Monday, May 31, 2004
SOLD!! The housing market is simply mad in New England. A two-hour open house on Sunday brought in seven offers on our house -- two of which were not only wildly over our asking price but also had no financial contingency attached i.e. 'tell me when you want to close and I will hand you a gob of cash no strings attached.' This buyer even struck an inspection contingency i.e. 'I don't care what problems your house might have. I am going to buy it as is.'
Who buys a house in such a reckless manner? Try an attractive, recently divorced, smart, thirty-something broker who is determined to marry again and raise a family (so the scoop from my broker who knows her). As an FYI, you are simply doomed to not getting the home of your dreams if you happen to be bidding on a house a broker decides she wants. She has all sorts of advantages the average desperate home buyer doesn't: 1) she can present her own offer personally and so the seller inevitably forms a bond with her 2) she has been on so many home inspections in her life that if she is smart and has done a little homework, she will feel perfectly comfortable striking the inspection contingency (this is huge when you're sitting on a 1920's house with a shaky fuse box). Alas the young family with the one-month-old baby won't be getting our house even so they bid higher. The deal breaker was the inspection contingency which is as far as I'm concerned well worth the couple of thousand extra we might have gotten from the cute little family. Sorry little family.
I am however afraid this very nice broker may have just bought what she perceives as my 'life' as opposed to my 'house'... . Her cover letter to her offer conveyed that she fell in love with our house and all that we had done to it. She wants to raise a family here. She loves our art work. She loves our red dining room. She just loves the whole thing. She reminds me of a customer I had years back when I worked in a clothing boutique. Every month this woman would come in the store and buy two or three outfits in sizes much smaller than what she actually wore. This in anticipation of what she was determined to become. I went off to Europe before I could find out if she ever achieved her goal.
I'm sure the attractive divorcee broker loved the crown moldings, the high ceilings and the period solid-glass door knobs. But I think she loved more the black and white photo of the son and daughter when they were just four and two that hangs in the hallway; a spur-of-the-moment impromptu shot, it looks like a photo original to the Depression Era. The curly-blonde daughter is scowling pouty-lipped with her hand thrust into the front of her pocket. The son smiles ingenuously. Both of their too-big jeans are rolled up at the ankles. You just couldn't pay a professional to recreate such a candid photo. The broker also loved how on the inside of the door going down to the basement are pencil lines that mark the son and daughter's inching-to-adulthood. She loves the hand-drawn smiley face that marks when the son finally surpassed the father in height. She loves that their teenage rooms emanate two teenagers who turned out all right in spite of Anna Bloviation's complaints. The daughter's apricot-painted room is a cacophony of art work, cards, pictures, sea shells, stones, make-up, clothes, and awards. The son is a minimilistic testosterone square of trophies, pendants, books, and a growing collection of beer bottles. The refridgerator is covered full of graduation invitations.
Honey, you are paying an awful lot of money for my life. Our house is beautiful but sits on a busy road. We still have an old fuse box. The front retaining wall is crumbling and the back patio is severely cracked. The beautiful pink dogwood tree in the backyard is dying. But it's yours. Excluded in the purchase price are the hard work, tears, laughs, fights, dysfunctionality, joy and sacrifice that you feel when you walk through our house. Once we leave, this wraithlike essence will fade just as the scent of the son does when he goes off to college in the autumn. If you want all that you must create it yourself. It's not for sale at Home Depot I'm afraid.
Meanwhile instead of everyone in the my family being thrilled with this dream offer on our house, I have to deal with a hubby arbitrarily FREAKING OUT at any given moment of the day ("Our furniture won't fit -- it's going to be awful...-- help me measure this couch") and a daughter overwhelmed by all the changes hitting her right now ("I don't want to move -- I'm not excited about this at all -- I don't like the new house"). The son is quite enthusiastic provided our first priorities include an outdoor bar, an outdoor Jacuzzi, and a deck off of his room. So I need allies. Hence am I flying in via hubby's frequent flyer miles "Paul from San Francisco." Paul is contractor/handyman/interior designer and specializes in mid-century houses. The New Englanders are thinking mid-17th century no doubt but I am referring to the mid-1950's. Paul's job is to create a punch list for each and every room so that I may instill some substance into the innate flimsiness of a 50's-built house which in this case is in need of a hefty dose of Viagra to replace hollow doors, cottage cheese ceilings, and the like.. Then I will say: "Here Mr. New England Contractor. I want you to buy these materials and do EXACTLY this. No not that. This." Additionally a Polish architect who lives in Sweden will be in town visiting this summer. He is in charge of suggestions to upgrading the kitchen and will help with the landscaping. He is thinking an all white and green garden to complement the simple lines of the house. The interior of our house will be explosion enough of color.
Both relish the thought of showing the Talbot's-land neighborhood to which we will be moving what a house should look like. Oh boy. I AM on a strict budget guys...
Who buys a house in such a reckless manner? Try an attractive, recently divorced, smart, thirty-something broker who is determined to marry again and raise a family (so the scoop from my broker who knows her). As an FYI, you are simply doomed to not getting the home of your dreams if you happen to be bidding on a house a broker decides she wants. She has all sorts of advantages the average desperate home buyer doesn't: 1) she can present her own offer personally and so the seller inevitably forms a bond with her 2) she has been on so many home inspections in her life that if she is smart and has done a little homework, she will feel perfectly comfortable striking the inspection contingency (this is huge when you're sitting on a 1920's house with a shaky fuse box). Alas the young family with the one-month-old baby won't be getting our house even so they bid higher. The deal breaker was the inspection contingency which is as far as I'm concerned well worth the couple of thousand extra we might have gotten from the cute little family. Sorry little family.
I am however afraid this very nice broker may have just bought what she perceives as my 'life' as opposed to my 'house'... . Her cover letter to her offer conveyed that she fell in love with our house and all that we had done to it. She wants to raise a family here. She loves our art work. She loves our red dining room. She just loves the whole thing. She reminds me of a customer I had years back when I worked in a clothing boutique. Every month this woman would come in the store and buy two or three outfits in sizes much smaller than what she actually wore. This in anticipation of what she was determined to become. I went off to Europe before I could find out if she ever achieved her goal.
I'm sure the attractive divorcee broker loved the crown moldings, the high ceilings and the period solid-glass door knobs. But I think she loved more the black and white photo of the son and daughter when they were just four and two that hangs in the hallway; a spur-of-the-moment impromptu shot, it looks like a photo original to the Depression Era. The curly-blonde daughter is scowling pouty-lipped with her hand thrust into the front of her pocket. The son smiles ingenuously. Both of their too-big jeans are rolled up at the ankles. You just couldn't pay a professional to recreate such a candid photo. The broker also loved how on the inside of the door going down to the basement are pencil lines that mark the son and daughter's inching-to-adulthood. She loves the hand-drawn smiley face that marks when the son finally surpassed the father in height. She loves that their teenage rooms emanate two teenagers who turned out all right in spite of Anna Bloviation's complaints. The daughter's apricot-painted room is a cacophony of art work, cards, pictures, sea shells, stones, make-up, clothes, and awards. The son is a minimilistic testosterone square of trophies, pendants, books, and a growing collection of beer bottles. The refridgerator is covered full of graduation invitations.
Honey, you are paying an awful lot of money for my life. Our house is beautiful but sits on a busy road. We still have an old fuse box. The front retaining wall is crumbling and the back patio is severely cracked. The beautiful pink dogwood tree in the backyard is dying. But it's yours. Excluded in the purchase price are the hard work, tears, laughs, fights, dysfunctionality, joy and sacrifice that you feel when you walk through our house. Once we leave, this wraithlike essence will fade just as the scent of the son does when he goes off to college in the autumn. If you want all that you must create it yourself. It's not for sale at Home Depot I'm afraid.
Meanwhile instead of everyone in the my family being thrilled with this dream offer on our house, I have to deal with a hubby arbitrarily FREAKING OUT at any given moment of the day ("Our furniture won't fit -- it's going to be awful...-- help me measure this couch") and a daughter overwhelmed by all the changes hitting her right now ("I don't want to move -- I'm not excited about this at all -- I don't like the new house"). The son is quite enthusiastic provided our first priorities include an outdoor bar, an outdoor Jacuzzi, and a deck off of his room. So I need allies. Hence am I flying in via hubby's frequent flyer miles "Paul from San Francisco." Paul is contractor/handyman/interior designer and specializes in mid-century houses. The New Englanders are thinking mid-17th century no doubt but I am referring to the mid-1950's. Paul's job is to create a punch list for each and every room so that I may instill some substance into the innate flimsiness of a 50's-built house which in this case is in need of a hefty dose of Viagra to replace hollow doors, cottage cheese ceilings, and the like.. Then I will say: "Here Mr. New England Contractor. I want you to buy these materials and do EXACTLY this. No not that. This." Additionally a Polish architect who lives in Sweden will be in town visiting this summer. He is in charge of suggestions to upgrading the kitchen and will help with the landscaping. He is thinking an all white and green garden to complement the simple lines of the house. The interior of our house will be explosion enough of color.
Both relish the thought of showing the Talbot's-land neighborhood to which we will be moving what a house should look like. Oh boy. I AM on a strict budget guys...
Saturday, May 29, 2004
The friend Diving Bird always manages to find back-up to so much of what I intuit in this world i.e. not only do S.U.V.'s get really, really bad gas mileage, they also aren't great in the shin/kneecap preservation department. You might want to consider dumping the the Ford F150 for a Mini Cooper.
The daughter looked drop-dead stunning for her senior prom. Simple elegant black dress. Hair down. Lovely black sandals. Obviously everyone else got the same email because about 2/3 of the senior class was dressed pretty much the same way. The rest fell into three categories: 1) Oh-god-the-poor-girl-what-was-she-thinking 2) That takes guts...and 3) Strikingly different.
The tradition in this town is for all the forty-something housewives to stand about the high school on senior prom night smiling and waving at the young girls walking down the "red carpet" toward the waiting buses. Little do they know that under our breath we are viciously commenting on every minimum's worth of $500-idea that walks by. Manicure and pedicure: $50. Hair: $50. Dress: $200-$500. Shoes: $60. Boutonniere $8. Miscellaneous such as make-up, wire bras, special underwear, etc.: $50. And in the daughter's case, duct tape…. Yes I had to bee-line it down to Ace Hardware to buy duct tape for the daughter because the strapless bra wasn't cooperating. Thank god they have expanded their color line beyond gray and I was actually able to get black to match the bra and dress.
The daughter looked drop-dead stunning for her senior prom. Simple elegant black dress. Hair down. Lovely black sandals. Obviously everyone else got the same email because about 2/3 of the senior class was dressed pretty much the same way. The rest fell into three categories: 1) Oh-god-the-poor-girl-what-was-she-thinking 2) That takes guts...and 3) Strikingly different.
The tradition in this town is for all the forty-something housewives to stand about the high school on senior prom night smiling and waving at the young girls walking down the "red carpet" toward the waiting buses. Little do they know that under our breath we are viciously commenting on every minimum's worth of $500-idea that walks by. Manicure and pedicure: $50. Hair: $50. Dress: $200-$500. Shoes: $60. Boutonniere $8. Miscellaneous such as make-up, wire bras, special underwear, etc.: $50. And in the daughter's case, duct tape…. Yes I had to bee-line it down to Ace Hardware to buy duct tape for the daughter because the strapless bra wasn't cooperating. Thank god they have expanded their color line beyond gray and I was actually able to get black to match the bra and dress.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
One roadblock down -- one million to go. The sellers capitulated. The negotiations were quite interesting really because it was the brokers and myself acting as the intermediaries between two stubborn engineers (hubby being one and the owner of the house the other). It's kind of like talking to one scientist who thinks the notion of man-induced global warming is poppy cock and the other who feels the complete opposite. In this instance, I happened to err on the side of hubby only because I truly believe that having an end-of-its-life heating system sandwiched in a crawl space in the middle of the house just doesn't seem particularly safe.
Psychology is so interesting really. In retrospect, had we initially offered X-thousand dollars less with the same terms and conditions, I am quite sure the anxious-to-move sellers would have agreed in an instant. But because the seller felt offended that we might suggest that they had been living in a hazardous environment, they dug in their heels. It literally got to the point where $2,500 separated us and both sides seemed ready to walk away from the deal. Sound advice from my mother gave me the courage to stick to my guns and in the end they blinked.
So onward we barrel with this decision. What keeps me going are the windows in the new house from which every room I will see green trees and garden. Or snow. Suffice to say nature. If I don't focus on that then I think of brokers traipsing through our house, packing, yard sales, contractors, painting, proms, graduation, college orientations, PANIC WHETHER WE ARE MAKING THE RIGHT DECISION. When that happens I can't sleep. Or eat. And start looking wigged-out, heroin-esque.
Off to a good start? The first item on my punch list was to look up a professional cleaning service that will have to get rid of the urine smell in the utility closet where the 19-year-old incontinent cat used the loo. My, my, my... Under 'Cleaning Svc.-Industrial' in the yellow pages of the phone book are listed Crime and Death Scene Cleaning (Ipswich) and two Trauma Clean companies (Beverly and Peabody respectively). Good grief. I think I'll go with Sunshine Cleaning Co. in Danvers.
Psychology is so interesting really. In retrospect, had we initially offered X-thousand dollars less with the same terms and conditions, I am quite sure the anxious-to-move sellers would have agreed in an instant. But because the seller felt offended that we might suggest that they had been living in a hazardous environment, they dug in their heels. It literally got to the point where $2,500 separated us and both sides seemed ready to walk away from the deal. Sound advice from my mother gave me the courage to stick to my guns and in the end they blinked.
So onward we barrel with this decision. What keeps me going are the windows in the new house from which every room I will see green trees and garden. Or snow. Suffice to say nature. If I don't focus on that then I think of brokers traipsing through our house, packing, yard sales, contractors, painting, proms, graduation, college orientations, PANIC WHETHER WE ARE MAKING THE RIGHT DECISION. When that happens I can't sleep. Or eat. And start looking wigged-out, heroin-esque.
Off to a good start? The first item on my punch list was to look up a professional cleaning service that will have to get rid of the urine smell in the utility closet where the 19-year-old incontinent cat used the loo. My, my, my... Under 'Cleaning Svc.-Industrial' in the yellow pages of the phone book are listed Crime and Death Scene Cleaning (Ipswich) and two Trauma Clean companies (Beverly and Peabody respectively). Good grief. I think I'll go with Sunshine Cleaning Co. in Danvers.
Friday, May 21, 2004
Were I able to have called up the pain, anxiety, and stress of having bought a house the first two times around, I might never have launched my idea to buy a Californian house in the midst of New England last week.
Based on yesterday's inspection, we have made our offer contingent on the seller addressing some issues that would renegotiate the price down by about $11,000 (and put the onus on them to make the changes). Sellers can be so weird. I mean if you have a high-end house you want to off-load at top dollar, wouldn't you spend the couple of hundred bucks to get rid of the rancid cat urine odor in the utility room? Because if you don't, the invariably jumpy buyer might think that well maybe it isn't cat urine but something wrong with the sewer line and 'Could you kindly call in a professional plumber to ascertain whether the odor is superficial or internal to the plumbing?'
I had a pre-showing to brokers yesterday to afix an asking price on our house. All excited they were and then while down in the basement I heard my broker call up, "Anna?" (it's never good when a broker calls up your name from a basement with a question mark at the end). Needless to say that for the past twenty-four-sleepless-hours, I thought I might have an underground oil tank buried under the foundation of the house I never knew about! Not a good thing when you're trying to sell your abode and certainly not good when it looks nigh impossible to get it out without your whole house falling down. Turns out it was old plumbing piping (that just happened to be the same size as piping for oil) that led up to an abandoned utility sink that was once in the kitchen. The pipe going down through the foundation led to an old dry well.
Meanwhile the hubby is freaking out about every little crooked light switch in the new house. The inspection went actually quite well but when you are poised to spend a lot of money on something built in the early 1950's, everything seems to take on a worn, needs-replacing hue. Actually one of his concerns with the house is quite legitimate and I can completely understand where he is coming from although not quite to the hyper-sensitive extent he does. He DOES NOT LIKE AT ALL the existing heating system's location in the house. With no basement, the heating unit is located in a small crawl space behind a wall in the den. To gain access to the unit, you must pull back a removable door and crawl into the space on all fours. The inspector whose unenviable task it was to do this, not only deemed the unit to be at the end of its life expectancy but also found a few loose bolts, scorch marks, caved in fire wall, and configuration issues.
I can tell you all with absolute certainty that unless the seller agrees to pay to replace and move the heating system to a new location, there is no way in hell I will agree to buy this house no matter how much I love it. Because I know my husband too well. This is a man whose departure from our house before a vacation involves a ten-page check list. The problem is that all ten pages are duplicates i.e. he checks to make sure the stove is turned off. Ten times. That the thermostat is turned down...ten times. He checks that the faucets are tight...ten times. You get the picture. If you are within earshot of hubby en route to the airport, you must never make the mistake of wondering aloud whether you turned off the iron or not. Vacations are guaranteed to be soundly ruined that way. No way in hell this hubby could ever leave the house in peace with an aging furnace enclosed within the flammable bowels of the house. Weekend trips and extended vacations would be completely a no-go given that he would be wondering the entire time whether the house wasn't going to be burned to the ground when we got back. I'm not even sure a dinner to our favorite restaurant would be possible.
Besides the fact that there isn't an oily toxic waste site underneath my house, another good thing to come out of all this is that my house has never looked better in anticipation of its maybe going on the market next week. Too bad my garage is still stuffed full with Martha's garden furniture that needs to be returned. Today I called Martha at Customer Service and told her I am disputing the charge to my credit card unless they get this stuff they have been promising to get out of my hair for over a week.
Based on yesterday's inspection, we have made our offer contingent on the seller addressing some issues that would renegotiate the price down by about $11,000 (and put the onus on them to make the changes). Sellers can be so weird. I mean if you have a high-end house you want to off-load at top dollar, wouldn't you spend the couple of hundred bucks to get rid of the rancid cat urine odor in the utility room? Because if you don't, the invariably jumpy buyer might think that well maybe it isn't cat urine but something wrong with the sewer line and 'Could you kindly call in a professional plumber to ascertain whether the odor is superficial or internal to the plumbing?'
I had a pre-showing to brokers yesterday to afix an asking price on our house. All excited they were and then while down in the basement I heard my broker call up, "Anna?" (it's never good when a broker calls up your name from a basement with a question mark at the end). Needless to say that for the past twenty-four-sleepless-hours, I thought I might have an underground oil tank buried under the foundation of the house I never knew about! Not a good thing when you're trying to sell your abode and certainly not good when it looks nigh impossible to get it out without your whole house falling down. Turns out it was old plumbing piping (that just happened to be the same size as piping for oil) that led up to an abandoned utility sink that was once in the kitchen. The pipe going down through the foundation led to an old dry well.
Meanwhile the hubby is freaking out about every little crooked light switch in the new house. The inspection went actually quite well but when you are poised to spend a lot of money on something built in the early 1950's, everything seems to take on a worn, needs-replacing hue. Actually one of his concerns with the house is quite legitimate and I can completely understand where he is coming from although not quite to the hyper-sensitive extent he does. He DOES NOT LIKE AT ALL the existing heating system's location in the house. With no basement, the heating unit is located in a small crawl space behind a wall in the den. To gain access to the unit, you must pull back a removable door and crawl into the space on all fours. The inspector whose unenviable task it was to do this, not only deemed the unit to be at the end of its life expectancy but also found a few loose bolts, scorch marks, caved in fire wall, and configuration issues.
I can tell you all with absolute certainty that unless the seller agrees to pay to replace and move the heating system to a new location, there is no way in hell I will agree to buy this house no matter how much I love it. Because I know my husband too well. This is a man whose departure from our house before a vacation involves a ten-page check list. The problem is that all ten pages are duplicates i.e. he checks to make sure the stove is turned off. Ten times. That the thermostat is turned down...ten times. He checks that the faucets are tight...ten times. You get the picture. If you are within earshot of hubby en route to the airport, you must never make the mistake of wondering aloud whether you turned off the iron or not. Vacations are guaranteed to be soundly ruined that way. No way in hell this hubby could ever leave the house in peace with an aging furnace enclosed within the flammable bowels of the house. Weekend trips and extended vacations would be completely a no-go given that he would be wondering the entire time whether the house wasn't going to be burned to the ground when we got back. I'm not even sure a dinner to our favorite restaurant would be possible.
Besides the fact that there isn't an oily toxic waste site underneath my house, another good thing to come out of all this is that my house has never looked better in anticipation of its maybe going on the market next week. Too bad my garage is still stuffed full with Martha's garden furniture that needs to be returned. Today I called Martha at Customer Service and told her I am disputing the charge to my credit card unless they get this stuff they have been promising to get out of my hair for over a week.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Oh boy. What drives this sudden spontaneity? Could be a number of things. Could be Weltangst with regard to a world gone whacky. Could therefore be a kind of Candide'ian' retreat to a sanctuary of sustainable sanity. Could also be the imminent empty nest syndrome that has brought this on. A mid-life crisis? No, that usually entails buying something red.
Hubby and I have made an offer on a house. An accepted offer on a house in the very town where we have been planning our escape for some time. Why? Well our fantastical post-children flights of fancy are a wee-bit premature for one thing. Turns out college kids want to come back during holidays. With friends. Turns out our dog is a healthy 10-years-old and we can't in good conscious just dump her to a new home while we galavant. Turns out our ties to Europe and California still make Massachusetts a nice right-in-the-middle place equa-distant to both. Turns out my dreams to move back to Northern California are ridiculous at the moment given real estate prices there wouldn't afford us a dog house (as opposed to Massachusetts where the same money does just get you a dog house). Turns out that while Austria is equally appealing, it isn't exactly the high-tech Zentrum of the world for the high-tech-interested hubby.
So lo-and-behold along comes fate to intervene. "Here," it says. "Try this." Who knew that in the middle of historic town X where we live, there would be a California ranch house up on a hill with my name on it? Actually it's a California ranch house that blends the best of east and west: open west coast architecture meets New England ingenuity. The front of the house blends inconspicuously with its classic Colonial and Cape neighbors. The back of the house is reminiscent of the famous Southern Californian architect Richard Joseph Neutra (who just happens, by the way, to have been Austrian). Neutra was best known for his integration of the outside landscape into the interior of the house. He once said, "Place Man in relationship to Nature; that's where he developed and where he feels most at home!"
Closing date is June 30th. Nothing natural about that. Let the marathon of moving begin. I am terribly excited.
Hubby and I have made an offer on a house. An accepted offer on a house in the very town where we have been planning our escape for some time. Why? Well our fantastical post-children flights of fancy are a wee-bit premature for one thing. Turns out college kids want to come back during holidays. With friends. Turns out our dog is a healthy 10-years-old and we can't in good conscious just dump her to a new home while we galavant. Turns out our ties to Europe and California still make Massachusetts a nice right-in-the-middle place equa-distant to both. Turns out my dreams to move back to Northern California are ridiculous at the moment given real estate prices there wouldn't afford us a dog house (as opposed to Massachusetts where the same money does just get you a dog house). Turns out that while Austria is equally appealing, it isn't exactly the high-tech Zentrum of the world for the high-tech-interested hubby.
So lo-and-behold along comes fate to intervene. "Here," it says. "Try this." Who knew that in the middle of historic town X where we live, there would be a California ranch house up on a hill with my name on it? Actually it's a California ranch house that blends the best of east and west: open west coast architecture meets New England ingenuity. The front of the house blends inconspicuously with its classic Colonial and Cape neighbors. The back of the house is reminiscent of the famous Southern Californian architect Richard Joseph Neutra (who just happens, by the way, to have been Austrian). Neutra was best known for his integration of the outside landscape into the interior of the house. He once said, "Place Man in relationship to Nature; that's where he developed and where he feels most at home!"
Closing date is June 30th. Nothing natural about that. Let the marathon of moving begin. I am terribly excited.
Monday, May 17, 2004
Just as I suspected. Low-carb diets work no better than any other diet after a year. If you really want to lose weight, it's very simple. Eat sensibly and exercise religiously. Period. But I guess that wouldn't sell millions of copies of diet books, would it...
Speaking of losing, Hummers are reported to be losing market share big time. Said one perplexed Hummer salesman, "I just don't understand it." Gas is at an all-time high, the vehicle gets 10 miles per gallon, and he doesn't get it?
Please feel free to stop by the State House to admire the flower bouquet I brought in to celebrate the joyous occasion of gay couples who tied the knot in Massachusetts today. Like my little-old-lady constituent said, 'Honey, we need all the love on this planet we can get.' Some of the couples who joined together in matrimony have been together for decades. Which is a hell of a lot more than we can say for Britney Spears.
Now scientists are saying that the weather may have caused the Mexico UFO sitings. Maybe. I say it was a right-wing conspiracy to divert attention away from the E-rock-ka-De-zastah'.
Speaking of losing, Hummers are reported to be losing market share big time. Said one perplexed Hummer salesman, "I just don't understand it." Gas is at an all-time high, the vehicle gets 10 miles per gallon, and he doesn't get it?
Please feel free to stop by the State House to admire the flower bouquet I brought in to celebrate the joyous occasion of gay couples who tied the knot in Massachusetts today. Like my little-old-lady constituent said, 'Honey, we need all the love on this planet we can get.' Some of the couples who joined together in matrimony have been together for decades. Which is a hell of a lot more than we can say for Britney Spears.
Now scientists are saying that the weather may have caused the Mexico UFO sitings. Maybe. I say it was a right-wing conspiracy to divert attention away from the E-rock-ka-De-zastah'.
Friday, May 14, 2004
A spam email today exhorts me to participate in “Stick it to them Day” this May 19th by which the entire United States is supposed to cease and desist from buying even a single drop of gasoline. The goal is to put pressure on the Bush administration to do what ever it takes to drive down spiraling-high gas prices.
The argument is that if everyone in the U.S. did not purchase a drop of gasoline for one day, the oil companies would choke on their stockpiles. At the same time it would hit the entire industry with a net loss of over $4.6 billion dollars which affects the bottom lines of the oil companies. “Get the word out today!” says the email all uppercase-like.
No I won’t get the word out today! In fact I feel compelled to send out an email to counter this cry to action because as usual, I see the whole thing quite differently. If I had my druthers, I would keep the gas prices up high, higher, and highest for a long, long time to come. There's nothing like a painful pinch to the pocketbook to rally people to action. Yes this would negatively impact airlines, trucking companies, and the shipping industry for a while. Yes food, clothing, building materials, medical supplies become more expensive. But I say pay now or ante up incalculable amounts later (if our beleaguered environment even gives us the option to do that). The oil gig is up. Oil production has peaked. In thirty to fifty years, our grandchildren are going to look at us funny when we tell them we drove a block-and-a-half to the post office just as we looked at our grandparents funny when they told us they walked ten miles to school every day in the snow. So you heard it from an environmentally conscious liberal: BUY LOTS OF GAS ON MAY 19TH!!!!
The argument is that if everyone in the U.S. did not purchase a drop of gasoline for one day, the oil companies would choke on their stockpiles. At the same time it would hit the entire industry with a net loss of over $4.6 billion dollars which affects the bottom lines of the oil companies. “Get the word out today!” says the email all uppercase-like.
No I won’t get the word out today! In fact I feel compelled to send out an email to counter this cry to action because as usual, I see the whole thing quite differently. If I had my druthers, I would keep the gas prices up high, higher, and highest for a long, long time to come. There's nothing like a painful pinch to the pocketbook to rally people to action. Yes this would negatively impact airlines, trucking companies, and the shipping industry for a while. Yes food, clothing, building materials, medical supplies become more expensive. But I say pay now or ante up incalculable amounts later (if our beleaguered environment even gives us the option to do that). The oil gig is up. Oil production has peaked. In thirty to fifty years, our grandchildren are going to look at us funny when we tell them we drove a block-and-a-half to the post office just as we looked at our grandparents funny when they told us they walked ten miles to school every day in the snow. So you heard it from an environmentally conscious liberal: BUY LOTS OF GAS ON MAY 19TH!!!!
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Two Minute Work Day (or Your Tax Dollars Hard at Work). This beats the previous record of five minutes. Well it is a gorgeous day out after all.
CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION - WEDNESDAY, MAY 12, 2004
SENATE ARRIVES: Members of the Senate arrived through the chamber's center doors at 1 pm for the Constitutional Convention.
CONVENTION RESUMES: Senate President XXX gaveled the convention to order.
MOTION TO RECESS: Sen. XXX was recognized and moved to recess the convention until Wednesday, June 9 at 1 pm. Sen. XXX seconded the motion and it was adopted by the convention.
RECESSES: The convention recessed at 1:02 pm to resume on Wednesday, June 9 at 1 pm.
^Z
CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION - WEDNESDAY, MAY 12, 2004
SENATE ARRIVES: Members of the Senate arrived through the chamber's center doors at 1 pm for the Constitutional Convention.
CONVENTION RESUMES: Senate President XXX gaveled the convention to order.
MOTION TO RECESS: Sen. XXX was recognized and moved to recess the convention until Wednesday, June 9 at 1 pm. Sen. XXX seconded the motion and it was adopted by the convention.
RECESSES: The convention recessed at 1:02 pm to resume on Wednesday, June 9 at 1 pm.
^Z
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
"Yes! We finally captured Martha Stewart. You know, with all the massive and almost completely unpunished fraud perpetrated on the public by companies like Enron, Global Crossing, and Tyco we finally got the ring leader. Maybe now we can lower the nation's terror alert to periwinkle." —Jon Stewart
Dear Martha,
I'm a hopeless housekeeper, an even worse cook, and not much of a gardener. Frankly the mere sight of your magazine at the supermarket check-out counter has been enough for me to break out in an undignified cold sweat. Nonetheless, I had heard some good reviews of your products by some of my more type-A, Christmas-shopping-is-done-by-late-October friends and decided to order a garden patio set that caught my eye in your online catalogue -- the one that I hoped would look nice in my less-than-perfect garden.
So it is with regret that I must inform you that I will be returning the entire garden patio set. The table arrived badly scratched and I was frankly not particularly amused when the customer service representative suggested I 'touch it up' with the little bottle of paint included in the box (she may or may not have been about ready to explain your 'denibbing' paint technique had I not cut her short). For your information, I will also be sending back the extra table sent to me but which actually belongs to a woman named Elsa in New Jersey. Were it not for the fact that you have a mid-July back order date on the table, I might have had you send me a new one. But you know how short these New England summers are... And without a table, what good are the four lonely chairs? So I'll be sending those back as well. Also the four cushions I just noticed went on sale but which I paid full price for.
If it's any consolation, I'm sure all of these problems would not be happening under your watch did you not have to deal with your upcoming June 17th jail sentencing. I really think you are getting an unfair rap in this whole affair to be honest. There are plenty of corporate villains out there who have done far worse than you but haven't so much as received a slap on the back of their hands.
Might I be so bold as to make one suggestion as you tie up all of those 'loose ends' before June 17th. I would strongly suggest you consider changing your customer service recording at (800) 950-7130. While I like the personal touch of hearing your voice, unfortunately it sounds like you made the recording right after you chewed out an employee or yelled at your ex-husband. Maybe you had just had a really bad day in court. On second thought, maybe it would be better for a while if you got someone else to record a message...
Sincerely,
Anna Bloviations
Dear Martha,
I'm a hopeless housekeeper, an even worse cook, and not much of a gardener. Frankly the mere sight of your magazine at the supermarket check-out counter has been enough for me to break out in an undignified cold sweat. Nonetheless, I had heard some good reviews of your products by some of my more type-A, Christmas-shopping-is-done-by-late-October friends and decided to order a garden patio set that caught my eye in your online catalogue -- the one that I hoped would look nice in my less-than-perfect garden.
So it is with regret that I must inform you that I will be returning the entire garden patio set. The table arrived badly scratched and I was frankly not particularly amused when the customer service representative suggested I 'touch it up' with the little bottle of paint included in the box (she may or may not have been about ready to explain your 'denibbing' paint technique had I not cut her short). For your information, I will also be sending back the extra table sent to me but which actually belongs to a woman named Elsa in New Jersey. Were it not for the fact that you have a mid-July back order date on the table, I might have had you send me a new one. But you know how short these New England summers are... And without a table, what good are the four lonely chairs? So I'll be sending those back as well. Also the four cushions I just noticed went on sale but which I paid full price for.
If it's any consolation, I'm sure all of these problems would not be happening under your watch did you not have to deal with your upcoming June 17th jail sentencing. I really think you are getting an unfair rap in this whole affair to be honest. There are plenty of corporate villains out there who have done far worse than you but haven't so much as received a slap on the back of their hands.
Might I be so bold as to make one suggestion as you tie up all of those 'loose ends' before June 17th. I would strongly suggest you consider changing your customer service recording at (800) 950-7130. While I like the personal touch of hearing your voice, unfortunately it sounds like you made the recording right after you chewed out an employee or yelled at your ex-husband. Maybe you had just had a really bad day in court. On second thought, maybe it would be better for a while if you got someone else to record a message...
Sincerely,
Anna Bloviations
Monday, May 10, 2004
GAS RAGE? It wasn't the cheapest of gas stations to be found but when your tank is on empty, it's on empty. This meant that filling the sports car at $2.07 a gallon translated into a $30-plus-charge to the Visa card today. Still cheaper than Europe but not really when one considers that most folks are driving far less fuel-efficient cars. Gee wonder what the unhappy Ford Tundra truck ahead of me had to pay and how soon he'll have to pay it again given his gas mileage?
One thing is for sure. These Ford Tundras and Chevy Tahoes seem to be getting pretty touchy about their gas woes as demonstrated by the oncoming extended-cab Silverado that nearly sideswiped my sports car this morning. He was simply not going to let my better-gas-mileage and more-fun-to-drive car drive through the green light like I am by law allowed to do. The 'body language' of his vehicle (45-degree turned wheels, an edging-forward front end) indicated that he was going to take his left turn in front of me, god-damn-it, even if I technically did have the right-of-way. “Hold on there buddy. You just wait right there until I and all the cars directly on my tail have passed through thank you very much.” My challenge to his humungous gas guzzler made the man's face go red with rage -- a man paying more than he can afford at the gas station and who isn't going to be shown up anymore by better-than-Thou Mini Coopers, hybrids, or much more modestly fuel-efficient cars like my Audi. He gunned , yes gunned, the accelerator and only my Audi’s quick handling abilities avoided a sure hit to the side of my car. This guy was WILLING TO CRASH INTO ME in order to make whatever demented, his-fault point he thought he had to make. Poor guy. His road rage probably cost him another $5 of gas just flooring the gas pedal. And I bet he has a God Bless America sticker on the back windshield too.
One thing is for sure. These Ford Tundras and Chevy Tahoes seem to be getting pretty touchy about their gas woes as demonstrated by the oncoming extended-cab Silverado that nearly sideswiped my sports car this morning. He was simply not going to let my better-gas-mileage and more-fun-to-drive car drive through the green light like I am by law allowed to do. The 'body language' of his vehicle (45-degree turned wheels, an edging-forward front end) indicated that he was going to take his left turn in front of me, god-damn-it, even if I technically did have the right-of-way. “Hold on there buddy. You just wait right there until I and all the cars directly on my tail have passed through thank you very much.” My challenge to his humungous gas guzzler made the man's face go red with rage -- a man paying more than he can afford at the gas station and who isn't going to be shown up anymore by better-than-Thou Mini Coopers, hybrids, or much more modestly fuel-efficient cars like my Audi. He gunned , yes gunned, the accelerator and only my Audi’s quick handling abilities avoided a sure hit to the side of my car. This guy was WILLING TO CRASH INTO ME in order to make whatever demented, his-fault point he thought he had to make. Poor guy. His road rage probably cost him another $5 of gas just flooring the gas pedal. And I bet he has a God Bless America sticker on the back windshield too.
Friday, May 07, 2004
Five-Minute Work Day at the State House...(or Your Tax Dollars Hard at Work)
SENATE SESSION - THURSDAY, MAY 6, 2004
CONVENES: The Senate convened at 11:02 am, Majority Leader XXX of XXX presiding. The Pledge of Allegiance was recited.
RESOLUTION: The Senate resolved, on motion of Sen. XXX, to honor a couple's 60th wedding anniversary.
AMHERST LAND: The Senate engrossed S 2261 certain conservation land in Amherst.
PUBLIC ACCOUNTANTS: The Senate enacted S 2210 computerization of the examination for certification for the practice of accountancy.
ADJOURNS: The Senate adjourned at 11:07 am to meet again on Monday at 11 am without a calendar.
^Z
SENATE SESSION - THURSDAY, MAY 6, 2004
CONVENES: The Senate convened at 11:02 am, Majority Leader XXX of XXX presiding. The Pledge of Allegiance was recited.
RESOLUTION: The Senate resolved, on motion of Sen. XXX, to honor a couple's 60th wedding anniversary.
AMHERST LAND: The Senate engrossed S 2261 certain conservation land in Amherst.
PUBLIC ACCOUNTANTS: The Senate enacted S 2210 computerization of the examination for certification for the practice of accountancy.
ADJOURNS: The Senate adjourned at 11:07 am to meet again on Monday at 11 am without a calendar.
^Z
Thursday, May 06, 2004
More M & M's to Consider. This time it's not Mistress Matisse in yesterday's blog, but the Methodist Church distributing flyers to legislative offices admonishing ministers who practice mutual masturbation. Swear to god. Here's the text:
The A.P. had it wrong yesterday when it reported that the United Methodist Church is debating whether to remove a lesbian minister, who is 'in a relationship with a woman.' They should have written that the minister is 'practicing mutual masturbation with another woman'..... the church [should] stop using wonderful-sounding phrases like 'gay' or even 'homosexual,' and start saying that these people are not 'gay' or 'happy' or 'jolly' in any way. The only thing that distinguishes them from normal women is their desire to practice mutual masturbation with others of the same sex. Is that conduct something we should extol to the world?"
Now there's a good-and-cogent reason to remove a minister. Dump her for what we think she might be doing in the privacy of her own bedroom with another consenting adult. Funny. If we're talking about what we want to be extolling to the world, I don't remember getting any flyers-of-outrage from the Methodist Church when we learned what boy-diddling Catholic priests had been up to over the last few decades...
In the interest of keeping up the M-Momentum today, I think I'll go up to the cafeteria and get some M&M chocolates. I'm starving.
The A.P. had it wrong yesterday when it reported that the United Methodist Church is debating whether to remove a lesbian minister, who is 'in a relationship with a woman.' They should have written that the minister is 'practicing mutual masturbation with another woman'..... the church [should] stop using wonderful-sounding phrases like 'gay' or even 'homosexual,' and start saying that these people are not 'gay' or 'happy' or 'jolly' in any way. The only thing that distinguishes them from normal women is their desire to practice mutual masturbation with others of the same sex. Is that conduct something we should extol to the world?"
Now there's a good-and-cogent reason to remove a minister. Dump her for what we think she might be doing in the privacy of her own bedroom with another consenting adult. Funny. If we're talking about what we want to be extolling to the world, I don't remember getting any flyers-of-outrage from the Methodist Church when we learned what boy-diddling Catholic priests had been up to over the last few decades...
In the interest of keeping up the M-Momentum today, I think I'll go up to the cafeteria and get some M&M chocolates. I'm starving.
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
If this (the beautiful dominatrix I am about to introduce) were a blogging librarian I still believe people would want to read her. I think... Admittedly the fact that she has a fully equipped dungeon in Seattle, Washington and offers 'sessions' to beginners as well as experienced submissives certainly makes for interesting writing material. Even on a total writer's block day, there would be plenty of 'readers' (voyeurs, perverts, bored housewives, curious folks, chance visitors) who would check out her What-I-Did-From-Nine-to-Five ramblings without a thought to her writing precision or flow. To her credit (although I haven't actually read all of her entries) there have been no over-the-top encounters of dominatrix exhibitionism to hide a bad writing day. As a side note it kind of makes you wonder about the person you're sitting next to on the subway to work to be honest.... You just NEVER know what a person's reality might be.
Anyway, kudos to this blog site I just happened to find when I posted mine this morning. Mistress Matisse tells amusing stories and has built up a nice little business for herself. Especially when one considers that her business model is such that she never actually has to perform sex if she doesn't want to. So no danger of STD's -- just ample opportunity to vent one's 21st century frustrations via whip on willing subjects.
Here is Mistress Matisse's Bio:
My name is Mistress Matisse. Or rather, that's one of my names. I have several, but that'll do just fine for this venue. Unless you're actually in my dungeon, you may simply address me as Matisse.
Location: Seattle. Been here since 1992, and I love it. I do not ever want to live anywhere else. Rain? Yeah, some, but Jesus, who cares? I'm really an indoors person anyway. I grew up in Florida and lived in Georgia for a while, where my parents still live (although not together). My brother lived here in Seattle for awhile, but he's recently moved back to Florida, so I'm the only person from my family on the west coast. Although I like my family, this arrangement has certain advantages.
Relationship status: madly in love with my partner, Max. We live together. I identified as a lesbian for about ten years – with a few brief lapses – and then I had a relationship with a female-to-male transsexual, whom I actually (and legally) married right before the whole relationship went south. Way far south. Like, the South Pole.
In the midst of the bloodbath known "getting as a divorce", I fell in love with Max, a not-transsexual, factory-equipped guy. I was sort of bewildered by it at first, but…I can't imagine anything stupider than passing love by just because it doesn't come in the wrapper you expected. It's been slightly over four years now and I'm extremely happy with him, happier than I've ever been.
Occupation: Professional dominatrix. That means people come to me and I do BDSM scenes with them, and they pay me for this. I do not have sex with them, although I consider pro domming to be part of the sex industry in general and I call myself a sex worker. And I've certainly had sex for money in my time, so there's no moral judgment about it.
But, in general, if you do sex with pro dom work, the submissive loses his focus and it blurs the power dynamic, especially in a male submissive/female dominant situation. Plus there's that small matter of it being illegal, but that's really not the main reason, since it's also extremely rare for me to have sex with submissives in a personal (meaning: they aren't paying me) situation.
I've worked in the sex industry since I was 18, so I have almost no frame of reference for any job that doesn't involve someone taking off their clothes. I understand that it wouldn't suit everyone, but it's been an excellent career choice for me.
I also write, mainly for The Stranger, take photographs, and, less often these days, do fine art nude or fetish modeling.
Other bits of information: I'm polyamorous, which means I can (and usually do) have more than one romantic relationship at a time. (Max is poly also.) Poly can be a challenging relationship dynamic, but we've done very well so far, and I have every confidence that we'll continue to do so.
I'm bisexual, apparently, although I have come to feel that all those terms for sexual orientation should be the beginning of a conversation rather than the end of one.
Let's see, what else? I'm socially liberal, with a strong streak of take-responsibility-for your-own-shit. I don't watch TV. I hate most sports. I don't have kids and I don't want them. I'm a Scorpio. I think French Fries are one of the highest forms of cuisine known to humankind. I think Bush stole the election, but I don't know how Ralph Nader can live with himself. I'm not religious, but I strive to be ethical. I have no credit card debt. I frequently enjoy silly humor.
Anyway, kudos to this blog site I just happened to find when I posted mine this morning. Mistress Matisse tells amusing stories and has built up a nice little business for herself. Especially when one considers that her business model is such that she never actually has to perform sex if she doesn't want to. So no danger of STD's -- just ample opportunity to vent one's 21st century frustrations via whip on willing subjects.
Here is Mistress Matisse's Bio:
My name is Mistress Matisse. Or rather, that's one of my names. I have several, but that'll do just fine for this venue. Unless you're actually in my dungeon, you may simply address me as Matisse.
Location: Seattle. Been here since 1992, and I love it. I do not ever want to live anywhere else. Rain? Yeah, some, but Jesus, who cares? I'm really an indoors person anyway. I grew up in Florida and lived in Georgia for a while, where my parents still live (although not together). My brother lived here in Seattle for awhile, but he's recently moved back to Florida, so I'm the only person from my family on the west coast. Although I like my family, this arrangement has certain advantages.
Relationship status: madly in love with my partner, Max. We live together. I identified as a lesbian for about ten years – with a few brief lapses – and then I had a relationship with a female-to-male transsexual, whom I actually (and legally) married right before the whole relationship went south. Way far south. Like, the South Pole.
In the midst of the bloodbath known "getting as a divorce", I fell in love with Max, a not-transsexual, factory-equipped guy. I was sort of bewildered by it at first, but…I can't imagine anything stupider than passing love by just because it doesn't come in the wrapper you expected. It's been slightly over four years now and I'm extremely happy with him, happier than I've ever been.
Occupation: Professional dominatrix. That means people come to me and I do BDSM scenes with them, and they pay me for this. I do not have sex with them, although I consider pro domming to be part of the sex industry in general and I call myself a sex worker. And I've certainly had sex for money in my time, so there's no moral judgment about it.
But, in general, if you do sex with pro dom work, the submissive loses his focus and it blurs the power dynamic, especially in a male submissive/female dominant situation. Plus there's that small matter of it being illegal, but that's really not the main reason, since it's also extremely rare for me to have sex with submissives in a personal (meaning: they aren't paying me) situation.
I've worked in the sex industry since I was 18, so I have almost no frame of reference for any job that doesn't involve someone taking off their clothes. I understand that it wouldn't suit everyone, but it's been an excellent career choice for me.
I also write, mainly for The Stranger, take photographs, and, less often these days, do fine art nude or fetish modeling.
Other bits of information: I'm polyamorous, which means I can (and usually do) have more than one romantic relationship at a time. (Max is poly also.) Poly can be a challenging relationship dynamic, but we've done very well so far, and I have every confidence that we'll continue to do so.
I'm bisexual, apparently, although I have come to feel that all those terms for sexual orientation should be the beginning of a conversation rather than the end of one.
Let's see, what else? I'm socially liberal, with a strong streak of take-responsibility-for your-own-shit. I don't watch TV. I hate most sports. I don't have kids and I don't want them. I'm a Scorpio. I think French Fries are one of the highest forms of cuisine known to humankind. I think Bush stole the election, but I don't know how Ralph Nader can live with himself. I'm not religious, but I strive to be ethical. I have no credit card debt. I frequently enjoy silly humor.
Credit Where Credit is Due. I maintain it was it was my brilliant idea to substitute a spring-break trip to Mexico for a spring-break wisdom teeth extraction that did it. Hubby says it was the countless supportive phone calls he made throughout the semester to the college-floundering son. Suffice to say the son seems to have pulled himself out of a deep, beer-stinking academic hole smelling like roses. Good for him. He has exactly one weekend to enjoy his success and I'll even pitch in for a six-pack of Corona to celebrate. But on Monday he finds a job or it's appendix-out.com for him. ... If he is lucky he'll get the same job he had last year processing licenses at the car registry. Otherwise there is another job available which a friend just told me about -- one that pays a dream hourly wage if you don't mind grueling manual labor alongside a freeway. Oh but do my eyes light up when I think of him doing this. Gosh, when did I become so...cruel, and how could I perhaps capitalize on this aptitude of mine to think up deliciously horrid punishments for stupid teenagers?
Reminder of a Registry Anecdote. The son does occasionally have his endearing moments. Last summer the son's job at the registry mostly included processing new driver's licenses for green-behind-the-ears sixteen-year-olds. Or for little old ladies and men whose driver's licenses really should have been taken away a long time ago. One day an attractive middle-aged woman stepped up to the counter. Typing in the social security number the woman gave him, the son was stymied by what seemed to be a major discrepancy. He typed in the number again. Same outcome. And one more time to be sure. Again same outcome. Without missing a raised-by-a-San-Francisco-mom beat, he turned to the woman who used to be a man, smiled, and asked in his most professional voice, "You'll be wanting a new photo taken?"
Reminder of a Registry Anecdote. The son does occasionally have his endearing moments. Last summer the son's job at the registry mostly included processing new driver's licenses for green-behind-the-ears sixteen-year-olds. Or for little old ladies and men whose driver's licenses really should have been taken away a long time ago. One day an attractive middle-aged woman stepped up to the counter. Typing in the social security number the woman gave him, the son was stymied by what seemed to be a major discrepancy. He typed in the number again. Same outcome. And one more time to be sure. Again same outcome. Without missing a raised-by-a-San-Francisco-mom beat, he turned to the woman who used to be a man, smiled, and asked in his most professional voice, "You'll be wanting a new photo taken?"
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Drum Roll. Enter the Massachusetts Senate i.e. the House is done with its budget deliberations and now it's the Senate's turn to take on the whole kit-and-caboodle called the FY '05 State Budget of Massachusetts. If you call backroom done deals deliberating... Did I just say that?
I consoled one non-profit organization this morning -- one that may be forced to close up shop this year because they didn't get their funding on the House side. Their only hope now is that the Senate will come through for them. They didn't get their funding on the House side because certain Representatives don't like the director of the operation nor do they like the program particularly. But this non-profit doesn't know that. They think their program is god's gift to bettering humanity and the reason they didn't get funding was based on a 'technicality.' Shhhh!
I'm all for the funding of programs to help those less fortunate but there are things that even this mega-liberal doesn't like about this non-profit. The first is that every year, afore-mentioned organization plans their budget based on the assumption they will get at least as much, if not more (preferably more) money from the state even so they were told years ago to start transitioning over to alternate sources of funding. The second is that nearly half of their operating budget is eaten up by the director's $80K-a-year salary. $80K a year and she still hasn't been able to figure out a plan that will wean them from the state tit. "Well," she wails tearfully, "I don't understand why it's so hard to get funding for our program. We help minimum-wage workers get tuition-free training and education to help them become qualified precision machinists and welding and metal fabricators in the "thriving" [my parentheses] metalworking industry in Massachusetts." Delving deeper (as Diving Bird is teaching Anna Bloviation's to do), I learn that this non-profit helps exactly eight minimum-wage workers get training to become master metal workers. Eight. Yes, and I am surprised as you are to learn that Massachusetts has a thriving metalworking industry.
Nothing wrong with this per se except if you're a legislator mired in a pickle of a deficit and have to pick between a homeless program and this particular one. Well then it's kind of a no-brainer politically. Especially that the homeless program can effectively demonstrate the costs to the state if their program isn't funded which is something this high-paid director hasn't been able to show for her program. Like what's the ROI baby?
Gee, I'd be crying too if I were about to lose such a cushy job. Probably I'm just jealous of this chick's job. Some might argue that mine is a very cushy one too, in a kind of I-can-come-and-go-as-I-please, lots-of-holidays way, but the pay is a joke. The last time state employees got a raise in Massachusetts was back in 1998 (all of 2%). Yes, yes the State House is the solitaire-playing capitol of the world but Jiminy Cricket guys, mediocrity exists everywhere! Share the pie. Except for that non-profit organization I mentioned...
I consoled one non-profit organization this morning -- one that may be forced to close up shop this year because they didn't get their funding on the House side. Their only hope now is that the Senate will come through for them. They didn't get their funding on the House side because certain Representatives don't like the director of the operation nor do they like the program particularly. But this non-profit doesn't know that. They think their program is god's gift to bettering humanity and the reason they didn't get funding was based on a 'technicality.' Shhhh!
I'm all for the funding of programs to help those less fortunate but there are things that even this mega-liberal doesn't like about this non-profit. The first is that every year, afore-mentioned organization plans their budget based on the assumption they will get at least as much, if not more (preferably more) money from the state even so they were told years ago to start transitioning over to alternate sources of funding. The second is that nearly half of their operating budget is eaten up by the director's $80K-a-year salary. $80K a year and she still hasn't been able to figure out a plan that will wean them from the state tit. "Well," she wails tearfully, "I don't understand why it's so hard to get funding for our program. We help minimum-wage workers get tuition-free training and education to help them become qualified precision machinists and welding and metal fabricators in the "thriving" [my parentheses] metalworking industry in Massachusetts." Delving deeper (as Diving Bird is teaching Anna Bloviation's to do), I learn that this non-profit helps exactly eight minimum-wage workers get training to become master metal workers. Eight. Yes, and I am surprised as you are to learn that Massachusetts has a thriving metalworking industry.
Nothing wrong with this per se except if you're a legislator mired in a pickle of a deficit and have to pick between a homeless program and this particular one. Well then it's kind of a no-brainer politically. Especially that the homeless program can effectively demonstrate the costs to the state if their program isn't funded which is something this high-paid director hasn't been able to show for her program. Like what's the ROI baby?
Gee, I'd be crying too if I were about to lose such a cushy job. Probably I'm just jealous of this chick's job. Some might argue that mine is a very cushy one too, in a kind of I-can-come-and-go-as-I-please, lots-of-holidays way, but the pay is a joke. The last time state employees got a raise in Massachusetts was back in 1998 (all of 2%). Yes, yes the State House is the solitaire-playing capitol of the world but Jiminy Cricket guys, mediocrity exists everywhere! Share the pie. Except for that non-profit organization I mentioned...
Monday, May 03, 2004
I love this guy. The guy being a friend who helps me out occasionally in my debates with my conservies. His forte is in his amazing research abilities. I've gotten pretty good at finding stuff on the Internet myself but to use a bird analogy, I'm a mere surface-skimming grebe to this Newfoundland diving bird. As in he goes deep. Yesterday my Newfoundland diving bird sent me a NASA Earth Observatory link which substantiates something I brought up in my August 27th blog. Comments in that blog were based on a 2003 article that appeared in one of my favorite magazines, ORION. In the article was a very interesting account of everything you ever wanted to know about contrails -- that cumulus white graffiti jets scratch across clear blue skies everyday. The section that related to the NASA link my friend found is where the author discusses what climatologists discovered following 9/11:
"People looked up. Climatologists in particular. They knew they'd been given a unique opportunity: the chance to see what would happen if you snapped your fingers and halted all airplane traffic over an entire continent for a few days. They gathered weather data collected during the hiatus and compared them with historical records. Their findings seem to bolster the theory of contrails as climate changers. Temperature swings in North America were about two degrees Fahrenheit wider than normal during those days. The anomalies were especially pronounced at locations under busy jet routes."
When I pointed this article out to my conservie acquaintances back in August, it was pooh-poohed as not scientific enough to be worthy of a read. When confronted with the NASA link that Diving Bird sent out yesterday, one of my conservies, a recently divorced computer nerd out in Southern California, wrote:
Dear Anna Bloviations,
I hope you now realize that applying some sort of factual basis to your arguments might make people take what you say seriously. You can thank Diving Bird for tirelessly scouring the net to back up your opinion from ten months ago.
As far as the contrail argument goes, one scientist's opinion doesn't make it so. If you want to have a debate on whether or nor ORION nailed it when they hinted that contrails cause global warming, then you have to establish the fact that there is actual "global warming." It's tough to prove that one thing can cause another when the latter is far from being proven.
Most scientists agree that global warming is a political hot button, not an actual, factual, provable occurrence. We all know Al Gore is on the bleeding edge of earth science and blames anyone who is a registered Republican for global warming. If global warming actually exists and is proven to be caused by humans (Republican humans), I wonder if Al Gore would probe into whether or not cigarette smoke has anything to do with it. I doubt that any of the millions of pounds of tobacco produced at Al Gore's plantations could cause global warming. Nor would his tobacco ever cause cancer.
Does anyone remember the ice age? Know why it happened? Did Republicans cause that? Does anyone here think that the earth is on its own course and we're just along for the ride?
Dear Conservie:
I beg to differ but there WAS factual basis to my argument i.e. Matt Rasmussen wrote it nine months ago. Diving Bird's findings in this instance are merely the cherry on top of the cake. Had you bothered to venture out of your four-by-four, this-is-how-I-want-to-see-life box, you might have discovered this yourself. Here is the abridged version of the article: Notes on the Subject of CONTRAILS: The day the sky stood still. Subscribe to ORION's glossy, gorgeous, germane magazine and you can have the whole article in its entirety. But just think Mr. Conservie. Had you listened to me back then, you could have been using some great pick-up lines on the Southern California babes out in your parts: "See that contrail up there...?" Because contrails make for great lines.
As to whether there exists or doesn't exist global warming due to man's abysmal track record in taking care of its environment, what if you're right? What if we are just along for the ride and nothing we are doing has any affect whatsoever on the world's inevitable climate changes? If this is your thinking then we have indeed arrived at a very interesting philosophical point in our discussions . Do we take an Oh-what-the-hell, Hummer-driving, chemical-spilling, McMansion-building attitude and live it up to the hilt because we're going down anyway? Or, even if we are aware that cosmically speaking we are mere peanuts in the grand scheme of things, we nonetheless make choices that we know will direct us to a more sustainable, enlightened, and environmentally-friendly way of living based on the scientific knowledge we have ascertained with certainty thus far. Which party, Democrats or Republicans (and unfortunately we only have two parties), has the better record?
Having just recently sent a concession email to Mr. XXX that Democrats are by no means exempt from environmental wrong-doing (Kerry's seven SUV's), I think it moot that you would further think it newsworthy that Mr. Gore is no saint either. Are we to just finger-point until we are all hanging-on-for-dear-life to the old Boston Custom House Tower whilst SUV's drift pass us upon the flooded shores of Massachusetts?
Diving Bird says I am in a 'funk' when I pronounce cockroaches and ants more deserved of the world than we humans. But really I can think of very few creatures, if any, that are so adept at destroying the earth that would sustain them as we humans are.
Too bad common sense isn't recognized as a science. It sure would spare us a lot of grief and destruction...
"People looked up. Climatologists in particular. They knew they'd been given a unique opportunity: the chance to see what would happen if you snapped your fingers and halted all airplane traffic over an entire continent for a few days. They gathered weather data collected during the hiatus and compared them with historical records. Their findings seem to bolster the theory of contrails as climate changers. Temperature swings in North America were about two degrees Fahrenheit wider than normal during those days. The anomalies were especially pronounced at locations under busy jet routes."
When I pointed this article out to my conservie acquaintances back in August, it was pooh-poohed as not scientific enough to be worthy of a read. When confronted with the NASA link that Diving Bird sent out yesterday, one of my conservies, a recently divorced computer nerd out in Southern California, wrote:
Dear Anna Bloviations,
I hope you now realize that applying some sort of factual basis to your arguments might make people take what you say seriously. You can thank Diving Bird for tirelessly scouring the net to back up your opinion from ten months ago.
As far as the contrail argument goes, one scientist's opinion doesn't make it so. If you want to have a debate on whether or nor ORION nailed it when they hinted that contrails cause global warming, then you have to establish the fact that there is actual "global warming." It's tough to prove that one thing can cause another when the latter is far from being proven.
Most scientists agree that global warming is a political hot button, not an actual, factual, provable occurrence. We all know Al Gore is on the bleeding edge of earth science and blames anyone who is a registered Republican for global warming. If global warming actually exists and is proven to be caused by humans (Republican humans), I wonder if Al Gore would probe into whether or not cigarette smoke has anything to do with it. I doubt that any of the millions of pounds of tobacco produced at Al Gore's plantations could cause global warming. Nor would his tobacco ever cause cancer.
Does anyone remember the ice age? Know why it happened? Did Republicans cause that? Does anyone here think that the earth is on its own course and we're just along for the ride?
Dear Conservie:
I beg to differ but there WAS factual basis to my argument i.e. Matt Rasmussen wrote it nine months ago. Diving Bird's findings in this instance are merely the cherry on top of the cake. Had you bothered to venture out of your four-by-four, this-is-how-I-want-to-see-life box, you might have discovered this yourself. Here is the abridged version of the article: Notes on the Subject of CONTRAILS: The day the sky stood still. Subscribe to ORION's glossy, gorgeous, germane magazine and you can have the whole article in its entirety. But just think Mr. Conservie. Had you listened to me back then, you could have been using some great pick-up lines on the Southern California babes out in your parts: "See that contrail up there...?" Because contrails make for great lines.
As to whether there exists or doesn't exist global warming due to man's abysmal track record in taking care of its environment, what if you're right? What if we are just along for the ride and nothing we are doing has any affect whatsoever on the world's inevitable climate changes? If this is your thinking then we have indeed arrived at a very interesting philosophical point in our discussions . Do we take an Oh-what-the-hell, Hummer-driving, chemical-spilling, McMansion-building attitude and live it up to the hilt because we're going down anyway? Or, even if we are aware that cosmically speaking we are mere peanuts in the grand scheme of things, we nonetheless make choices that we know will direct us to a more sustainable, enlightened, and environmentally-friendly way of living based on the scientific knowledge we have ascertained with certainty thus far. Which party, Democrats or Republicans (and unfortunately we only have two parties), has the better record?
Having just recently sent a concession email to Mr. XXX that Democrats are by no means exempt from environmental wrong-doing (Kerry's seven SUV's), I think it moot that you would further think it newsworthy that Mr. Gore is no saint either. Are we to just finger-point until we are all hanging-on-for-dear-life to the old Boston Custom House Tower whilst SUV's drift pass us upon the flooded shores of Massachusetts?
Diving Bird says I am in a 'funk' when I pronounce cockroaches and ants more deserved of the world than we humans. But really I can think of very few creatures, if any, that are so adept at destroying the earth that would sustain them as we humans are.
Too bad common sense isn't recognized as a science. It sure would spare us a lot of grief and destruction...
Saturday, May 01, 2004
The garden outside my home office window isn't much to look at if you're into groomed and clipped. For that you would have had to visit this garden about fifteen years ago when the previous owners, the XXX's lived here. I'm sure back then it was lovely -- in a manicured-sort-of-way. Rocks which once bordered neatly-contained, weed-free flower beds are still visible. A slate stone path is barely visible on the lawn although it is menacingly threatened by encroaching grass intent on smothering its existence. If, by the way, I were so inspired to save the slated path by hacking the grass back into conformity, it would still lead to nowhere but the back fence. So I'm not quite sure what the point of such an energy-expenditure would be. The lawn has become arguably patchy in places. In those patches have grown what most gardeners would consider 'enemy combatants' (i.e. crab grass and dandelions); they have grown from sect status to a considerable demographic to be reckoned with.
Certainly the young man who comes to cut the grass thinks my garden worthy of disdain: "What a mess," he pronounced this morning.
As usual I don't see it this way at all. A perfectly manicured garden, in my opinion, is just boring. Worse, it is horribly irresponsible from an environmental standpoint. Because let's think about how one achieves such manicure-dom. Either the curators of the garden are using massive amounts of toxic chemicals to realize their aesthetic weed-free whims or they have a lot of cheap, illegal labor mulching the flower beds. In either case, copious amounts of precious fresh water are needed to water these stamps'-of perfect-suburban-green.
An untamed garden is much more interesting in my opinion. It is a joy to watch evolution unfold before one's eyes as competing plants vie for sunlight, water, and turf. Over time one discovers that these plants usually find a way to co-exist happily and the result is a colorful oxymora of harmonic cacophony. My contribution to this untamed chaotic beauty outside my window is the clay pot(s) that dot my cement patio. They are filled with rich black earth and a purpose: either an herb, vegetable, or riot of color. The 'garden' itself is but a symbiotic backdrop to my man-made potted dallying.
This leads me to my insurgent squirrels. Last week I put out pots of pansies and tulips in my as-yet vain attempt to encourage this stubborn Spring into labor. The dogwood tree outside my window, for instance, still stands brown-barren naked. However, no sooner had I bedecked our outdoor picnic table with a pot full of motivational encouragement, when a small group of militant squirrels attacked-and-destroyed my planted jewelry. I mean destroyed it. They savagely dug out the tulip bulbs and severed every pansy head blooming so prettily.
My theory is that the backyard squirrels have been so traumatized over the years by my Australian Shepard (who for lack of sheep to herd has made it her mission to try and rid the world of evil squirrels every time she runs out into the garden) that the squirrels have made it their mission to retaliate both viciously and unrelentingly against their aggressor. To think my garden is a microcosm of the bigger world...
Certainly the young man who comes to cut the grass thinks my garden worthy of disdain: "What a mess," he pronounced this morning.
As usual I don't see it this way at all. A perfectly manicured garden, in my opinion, is just boring. Worse, it is horribly irresponsible from an environmental standpoint. Because let's think about how one achieves such manicure-dom. Either the curators of the garden are using massive amounts of toxic chemicals to realize their aesthetic weed-free whims or they have a lot of cheap, illegal labor mulching the flower beds. In either case, copious amounts of precious fresh water are needed to water these stamps'-of perfect-suburban-green.
An untamed garden is much more interesting in my opinion. It is a joy to watch evolution unfold before one's eyes as competing plants vie for sunlight, water, and turf. Over time one discovers that these plants usually find a way to co-exist happily and the result is a colorful oxymora of harmonic cacophony. My contribution to this untamed chaotic beauty outside my window is the clay pot(s) that dot my cement patio. They are filled with rich black earth and a purpose: either an herb, vegetable, or riot of color. The 'garden' itself is but a symbiotic backdrop to my man-made potted dallying.
This leads me to my insurgent squirrels. Last week I put out pots of pansies and tulips in my as-yet vain attempt to encourage this stubborn Spring into labor. The dogwood tree outside my window, for instance, still stands brown-barren naked. However, no sooner had I bedecked our outdoor picnic table with a pot full of motivational encouragement, when a small group of militant squirrels attacked-and-destroyed my planted jewelry. I mean destroyed it. They savagely dug out the tulip bulbs and severed every pansy head blooming so prettily.
My theory is that the backyard squirrels have been so traumatized over the years by my Australian Shepard (who for lack of sheep to herd has made it her mission to try and rid the world of evil squirrels every time she runs out into the garden) that the squirrels have made it their mission to retaliate both viciously and unrelentingly against their aggressor. To think my garden is a microcosm of the bigger world...
