -- until I was done.  Then, I was usually very proud of my work.  I wrote well, and knew my subject.  It was just the first stages of contemplation and research that stymied me.

These days, apparently, students can order up custom made college papers on line.  No kidding.  A dollar a page.  Seriously?  Isn't this considered cheating?  Note this selling point:

"Almost all the students spend a lot of time going to lectures and studying, as well as having fun whenever it is possible, which usually doesn’t leave much time for writing college papers. It is rather sad, as a lot depends on grades for this type of assignment."

Uh, yeah, a lot depends on these kinds of assignments, as it establishes if you actually know the subject matter being taught.   Why bother going to college if you're going to cheat and pay someone else to do the work for you?  Oh, right, to get all those high-paying jobs out there...not. 

By the time I wandered through the halls of higher education, I was doing it on my own dime.  I did not fool around because I was paying for every unit of education.  Getting the papers done took first place over "having fun whenever possible," although I got plenty of fun in, too.  I don't think I ever turned in a late paper, much less a plagiarized piece of work.

Kids. These. Days.

Comcast Hell

It's a long, boring, frustrating story. I will never ever do business with Comcast again. Their customer service is the worst ever -- they make it nearly impossible to speak to a real person, and then when you do they bounce you around to so many different people that your head spins like a possessed, projectile vomiting child. And no one is in charge, no one speaks with any authority.

Watch if you want to see torture. I had to cut the video down, the call went on for 45 bloody minutes.

If I Had a Rocket Launcher

What will it take for adults to stand up and defend children?  When will institutions deal the death blow to pedophiles and stop covering up for them?

They are many excellent articles on the Penn State cover up, and many blogs with cogent and factual postings.  Me?  I'm just too flabbergasted, too outraged, to say anything coherent.  All my pacifist leanings go out the window, for if someone gave me a weapon and I had access to these evil sickos,  I might gain enormous satisfaction in ending their miserable lives.

And to the Penn State students who rioted last night upon hearing that their beloved coach was fired:  SHAME ON YOU.

by Bruce Cockburn

"And when I talk with the survivors of things too sickening to relate
If I had a rocket launcher...I would retaliate...

I want to raise every voice -- at least I've got to try
Every time I think about it water rises to my eyes.
Situation desperate, echoes of the victims cry
If I had a rocket launcher...Some son of a bitch would die."

Thursday Rant

Absolutely shocking news out of California.

Our poverty rate rose to it's highest level in 10 years.  We surpassed the poverty rate of 33 other states.  According to the statistics as to what constitutes the federal poverty definition, I am only just above it.  My choice, though, I retired early.

Construction and manufacturing suffered the greatest job losses.  But so did teachers, gas station attendants.  The competition for an entry level job at fast food restaurants is steep.  People with Masters Degrees are applying.

But hey, let the uninsured die.  Why should we give them a hand up?  They are just a drain on the economy.  This is the kind of country we are becoming: Tea Party supporters cheer throwing the least fortunate among us to the sharks.  Well, aint that just the American Way?

If I hadn't stayed with the university for 23 years, I'd be one of those people who, according to these pigs, ought to be left to die.  I wouldn't have health insurance.  I have medical needs.  I'd be screwed.

I am one of those freaks who collect a pension and have health insurance benefits from the long service at low wages that I provided to the State of California.  Sue me.

And that's where I'll leave it today, friends, because I'm mad as hell.

Tuesday Rant

smiling all the while

I'm losing weight.   I'm not intending to lose this weight (I know, dieters, hate me).  Those of you who know my history know that I had lap-band surgery about 4 years ago.  I lost a good 70 lbs. and my health improved dramatically.  Then I plateaued.  For years.  I worked at food portions and exercise to no avail.  Now, apparently, the stress of divorce and moving to a new town is doing the trick.

My dad has been losing weight as well, and unintended to boot.  He is 79, and very fit.  I think we are both 'benefitting' from stress.  In his case, he does not benefit by losing any weight.  We have been soldiering along for two months now, since mom fell and broke her hip.  We did hospital.  We did home-health care (ourselves).  We packed a house and moved 700 miles north. I went back to my 'marital home' and packed my belongings and returned to my new home with the folks. We are tired.

Adding to our stress is the process of changing our coverage area for our respective health insurance companies and finding new physicians.  It ain't easy.  Many phone calls and fruitless searches on our insurance web pages and we're still not done.  I need to see a doctor soon: I have chronic health 'issues,' as they say.  My mother does, too.  We are trying to navigate the system and it is just causing us to want to pull our hair out.  We are intelligent, fairly well-organized people.  My question: why do they make it so difficult?!  I just want to register my new address, get a new provider (or two).  My web account keeps locking me out.  The people on the phone are condescending and difficult for me to understand.

My soon to be ex is spewing hate - I guess years of bottled up anger is finally finding its outlet.  Couldn't have we discussed this stuff in therapy?  For three months these issues did not come up in a weekly conversation with a professional?  Really?  This is not the extra-added stress I need or want.  Help me.

I feel as if I am drowning in details.

I'd like to get away for just a few hours to visit friends, but my schedule does not allow.  Grrrr.

Where is my all-expense-paid trip to some tropical isle?  Where is my pink drink with an umbrella?  Where is my personal masseuse?

If you know where any of this stuff is, gimme a holler.

A Divided Country

"Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, many opinions; for opinions in good men is but knowledge in the making."  John Milton

I am opinionated.  This is abundantly clear if you read my blog, my face book posts, or know me personally.  This can be a hinderance in human relationships.  To some, the term 'opinionated' is a pejorative.  Not to me.  We all have a point of view. Whether we are enthusiastically vocal about that point of view is where the difference comes in.  Whether we are willing to verbally engage with others in a vigorous debate, and enjoy the process, is also a matter of personal taste.  Whether we are intellectually honest and fact-based is essential to me.  If you're not honest or factual, you're just a loud-mouthed idiot.  So many people come to mind right now....

Opinionated doesn't mean controlling, and I'm happy to accept that you have a very different opinion from mine.  You may be pigheaded and downright illogical, but that's your opinion.  Never having been pigheaded or illogical, I wouldn't really know.

I'm also willing to reconsider my position, based on new information.  Unlike John McCain, I will not keep moving the goal posts on you.  I like to think I am humble enough to change my mind.  Mature enough to admit I've had an evolutionary process in my thinking.  Imagine.

Sometimes opinionated people make me want to cry in passionate recognition of their ideas.  Other times I just want to giggle hysterically at their antics.  Join me, won't you?  The way things are going in Washington DC, I really need a good laugh right about now.

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To Reunion or Not to Reunion?

Best response ever to the question, "Are you going to our reunion?"

I've been to three, I think, including the one that you probably attended. After each of the last two, I vowed to set aside the next reunion date for a TV night at home, mend socks, clean up the daddy-long-legs and dusty mosquito hawks. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't plan to go because these things depress me....

The same people always organize each reunion, meaning the jocks and cheerleaders are happy, happy, happy. There wouldn't be a reunion without the organizers, of course. But the more interesting, progressed people don't tend to come. With Carmel being an art town, it's rather a lapse in imagination for the organizers to omit reference to the arts or artists of our class, not to mention the successes of other classmates who've led intriguing lives in a myriad of ways. How about creative videos, classmate musicians? I was excited to see Bill at one reunion. I doubt he will return. I don't think another person there knew he'd become world renown as an innovative glass artist/craftsman. That may have been the 20th reunion, but I don't recall. Very few people found the wherewithal to step outside their habitual niche to discover lesser known classmates' life stories.

And, later in the missive, "I don't mix well with sales types; they expect convention, insist on an easy script. I don't mean to piss them off. It happens. Silently. Suddenly." Brilliant, is it not?

I have all these concerns about attending, it's just that I've only been to one and am feeling nostalgic. Now I wonder if I should bother. She's absolutely spot on, of course, and perhaps I have been deluding myself that I could have an enjoyable time, make new connections, etc.

We did have some stellar individuals in school with us. A group of us, along with a couple of teacher sponsors, established an alternative high school for all of us who longed for something more than the insipid high school experience. We embarked on innovative projects and reveled in the open classroom: the world became a more relevant place for alienated teenagers. We did manage one reunion of this alternative school...perhaps it is time for planning another one. Those are really the people I'd like to catch up with.

Out of sorts. Peevish. Snippy. That's what I am these days. Unwell. Down in the mouth. And I'm not getting a lot of sympathy around here. Sing it, Rufus.

Some of you may have notice yesterday's "Wordless Wednesday." I deleted it because it was beneath me. I regretted it. Faintly, in the distance, through a fog, I hear the whispering of "If you can't say something nice...." So, aw shucks, I pulled the post.

I'll be out of town for a few days. Me thinks it's time for a break in the blogging. See ya when I get back.

Rental Slaves

Ok. I'm pissed. Rental prices are going up, up, up. More people are losing their homes to the bank, and therefore a lot of former home-owners are coming into the rental market.

I've come across a number of ads for rentals which require your full credit report even before showing you the property! Is this insane? Hello, Please Steal My Identity. I understand owners want to screen potential renters to protect their home, their investment. But, sight unseen, I'm not handing over my intimate credit history to anybody! People are desperate for a place to live, so they are likely to submit to the most outrageous requests. Not me. FU.

Renter Beware: before you pull down your pants and bend over, make sure they've been tested for STDs and have a clean criminal background history. Otherwise, walk away. Bastards.

Portrait of an Asshole

This car, moments before this shot, almost ran a bicycle rider off the road.  The bike rider was obeying the traffic laws, and took the lane because there was no bike lane at the moment.  The car drove up on him, laid on the horn - continuously - until the guy, shaken, pulled over and stepped off his bike.  I got the plate number and called the CHP to report.  When I pulled up next to the car at the intersection, there were two ladies (I hesitate to call them that) laughing and applying lipstick.   Grrrrr.

I ask you, what is WRONG with some people?  The cop in me, the "Protect and Serve" alter-ego, wished I could've pulled her over and been given an excuse to pull a tazer on her. Seriously.  Now, you might ask, what is wrong with me?