Veteran's Day Parade Committee Report, 11/10/13

Each year, your local Veterans Day Parade Planning Committee receives hundreds of suggestions on how we can improve our local Veterans Day celebration. We want you to know that we appreciate your suggestions and that we read each and every one of them. (Yes, even yours, “John Galt 2000,” but, again, we need an actual name and address. Have your mother call me.)

Obviously, we cannot implement every great idea we receive. Every year, for example, we receive excellent suggestions for Grand Marshall. Unfortunately, most of the suggested nominees are simply not within our budget. We cannot afford Dick Cheney or Robert McNamara (is he even alive?), or Henry Kissinger, just to name a few of the more popular suggestions.

As for the person who suggested the town's last surviving World War II Veteran – what a lovely idea! Sadly, however, we no longer have one. Old Harold died last month. There was a small service at the nursing home.

For the record, and for future reference, we will NEVER accept any of the following:

• Candy bullets.
• Morphine taco trucks.
• The “PTSD Players” reenactment of the My Lai Massacre remains interesting, but we have no intention of including it in the parade, ever. (You need not send us any more videos. Thank you.)
• Synchronized drone flyover. (Again, this is mainly a budget issue.)
• Abu Ghraib Costume Ball. (We think we know what's going on here – we saw those costumes at the Halloween party!)
• Crucifixion dog-chews. (Seriously, we didn't bite on Easter. Why would we want them now?)

In conclusion, we, the committee, thank you for your continued interest. Please come to the Parade tomorrow and show your support for the Veterans Day Parade Committee. And of course the veterans who made it possible.

"Health Care Free"

I am Barry.

I am Barry.

Barry, I be.

That Barry-I-be,

That Barry-I-be,

I do not like that Barry-I-be.

But do you want your health care free?

I do not want it, Barry-I-be.

I do not want my health care free.

How about a free flu shot?

I do not want a free flu shot.

Your free flu shot is a communist plot!

I do not want my health care free.

You stay away, you Barry-I-be.

Perhaps you're due for a prostate check?

Say, is that a pustule on your neck?

Do not slander me, Barry-I-be!

I assure you, my neck is quite pustule-free.

And no, I'm not due for a prostate probe,

So keep your gloves and your paper robe

In you cupboard, along with the rest of your plan,

And I'll keep talking, for as long as I can.

It couldn't hurt to have a doctor check it,

Your odds are much better, the sooner it's detected.

This phantom pustule that only you see

Is my personal pustule -- it belongs to me!

And even if it's only imaginary,

Your scrutiny threatens my liberty!

Well, that's up to you and not up to me,

But have your wife take a look – I'm sure she'll agree.

Leave my wife out of it, you bogus Hawaiian,

Our marriage ain't perfect, but God knows we're tryin'.

Counseling's covered under my plan

Even if it turns out that your wife is a man.

My wife is a woman, you foreign-born cur!

Take back your slander, take back your slur!

Marriage, a sacred tradition most holy,

Can be between one man and one woman only.

Our marriage needs none of your cheap therapy.

In our traditional roles, we are awfully happy.

And I have no pustule on my neck.

And I do not need a prostate check.

And I do not want a free flu shot.

I am no part of your communist plot.

I do not want my health care free.

I do not want it, Barry-I-be.

Can I interest you in some birth control?

It's covered (at your employer's discretion).

Free samples are available.

Just ask your pharmacist if you have any questions.

We do not need your birth control pills

Which lead to most of society's ills.

And if condoms and such were not God-forbidden,

They'd have grown on trees in the Garden of Eden.

We do not need your therapy.

My wife and I are fine, you see.

Lancing pustules is not a Government function

Let them try it – I'll get an injunction.

So keep your check-ups to yourself

Your prostate probes, leave on the shelf.

I do not need your free flu shot.

I do not want your health care plot.

How long have I been talking now?

My mouth is dry, I'm growing hoarse.

But I made a promise, I made a vow.

I must keep talking, must stay the course.

It's been twenty-one hours – your throat must be sore.

Can I get you lozenge, so you can talk more?

Don't try to trick me, you Barry-I-be.

I'm smart; I'm from Harvard – not some lesser Ivy.

Don't worry – there are no tricks up my sleeve.

If you can't trust a Harvard man, who can you believe?

I'll accept your lozenge in the spirit of comity

How much to I owe you, Barry-I-be?

Not a thing, Mr. Cruz. It's totally free.

Totally free?

But how can that be?

Your rank and position make you specially privileged

Like most of us here in this rancorous village,

To benefits most folks can't even conceive.

So suck on your lozenge and gracefully leave.

I will suck your lozenge, you Barry-I-be,

And thank you so kindly for giving it to me.

When I'm finished, a staffer will make an appointment --

My pustule is aching; I must need some ointment.

And yes, I will even get a free flu shot.

Preventative medicine is no commie plot.

My prostate needs probing, I'm loath to admit it

(But the fact is, I rather like it a bit.)

I do want your health care, you Barry-I-be,

How could I not want something totally free?

It costs not a nickel, or even a song,

For rich folks like us, it's been free all along!

"Help Wanted"

Innovative financial firm with strong corporate values and a pleasant working environment seeks dynamic, highly motivated self-starter with proven leadership skills and an excellent track-record of motivating others. The ideal
candidate will be driven to achieving results, have top-notch organizational and communications skills, and be willing to relocate. Do not apply if you are not goal-oriented or are unable to lift, push or pull up to 60 pounds. Positive attitude required. Excellent multi-tasking skills a must. Must enjoy working under the pressure of constant and arbitrary deadlines. Must be an exceptional problem-solver with an eye for detail, eager to roll up your sleeves and produce results. Must be forward-thinking, with excellent time-management skills. You must love our customers. You must enjoy talking on the phone.

Are you an enthusiastic, reliable, hard-working, compassionate, committed, energetic, understanding and supportive team-player willing to work evenings and weekends? If so, apply now by clicking here. By clicking the preceding link, you give your full and voluntary consent to invasive background checks, including, but not limited to, a criminal background check, a check of your credit reports and pre-employment drug testing. All applicants are subject to a polygraph test. We are an equal opportunity employer, and offer excellent benefits, including 401k and health and dental insurance, after a one-year probationary period.

Dumb Creationist Jokes

Q. What did the ugly fossil say after being insulted by the handsome fossil?
A. Sir, I am just as the Lord made me.

A child asks his creationist father how far away is the farthest star from Earth. The father answers, "I don't know, son, but if it's more than 6,000 light years, its a sinner."

A Creationist, a Buddhist, and a horse walk into a bar. The bartender says, "What's with the long face?" The horse shrugs, the Buddhist smiles, and the Creationist says, "Can you prove it's not true?"

Yeah, well, that's all I can come up with for now. I thought this would be easier.

Optimism

OK, so my phone said it was "cloudy," and about 50 degrees. I talked myself out of not going for a run, and about 15 minutes into it, the clouds burst into a torrential downpour, which continued for the entire duration of my run (5 miles). I guess I can't really blame the phone. The phone did not make it rain, I presume, and I did not ask it what the weather was going to be like 15 minutes from now. Still, I think it bears some responsibility. I'll own up to not specifically asking what the weather's going to be like in the future, but I know that the phone is capable anticipating things like this. After all, there seems to be no limit to its ability to push advertising products at me. Why not weather information?

I was soaked to the bone when I got home (figuratively only; the rain does not actually penetrate to the bone, at least not while one is alive, and I thought, "well, wet bones are probably better than dry bones.") I'm such an optimist. A wet-boned optimist.

Being Human

It's been six days and still, whenever I read about the Boston Marathon or see one of those jarring photographs, it feels like I've just been socked in the chest. And I can't get the images out of my head, so every so often I find myself clutching at something for support before I realize that I've just been socked in the chest again.

I almost ran the Boston Marathon, qualifying four years ago, and again three years ago, each time injuring my knee in the final stages of training. But that is not why I feel such intense empathy with the runners whose legs were blown off in the explosions. It is not because I am a runner that these images make me cringe in horror. No, it's just because I'm human.

The Boston Marathon jacket I have never worn and never will.

You know who else is human? The bombers. Well, one of them, anyway. The other is a former-human, and mostly I don't care about that, until it occurs to me that I am just as much like them as I am like the victims. We are all humans. We can call the bombers "monsters" or "mentally deranged" or even "evil," but that doesn't change the fact that in virtually every respect, they are almost exactly like me. No, I've never killed anyone before, and am confident that I will continue to resist the impulse to do so for the rest of my life. And I'm just as confident that almost every one of us is able to exercise the same restraint. Most of us just don't go around killing people. But some of us do.

And a great many of us commit other (obviously far less extreme and violent and horrible) acts on a pretty much day to day basis, that, while not causing people to die, do cause other humans a great deal of suffering and misery. Take me, for instance.

I spent the last 15 years as a collections attorney, and I was good at it. During that 15 years, I filed thousands of lawsuits, which, frankly, I did not look at very closely. There was no time for that, because of the thousands of motions for default judgment, and the thousands of wage garnishments and bank garnishments and executions that I was also filing.

And every one of those documents was a part of a process that caused other people suffering and misery.  I've helped to ruin a lot of lives, in other words. The process, in its simplest sense, involved taking money away from poor people and giving it to rich people ("people" who's names generally ended in 'Inc.'). And there are thousands of other collections attorneys doing pretty much the same thing every day. And these attorneys have large support staffs, and the agencies and firms for whom they work employ thousands of people, and the clients for whom they are collecting employ thousands more, all working toward the same end -- to take money away from poor people and give it to rich people.

Rows and rows of cubicles, filling collections agencies all over the country, are staffed with "customer service representatives" (yes that is what they call them, but from now on I will call the "collectors," which is far more accurate), wearing headsets attached to phones that automatically dial the phones of  poor people all day long, and ask them for money, often not very politely, and often knowing quite well that these people have no money to pay. But it's their job. And it is a full-time job. They do it for eight hours a day, five days a week. And the more money they can collect for their clients, the more money they make, in the form of "commission" or "bonuses." They are highly motivated, and do not like taking no for an answer.

Computer professionals work diligently to improve software that will allow court documents to be filed more quickly and more efficiently, so that even more lawsuits and judgments and garnishments can be filed against even more people, with increasingly less human oversight, which, let's face it, is expensive.

It is all done legally, of course (well, mostly). The process is made easier by judges who spend no more time reviewing the documents than the lawyers did. Increasingly, the documents are not even signed, but filed electronically. It's possible for them to be filed with no human actually looking at them at all!

It can all be justified, of course. We humans can justify anything. "They do owe the money, after all." "They can always hire their own attorney and dispute the lawsuit." (While I cannot count the number of lawsuits I filed, I can count the number of trials I had: one.) "If only they'd exercised more personal responsibility, they wouldn't be in this situation." All true, in a way.

I have seen close-up the misery I helped cause. I have seen the faces of the people whose lives I helped to ruin. Some of them are angry, some are just very sad. Most are confused and have no idea what is happening to them. Many have simply given up and drift about like ghosts ("dead souls" Chekhov might call them).

How many lives I  have I helped to ruin? I have no idea. Too many to count. I am aware of one who committed suicide, but that can be justified too. My client wasn't her only creditor, after all. And besides, she must have really depressed, even before I sued her and garnished her bank account and the attorney for the mortgage company foreclosed on her house.

I am only picking on the collection industry because it's what I know, and I said at the beginning that I was going to start with me. There are other industries that are just as good or even better at ruining peoples lives: drug companies, insurance companies, mortgage companies, the auto industry, the gun industry,  for starters. Maybe the company you work for ruined a few lives today. I don't know.

We don't do it on purpose, necessarily, but we do it.Over and over and over again. Does this make us as bad as the bombers? Of course not, obviously. It's all just part of being human.

I Love the Talking Heads!

(Note: This was adapted from a comment I posted in a thread, which ranked the Talking Heads albums from "worst to first.")

First of all, when it comes to Talking Heads albums, they are ALL good. Very good. You cannot buy a "bad" Talking Heads album. So, why even talk about their "worst" albums? There aren't any. With that in mind, here are my favorite Talking Heads albums, in order from very best to least best:

1. Remain in Light. Terribly risky record, with the introduction of new musicians, new sounds, etc., but goddamn it, everything works here. There's not a soft spot on it. This is the Talking Heads at the absolute peak of their powers. (I dunno what Tina and Chris and Jerry may have felt about the addition of new musicians, and the apparent domination of their "sound" by Brian Eno and David Byrne, but I have to imagine that they were excited about being part of this new sound, this new feeling, that was simultaneously ancient and also brand fucking new.) This is a beautiful record, and, in my opinion one of the very best records ever made by anyone.

2. Fear of Music. See above. This record does not quite achieve the heights of Remain in Light, but it comes goddamn near close. And there's nothing anywhere that touches "Heaven," or "Life During Wartime." They were on such a creative roll at this time, that they could do no wrong. I swear to God, even when David Byrne is singing about animals living on "nuts and berries," you are riveted. This is great stuff. (And one of the best album covers ever, by the way.)

3. More Songs About Buildings and Food. (Are you sensing a trend here? Well, your sense will be confirmed with my number 4 pick.) These are brilliant, quirky songs, that I can only imagine were an absolute blast to play live, every damn one of them. Their cover of Al Green's "Take Me to the River" is spectacular, and at the same time, must bow to the closer, "The Big Country," as the best song on this record. There are no weak spots here. This record is solid from beginning to end. (I bought this at K-Mart, by the way; not sure why I remember this.)

4. '77. This is the blueprint. Everything is here, if sometimes in a slightly (only very slightly) messy form. The crazy rhythms, the quirky singing, the bizarre lyrics, the FUN. OMG, this record is so much fun! "Psycho Killer"! "Don't Worry About the Government!" I love it, love it, love it! And frequently reach for it first when I'm jonesin' for some Talking Heads.

I continue, even now, decades later, to listen to these first four records on a semi-regular basis, and I never regret putting one on. I truly love every minute of every one of them. These are their four "gold star" or "5 star" or whatever you want to call it, records. They are all beautiful, and if they were my children, I would have to tell each of them, almost daily, and always privately, that I love each of you just as much as I love your sisters, but I also love your sisters just as much as I love you. And after a while, they would just have to understand.

5. OK, so now the 80s come along, and things start to get a little shaky. They stop putting out a new album of new material every year. Instead, we get a live album (The Name of This Band is Talking Heads, which is fantastic, by the way. One of the best live albums I have ever heard. I love the way it is sequenced. It is, in a way, a re-telling of their story up until now, beginning with live performances of the early songs performed by the original four members, who absolutely nail these songs that they've been playing now for years. These guys are good. No doubt about it. Gradually, new elements are added, new musicians, new sounds, until by the end, we get a raucous Remain in Light orchestral conclusion. Brilliant and beautiful. No new material here, but so wonderfully performed, that it is almost a substitute for the first four records.

6. Speaking in Tongues. This is the first misstep, but only a slight one. "Burning Down the House," which opens the record, is magnificent. "This Must Be the Place," which closes it, is beautiful and sad and melancholy and makes you want to start the whole record over again. But, when you do, you run into things like "Making Flippy Floppy" and "Moonrocks" and other songs that just don't really work, and you start to worry. This is the first Talking Heads record I purchased on CD, and I admit, I made use of the skip feature.

7. Little Creatures, like "Speaking in Tongues," is inconsistent (still a new thing for the Talking Heads). It is softer than "SIT" and maybe easier on the ears. (It could as easily be 6 rather than 7; these two albums, to me, are basically tied.) And, once again, as with SIT, the best songs are the opener ("And She Was," a crazy, fun song about a flying woman that somehow manages to make you sympathize with crazy flying women), and the closer, "Road to Nowhere," which is like no Talking Heads song I'd ever heard before, but is still unmistakably a "Talking Heads" song.

8. Naked. OK, now we're getting to the end of the road. But don't knock this record. It is probably the least best Talking Heads record ever (#9, below, hardly counts as a proper "Talking Heads" record), but it's not that bad. The song "Flowers," for example, is beautiful, a paean to the good old days before the earth took over again, reducing our Pizza Huts to fields of daisies and cornfields. Clever and pretty and just plain sweet. Unfortunately, there just wasn't much else here, and this was obviously the end of the line for them. But not a bad farewell. And if you haven't listened to it in a while, listen to it again. There is plenty of good stuff here. Really. I know it's hard though, because when you want to hear the Talking Heads, this is not really what you want to hear.

9. True Stories. From what I understand, this barely counts as a Talking Heads record at all. More of a David Byrne vanity project. But that's okay. "Love For Sale" and "Wild Wild Life" are great. But there's also quite a bit of filler. And the movie was lame. (Sorry! But, yeah, you know I'm right.) Still, If I had made nine albums in my career, and this was the "worst" of them, or the "least best" of them (according to some dope in Lincoln, Nebraska), I'd feel still be pretty damned proud.

So, yeah. No fucking shit. The Talking Heads were great. Their first four albums were as good as any first four albums that anyone has ever made. I would stack them against Roxy Music and Elvis Costello and the Ramones and Bruce Springsteen and the Clash and . . . one or two others that escape my mind. Maybe they (or at least their "leader") got a little too ambitious, and then maybe they tried to scale back again to recapture their original innocence, and maybe that didn't quite work out, but what the hell. These guys were goddamned good. No, I take that back. They were really fucking great.

Just a Couple of Idiots

From today's Lincoln Journal-Star:

Number 1.  Oscar Wilde Shad Chandler, convicted of having sex with a 14-year old girl, told the court at his sentencing hearing that "I have regrets over this whole thing." 

This was Shad's second sentencing hearing, the first having been continued after Shad ate a kleenex in court. As a precaution, the kleenex box was moved out of Shad's reach for the duration of the hearing

After hearing his client speak out loud, one can only imagine Shad's attorney (perhaps resting a gentle hand on Shad's shoulder, but  then again, maybe not, but definitely leaning in close), and whispering, "Hey, Shad, you really don't have to say anything. You can remain mute." But poor, dumb, sad Shad doesn't know what "mute" means, and anyways, he really just gots to get this thing off his chest. It's important, dammit. 

He shrugs his attorney's hand away defiantly and continues, clearing his throat and saying: "I just feel real bad about everything." The courtroom, despite the solemnity of the proceedings, erupts into howls of laughter, and Shad is led away in chains.

"I just feel real bad about everything."

BTW, "Shad"? Really? Did his parents want this to happen?

Number 2.  Carlene Schrag wrote the following in a letter to the editor:

"Stabbings on a college campus. Bombs in Boston. They are reminders that PEOPLE kill people."

So now we live in a world where death by anything other than gunshot is a cause to celebrate our lack of gun control laws. And she didn't even use the word "gun." She didn't have to. The terrorists gun lobbyists have won a complete and total victory.

 (BTW, Carlene, I would suggest either substituting "knives" for "stabbings" in the first incomplete sentence, or "bombings" for "bombs" in the second. I know, I know -- too late now. Just keep it mind the next time Wayne LaPierre that voice in your head tells you to write a letter to the editor.)

Nebraska's Debtor's Prisons

Medieval British Debtor's Prison:

Modern American Debtor's Prison:

I imagine the conditions at the Lancaster County, Nebraska Detention Center are better than they were at St. Briavel's Castle in England (pictured above). The food is surely better (after all, St. Briavel's Castle is in England). There are surely fewer rats. And you don't generally have to stay very long in an American debtor's prison. Just until you can post bond or until the collections attorney who had you arrested gets around to conducting a debtor's exam. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, a short primer on how this works.

Here's how to get sent to jail for owing money in Nebraska:

• Apply for, and receive, a credit card.
• Use the credit card, run it up to the limit, say $500.
• Lose your job. 
• The Credit Card company will start sending you letters, with an increasingly urgent tone and font-size, but will not take any legal action for at least 6 months, because that's about how long it takes for the "default interest rate" on the credit card (often more than 30% annually, compounded -- it's all in that tissue-thin piece of paper with the very tiny print that came with your card called "Cardmember Agreement" or the like, which of course you never read), to push the total dollar amount up to one that is worth suing over. 
• Once that $500 hits $1500 or $2000 (or whatever this particular credit card company's "guidelines" specify), they will sue you. You may be served by a sheriff's deputy or a "constable" (who will probably just leave a note on your door and ask you to come down to the station house to pick up some papers, which you may or may not ever get around to doing. Or, you may be served by certified mail, or, (and this is a fairly recent development), UPS or FedEx. 
• You blow it off. And don't tell me you won't, because I know you will. Okay, maybe not you, specifically. Maybe you're one of the one percent who files a written response to a credit card lawsuit, requiring them to get a summary judgment against you, rather than a judgment by default. But it really doesn't matter. They will beat you in the end.
• After 30 days, the credit card company's lawyer will sign a large stack of affidavits, requesting judgments in dollar amounts the credit card company says it is owed. One of them will have your name on it. The attorney won't notice your name, because she does not actually read these affidavits, except to check for obvious computer-generated errors. One of her assistants will notarize them later and a "runner" will take them to the courthouse and have them filed.
• A few days later, you'll get a postcard from the court. There won't be a picture on it, just a dollar-amount that will probably shock you.
• Now the credit card company can garnish your wages, if you have any. Or your bank account, if you have one. They can take ("non-exempt") property from you and sell it. 
• How do they know where you work, or where you bank? How do they find out what property you might have that they can take?
• They schedule a debtor's examination. 
• You are summoned by sheriff to appear in court on a certain date and at a certain time and to bring with you certain papers and be prepared to answer questions under oath. And if you fail to appear, a warrant will be issued for your arrest.
• They can't be serious, right? You toss this paperwork with the rest and forget about. (Don't do this, by the way. It's a very bad idea.)
• And a couple weeks later, you're driving home from a friend's house and you get pulled over for having a broken taillight. You'd been planning to get that fixed, just as soon as you got your next unemployment check, but that's not until Tuesday. You curse yourself silently, but figure, what the hell, you'll probably just get a warning, a "fix-it" ticket. And you'll definitely get that taillight fixed right away.
• Instead, you are immediately arrested and taken straight to jail, because there is a warrant out for your arrest, and yes, they were serious.
• So now you're in jail because you spent $500 on a credit card and couldn't pay it (and for being an idiot for not going to court when you were summoned to appear). Now you owe them over $2,000 and still can't pay it. And you're in jail. And you can't fucking believe this is happening. But it is. It is happening every single day to people just like you in Lincoln and Omaha (and elsewhere in the state, on a smaller scale).
• You can't bond out, because you have no money, so you sit in jail until the next scheduled debtor's exam. (In Lincoln, they are every Friday morning at 8:30 in courtroom 21; in Omaha, they are every morning, except Thursdays, at 9:00 in courtroom 20.) 
• So, depending on whether you were arrested in Lincoln or Omaha and on which day you were picked up, you will spend between one and six  nights in jail.
• When the day of the examination hearing arrives, you are led, with the other debtors, in orange jumpsuits, your shackles linked together by a chain, into the courtroom, where an attractive young attorney goes from one of you to the next asking where you work and where you bank and whether you own or rent your home, and the whole thing takes no more than five minutes, and then you are "processed" and released.

You sign the paperwork acknowledging that your personal belongings weren't stolen from you while you sat in jail, which you're not really sure of because you don't remember what was in your pockets that night, but it's not like you'd make a stink about that even if something were missing. You get dressed and step outside and squint in the noonday sun, and think to yourself, "Well, at least I've got my freedom."

Except, not really. Because you still owe that credit company more than $2,000, and that pretty attorney lady? She can do this all over again tomorrow, and she will if the credit card company tells her to. Next time, though, you'll probably show up in court the first time. 

And that's how a credit card company can put a person in jail in Nebraska in 2013.

"Willful Cultural Ignorance"

This is the title of an article in today's AV Club (http://www.avclub.com/articles) Basically, their writers weigh in on various cultural phenomena that they have intentionally ignored for one reason or other (e.g., Harry Potter, Twilight, Charlie Sheen, etc.). Anyway, it's a fun article. You should read it.

But there are a few things that they failed to ignore, and I feel compelled to add to the list.

1. E.T. You know, that movie where that kid who looks sort of like "Mikey" from those 1970s Life Cereal commercials, who befriends a magical space alien with a flying bicycle, who at some point "phones home"? (Haha.) Yeah, I hate it. Don't get me wrong -- I've never seen it, and I never will, unless someday I find myself strapped to a chair with my eyes pried open, Clockwork Orange-style, and am forced to watch it as some kind of nightmarish "therapy" session. (I won't rule that out entirely, but it seems unlikely.) The first word that pops into my head when I think about this movie is "sentimental." Which, to me, is practically a synonym for "terrible."

2. Justin Bieber. I can tell you, honestly, that I have never heard a single song by this child. Ever. Now, I am definitely not one of those people who go around spouting off about how "life is precious," etc. Because it isn't. Life is common and messy and gross, and ultimately not really worth a damn. But still, there is only so much time. We just plain don't live very long. Fifty, sixty, seventy years ("three score and ten", blah blah blah). For virtually the entire history of the universe, we don't even exist. We are dead, most of the time. So, why, oh my God why, would anyone spend three minutes of this tiny allotment of time listening to this silly little boy sing one of his songs? There is no reason. You could spend that three minutes staring off into space. Or shitting. Or strangling a chicken. Whatever.

3. "Family Guy." I have never watched an entire episode of this show, which, I am told, is intended to be funny. It is not funny. I know this because I have seen previews for it. (Seriously, most of the time, you really can judge a book by its cover.) It is low-grade, moronic, "frat boy" humor ("OMG! His chin looks like testicles! Ha! Ha! Ha!"), and the animation is lousy. Just thinking about this awful show and its awful creator makes me sad. There are people who like this. There shouldn't be.

4. Twitter. Okay, I admit to having a twitter account, and I have used it. And about once every six months, I log in again, and try, again, to figure out what the fucking point of it is. Which is a huge hassle, because I've forgotten my password, again, or my username, or both, and they have to email it to me, and by the time I finally get logged in, I'm already irritated and bored. But I poke around anyway, and read some "tweets" and wonder, yet again, what the hell? Why does this exist.

5. Larry the Cable Guy. Do I really need to add anything here?

I could go on. And on, and on. I really have ignored many, many things. And will ignore many more things. I could write a highly uninformative book about all the things I ignore, but I probably won't quite get around to it. At least not anytime soon.

"I have no stenographer!"

Owing to the lack of a stenographer, there will be no blog today or tomorrow probably goddamnit.

Restaurant Review: "The Road House Bar & Grill"

Disclaimer: I have never eaten at “The Road House Bar & Grill.”

We did not eat out last night. My wife made a delicious zucchini and pesto pizza, which was surely better than almost anything we could have ordered at a local restaurant. So, I am glad we did not go out for dinner. Even if we had, I’m sure we would not have chosen “The Road House Bar & Grill,” located at 1501 Centerpark Rd. First of all, I've never heard of Centerpark Rd., but it sure sounds far away. And second, “The Road House Bar & Grill”? Are you kidding me?

So, we did not arrive at the “Road House Bar & Grill” at around seven o’clock and we were not greeted by a hostess named Naomi, wearing a cowboy hat and boots and a skirt so short that my wife was scowling at me even before I noticed it. But, for the purposes of the rest of this review, let’s just say we did.

So, let’s just say that Naomi led us to our table and gave us our menus and told us that . . . Pamela would be our waitress tonight and she would be here shortly to take our drink orders. Sure enough, Pamela arrived promptly, also dressed in cowgirl-themed uniform, wearing a very tight western shirt that she apparently was unable to button all the way up, poor girl. We ordered our usual: “Two Bombay Sapphire martinis, very dry, gently shaken, one with an olive and one naked.”

“‘Naked’?” my wife said. “That’s a new touch.”

“Just trying it out,” I said. “What do you think?”

“I think I like it.”

Which would have been a nice moment to propose a toast and have a drink, but our drinks had not yet arrived. In the distance, over the country music on the jukebox, and the clacking of pool balls, I heard aggressive the shaking of a cocktail shaker, and cringed.

“What is it, Honey?”

“He’s shaking the shit out of those martinis, goddamn it. I did say ‘gently shaken,’ didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But don’t worry. everything will be fine.”

But sure enough, when Pamela returned, the drinks were cloudy. I didn’t say anything, though. No use getting started off on the wrong foot. I forced a smile as she set the drinks down. And then I tasted my drink. “Oh Good Lord!”

“Oh no,” said my wife, “They didn’t . . .”

“Oh, they did all right. Olive brine! Goddamn them!”

I took the drinks to the bar. The bartender, wearing a black hat and leather vest and a star-shaped name tag with “Josh” written in magic marker on it, said, “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” I said. “It appears there has been a misunderstanding regarding our drinks.”

“What do you mean?”

“These . . . drinks. They have olive brine in them.”

Josh nodded and smiled. “Yep. Dirty Martinis. Just like you ordered.”

“I assure you, I did not order anything of the sort. In fact, you might notice that I ordered one of the martinis without olives at all . . .”

Josh found the order slip, looked at it, and then pounded the bar with fists that were much bigger than I'd originally noticed. “Goddamn that Pamela!”

“I’m sure it was just an honest mistake.”

“You have no idea,” he said, and unceremoniously dumped the drinks out. “I assure you, Sir, we will make this right for you.”

When Pamela brought our replacement drinks, her eyes were red and she was wiping tears from her face. “I hope these are okay,” she sniffled. They were not. Although unpolluted with olive brine, they were over-shaken, cloudy, icy, eventually watery.

By now, of course, no one was in the mood for dinner, but it came nonetheless. My steak was overcooked and chewy. My wife’s salmon looked fine from where I was sitting, but she did not comment on it. As we finished chewing and swallowing, a fight broke out over a pool game (or at least, near a pool table). Punches were thrown, pool cues and beer bottles were broken and used as weapons, the police were called. We passed on dessert, left too large a tip, and made it outside just as the police cruisers arrived.

Overall, I would give “The Road House Bar & Grill” a C-. Had I ever actually eaten there, I’m pretty sure I would not eat there again.

Letters From Debtors

During my 15 years as a collections attorney, I received quite a few letters from people I sued. Surprisingly, they were not all angry and vicious, and I never got a single (specific enough to prosecute) death threat. Unfortunately, I did not save them all, but I did save enough to provide a picture, I think, of three basic types: the nice letters that thanked me for not being an asshole; the angry letters that, on the contrary, insisted that I was an asshole; and the crazy letters from crazy people.

[I am going to quote from some of these letters, but will, of course, not reveal the names of the people who wrote them.]

The "Nice" Letter

I met "Becky" (not her real name) at a garnishment hearing. I had gotten a default judgment against her and, following the usual "flow" of things, immediately garnished her bank account. She was living with her mother at the time, having just been released from the hospital where she'd been for the last month after attempting suicide. She was, as you might imagine, upset. The money in the bank account was all her mother's money. Becky didn't have a job and although she had applied for disability, she had not yet been approved for it. And, the money in the bank account -- her mother's money -- was all exempt from garnishment because her mother was on social security. We had the hearing, in the courtroom, before the judge, where she told the judge her story in between sniffs and sobs. I agreed to release the garnishment. (I was not doing any favors at this point -- the funds in the account were exempt and I had no right to keep them.)

After the hearing, we went out into the hall and talked. Becky had to sit down. She really didn't understand what had just happened. She cried, and God help me, I put my arm round her as she sobbed great big tears into my suit jacket. This is when she told me about the hospitalization and the suicide attempt, and about how she was living with her mom, and the collectors were calling every day, over and over again, and she felt horrible about it, because her mom was the one who answered the phone (she couldn't - it was too stressful for her).

And this was when I told her what I was going to do. "First, I'm going to remove your bank information from the file and replace it with a notice that the funds in the bank account are 'exempt.' Okay?"

She sniffled and said, "Okay."

"Nobody will be able to change that without my approval, and I will not give anybody that approval. Do you understand?"

"Yes." (Sniffle.)

"Next, I'm going to remove your phone number from our database, so that from now on, it will be impossible for our 'auto-dialer' to call your phone number. Okay?"

"Okay."

"And finally, I'm going to ask you to do something for me, okay?"

"Okay."

"I want you to go home and take a nap. And just take it easy for a few days. Don't think about me, or this lawsuit or anything related to it, okay?"

"Okay."

"You promise?"

She actually smiled and said, "I promise."

"Good. Now, when you are ready to start looking for a job, start looking for a job, and when you find one, I want you to call me. And when that happens, we will set up a payment plan so that I won't have to file a garnishment of your wages. Do you understand?" I gave her my business card. "Call me when you get a job. We'll set up a payment plan that you can afford. Until then, don't even think about me, okay?"

We both left the courthouse. I went back to my office and, I suppose, she went back to her mother's house and took a nap. Maybe a month or two later, I got a letter from her:

"Dear Mr. Wroblewski,

  You have been so kind in all you did to help me get this issue resolved. You may never know it but your kindness kept me alive that day."

It goes on, but you get the idea.

So, what happened to "Becky"? Well, she eventually did get a job, and when she did, she called me, and set up a payment arrangement, and she made all of her payments, finally paying off her judgment last December. She included her final check in a Christmas Card, which read:

"Thank you William for going above & beyond to help me! I sincerely hope you are valued & appreciated in all areas of your life! I hope 2013 is a blessed year filled with lots of friends!"

 The Crabby Old Man

My favorite crabby old man is "John Henry" (not his real name, and not a signor of the Declaration of Independence). He both wrote and called. We had a long and difficult relationship. The first time he called me, he complained about the "auto-dialer" and how whenever he answers it, it hangs up on him. "I have a heart condition," he said, "And this is driving me nuts!" Then, over the next year or so, he mailed small payments in ($25, $30, etc.), irregularly. He was probably not even keeping up with the interest on the debt.

At some point, we sent him an automated "settlement offer" letter, and he called to say that he was "very upset" about that, that he is on "SSI now and can't afford to pay another dime and to leave him the hell alone." [Note: this call was not made to me, but to a collector. I would surely have removed his phone number from the dialer upon receiving such a call.]

Despite his comments to the contrary, he keeps sending checks, for $25, not every month, but most months. Every once in a while, he forgets to sign the checks, so I have to send them back. After another year or two of this, he called and left a voice mail message (which I do not have unfortunately, but which I will paraphrase):

"I've been ending payments for the last six goddamn years and writing checks for five years and the last time I wrote you a check, I requested a payoff amount and didn't get it. I do not plan on paying this goddamn bill for the next 50 years and if you are not smart enough to get me that information, you are a very poor lawyer."

A few days later, I received a letter from him stating that "there is something wrong with your figures and I am taking my paperwork to the judge."

Soon after that, he called the collections line, spoke to a collector, who reported, "Debtor was mumbling words. Unable to understand. Hung up."

His next call, also to the collections line, is reported by the collector as follows: "Debtor called, talked about us asking him out on a date. I (the collector) asked what I could help him with and he said nothing. Said, 'Dirty Lawyers,' and hung up."

The second-last letter I received from him read: "I am a[n] Oklahoma Hellfighter. I am not a rich man.You are a dirty bill collector and very low. I do not have a computer. I can only send by mail and postal service. I have been paying on this bill to the crooked lawyers that can't make a living no other way. I have canceled checks for over 5 years and [the remainder is indecipherable]."

The last communication I received from him was an envelope addressed to me and filled with white powder. I opened it, a poof of white powder billowed from the envelope, and I called the police. The office was evacuated. Police, firemen, emergency workers, lab techs, etc., were dispatched to the office to analyze the contents of the envelope, which turned out to be flour. We closed his file.

And the Just Plain Crazy . . .

In response to a generic lawsuit on a credit card case, I received a "Motion to Dismiss" from a defendant whom I will call "Boris the Spider," for no particular reason. [Not his real name.]. I'm just going to go ahead and quote this at length, so bear with me:

"I motion the court to dismiss this untenable hence futile case for the following reasons:

1.  I repudiate the inflated hence erroneous debt amount speciously presented by the stolid plaintiff.
2. The Plaintiff was implacable and thus refused to accept my payments smaller than their inflexible standard. They vindictively turned my account over to the inexorable rapacity of  a collection agency.
3.  I have fallen victim to the stagnated economy which has pervaded our entire nation and now defines this ominous epoch. Consequently, my financial status is now insolvent, and, unfortunately, I have been reduced to poverty. I have neither savings nor retirement or any such security to be examined, expropriated, let alone, to mitigate my penury. This is an irrefutably fact that can be substantiated by credible witnesses as well as government records.
4. The alleged debt under consideration is deemed as [unsecured]. Furthermore, it accrued by the promiscuous spate of financial mergers endemic to banking and especially within this last unscrupulous, impetuous, and infamous decade. Therefore, this was the "risk factor" waged by the avarice of the Plaintiff.
5. It is illogical  and unethical for the Plaintiff to capriciously offer a payoff discount of up to ninety percent, unsuccessfully, and, after wits, parlay the spurious amount to an arrant hence unreasonable sum. Such arbitrary latitude certainly calls into question their draconian conclusion as well as their misuse of the Court.
6. It is impossible for me to satisfy moreover mitigate this insurmountable debt impugned against me by the Plaintiff. The future portends an even greater exiguity. 

  It would behoove the Court and, all involved, to dismiss the untenable case. Therefore, I motion to dismiss."

I have to admit, I find this Motion to be almost beautiful. Of course, I have no idea what he is talking about. He occasionally grazes important topics, but does not really understand then, or at the very least is unable to write about them in any meaningful way. And yet, you can't deny, he's interesting as hell. Did I get more correspondence from Boris the Spider? Yes, I did. Bonus coverage:

"I am in receipt of your letter dated [date]. Please take note that I have responded immediately to your inquiry. Thank you for extending another debt settlement offer. However,  my financial situation has worsened since our last written discourse. The pervasive effect of the the emaciated economy has left many casualties in the business world. The economic situation is growing critical and the future trajectory dismal at best. I regretfully inform you that I cannot satisfy this debt."

"I am in receipt of your court summons dated [date], and subsequent letter entitled: MAKE US AN OFFER, dated [date]. Please take note that I have responded immediately to your written inquiries and have invariably demonstrated probity and civil decorum in my written discourses in  response.

"Thank you for extending another debt settlement offer. However, my financial situation is dire and has continued to degenerate since our last written discourse. At this time, I do not have enough money for food. My parents have been feeding me. That is humiliating when you are 47 years of age but growing common. However, the baneful economic crisis has metastasized now nationwide. Our nation is embroiled in the great depression of the year 2010.

"Unfortunately, I cannot satisfy this debt moreover afford the option of making tenuous hence fleeting payments. Furthermore, the lawsuit you are attempting to impose against me is patently futile. I have no desirable assets. In fact, I have no retirement, savings, investments, in a word: nothing. My house is 100 years old, less than 800 square feet, has one bedroom, and no plumbing. In addition, the location of my property is deemed undesirable. My vehicles are antiquated and cannot pas standard emissions requirements; thus, they are undesirable and un-sellable. Everything I own is substandard. I am impecunious and live in poverty. Therefore, your efforts as a collections attorney to oppress, enslave, and thus torment, a hapless person, who living in abject poverty, is unquestionably draconian and aberrant to say the least.

"It is offensive to logic for you to invest more time and money pursuing a lost cause nevertheless burdening a court of law than what is literally owed as the debt, knowing that your untenable objective is impossible. Furthermore, the likelihood of a judge looking favorably upon your ignoble quest is imprudent.

"Sagaciously, I wish to quell any skepticism you may bear regarding my inauspicious circumstances. Unlike many of your defendants (debtors), I have never smoked, drank, drugged, gambled, whore mongered, and etcetera in my entire life. I have always worked hard and demonstrated probity, dependability, conservation, and spiritual beneficence. I am highly esteemed in my home town as a paragon citizen. I carry an unsullied police record. I am intelligent, talented, handsome, and sound of mind. I am in a constant state of advancing my education and thus the improvement of my being.

"However, time and chance happens to all, and none escape death. We are irrefutably living in perilous times. Therefore, take head that you, as a seasoned attorney, will be facing the same precarious circumstances in the near future. Thus, be admonished by the ominous presage looming on the horizon portend that your future will also suffer the same daunting fate.

"Until then, bode well my friend. The storm on the horizon is advancing exponentially."

I don't know about you, but I'd have to say that that's a pretty goddamn creepy letter. Not threatening, but creepy. And weird. And, of course, totally bat-shit loony.

I'm going to finish this with one more "nice" letter, so I can sleep tonight:

"Dear Mr.Wroblewski,

   Thank you for your kindness. I will send a $[xx] payment by the 15th of each month.

                                      Sincerely,

                                                Nice Lady

P.S. I don't care what people say about attorneys; I will be a passionate defender of your profession from here on out should a situation require it. :)" 

Some Things are Different and Some Things are the Same

It occurred to me today, while I was sitting around thinking about stuff, which I have plenty of time for these days, that it has been twenty years since I graduated from law school. (Not quite, really -- I think the graduation was in May or maybe June, but close enough, right?) And it occurred to me also just how much the world has changed over the course of these past twenty years. But also, how much it has remained the same. A few examples to illustrate:

• President?

• 1993: Clinton

• 2013: Obama

• Phone?

• 1993: Hanging on my kitchen wall.

• 2013: In my pocket.

• Flying cars?

• 1993: Nope.

• 2013: No, but check out this awesome phone. Seriously.

• Space Colonies?

• 1993: Nope.

• 2013: See above.

• DFW?

• 1993: IJ*

• 2013: RIP

• Age of the Earth?

• 1993: Approximately 4,540,000,000 years old.

• 2013: Approximately 4,540,000,020 years old.

• Me?

• 1993: 30 years old and looking for a job.

• 2013: 50 years old and looking for a job.

• Porn?

• 1993: Dial-up.

• 2013: Broadband.

• World Trade Center?

• 1993: Yes.

• 2013: No.

• "Mind if I smoke?"

• 1993: "Not at all."

• 2013: "Are you out of your mind?"

• Streaming movies on Netflix?

• 1993: Huh?

• 2013: Of course!

• "Trial of the Century"?

• 1993: The People vs. O.J. Simpson.

• 2013: Apple vs. Samsung.

• Salmon Rushdie?

• 1993: Fatwa still in effect.

• 2013: With the publication of Joseph Anton: A Memoir, Rushdie somehow manages to make the Ayatollah a sympathetic character.

• Best college football team?

• 1993: Florida State

• 2013: Sorry, I can't remember . . . . just really didn't pay much attention.




Anyway, that's what I was thinking about. Probably ought to go wash dishes now or something.




_______________________________

* Yes, I realize Infinite Jest was published in 1996, but he was definitely working on it in '93. I mean, hell, it takes almost that long just to read the thing.

"Habemus Papum!"

Well, you do anyway. Some of you, at least. I count myself among the 5.8 billion who are not members the Catholic flock. But, still, the whole idea of the Pope kind of fascinates me: the ritual, the pomp, the circumstance, the smoke, the Pope-mobile, etc. Protestants don't get a pope. Muslims don't get a pope. Mormons don't get a pope. Just the Catholics. They're special that way.

Now the last guy, Benedict (who isn't even dead!), creeped me out a little, I have too admit, with his (albeit quite distant) Nazi affiliation, his seeming obsession with formality, his shifty eyes, and maybe most of all, the fact that he was (I mean "is" -- he's still alive!), a spitting image of the Emperor from Star Wars. (I learned of this via popular internet meme, not being hip enough about pop culture to have made the connection myself, and, also, not giving a rat's ass about Star Wars. Or Pope Benedict.)

But anyway, this new guy. He seems a different. I've seen pictures of him smiling, for instance. He has a kind-looking face. He's a Jesuit (one of "God's Marine's," I've heard they are called -- how cool is that?). He seems to have taken his vow poverty (is this an actual vow, by the way?), pretty seriously. Apparently, he lived in a modest apartment, took a bus to work, washed the feet of AIDS victims and drug addicts, prayed with prostitutes. I don't know about you, but all that stuff seems cool as hell to me. You know, like this guy actually does the "good" church stuff, rather than simply trying to accumulate all the gold in the world and molesting every single boy they haven't gotten to yet.

He gave himself the Pope-name "Francis," which I like, too. And not after Frank Sinatra either, but Saint Francis of Assisi, another one of the "good guys" in the Catholic Church. When he (the new Pope, I mean) delivered his acceptance speech (homily? sermon?), he spoke in Italian (the "common" language), rather than Latin (the "hoity toity" language). Pretty innovative. You know, like Dante, only 500 years later. I've read that his speech was not prepared, just something he came up with on the spot, and that it was only ten minutes long. Which is why there will never be a North American pope. A North American pope would ramble on for hours, reading off a teleprompter and boring everyone to death.

Is Pope Francis infallible? Of course not. There have been reports of some sort of "torture scandal" in Argentina 10 or 15 years ago, (like there isn't a continuous and on-going "torture scandal" in Argentina), but his alleged involvement seems vague and unsubstantiated (so far). It doesn't look like this story has much traction. He just seems like a kind old man, and although one can never be sure, he really doesn't look like a child molester. At least not to me.

So anyway, for whatever it's worth, thumbs up for the new Pope. Not sure how to say that in Latin.

"Whoa?"

I finally got someone on the phone at the Department of Labor today. It did not go as well as I'd hoped. I called, and by-passed the voice mail with my "magic number" (see yesterday's post), and waited on hold for a while, but not for as long as yesterday, when I gave up after about an hour. Today, after only about 20 minutes, a guy picked up the phone and got acquainted with my personal information (social security number, address, stuff like that). I never did get his name, so I'll just refer to him from here on out as Huge Asshole.

Huge Asshole: What can I help you with today?

Me: Well, I've been filing weekly claims now for the past four weeks, and I have yet to receive a single check.

Huge Asshole: Your claim is being investigated.

Me: What is there to investigate?

Huge Asshole: You have been assigned an adjudicator who is in the process of investigating the reason for your separation from your prior employer. He has been given five weeks to complete the investigation.

Me: Five weeks?! Listen, maybe we could cut that short a little. I have a memo from my prior employer that sets forth the reason for my separation. Can I just give that to you?

Huge Asshole: Whoa, whoa, whoa! I am not your adjudicator.

Me (thinking: "Whoa?"): Can I give it to the adjudicator?

Huge Asshole: No. That is not how it is done.

Me: Can I call the adjudicator? Do you have his number?

Huge Asshole: Whoa, whoa, whoa! I cannot give you that information.

Me: Why? If the adjudicator is investigating my claim, don't you think he'd want to talk to me?

Huge Asshole: That is not part of the investigation.

Me: OK. Well, what exactly is involved in this investigation?

Huge Asshole (sighing heavily): First, he sends a letter to your former employer. Then, he follows up with a phone call.

Me: And that takes five weeks?

Huge Asshole: Sir, you seem to under the mistaken assumption that you are the adjudicator's only case. He has very large caseload.

Me: I'm not assuming anything, and I know all about huge caseloads and deadlines. But five weeks? Doesn't that seem like a long time?

Huge Asshole: That is the situation, Sir. Is there anything else I can help you with today?

Me: No. No, I don't think so. Thanks so much.

I really love the way people in Huge Asshole's position always end their calls by asking if there is anything else they can help you with, when in fact they have not helped you with anything at all. I get the same from the mortgage company and the student loan people. It's apparently been added to all the scripts.

Happy Mensiversary* to Me!

It's been exactly a month since my "change in employment status." In that month, there has been no further change in my employment status. I check the job boards daily. I receive an email bulletin from one job-board aggregator, which, every day, has the subject line, "William, we have found X new attorney jobs in Lincoln, Nebraska!" But, so far, whenever I open the email, none of the jobs have been attorney jobs and most have not been in Lincoln. Today, for instance, there were six nursing jobs: one in Lincoln, two in Omaha, and three in other states.

The "new jobs today" lists on every board I checked is exactly the same as it was a month ago. This is not encouraging.

I've applied for quite a lot of jobs: some that I am qualified for (basically all the attorney jobs listed), some I'm probably not qualified for (what exactly do insurance adjusters do, anyway?), and some that I am, frankly, over-qualified for (no offense, data-entry clerks and UPS package-sorters). So far, but for a single automated email, I've gotten no response to any of my applications.

Thank goodness for unemployment insurance, right? Having worked pretty much uninterrupted for about 35 years (if you overlook that rough patch in the late 70s and early 80s), there should be a tidy amount of money for me to at least live on while I continue looking for work. If that's even how the system works. Who knows, really? Well, somebody does, just not me.

But I do need the money, so I have been applying dutifully each week for unemployment benefits, using the Nebraska Department of Labor's handy and convenient website. So far, after four weeks, and four applications, I have received nothing. My applications are "pending." Earlier this week (Monday), getting a little desperate, I tried calling the "Unemployment Hotline." I reached a recording of a man telling me that applications were no longer being accepted over the phone, and then, oddly, telling me to press "1" for English, which I did. Then the recorded voice asked for my social security number "for identification purposes." I punched it in, and the voice said, "I'm sorry, but that is not your social security number. Please call back when you have your correct social security number." And the line went dead.

I tried again. I dunno. Maybe I typed it in wrong. And then I thought, "Wait a minute, how does that recorded voice know what my social security number is? This makes no sense." I got the same result the second time.

So I went to the unemployment office, physically, in person. I stood in line for only a short time and was greeted at the counter by a very friendly elderly woman. I explained my troubles to her and she looked up my account on her computer. "Oh, I see what the problem is," she said. "You answered 'no' to a question you should have answered 'yes' to."

"What question was that?"

She told me, and I'd repeat it but I honestly don't remember what it was. However, I do remember that the actual, correct, answer to the question was 'no' and not 'yes.'

"Oh, I know," said the kind old woman. "But it just doesn't work unless you answer 'yes.'"

I was confused, but glad that she was able to fix my problem. I asked her when I could expect my checks. "Well, you still have to confirm it by phone," she said. I told her about my phone experience, about how the  voice told me they no longer took applications by phone, and that when I tried anyway the voice told me I didn't know my own social security number and then hung up on me.

She sighed wearily, as if she had heard this all before, then wrote down a number on a piece of paper and handed it to me. "Next time you call," she said, "Enter this number right when the recorded voice starts speaking and you will go directly to a person who can help you. But don't even bother trying today. It's always busy on Mondays. You'll never get through."

So I tried it on Tuesday. The secret number worked, or seemed to anyway. I was sent to another recorded voice which told me to call back on Thursday, because my last name starts with a letter between 'S' and 'Z.'

It's Thursday, and I've been on hold since a few minutes before I started typing this blog. I do a lot of re-writing and editing as I go along. We're getting close to an hour now.

At this point, my expectations are low. Here's what I expect: all of my job applications and resumes and cover letters are out there, swirling in the ether, and will eventually be routed into an enormous "cloud-trashcan." My unemployment benefits will continue to "pend" until I am completely out of money, have lost my house, and am living, and eventually dying, in the street.

Then one day, the kind old woman from the Unemployment Office will find my corpse rotting in the mud in the unpaved street that leads to the City Mission. She will say something like, "Oh dear," tuck a check into my shirt pocket, and apologize for the bookkeeping error.

____________________
*Apparently, there is no such word as "mensiversary," although it seems like there ought to be. And, while I'm really not a language snob (I'm not smart enough), I'm simply not going to stoop to the clunky and ridiculous phrase "one month anniversary."