Can Congress force the President to pull out of Iraq?
Well, they've done it before - and by "they" I mean the very people who claim it can't be done.
Not that I wouldn't put it past the Dems to have arguing the reverse of their current position, either - but it shows you how fickle the GOP can be when their policy is on the chopping block.
Glenn Greenwald has them by the short hairs.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Stand up if you hate Man U
A few years back, in the game they call football, my chosen team had a nemesis. My team were likable underachievers. Their rivals were the media darlings - dynastic, marketable: "America's Team."
Among their numerous loathsome qualities, one stood out above all others.
They kept winning.
Each undeserved victory made them more arrogant, more insufferable. To the point when you felt that surely - were there a God in heaven - he would make them suffer just to restore the faith of people like me.
But this didn't happen. They changed coaches and were champions again. They changed players, and still managed to cruise to victory.
Their players were criminals, their owner, the king of all assholes, but their fans didn't care so long as they could be part of a winning side.
Just thinking of the times they crushed my team over and over again still rankles.
---
So it is with Manchester United - in the game that they actually play with their feet - they are the bazillion-pound gorilla squatting atop the league table, spitting out the bones of lesser teams and giving the "up yours" to anyone not wearing their colors.
They've won the championship fifteen times, they've won the double, the triple - and damn near everything in sight.
They were purchased for 1.5 Billion dollars, they field one of the largest payrolls in Europe. Their wealth gives them access to anyone and they gobble up talent anywhere they find it. Any player who does well at the Euro championships will likely play for Man U the following season. Their bench could make a solid showing in any league in the world.
And I hate them. Because they win. Because their fans are insufferable when they win. But mostly because they are usually to blame for my teams not going home with the trophy.
Truth be told, there are a number of Man U players I'd respect, I just wish they'd come to their senses and play for a likable side.
Giggs, for example, is just quality all the time. His play is always impressive and his work ethic hasn't been affected by the fact that most everyone around him is a raging jerkwad.
You see Giggs get mad, but it's usually for a very good reason. You never see him fly off the handle and whine about a non-call the way you would see C. Ronaldo do a few seasons ago.
Ronaldo. Any year but this past one, I'd say he was the biggest waste of talent in the league. All that speed, buckets of talent and he'd spend most of his time diving to the ground and whining about being fouled. His playacting was especially pathetic when he played for Portugal in the last World Cup - I think even his countrymen were mad at him after that one. All this showboating and nothing to show for it.
This year, Ronaldo seems to have put his head down and do what he does best - make defenders look foolish. So I can't bitch about him being the personification of what I hate about Man U.
That honor falls to Wayne Rooney - a thick-bodied bully of a striker who was England's false hope in the last World Cup - A man who is the prototypical boorish, hotheaded thug that Man U haters like me conjure up just to stoke their seething hatred of the Red Devils.
Rooney's got skills, no question - but when he isn't doing terribly well, you can tell he's looking for someone else to blame: the ref, the defender, his teammates, or the imaginary foul that stopped his breakaway.
Whatever it is - it sure as hell isn't the fact that Rooney has been playing for shit lately. That couldn't be it.
So, I've been enjoying watching Rooney have an off year, even if Man U had surged ahead of everyone in the league. It was nice to see that Rooney was getting pissed off and handling it badly - like watching McEnroe or Nastassi self-destruct - it was fun.
Today Man U played my team - Arsenal. In the Gunner's new digs - and I'm hoping for a repeat of Arsenal's dazzling form against other teams. Man U is the evil empire, but surely God has them due for a comeuppance. Right? He wouldn't just be toying with me, right?
Kickoff.
Right off the bat, Arsenal isn't playing well. Man U blasts a few at the net and dominates the early possession. Worse - there's this really shameful playacting by Eboue to fool the ref into carding a Man U player. Disgusting.
Arsenal's on their heels for a good part of the first half, but show some signs of life here and there. They just aren't combining well, and Henry (while finally back from injury) is in lurk mode.
Fabregas, the Spanish phenom, is scrambling for all he's worth, but just isn't getting any traction. He's showing a lot of heart, chasing no-hope balls that show you he's trying, but he's wasting a lot of energy and looking rather young.
A scoreless half ends - Man U has the upper hand, but maybe Arsenal can start fresh after the half. I can hope right? How cruel can the universe be?
Second half.
Arsenal does come out with a bit more flare - and Man U gets pushed back and suddenly I'm getting hopeful.
Then Rooney does something he hasn't done in awhile: he scores.
Arsenal is down 0-1 to the forces of darkness, scored on by the foulest Red Devil of them all.
Man U's fans are in the house and they go ape. Arsenal tries to respond with a quick equalizer, but they are more desperate than skilled. Rosicky has made it his personal mission to whiff on as many easy ones as he can - three or four good chances will fall at his feet, and he'll blow them.
Twenty-two minutes in, Wenger sends in Van Persie- who is not in top shape. This smacks of desperation to me, but I'm looking for any hope I can get.
Twenty minutes to go, Arsenal are struggling hard, but long balls aren't going their way - passes that could be brilliant moves are intercepted and turned into counterattacks. Ronaldo is increasingly dangerous.
Eighty one minutes in, it looks like Man U has started the stall. They sub in Saha, and people are taking their time.
Adebayor keeps displaying more drive than sense by charging Van de Saar before every goal kick - like he's going to slip up. Yeah, Van de Saar. Screw up. Never gonna happen.
And Fabregas, he's just too young to know that this is going nowhere - he's sliding and diving and charging balls that are meaningless. Wild passes, wild shots - it's practically embarrassing.
He and Rosicky get into a scrum with two Man U defenders, and it looks like one of those basketball plays where the players keep falling over and you're just waiting to see who will get tagged with the foul.
--and then Fabregas gets the ball and nicely slips it to Rosicky-
--Rosicky jets into the box and crosses to Henry-
--who does an amazing backheel pass to
--Van Persie who blasts it past a diving Van de Saar.
Tied. Son of a bitch! Seven minutes from time and Arsenal gets to salvage a point in front of the faithful. Awesome. More than could be expected. Honor is served.
And then things get strange. Arsenal starts surging into attack mode - there's blood in the water, and you get the feeling that - time permitting - they may not be done.
Two good chances go nowhere, but Man U is clearly out of it now. Lots of hard work, but nothing approaching their earlier dominance.
Four minutes of injury time - and you know the Man U fans are sweating it. They're on the chopping block and it's clear - only the clock will save them.
And then there's a wild sequence of passing - Fabregas again, then away, then Eboue curls a cross into the pack and -
Henry soars up to head the cross into the net.
Pandemonium.
It'll go down as minute 90, but it's 92 and change. Man U has no time to salvage a point, although they try.
A driving shot goes to Lehmann, who almost stalls himself into a yellow card for delay. He boots the ball to midfield and the whistle blows.
Scoreline - January 23, 2007
Arsenal: 2
Manchester United: 1
Rooney 53, Van Persie 83, Henry 90
God is in his heaven.
Among their numerous loathsome qualities, one stood out above all others.
They kept winning.
Each undeserved victory made them more arrogant, more insufferable. To the point when you felt that surely - were there a God in heaven - he would make them suffer just to restore the faith of people like me.
But this didn't happen. They changed coaches and were champions again. They changed players, and still managed to cruise to victory.
Their players were criminals, their owner, the king of all assholes, but their fans didn't care so long as they could be part of a winning side.
Just thinking of the times they crushed my team over and over again still rankles.
---
So it is with Manchester United - in the game that they actually play with their feet - they are the bazillion-pound gorilla squatting atop the league table, spitting out the bones of lesser teams and giving the "up yours" to anyone not wearing their colors.
They've won the championship fifteen times, they've won the double, the triple - and damn near everything in sight.
They were purchased for 1.5 Billion dollars, they field one of the largest payrolls in Europe. Their wealth gives them access to anyone and they gobble up talent anywhere they find it. Any player who does well at the Euro championships will likely play for Man U the following season. Their bench could make a solid showing in any league in the world.
And I hate them. Because they win. Because their fans are insufferable when they win. But mostly because they are usually to blame for my teams not going home with the trophy.
Truth be told, there are a number of Man U players I'd respect, I just wish they'd come to their senses and play for a likable side.
Giggs, for example, is just quality all the time. His play is always impressive and his work ethic hasn't been affected by the fact that most everyone around him is a raging jerkwad.
You see Giggs get mad, but it's usually for a very good reason. You never see him fly off the handle and whine about a non-call the way you would see C. Ronaldo do a few seasons ago.
Ronaldo. Any year but this past one, I'd say he was the biggest waste of talent in the league. All that speed, buckets of talent and he'd spend most of his time diving to the ground and whining about being fouled. His playacting was especially pathetic when he played for Portugal in the last World Cup - I think even his countrymen were mad at him after that one. All this showboating and nothing to show for it.
This year, Ronaldo seems to have put his head down and do what he does best - make defenders look foolish. So I can't bitch about him being the personification of what I hate about Man U.
That honor falls to Wayne Rooney - a thick-bodied bully of a striker who was England's false hope in the last World Cup - A man who is the prototypical boorish, hotheaded thug that Man U haters like me conjure up just to stoke their seething hatred of the Red Devils.
Rooney's got skills, no question - but when he isn't doing terribly well, you can tell he's looking for someone else to blame: the ref, the defender, his teammates, or the imaginary foul that stopped his breakaway.
Whatever it is - it sure as hell isn't the fact that Rooney has been playing for shit lately. That couldn't be it.
So, I've been enjoying watching Rooney have an off year, even if Man U had surged ahead of everyone in the league. It was nice to see that Rooney was getting pissed off and handling it badly - like watching McEnroe or Nastassi self-destruct - it was fun.
Today Man U played my team - Arsenal. In the Gunner's new digs - and I'm hoping for a repeat of Arsenal's dazzling form against other teams. Man U is the evil empire, but surely God has them due for a comeuppance. Right? He wouldn't just be toying with me, right?
Kickoff.
Right off the bat, Arsenal isn't playing well. Man U blasts a few at the net and dominates the early possession. Worse - there's this really shameful playacting by Eboue to fool the ref into carding a Man U player. Disgusting.
Arsenal's on their heels for a good part of the first half, but show some signs of life here and there. They just aren't combining well, and Henry (while finally back from injury) is in lurk mode.
Fabregas, the Spanish phenom, is scrambling for all he's worth, but just isn't getting any traction. He's showing a lot of heart, chasing no-hope balls that show you he's trying, but he's wasting a lot of energy and looking rather young.
A scoreless half ends - Man U has the upper hand, but maybe Arsenal can start fresh after the half. I can hope right? How cruel can the universe be?
Second half.
Arsenal does come out with a bit more flare - and Man U gets pushed back and suddenly I'm getting hopeful.
Then Rooney does something he hasn't done in awhile: he scores.
Arsenal is down 0-1 to the forces of darkness, scored on by the foulest Red Devil of them all.
Man U's fans are in the house and they go ape. Arsenal tries to respond with a quick equalizer, but they are more desperate than skilled. Rosicky has made it his personal mission to whiff on as many easy ones as he can - three or four good chances will fall at his feet, and he'll blow them.
Twenty-two minutes in, Wenger sends in Van Persie- who is not in top shape. This smacks of desperation to me, but I'm looking for any hope I can get.
Twenty minutes to go, Arsenal are struggling hard, but long balls aren't going their way - passes that could be brilliant moves are intercepted and turned into counterattacks. Ronaldo is increasingly dangerous.
Eighty one minutes in, it looks like Man U has started the stall. They sub in Saha, and people are taking their time.
Adebayor keeps displaying more drive than sense by charging Van de Saar before every goal kick - like he's going to slip up. Yeah, Van de Saar. Screw up. Never gonna happen.
And Fabregas, he's just too young to know that this is going nowhere - he's sliding and diving and charging balls that are meaningless. Wild passes, wild shots - it's practically embarrassing.
He and Rosicky get into a scrum with two Man U defenders, and it looks like one of those basketball plays where the players keep falling over and you're just waiting to see who will get tagged with the foul.
--and then Fabregas gets the ball and nicely slips it to Rosicky-
--Rosicky jets into the box and crosses to Henry-
--who does an amazing backheel pass to
--Van Persie who blasts it past a diving Van de Saar.
Tied. Son of a bitch! Seven minutes from time and Arsenal gets to salvage a point in front of the faithful. Awesome. More than could be expected. Honor is served.
And then things get strange. Arsenal starts surging into attack mode - there's blood in the water, and you get the feeling that - time permitting - they may not be done.
Two good chances go nowhere, but Man U is clearly out of it now. Lots of hard work, but nothing approaching their earlier dominance.
Four minutes of injury time - and you know the Man U fans are sweating it. They're on the chopping block and it's clear - only the clock will save them.
And then there's a wild sequence of passing - Fabregas again, then away, then Eboue curls a cross into the pack and -
Henry soars up to head the cross into the net.
Pandemonium.
It'll go down as minute 90, but it's 92 and change. Man U has no time to salvage a point, although they try.
A driving shot goes to Lehmann, who almost stalls himself into a yellow card for delay. He boots the ball to midfield and the whistle blows.
Scoreline - January 23, 2007
Arsenal: 2
Manchester United: 1
Rooney 53, Van Persie 83, Henry 90
God is in his heaven.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Who's that throwing the President under the bus?
Mystery pundit, would you agree that this administration waited to make changes until after the election?
That was David Brooks, in-house conservative for the NYT appearing on Newshour.
Yeah, it's that bad.
A visibly-embarrassed-for-his-colleague, Mark Shields followed this with, "I can't argue with anything that David said there."
I could. But the fact that high-vis conservatives like Brooks are calling the President on his baseless confidence sure saves me a lot of effort.
Thanks David - now just start recanting all the crap you've shoveled out for the past six years and we'll call it even.
"Well, I do think they knew there had to be a change before the election. And they just waited until after the election to announce it.
I found -- one of answers I found interesting was on, again, going back to this issue of 17,500 troops in Baghdad. You asked him, will that be enough? And he said, I'll do what the generals tell me to do basically.
Give up?
Well, that was his answer for three years when they told him they didn't commit enough troops, as he now acknowledges. So why should we believe him now? And which generals are these?
And what he's trying to do is absolve himself from having to make a judgment and give us the reasons for the judgment, because there are all different generals and colonels and everybody else giving different analyses of how many troops it will take.
And he doesn't give us any military reason. And when pressed, he always gives you a personal reason. "Well, I trust this guy, General Casey. I like that guy, General Abizaid." Well, they're good guys, but the president has to have made -- has to have heard the different arguments and have a substantive reason why this number of troops will work and that number of troops won't work.
And he never really answers on that. He just says, "I defer to the generals." Again, that's not good enough anymore. I haven't heard that many other plausible arguments. And I'm willing to give this policy a chance, as other people who know more about the military situation, more than me, are willing to give it a chance.
But you've got to ease the skepticism based on three years of failure. And, again, that involves granularity; that involves evidence; that involves treating people like adults and not talking down to them."
That was David Brooks, in-house conservative for the NYT appearing on Newshour.
Yeah, it's that bad.
A visibly-embarrassed-for-his-colleague, Mark Shields followed this with, "I can't argue with anything that David said there."
I could. But the fact that high-vis conservatives like Brooks are calling the President on his baseless confidence sure saves me a lot of effort.
Thanks David - now just start recanting all the crap you've shoveled out for the past six years and we'll call it even.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Role reversal
Weekends are pretty much freefall around here. E’s betting we don’t get out of the house before noon. I don’t take the bet. Good thing, too. We pull out of the driveway at 1:04.
On the list is post office, shopping and generally getting out of the damn house. We’re a bit frazzled, and kid logistics has the two of us way back on our heels. E was going to get a haircut, but that fell through. We need to mail some things we should have sent weeks ago, but we don’t know if the post office will even be open.
I’m betting it won’t. E’s not taking the bet.
Incredibly, we’re both wrong. A federal office building is open on a weekend until 4pm. Rather than unhook both kids, I drop E off and orbit. By the time she’s done – both kids are unconscious.
Which puts a crimp in the next agenda item. No biggie. E knows what she wants to get, storage stuff and a replacement bowl for the one our neighbor loaned us (that we broke). I go on a sightseeing tour of the fascinating industrial park, and E goes to work.
E bats about .500, but we’re thinking we can hit another store and get everything in one trip. I’m thinking about the next place when E yells out-
“Stop!”
The car ahead of me has stopped and I’m rolling right up on them. I slam on the brakes, and stop less than two feet from the car ahead of me.
Almost a complete duplicate of last time. My head was off somewhere, and I’d almost plowed into someone with our new van.
I exhale slowly. “That was-“
-And then we get creamed by someone else from behind.
-And then we get pushed into the car in front of us.
Dammit. Dammit.
A blue Honda has mushed itself against our back end, and we’ve rebounded off the back of a plum-colored Corolla.
In the way that people do following accidents, all three cars slowly drift over to the side of the road.
Everybody’s okay in the van. No airbags in sight. E’s checking on the Girl, the Boy’s fine, he’s chirping away and wondering why we’ve stopped.
The Corolla lady is out of her car, she looks okay. Honda woman is as well. Honda’s seen fit to come up and ask why we stopped. E and Honda lock horns for a moment – and it’s clear that Honda hasn’t yet done the math and realized that she’s plowed into a vehicle that wasn’t moving.
I’m on the cell calling the cops, Honda’s asking E who I’m calling – I can tell this is a person I do not want to speak to.
With everybody fine and the cops en route, I just stay strapped in. Nothing to do now but wait. Corolla lady gets that and goes back into her car where it’s warm. Honda lady is a little more worked up. Having done the accident thing two months ago, I’m already getting out my license and proof of insurance.
Honda does the “I should stand outside for awhile” thing that seems sensible after an accident. Since its snowing, we stay inside and wait.
The cop shows up and starts with Honda. I can relate to that moment. Last time, I’d blown it. I knew I’d blown it. There wasn’t much to say.
Honda woman clearly has a lot to say. Not that it will do her any good at all. You rear end a stopped vehicle, you get written up. This I know.
Our turn, I’m worried that the cop is on the driver’s side of our car, next to the traffic. I offer to get out and do the interview on the sidewalk. She’s okay with standing next to moving cars.
Okay. So I give her my cards, tell her what happened, tell her we’re okay – and she goes around to the safe side of the car to get the names of everyone else in the car.
Good thing, too. Right after she gets all the names, another accident happens right next to us.
Same damn thing. One car misses the fact that the car in front of them has stopped and-
Bam! They hit and-
Bam! Push that car into a third.
Our cop calls it in and runs over to the third car, where a distraught looking mom is getting out and crawling into the backseat to retrieve her baby.
The driver of the car that started this new mess gets out, some young girl, and they start doing what we just got through: “you okay?”
An ambulance arrives almost immediately – apparently the baby got splashed with hot coffee in the impact, along with another passenger. No impact injuries.
The other three vehicles now pull in front of our three. Six cars in a line, flanked by a debris field of taillights and headlights.
It’s starting to sink in – this van has 15,000 miles on it and I’ve owned it for less than two months. Hell, less than one month – I think. And now it’s been rear-ended.
I get out and finally look at the back end. Our bumper’s hanging off like a drag chute, but we’re drivable.
Cop apologizes for the delay, but it’s easy to understand. Two accidents at once is a bit of a deal. After awhile, she comes back and gives me my cards back, and tells me the same stuff the last cop did. Honda lady is being cited – just like last time, only last time was me. I ask if this intersection has a lot of this kind of thing. Cop lady says “This is a terrible intersection, people come over the hill and suddenly they have to stop. This happens a lot.”
We hit urgent care to have the kids checked up on – and they both appear to be fine. We decide to have dinner out, since we’ve missed lunch and most of us are starving.
So, we go to our usual place. I’m coming down the hill towards a stop sign where we’ll be turning left. I start to slow down –
-except I don’t. The van maintains its speed, and I feel the staccato of the ABS kick in.
We’re on ice, cruising towards an intersection, and there’s there is no way we will stop. I reflexively take my foot off the brake and hit it again.
No change in speed, we’re going through this stop sign. I look up to see what to expect. Fortunately, at this intersection, we only have to worry about traffic from the left.
I can see one car heading towards us. The only way they hit us is if we slow down.
I speed up.
We blow through the stop sign, and are immediately rewarded with clean pavement.
I don’t even know if the oncoming car noticed us – but I’m replaying that in my mind, using different scenarios. I was coming down the hill too fast. It’s snowing.
I’m an idiot. Two hours after getting rear-ended, I almost get us broadsided.
We hit the restaurant, and I do the insurance tango. My at-fault cost us $100 more a year, no telling what a no-fault within two months will do to us.
Plus deductible, plus replacing child seats, plus…
Un-be-effing-lievable.
We should have stayed in bed.
On the list is post office, shopping and generally getting out of the damn house. We’re a bit frazzled, and kid logistics has the two of us way back on our heels. E was going to get a haircut, but that fell through. We need to mail some things we should have sent weeks ago, but we don’t know if the post office will even be open.
I’m betting it won’t. E’s not taking the bet.
Incredibly, we’re both wrong. A federal office building is open on a weekend until 4pm. Rather than unhook both kids, I drop E off and orbit. By the time she’s done – both kids are unconscious.
Which puts a crimp in the next agenda item. No biggie. E knows what she wants to get, storage stuff and a replacement bowl for the one our neighbor loaned us (that we broke). I go on a sightseeing tour of the fascinating industrial park, and E goes to work.
E bats about .500, but we’re thinking we can hit another store and get everything in one trip. I’m thinking about the next place when E yells out-
“Stop!”
The car ahead of me has stopped and I’m rolling right up on them. I slam on the brakes, and stop less than two feet from the car ahead of me.
Almost a complete duplicate of last time. My head was off somewhere, and I’d almost plowed into someone with our new van.
I exhale slowly. “That was-“
-And then we get creamed by someone else from behind.
-And then we get pushed into the car in front of us.
Dammit. Dammit.
A blue Honda has mushed itself against our back end, and we’ve rebounded off the back of a plum-colored Corolla.
In the way that people do following accidents, all three cars slowly drift over to the side of the road.
Everybody’s okay in the van. No airbags in sight. E’s checking on the Girl, the Boy’s fine, he’s chirping away and wondering why we’ve stopped.
The Corolla lady is out of her car, she looks okay. Honda woman is as well. Honda’s seen fit to come up and ask why we stopped. E and Honda lock horns for a moment – and it’s clear that Honda hasn’t yet done the math and realized that she’s plowed into a vehicle that wasn’t moving.
I’m on the cell calling the cops, Honda’s asking E who I’m calling – I can tell this is a person I do not want to speak to.
With everybody fine and the cops en route, I just stay strapped in. Nothing to do now but wait. Corolla lady gets that and goes back into her car where it’s warm. Honda lady is a little more worked up. Having done the accident thing two months ago, I’m already getting out my license and proof of insurance.
Honda does the “I should stand outside for awhile” thing that seems sensible after an accident. Since its snowing, we stay inside and wait.
The cop shows up and starts with Honda. I can relate to that moment. Last time, I’d blown it. I knew I’d blown it. There wasn’t much to say.
Honda woman clearly has a lot to say. Not that it will do her any good at all. You rear end a stopped vehicle, you get written up. This I know.
Our turn, I’m worried that the cop is on the driver’s side of our car, next to the traffic. I offer to get out and do the interview on the sidewalk. She’s okay with standing next to moving cars.
Okay. So I give her my cards, tell her what happened, tell her we’re okay – and she goes around to the safe side of the car to get the names of everyone else in the car.
Good thing, too. Right after she gets all the names, another accident happens right next to us.
Same damn thing. One car misses the fact that the car in front of them has stopped and-
Bam! They hit and-
Bam! Push that car into a third.
Our cop calls it in and runs over to the third car, where a distraught looking mom is getting out and crawling into the backseat to retrieve her baby.
The driver of the car that started this new mess gets out, some young girl, and they start doing what we just got through: “you okay?”
An ambulance arrives almost immediately – apparently the baby got splashed with hot coffee in the impact, along with another passenger. No impact injuries.
The other three vehicles now pull in front of our three. Six cars in a line, flanked by a debris field of taillights and headlights.
It’s starting to sink in – this van has 15,000 miles on it and I’ve owned it for less than two months. Hell, less than one month – I think. And now it’s been rear-ended.
I get out and finally look at the back end. Our bumper’s hanging off like a drag chute, but we’re drivable.
Cop apologizes for the delay, but it’s easy to understand. Two accidents at once is a bit of a deal. After awhile, she comes back and gives me my cards back, and tells me the same stuff the last cop did. Honda lady is being cited – just like last time, only last time was me. I ask if this intersection has a lot of this kind of thing. Cop lady says “This is a terrible intersection, people come over the hill and suddenly they have to stop. This happens a lot.”
We hit urgent care to have the kids checked up on – and they both appear to be fine. We decide to have dinner out, since we’ve missed lunch and most of us are starving.
So, we go to our usual place. I’m coming down the hill towards a stop sign where we’ll be turning left. I start to slow down –
-except I don’t. The van maintains its speed, and I feel the staccato of the ABS kick in.
We’re on ice, cruising towards an intersection, and there’s there is no way we will stop. I reflexively take my foot off the brake and hit it again.
No change in speed, we’re going through this stop sign. I look up to see what to expect. Fortunately, at this intersection, we only have to worry about traffic from the left.
I can see one car heading towards us. The only way they hit us is if we slow down.
I speed up.
We blow through the stop sign, and are immediately rewarded with clean pavement.
I don’t even know if the oncoming car noticed us – but I’m replaying that in my mind, using different scenarios. I was coming down the hill too fast. It’s snowing.
I’m an idiot. Two hours after getting rear-ended, I almost get us broadsided.
We hit the restaurant, and I do the insurance tango. My at-fault cost us $100 more a year, no telling what a no-fault within two months will do to us.
Plus deductible, plus replacing child seats, plus…
Un-be-effing-lievable.
We should have stayed in bed.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Friday, January 05, 2007
Malfunction
Something is wrong. With me.
I’ve suspected it for awhile, although as it turns out, not nearly long enough. The persistence of other people, E and my doctor, are the reason I’m driving through an industrial park on a weekday evening.
It’s not the kind of place you’d expect to go for anything health-related. There’s a print shop, a computer recycling center, lots of those businesses made out of corrugated metal. I’m wondering if I’ve misread the directions.
The directions came in the mail a few days ago. I hadn’t bothered to even look at them - this appointment wasn't supposed to happen for two weeks. Some other unfortunate cancelled, and I jumped at the chance to get it over with.
My suspicions weren’t very deep – and prior to opening their mailed instructions, I’d half-imagined that this would all be a colossal waste of time. Reading through their pre-appointment questionnaire changed my mind.
Have you ever woken up choking?
Has your blood pressure been increasing?
Do you often feel depressed?
Their questions described me precisely – my last two years, anyway.
I finally see the sign I’ve been looking for, and pull into the parking lot. In contrast to the industrial surroundings, it has a foyer with pillars and a domestic appearance. I get my bag, my papers and head for the lobby.
Inside, there are about a half-dozen other bleary-eyed people sitting on chairs. One man is watching the Spider-Man sequel on the TV, but most are slumped in chairs, staring at nothing.
There’s no one at the desk and the lights are out. I stand next to where I think the receptionist would be for about ten minutes before moving over to the wall. I’m early, and I guess this place isn’t run like most clinics.
At precisely 9pm, a woman emerges from an official-looking door and reads off our names to make sure we’re all here. We are.
We all go in at once, and she begins assigning rooms – “A technologist will be with you shortly.”
She’s right. Mine is named Dave, and he’s a decent sort. He talks like he’s been saying the same thing so often that he’s forgotten what the words mean. No inflection, just like a bored stewardess.
Somewhere in the stream of words, I gather that setup will take an hour. I’ve had EEGs and EKGs before, so this is no big thing. There’s actually a few more wires and steps and by the time he’s finally finished gluing wires to me, drawing on my head, and plugging in the garden-hose-thick bundle of wires - I realize I'm not going to have time to read my book before going to sleep.
Dave gets philosophical with me. "I ask all my subjects this: Why are you here?"
"Because I have to know if there's a reason why I feel this lousy."
This seems to satisfy him. He launches into another recitation about sleep. Stages of sleep, purposes of sleep stages, and finally - sleep disorders.
He explains how they will monitor me while I sleep to see how I sleep normally. - Then, if it looks like I need it - they'll put me on the machine.
The machine is not terribly encouraging: A pump, a hose, and a humidifier. I try it out. I feel and sound like Darth Vader.
Luke...I'm your father.
The room is surprisingly comfortable, and as soon as Dave leaves, I'm ready to pass out.
I wonder a little about strangling myself accidentally with the wires, but I'm on video and Dave's supposed to be paying attention. He seems a good sort.
I go to sleep.
-And Dave wakes me up. About that fast, although it's actually been a little over two hours. I'm groggy as all hell, so I only vaguely remember him saying, "We're going to put you on the machine."
- and I'm out again.
At some point, the damned hose is in my way so I wake up. It's morning.
Dave strolls in and proudly exclaims, "We fixed you!"
He explains that by 'fixed,' he means that I have responded well to the machine. This is Dave's overly upbeat way of informing me that, at least for the foreseeable future, I will have to spend my nights hooked up to an appliance.
He then breaks out graphs and charts and begins jabbering incoherently about things called 'this-pops' and 'that-pops.' Then he shows me that, during the two hours of the night when I was sans-hose machine, my airflow was reduced or blocked completely 177 times.
I'm absorbing this when he puts another chart in front of me. "See there?" he asks, "On this one you stopped breathing for just under a minute. Your blood oxygen was down to 76."
This, apparently in his subculture, is something almost worthy of a high-five.
Dave leaves me alone to get ready for work - he's made an appointment with a nice man who will give me my machine and explain its features and maintenance regimen. I'm still absorbing things.
It's pretty hard to know which way to go with this.
On the one hand - I will sleep hooked up to a motorized snorkel, possibly for the rest of my life.
But on the other hand, I am awake.
Really awake. For the first time in, hell, a year or two. The literature tells me that the headaches, sinus infections, and numerous other symptoms will all go away.
I'll dream again. I can't remember the last time I had a dream.
I get my things and go see the appliance man. He talks for a half an hour, makes me sign a bunch of things and hands me my box. He smiles, "Your kids will make fun of you, but at least you'll be able to sleep."
I'm in the car driving to work and I can't believe how different I feel.
At work, I can focus and get things done. I'm not drowsy in the afternoon.
I can't even express how amazing that first day was - and the literature says that I won't really get back to normal for a week or so. I'll feel better than I do now, and now is pretty damn good.
I marvel that the way I had felt two days ago seemed normal. I was walking through fog every day. Headaches, sinus pain - all the damn time. I felt like total crap most days. Sure, I could rise to the occasion and function. But some days it was just barely functioning.
That first night at home, I don't even hesitate with the machine. There's no resentment, no shame. At this point, it's the price of being myself again - I'm not going back to how I was this past year.
I’ve suspected it for awhile, although as it turns out, not nearly long enough. The persistence of other people, E and my doctor, are the reason I’m driving through an industrial park on a weekday evening.
It’s not the kind of place you’d expect to go for anything health-related. There’s a print shop, a computer recycling center, lots of those businesses made out of corrugated metal. I’m wondering if I’ve misread the directions.
The directions came in the mail a few days ago. I hadn’t bothered to even look at them - this appointment wasn't supposed to happen for two weeks. Some other unfortunate cancelled, and I jumped at the chance to get it over with.
My suspicions weren’t very deep – and prior to opening their mailed instructions, I’d half-imagined that this would all be a colossal waste of time. Reading through their pre-appointment questionnaire changed my mind.
Have you ever woken up choking?
Has your blood pressure been increasing?
Do you often feel depressed?
Do you find it difficult to concentrate?
Question after question that I have to answer ‘yes’ to. I started thinking the test would be a waste of my time, halfway through the questions I’m thinking I’ll be wasting the clinic’s time.Their questions described me precisely – my last two years, anyway.
I finally see the sign I’ve been looking for, and pull into the parking lot. In contrast to the industrial surroundings, it has a foyer with pillars and a domestic appearance. I get my bag, my papers and head for the lobby.
Inside, there are about a half-dozen other bleary-eyed people sitting on chairs. One man is watching the Spider-Man sequel on the TV, but most are slumped in chairs, staring at nothing.
There’s no one at the desk and the lights are out. I stand next to where I think the receptionist would be for about ten minutes before moving over to the wall. I’m early, and I guess this place isn’t run like most clinics.
At precisely 9pm, a woman emerges from an official-looking door and reads off our names to make sure we’re all here. We are.
We all go in at once, and she begins assigning rooms – “A technologist will be with you shortly.”
She’s right. Mine is named Dave, and he’s a decent sort. He talks like he’s been saying the same thing so often that he’s forgotten what the words mean. No inflection, just like a bored stewardess.
Somewhere in the stream of words, I gather that setup will take an hour. I’ve had EEGs and EKGs before, so this is no big thing. There’s actually a few more wires and steps and by the time he’s finally finished gluing wires to me, drawing on my head, and plugging in the garden-hose-thick bundle of wires - I realize I'm not going to have time to read my book before going to sleep.
Dave gets philosophical with me. "I ask all my subjects this: Why are you here?"
"Because I have to know if there's a reason why I feel this lousy."
This seems to satisfy him. He launches into another recitation about sleep. Stages of sleep, purposes of sleep stages, and finally - sleep disorders.
He explains how they will monitor me while I sleep to see how I sleep normally. - Then, if it looks like I need it - they'll put me on the machine.
The machine is not terribly encouraging: A pump, a hose, and a humidifier. I try it out. I feel and sound like Darth Vader.
Luke...I'm your father.
The room is surprisingly comfortable, and as soon as Dave leaves, I'm ready to pass out.
I wonder a little about strangling myself accidentally with the wires, but I'm on video and Dave's supposed to be paying attention. He seems a good sort.
I go to sleep.
-And Dave wakes me up. About that fast, although it's actually been a little over two hours. I'm groggy as all hell, so I only vaguely remember him saying, "We're going to put you on the machine."
- and I'm out again.
At some point, the damned hose is in my way so I wake up. It's morning.
Dave strolls in and proudly exclaims, "We fixed you!"
He explains that by 'fixed,' he means that I have responded well to the machine. This is Dave's overly upbeat way of informing me that, at least for the foreseeable future, I will have to spend my nights hooked up to an appliance.
He then breaks out graphs and charts and begins jabbering incoherently about things called 'this-pops' and 'that-pops.' Then he shows me that, during the two hours of the night when I was sans-hose machine, my airflow was reduced or blocked completely 177 times.
I'm absorbing this when he puts another chart in front of me. "See there?" he asks, "On this one you stopped breathing for just under a minute. Your blood oxygen was down to 76."
This, apparently in his subculture, is something almost worthy of a high-five.
Dave leaves me alone to get ready for work - he's made an appointment with a nice man who will give me my machine and explain its features and maintenance regimen. I'm still absorbing things.
It's pretty hard to know which way to go with this.
On the one hand - I will sleep hooked up to a motorized snorkel, possibly for the rest of my life.
But on the other hand, I am awake.
Really awake. For the first time in, hell, a year or two. The literature tells me that the headaches, sinus infections, and numerous other symptoms will all go away.
I'll dream again. I can't remember the last time I had a dream.
I get my things and go see the appliance man. He talks for a half an hour, makes me sign a bunch of things and hands me my box. He smiles, "Your kids will make fun of you, but at least you'll be able to sleep."
I'm in the car driving to work and I can't believe how different I feel.
At work, I can focus and get things done. I'm not drowsy in the afternoon.
I can't even express how amazing that first day was - and the literature says that I won't really get back to normal for a week or so. I'll feel better than I do now, and now is pretty damn good.
I marvel that the way I had felt two days ago seemed normal. I was walking through fog every day. Headaches, sinus pain - all the damn time. I felt like total crap most days. Sure, I could rise to the occasion and function. But some days it was just barely functioning.
That first night at home, I don't even hesitate with the machine. There's no resentment, no shame. At this point, it's the price of being myself again - I'm not going back to how I was this past year.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Shut-in
It's only after getting the minivan that I realize what a hit we took going down to one car. Not so much because the van is four times the size of our commuter car, but because absent a second vehicle, E stays home.
We'd done this before - when the boy was born, we had a single car and managed to go almost two winters before buying the commuter. I say we, but the bulk of the inconvenience fell on E. In summer, being without a car was somewhat mitigated by our being within walking distance of parks, a library and a slew of stores and restaurants. Absent bad weather, E could take the boy places and get out and see people.
Of course, winter messes that up royally. The daunting logistics of getting an infant out the door compound when you have to winterize a stroller. Not to mention dealing with people who don't shovel, ice, crossing slippery roads and, oh yeah, it sucks to be outside when it's cold.
When I would watch the boy by myself, it was part of my regular sanity ritual to get out of the house. Maybe this is just my personal hang up - but staying inside the same structure with an infant/toddler just makes me claustrophobic. A lot like the feeling of spending two days sick in my bedroom: soon as I'm able, I want to get out.
E's been dealing pretty well overall, but it has got to wear a person down. I caught a window into this when E told me that with the boy she was on the phone with her mom every day.
We all need a way to get out of the house.
---
We took the van on its shakedown cruise up to see Grandma. She's seen pictures of baby e, but we'd really like to stop by and show her the real thing.
Jen and her family are going up with us in their van, which is a year younger than ours. Mom will be driving up in her rental car. Oddly enough, all our vehicles are the same color - we go to Grandmas looking like a motorcade.
Grandma's been living in a small apartment, so the thinking is that all of us descending on her at once is a bad idea. Mom's booked some hotel rooms for us on the edge of town. We'll be using the hotel as home base and popping over in shifts.
Unfortunately, the shifts never really happen. Grandma had a car accident and really isn't up for running around with her relatives. For three days, the routine revolves around keeping the kids occupied in a strange hotel.
The outdoors decidedly do not beckon. Overcast, rain and snow. Like mars with all the colors set to grey.
This leaves us with indoor distractions. Fortunately, our hotel has a free waffle bar and a pool. Three pools and a hot tub, two water slides, and a partridge in a pear tree. Wake up, waffle, get swim gear, hit pool. The boy is beyond happy. The adult lot of the pool experience is limited to staying ahead of possible dangers, but its still fun to watch the boy experience these things for the first time.
E's got baby e in the room, in the lobby, in the pool room for awhile. We lunch and dinner out in mechanical fashion, the days pass with not a lot of variety. I'm starting to get way too used to the layout of the place. It was New Years, so we got to hear every decibel of the New Year's Eve party below us - and we went out to IMHO, the nicest place in town for dinner.
Like I said, you gotta get out sometime.
---
The final act of the weekend was popping in to see Grandma in the hospital. She'd fallen in her house and it was decided that she should be admitted so they can get her meds right. She's on Coumadin, among other things, and for some reason the level never seems to get quite right. Too little, you get clots and worse. Too much, you can become weak, bruise easily, or even bleed internally. Grandma has had the minor strokes that indicated she wasn't getting enough. Now, she's getting the other end of the equation. The car accident was relatively minor - but she's already decided that she will no longer drive.
We'd seen her briefly the day after we'd arrived, and she'd had a major bruise on her face that just appeared overnight. Mom says she's clearly not happy that people are seeing her like this, and I can hardly blame her. She's been so independent for so long, and now the time she gets to see her family - she has to do it from a wheelchair looking like she has a black eye.
We motorcade over to the hospital and mom checks her room before we all barge in to make sure she's ready to see people. She is, but things are worse. Her bruising is on both eyes now, and one side of her face is so swollen she hardly resembles herself. She's never one to complain, and she says hi to everyone. The boy gives her a big hug. Almost as soon as we get there, the hospital staff informs us we have to get out so they can give her a CAT scan.
While we're waiting for her to come back, my aunt and uncle - Grandma's two children that are mercifully local - let the other shoe drop. The original thinking was that Grandma had fallen on the back of her head - that's what she'd said. It looks like what really happened was that she'd fallen forward, hit the front of her face on something hard, passed out, then fell onto her back, where she'd woken up. The nurse describes the facial bruising as "classic" indication of hitting her nose hard.
She'll recover from the bruising, and the Coumadin level will ultimately get sorted out - but the upshot is that Grandma will be going into a nursing home. The level of care she needs and the consequences of her not getting it have all but made this decision. It's a terrible realization. Grandma has been so independent, so outgoing - she'd lived alone in a house and maintained it for years by herself. She'd proudly said that the two flights of stairs between her bedroom and her washing machine kept her in shape (and I bet she's right). Calling Grandma used to be wondering if she was home, or if she was out running around with her friends - her regular Wednesday night dinners, she had a social schedule most people her age would envy. She certainly had health virtually anyone her age would envy. She did things, she got outta the damn house and lived life.
All of that stops with a bad stretch in her Coumadin regimen. The car accident means no driving, the fall, means no independence.
She goes into a building, and she doesn't come out.
It just breaks the heart.
We'd done this before - when the boy was born, we had a single car and managed to go almost two winters before buying the commuter. I say we, but the bulk of the inconvenience fell on E. In summer, being without a car was somewhat mitigated by our being within walking distance of parks, a library and a slew of stores and restaurants. Absent bad weather, E could take the boy places and get out and see people.
Of course, winter messes that up royally. The daunting logistics of getting an infant out the door compound when you have to winterize a stroller. Not to mention dealing with people who don't shovel, ice, crossing slippery roads and, oh yeah, it sucks to be outside when it's cold.
When I would watch the boy by myself, it was part of my regular sanity ritual to get out of the house. Maybe this is just my personal hang up - but staying inside the same structure with an infant/toddler just makes me claustrophobic. A lot like the feeling of spending two days sick in my bedroom: soon as I'm able, I want to get out.
E's been dealing pretty well overall, but it has got to wear a person down. I caught a window into this when E told me that with the boy she was on the phone with her mom every day.
We all need a way to get out of the house.
---
We took the van on its shakedown cruise up to see Grandma. She's seen pictures of baby e, but we'd really like to stop by and show her the real thing.
Jen and her family are going up with us in their van, which is a year younger than ours. Mom will be driving up in her rental car. Oddly enough, all our vehicles are the same color - we go to Grandmas looking like a motorcade.
Grandma's been living in a small apartment, so the thinking is that all of us descending on her at once is a bad idea. Mom's booked some hotel rooms for us on the edge of town. We'll be using the hotel as home base and popping over in shifts.
Unfortunately, the shifts never really happen. Grandma had a car accident and really isn't up for running around with her relatives. For three days, the routine revolves around keeping the kids occupied in a strange hotel.
The outdoors decidedly do not beckon. Overcast, rain and snow. Like mars with all the colors set to grey.
This leaves us with indoor distractions. Fortunately, our hotel has a free waffle bar and a pool. Three pools and a hot tub, two water slides, and a partridge in a pear tree. Wake up, waffle, get swim gear, hit pool. The boy is beyond happy. The adult lot of the pool experience is limited to staying ahead of possible dangers, but its still fun to watch the boy experience these things for the first time.
E's got baby e in the room, in the lobby, in the pool room for awhile. We lunch and dinner out in mechanical fashion, the days pass with not a lot of variety. I'm starting to get way too used to the layout of the place. It was New Years, so we got to hear every decibel of the New Year's Eve party below us - and we went out to IMHO, the nicest place in town for dinner.
Like I said, you gotta get out sometime.
---
The final act of the weekend was popping in to see Grandma in the hospital. She'd fallen in her house and it was decided that she should be admitted so they can get her meds right. She's on Coumadin, among other things, and for some reason the level never seems to get quite right. Too little, you get clots and worse. Too much, you can become weak, bruise easily, or even bleed internally. Grandma has had the minor strokes that indicated she wasn't getting enough. Now, she's getting the other end of the equation. The car accident was relatively minor - but she's already decided that she will no longer drive.
We'd seen her briefly the day after we'd arrived, and she'd had a major bruise on her face that just appeared overnight. Mom says she's clearly not happy that people are seeing her like this, and I can hardly blame her. She's been so independent for so long, and now the time she gets to see her family - she has to do it from a wheelchair looking like she has a black eye.
We motorcade over to the hospital and mom checks her room before we all barge in to make sure she's ready to see people. She is, but things are worse. Her bruising is on both eyes now, and one side of her face is so swollen she hardly resembles herself. She's never one to complain, and she says hi to everyone. The boy gives her a big hug. Almost as soon as we get there, the hospital staff informs us we have to get out so they can give her a CAT scan.
While we're waiting for her to come back, my aunt and uncle - Grandma's two children that are mercifully local - let the other shoe drop. The original thinking was that Grandma had fallen on the back of her head - that's what she'd said. It looks like what really happened was that she'd fallen forward, hit the front of her face on something hard, passed out, then fell onto her back, where she'd woken up. The nurse describes the facial bruising as "classic" indication of hitting her nose hard.
She'll recover from the bruising, and the Coumadin level will ultimately get sorted out - but the upshot is that Grandma will be going into a nursing home. The level of care she needs and the consequences of her not getting it have all but made this decision. It's a terrible realization. Grandma has been so independent, so outgoing - she'd lived alone in a house and maintained it for years by herself. She'd proudly said that the two flights of stairs between her bedroom and her washing machine kept her in shape (and I bet she's right). Calling Grandma used to be wondering if she was home, or if she was out running around with her friends - her regular Wednesday night dinners, she had a social schedule most people her age would envy. She certainly had health virtually anyone her age would envy. She did things, she got outta the damn house and lived life.
All of that stops with a bad stretch in her Coumadin regimen. The car accident means no driving, the fall, means no independence.
She goes into a building, and she doesn't come out.
It just breaks the heart.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Eighteen Large
So, I'm in the market for a minivan. 'bout time, E's stuck at home and frankly - we need a vehicle that can haul cargo. I noncommittally browse the local web listings, and start organizing the funds.
Thinking myself clever, I'd shoveled the family cash into an ING direct account. Better interest, I figure - and I'd thought it would be awhile before I actually found a car. ING orange accounts are basically money market funds linked to your bank accounts. Any time you want to move money to and fro your linked accounts, you log onto their website and, presto! Handy. And they have good UI.
A week after I do this, I find the perfect van. Miracles of miracles - it's in good shape, has low miles and the price is right.
Since all my cash is being authenticated in cyber land right now, my ING transfer is looking like a bit of a bummer. ING requires that funds in a new account sit for ten business days before they become available. Since I'd started the account on a Friday - this meant that I'd have three weekends (plus a holiday) before I'd be able to pull the cash out.
The net delay to my car transaction will be at least one week. I tell the seller this, and he's okay with it. I needed to get his car inspected anyway, so that ate up a day and there was Christmas right smack in the middle - so no biggie.
Dec 26 should be the first day I can pull the money. ING says it should post in two days, they assure me that I will be able to withdraw the money on the day it posts. "It's like a cash deposit, or a cashier's check."
'kay. So, 12:01am on Dec 26 - I log on and (whaddaya know?) I can move my money.
The next day, I see the funds disappear out of ING. The day after that, they show up in my checking account.
'kay. The buy is on. I talk to the seller. He wants to have all the money available to him on the day of the purchase. He wants a wire transfer.
Now, wire transfers are well and good, but they typically cost more money and they are not (in my experience) instant. I tell him this, but he's pretty convinced. I offer to talk to my bank and see what's up.
My bank tells me that wire transfers will cost us about $40, and that a cashier's check is free. Further, the bank guy says "Heck, if your seller's bank is local, you can run the cashier's check over to his bank and he'll be able to draw on that deposit the same day. A wire transfer just doesn't make sense if the receiving bank is local."
'kay. I tell the seller this, and he's happy to avoid fees. We agree to meet at his bank, I'll have the cashier's check, he'll have the title, and all will be well. Time permitting - I might even be able to squeeze in time to hit the DMV to get my tags so we can road trip this weekend.
---
Game time. I roll into the bank, hand him the check and he goes up to the teller. I sit down to kill time on some magazines - and it becomes clear that things are not well.
Seller motions me over. "They won't allow me access to the funds for several days."
I look at the teller. "It's a cashier's check. These are guaranteed funds."
She's unimpressed "You could have stopped payment on this check; we need time to make sure it's still a valid check."
Okay, I'm ticked. I tell her what my bank guy said, she just rolls her eyes. Seller's getting nervous, he either REALLY needs the dough today, or he's thinking this is all part of some master plan to rip him off.
I do the back and forth for awhile, but it's pretty clear I'm going to lose this one. We ask if there is a way I can pay the Seller so he can draw the money today.
Teller thinks a moment. "Cash?"
Screw that, I'm not driving across town will all my money in a sack. Somehow, my expression conveys this to her.
"A wire transfer would be same day."
"There's no delay to authenticate? He'll be able to get access to the money today?"
"Yep."
'kay. Seller and I pile into my car, I apologize for the mix up - and we tool into my bank fifteen minutes later.
I'm up to here with this, trying not to look like a dork in front of the Seller.
Hi. Void my cashier's check. Wire some money to this man.
My bank is nicer. My teller explains that most banks will take a cashier's check and allow withdrawals on it the same day, but the Seller's bank is an exception. She used to work there. So, each bank has its own rules. Nice to know. Now.
We're in the middle of doing the transfer when my teller thinks to verify that these funds will hit today and be available today. Three phone calls and much bank-speak later, it's clear that the wire transfer isn't a sure thing either.
"It could post today, it could post tomorrow - it depends on the bank."
Seller's really agitated now. I'm not willing to trust Seller's bank to take the funds same day. One option left.
"Give us cash."
The bank manager says it's going to take some time, they need to open the vault - we need to fill out some forms. My bank being nice, they give us coffee. An Account Rep tells us to meet us in her office, where she has eighteen stacks of Benjamins.
I'm looking at my watch. I'd planned on hitting the DMV or at least going back to work. How long is this going to take?
She counts out all the bills. Twice.
Then there's the "The Feds have to be told that you took more than ten grand out in cash" form - that seems to take an interminable amount of time.
Finally, it's done. The Account Rep leaves and I'm sitting there with the Seller. And this is the scenario I was trying to avoid.
Mind you, not because I truly believe that brigands roam the roads looking for people with large amounts of cash on them - but in exchanges of this type - people are typically agitated. The imagination is looking out for things that could cost you your money, or your property. You start looking for ways to stay out of trouble.
When you have a fat wad of bills in your lap, right after the teller has announced how much money you wanted and that you need it in CASH, you start to see trouble everywhere.
We go straight to the car. I'm picturing the Seller as some master scammer, who's going to use a stun gun on me and hop into a waiting van. He's checking behind us for masked gunmen.
Predictably, we get to his bank with no harm done. His teller seems exasperated that she has to count the bills, and I'm like- "Don't. Even."
Money in, Seller asks me to sign a receipt for him (which makes no sense) and wants a photocopy of the title (for whatever reason). He's nervous, and probably would ask the tellers for affidavits, if he thought they'd comply.
I check the title and I have what I need. He gives me the keys and I agree to drop him off at the rental car place. On the way he's decompressing. Chatting me up about this and that. He's a nice guy. Just having that much moolah up in the air got us both in a twist.
The fact that it took two banks over an hour to decide the fastest way to get my money across town was in a paper bag starts to bother me less and less.
I got to see bank people get nervous. I got to be irrationally nervous myself, and I got to fan a huge wad of Benjamins in my hands.
Plus, I got a minivan. I guess that's not too bad of a day.
Thinking myself clever, I'd shoveled the family cash into an ING direct account. Better interest, I figure - and I'd thought it would be awhile before I actually found a car. ING orange accounts are basically money market funds linked to your bank accounts. Any time you want to move money to and fro your linked accounts, you log onto their website and, presto! Handy. And they have good UI.
A week after I do this, I find the perfect van. Miracles of miracles - it's in good shape, has low miles and the price is right.
Since all my cash is being authenticated in cyber land right now, my ING transfer is looking like a bit of a bummer. ING requires that funds in a new account sit for ten business days before they become available. Since I'd started the account on a Friday - this meant that I'd have three weekends (plus a holiday) before I'd be able to pull the cash out.
The net delay to my car transaction will be at least one week. I tell the seller this, and he's okay with it. I needed to get his car inspected anyway, so that ate up a day and there was Christmas right smack in the middle - so no biggie.
Dec 26 should be the first day I can pull the money. ING says it should post in two days, they assure me that I will be able to withdraw the money on the day it posts. "It's like a cash deposit, or a cashier's check."
'kay. So, 12:01am on Dec 26 - I log on and (whaddaya know?) I can move my money.
The next day, I see the funds disappear out of ING. The day after that, they show up in my checking account.
'kay. The buy is on. I talk to the seller. He wants to have all the money available to him on the day of the purchase. He wants a wire transfer.
Now, wire transfers are well and good, but they typically cost more money and they are not (in my experience) instant. I tell him this, but he's pretty convinced. I offer to talk to my bank and see what's up.
My bank tells me that wire transfers will cost us about $40, and that a cashier's check is free. Further, the bank guy says "Heck, if your seller's bank is local, you can run the cashier's check over to his bank and he'll be able to draw on that deposit the same day. A wire transfer just doesn't make sense if the receiving bank is local."
'kay. I tell the seller this, and he's happy to avoid fees. We agree to meet at his bank, I'll have the cashier's check, he'll have the title, and all will be well. Time permitting - I might even be able to squeeze in time to hit the DMV to get my tags so we can road trip this weekend.
---
Game time. I roll into the bank, hand him the check and he goes up to the teller. I sit down to kill time on some magazines - and it becomes clear that things are not well.
Seller motions me over. "They won't allow me access to the funds for several days."
I look at the teller. "It's a cashier's check. These are guaranteed funds."
She's unimpressed "You could have stopped payment on this check; we need time to make sure it's still a valid check."
Okay, I'm ticked. I tell her what my bank guy said, she just rolls her eyes. Seller's getting nervous, he either REALLY needs the dough today, or he's thinking this is all part of some master plan to rip him off.
I do the back and forth for awhile, but it's pretty clear I'm going to lose this one. We ask if there is a way I can pay the Seller so he can draw the money today.
Teller thinks a moment. "Cash?"
Screw that, I'm not driving across town will all my money in a sack. Somehow, my expression conveys this to her.
"A wire transfer would be same day."
"There's no delay to authenticate? He'll be able to get access to the money today?"
"Yep."
'kay. Seller and I pile into my car, I apologize for the mix up - and we tool into my bank fifteen minutes later.
I'm up to here with this, trying not to look like a dork in front of the Seller.
Hi. Void my cashier's check. Wire some money to this man.
My bank is nicer. My teller explains that most banks will take a cashier's check and allow withdrawals on it the same day, but the Seller's bank is an exception. She used to work there. So, each bank has its own rules. Nice to know. Now.
We're in the middle of doing the transfer when my teller thinks to verify that these funds will hit today and be available today. Three phone calls and much bank-speak later, it's clear that the wire transfer isn't a sure thing either.
"It could post today, it could post tomorrow - it depends on the bank."
Seller's really agitated now. I'm not willing to trust Seller's bank to take the funds same day. One option left.
"Give us cash."
The bank manager says it's going to take some time, they need to open the vault - we need to fill out some forms. My bank being nice, they give us coffee. An Account Rep tells us to meet us in her office, where she has eighteen stacks of Benjamins.
I'm looking at my watch. I'd planned on hitting the DMV or at least going back to work. How long is this going to take?
She counts out all the bills. Twice.
Then there's the "The Feds have to be told that you took more than ten grand out in cash" form - that seems to take an interminable amount of time.
Finally, it's done. The Account Rep leaves and I'm sitting there with the Seller. And this is the scenario I was trying to avoid.
Mind you, not because I truly believe that brigands roam the roads looking for people with large amounts of cash on them - but in exchanges of this type - people are typically agitated. The imagination is looking out for things that could cost you your money, or your property. You start looking for ways to stay out of trouble.
When you have a fat wad of bills in your lap, right after the teller has announced how much money you wanted and that you need it in CASH, you start to see trouble everywhere.
We go straight to the car. I'm picturing the Seller as some master scammer, who's going to use a stun gun on me and hop into a waiting van. He's checking behind us for masked gunmen.
Predictably, we get to his bank with no harm done. His teller seems exasperated that she has to count the bills, and I'm like- "Don't. Even."
Money in, Seller asks me to sign a receipt for him (which makes no sense) and wants a photocopy of the title (for whatever reason). He's nervous, and probably would ask the tellers for affidavits, if he thought they'd comply.
I check the title and I have what I need. He gives me the keys and I agree to drop him off at the rental car place. On the way he's decompressing. Chatting me up about this and that. He's a nice guy. Just having that much moolah up in the air got us both in a twist.
The fact that it took two banks over an hour to decide the fastest way to get my money across town was in a paper bag starts to bother me less and less.
I got to see bank people get nervous. I got to be irrationally nervous myself, and I got to fan a huge wad of Benjamins in my hands.
Plus, I got a minivan. I guess that's not too bad of a day.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
What the hell are 'Deathly Hallows?'
Beats me, but J.K. Rowling is apparently going to tell us.
Spoiler alert: the article discusses a big aspect of box 6. A retroactive sorry.
Spoiler alert: the article discusses a big aspect of box 6. A retroactive sorry.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Embarrassment of riches
Been awhile since I've come up for air – between trying to stay above water at work, doing the same at home, and just being unconscious - there hasn't been a lot of time for much else.
Putting together a decent meal is a time crunch most days – I doubt we’ve managed it on our own since baby E showed up. First, my mom was in town and she helped us out. Then we were on leftovers.
Then we were out of leftovers, and we’re dreading what we have in the cupboard – and trips to the grocery store have turned into quite the logistical feat.
So, I’m coming out of the garage, and who is coming up my driveway buy Ms. No-H, and she’s carrying pizza. Lots of pizza.
And not your schlock pizza, either – but the yummy kind. I’m way sick, so I munch and flop down somewhere outta the way, while E socializes.
It’s a great night. Some days, crossing off a seemingly simple thing like dinner is just the best thing in the world. So, thanks, Ms. No-H. Perfect timing. What a marvelous thing to do.
---
Rewind to the day after baby E is born.
A friend of ours, KB, asks if we like lasagna. “I’d make you some if you do.”
In my head, this triggers a brief, internal Q & A session:
A few days later, I’m getting lunch at an Italian deli when-
Fast forward to that night. Zagne’s in the fridge, cued up for tomorrow and then KB calls to tell us she’s coming over with lasagna tomorrow.
Poof. It’s tomorrow night, and KB and family drop off the yummy. We bake, we scarf, we scarf some more.
That part of my brain that had been nagging me is now gloating:
Next day, our neighbor, MG comes over with bread, salad and – lasagna!
---
And then, next day-
Mr. and Ms. U send us a box of cookies – and not your ho-hum sugar cookies with sprinkles, but exotic cookies you see on the food channel. The kind where every ingredient doesn’t have a brand name in front of it.
Bags and bags of them – and they are yummy. And I vacillate between hiding the box for myself, and setting them out for the family. As a compromise measure – I eat all the chocolate chip cookies.
Yum
---
Which brings us to yesterday.
I walk in and there in the middle of the floor is a large box with Styrofoam lining and plastic pouring out of it.
E’s sitting on the couch, big smile on her face. “G and T sent us some sausage.”
I look at the box. It dwarfs her statement. “Some…?”
“That’s just the box I left out so you could see it. The other one was just as big.”
My mind performs some rapid calculations. “Is there room in the fridge?”
“Not really, but we’ve got plenty to eat!”
---
So, thanks to everyone for everything – our cholesterol count is sure to spike this month – but it’s the holidays and it was headed that way anyway. The stuff we’ve munched already was way yummy – and the stuff we’ve got in the queue looks at least as good.
You people are great.
Putting together a decent meal is a time crunch most days – I doubt we’ve managed it on our own since baby E showed up. First, my mom was in town and she helped us out. Then we were on leftovers.
Then we were out of leftovers, and we’re dreading what we have in the cupboard – and trips to the grocery store have turned into quite the logistical feat.
So, I’m coming out of the garage, and who is coming up my driveway buy Ms. No-H, and she’s carrying pizza. Lots of pizza.
And not your schlock pizza, either – but the yummy kind. I’m way sick, so I munch and flop down somewhere outta the way, while E socializes.
It’s a great night. Some days, crossing off a seemingly simple thing like dinner is just the best thing in the world. So, thanks, Ms. No-H. Perfect timing. What a marvelous thing to do.
---
Rewind to the day after baby E is born.
A friend of ours, KB, asks if we like lasagna. “I’d make you some if you do.”
In my head, this triggers a brief, internal Q & A session:
So, I say, “Um, yes.” and forget all about the discussion.Do I like lasagna?
I think so.
You think?
Okay, I’ll check its ranking…Got it! It was in the “Love more than life itself” folder, right next to sauerkraut pizza.
Y'know, I should eat more lasagna...
Damn right.
A few days later, I’m getting lunch at an Italian deli when-
Hey! I should eat more lasagna.So, I go to the freezer and buy a massive pan of ready-to-bake lasagna. A pan I need to set down because my arm starts hurting while I’m getting out my cash at the register.
Fast forward to that night. Zagne’s in the fridge, cued up for tomorrow and then KB calls to tell us she’s coming over with lasagna tomorrow.
Hey! I should eat more lasagna.Sure, we’re game – the deli 'zagne goes in the freezer, and we get ready for homemade Italian goodness.
Poof. It’s tomorrow night, and KB and family drop off the yummy. We bake, we scarf, we scarf some more.
That part of my brain that had been nagging me is now gloating:
Ya see, I told you…Despite our best efforts, there’s half a pan left – which we’ll kill off tomorrow.
Next day, our neighbor, MG comes over with bread, salad and – lasagna!
Hey! I should eat more lasagna.So, we’ve got two in the fridge, one in the freezer – that part of me that has been craving zagne will finally be sated.
---
And then, next day-
Mr. and Ms. U send us a box of cookies – and not your ho-hum sugar cookies with sprinkles, but exotic cookies you see on the food channel. The kind where every ingredient doesn’t have a brand name in front of it.
Bags and bags of them – and they are yummy. And I vacillate between hiding the box for myself, and setting them out for the family. As a compromise measure – I eat all the chocolate chip cookies.
Yum
---
Which brings us to yesterday.
I walk in and there in the middle of the floor is a large box with Styrofoam lining and plastic pouring out of it.
E’s sitting on the couch, big smile on her face. “G and T sent us some sausage.”
I look at the box. It dwarfs her statement. “Some…?”
“That’s just the box I left out so you could see it. The other one was just as big.”
My mind performs some rapid calculations. “Is there room in the fridge?”
“Not really, but we’ve got plenty to eat!”
---
So, thanks to everyone for everything – our cholesterol count is sure to spike this month – but it’s the holidays and it was headed that way anyway. The stuff we’ve munched already was way yummy – and the stuff we’ve got in the queue looks at least as good.
You people are great.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Angel mine
Just in case the grapevine hasn't gotten to you yet:
Baby E was born, happy and healthy via c-section. Eight pounds, five ounces and twenty and a half inches long.
Mom and baby are doing well.
Baby E was born, happy and healthy via c-section. Eight pounds, five ounces and twenty and a half inches long.
Mom and baby are doing well.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Circling the wagons
No baby yet (as of 8:30AM on 11/20/2006, that is), but we're likely to be doing more runs to the hospitals. E's miserable - but according to the docs, not quite miserable enough.
And now we wait.
And now we wait.
Monday, November 13, 2006
The law of unintended consequences, as applied to ambulance chasing...
TO:
Atty. Brian Peter Mularski
Atty. Emmanuel L. Muwonge
Atty. John Kenyatta Riley
Atty. Christopher L. Zimmerman
OF:
Eisenberg, Riley & Muwonge SC
2228 W Wells St
Milwaukee, WI 53233-1919
Gentlemen,
I wanted to let you know that while we have received the materials you sent my son regarding his recent traffic accident – my son will not be retaining your services as his legal counsel in the foreseeable future.
I want to stress that this should in no way imply that my son has a negative assessment of your firm. Indeed, my son is usually happy to receive mail of any sort – however his being two years old poses a substantial barrier to his making an informed judgment in this matter.
I was a driver in the accident you referenced in your letter, and I feel uncomfortable making the decision for my son. So, I have read your letter to him repeatedly, each time stressing the importance of its contents.
Thus far, his responses to your offer of legal representation can only be described as ambiguous. My son is a bright boy, and I have every confidence that he will one day comprehend your offer enough to respond definitively.
I am unclear as to whether or not his response must be in written form. If this is in fact the case, I must tell you he will not be able to write on his own for a few years. When I know his feelings on this matter, perhaps I will have him call you.
Yours, etc.
/name & address withheld/
P.S. Please take my address off your mailing lists.
Atty. Brian Peter Mularski
Atty. Emmanuel L. Muwonge
Atty. John Kenyatta Riley
Atty. Christopher L. Zimmerman
OF:
Eisenberg, Riley & Muwonge SC
2228 W Wells St
Milwaukee, WI 53233-1919
Gentlemen,
I wanted to let you know that while we have received the materials you sent my son regarding his recent traffic accident – my son will not be retaining your services as his legal counsel in the foreseeable future.
I want to stress that this should in no way imply that my son has a negative assessment of your firm. Indeed, my son is usually happy to receive mail of any sort – however his being two years old poses a substantial barrier to his making an informed judgment in this matter.
I was a driver in the accident you referenced in your letter, and I feel uncomfortable making the decision for my son. So, I have read your letter to him repeatedly, each time stressing the importance of its contents.
Thus far, his responses to your offer of legal representation can only be described as ambiguous. My son is a bright boy, and I have every confidence that he will one day comprehend your offer enough to respond definitively.
I am unclear as to whether or not his response must be in written form. If this is in fact the case, I must tell you he will not be able to write on his own for a few years. When I know his feelings on this matter, perhaps I will have him call you.
Yours, etc.
/name & address withheld/
P.S. Please take my address off your mailing lists.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
...and with charity toward none?
"We will mete out to [them] the measure, and more than the measure, they have meted out to us!"
-Winston Churchill, July 14, 1941
Imagine you are the incoming Speaker of the House this coming January.
A majority of voters across the country has voiced their opinion that the previous Congress has done its job poorly, when it has bothered to do it at all.
As the new speaker, you will be assuming a position whose power has, for the past six years, been used to crap all over you and your followers.
Some items of note:
-Winston Churchill, July 14, 1941
Imagine you are the incoming Speaker of the House this coming January.
A majority of voters across the country has voiced their opinion that the previous Congress has done its job poorly, when it has bothered to do it at all.
As the new speaker, you will be assuming a position whose power has, for the past six years, been used to crap all over you and your followers.
Some items of note:
- Being muzzled by the "super-majority rule." The former speaker ruled that he would not allow legislation to the floor unless a majority of the republicans favored it. This meant your legislation (even if you have a majority of House members in favor of it) did not make it to the floor unless your majority included most of the GOP.
- Being excluded from hearings, with your fellow Dems being told to their face "Why are you [even discussing this bill]? You won't be in the room when the decisions are made."
- Being given copies of legislation at midnight and being told you will be voting on it the following morning. When you attempt to delay the vote so you can get time to read the bill, the Capitol Police are called to evict you from the premises.
- Bi-partisan "Hearings" that last only long enough for the photos to be taken, before being swiftly gaveled so the real hearing can be held off-camera and without the presence of the minority party.
- Being asked to participate in the drafting of the Patriot Act - getting headlines as you vote your bi-partisan work product out of committee, only to learn it was discarded in favor of one written in secret by the majority party alone.
- Blatant re-writing, side-stepping or ignoring Judiciary Committee rules on nominations to maximize the power of the majority party.
And on, and on, and on...
So now, here you are. Holding the gavel of your former oppressors.
You have been charged with: drafting tougher ethical standards and enforcement protocols; investigating government activity on pre-war intelligence, Katrina, Iraq contracts, wiretapping and a host of other issues.
The question is: do you use the tactics of your predecessors to get this done?
Before you reflexively say "No, I'll be big about this," think about these items carefully:
- The members of the GOP who you invite into your oversight hearings may very well try to sabotage your actions in the hope of protecting their own misdeeds or those of their party or financial backers.
- Minority party members given free reign to amend bills can poison-pill needed legislation, denying you the ability to draft the bills you were sent to Congress to write.
- Embracing the GOP in the spirit of bi-partisanship will essentially compound the advantage their strong arm tactics gave them. For six years, they have brushed you aside and took what they wanted. Now, as your party begins to try and undo some of the harm, you're going to set them up with the access and power they denied you for six years and hope they act responsibly?
Then again, if you adapt the tactics of your opponents - do you run the risk of becoming just like them?
What do you do?
The sound of the other shoe dropping...
And there it is... AP and NBC call Virginia for Jim Webb.
The Dems own the Senate folks. All over but the concession speech.
The Dems own the Senate folks. All over but the concession speech.
Waterworld
Of the three items that were waiting in the wings to go wrong - the water heater stepped up to the plate a few days ago.
Last year, one of the valves started dripping - then stopped.
The day after I got the sewer straightened out, E noticed a puddle of water near the water heater. I'm thinking it is just water from where I mopped up - but it's still there a day later.
Plus, it's bigger.
So we call the plumber. In my decidedly-out-of-synch-with-recent-events mind, I'm thinking we're replacing the bad valve. I dry up the water and put a bucket under the spigot to see how fast the water is coming out.
Next day, the water is on the floor, not in the bucket. It's obvious that the water isn't coming out of the spigot, it's flowing out of the bottom of the water heater itself.
This is a bad sign. A sign that reads: "Hello, I am your hot water heater - and I am now dead."
So, here we go. E waits for the plumber who charges us eight bills to get the old one out, the new one in, and a few fees just because he's got us over the barrel.
I know. You're saying, "You got rolled."
Yeah, but we're not in a position to shop around. Time is short and this needs to get done. Like, now. We still have to get the furnace looked at, and buy meteor insurance.
I'm over it. I'm already bracing for the next thing.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
A margarita and a police state…
"You may be looking at four or five public polls a week that talk about attitudes nationally, but that do not impact the outcome... [the polls] add up to a Republican Senate and a Republican House.
You may end up with a different math, but you're entitled to your math, I'm entitled to the math."
--Karl Rove, October 24, 2006
A former co-worker of mine had bet a margarita that there wouldn't be elections this fall.
She'd said, "if I win, I get a margarita and a police state!"
(It's just one of those lines that is destined for greatness.)
Well, the results are flowing in and she'll owe somebody a margarita, but all things considered - I think she'll gladly pay up. Hell, I'd reimburse her.
MSNBC is predicting the dems get the house 233-202, and even factoring in their margin of error, it means that the White House can start practicing saying, "Speaker Pelosi," right about now.
VA, MO, TN, and MT senate races are still up in the air. The odds don't favor the dems, and there's still the possibility that DINO Lieberman will jump ship if the senate splits down the middle.
Even so, a worthy result from a country that seems seriously pissed off.
I don't expect the Dems to be brilliant, virtuous, and pure - but I do expect them to be adversarial and conduct oversight - something the current rubber stamp majorities seem to have forgotten how to do.
Rock on.
Monday, November 06, 2006
R.I.P. Max
It's official: The Maxima is totaled.
We'll be looking for vehicle number two as soon as we figure out:
1) How much we're getting for dead Max.
2) What the heck we want to replace it with.
We'll be looking for vehicle number two as soon as we figure out:
1) How much we're getting for dead Max.
2) What the heck we want to replace it with.
Slippery slope
If you think that the GOP-controlled congress didn't invent partisan railroading of legislation, you're right. They've just perfected it. So says Rolling Stone's Matt Taibbi:
Irrespective of who runs Congress, we can't let this trend continue.
In 1977, when Democrats held a majority in the House, eighty-five percent of all bills were open to amendment. But by 1994, the last year Democrats ran the House, that number had dropped to thirty percent -- and Republicans were seriously pissed. "You know what the closed rule means," Rep. Lincoln Diaz-Balart of Florida thundered on the House floor. "It means no discussion, no amendments. That is profoundly undemocratic." When Republicans took control of the House, they vowed to throw off the gag rules imposed by Democrats. On opening day of the 104th Congress, then-Rules Committee chairman Gerald Solomon announced his intention to institute free debate on the floor. "Instead of having seventy percent closed rules," he declared, "we are going to have seventy percent open and unrestricted rules."How has Solomon fared? Of the 111 rules introduced in the first session of this Congress, only twelve were open. Of those, eleven were appropriations bills, which are traditionally open. That left just one open vote -- H. Res. 255, the Federal Deposit Insurance Reform Act of 2005.
In the second session of this Congress? Not a single open rule, outside of appropriation votes. Under the Republicans, amendable bills have been a genuine Washington rarity, the upside-down eight-leafed clover of legislative politics.
Irrespective of who runs Congress, we can't let this trend continue.
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