Gov-ARGHH!-ment and Lot-ARGHH!-ries

This hasn’t been a good week.

 

Come to think of it: it hasn’t been much a month.

 

For days I’ve heard mice nibbling on poison pouches around the house as if they were trick-or-treat candy.  I fell asleep on the floor last Sunday while watching television and when I woke up I saw one dart underneath the standing bookshelves.

 

 

(Sometimes I wonder if mice look at us and think, “If I were bigger, I’d totally eat a person.  No, first I’d eat a cat and then eat a person.”   Or maybe they wonder if we taste like cheese or peanut butter.  Anyway…)

 

 

And currently I only have $3.01 in my checking account and a dollar bill in my wallet.

 

For the last two weeks my unemployment payments have been withheld.

 

At first, I was puzzled by this.  The federal government had bailed out the banks, so the state should have had money to dispense.  And I was sure I filled out the weekly form correctly.

 

I had run into this problem weeks earlier when the state’s computer had lumped me in with all the other coworkers who hadn’t been laid off before.  And I tried informing one of the listed contacts that I had already been through the orientation in January, especially since there was a part in the message about how not attending the meeting at the end of the month could affect your unemployment benefits.  “Well, if you want to take your chances and risk losing your benefits, be my guest!”

 

She was actually that snarky and rude.

 

Fortunately, I have what Ms. Nasty didn’t.  By that I mean tact.  I patiently explained that I had already attended the mandatory meeting when I had been laid off in January.

 

“You sat through a PowerPoint presentation?” she asked.

 

Yes, and I explained what was on the PowerPoint presentation, especially the HCTC instructions, which I had signed up for.  Well, “PowerPoint” and “HCTC” seemed to have been the magic words because the tiny wisps of venom seemed to stop spraying from the phone earpiece; and she told me, no, that I didn’t have to attend.  Then I asked if she needed my name to cross me off a list, but she said no. Maybe she should have.

 

No notices in my unemployment e-account.  So I called my unemployment rep at the transition center to see if she might know what the problem was, or give me the number of a department I could call.

 

So I called and gave my name and said, “I wanted to know—”

 

“You will have to SPEAK UP if you want me to help you!” she interrupted, curtly.  So I did and told her about the payment delays and asked if she knew what might be the reason behind it, or a number I could call.

 

I expected to hear keyboard keys clicking away and questions for me to answer.  But, no, just silence.  It can’t be that she didn’t hear me.  I asked aloud if it might be a computer error caused when my old company recalled and then later laid me off again weeks later.

 

However, instead of helping me, she immediately started denying she was a TAA/TRA rep even though that’s what it said on the card she had given me back in February.  But by then I remembered what she was like back when I was getting my WIA training forms and unemployment benefits sorted out in February.

 

What I’ve learned about local level unemployment reps is that they don’t want to stick out their necks.  They’re not career counselors.  Sure, the state calls what they offer a “retraining process”  or “employment transition”, but honestly, unemployment reps just want to process you.  Basically, the top priority of an unemployment rep is keeping their ass covered while sending yours on its way.  They want to get you in and out of their offices and onto the next job so they don’t have to see your unemployed, government-benefit-gobbling rear end again.

  

Behind the evasiveness and convenient memory loss is a government employee who is weighing the cons of getting involved in your dilemma.  After all, if in any way the government is to blame, helping you is admitting the government, their boss, is at fault.

  

So first I had to pry open Ms. Forgetful’s escape hatch of denial before she had a chance to jettison on me.  I mentioned things from January and February to convince her that, yes; she had been my unemployment rep, while at the same time reassuring her that this was some minor data base error, not hers.  If she knew a number at the state level I could call, then I would be on my way.

 

“I wouldn’t want to give you a number and spend the whole day calling offices and not getting anywhere,” she said, trepidation in her voice.  She was just worried about my inquiry coming back on her somehow.

 

Oh, but not calling anyone is going to–what?–let this knot of red tape untangle itself?   Seriously, her instinct for self-preservation was astounding. So I asked again.  I needed the number to ask a question.  Not complain, but to get an “understanding” about what was holding up my payments.

 

You’d think I was asking for her great granny’s credit card numbers, but eventually I got the number.   And, lo and behold, when I called the person on the other end of the phone asked me a few questions and, presto, I had an answer.  It seems the notice I received weeks ago saying I had the “option” of filing for an unemployment benefit extension, although it could possibly cut into my TRA benefits, wasn’t optional, but mandatory.

 

Then I was given another number to call so I could provide the needed information.  This woman seemed very upset that I didn’t want to enter the information over the internet.  She gave a sigh like I had made her spill food in her lap.  Anyway, hopefully that took care of the problem.

  

So I filled out the weekly form Sunday, and Monday there was another form to fill out to verify I was a student, which will be put “under review”.  Whatever.  Seriously.  Can I just have my money?

 

And now it’s Friday and still no cash.  I’m hoping this is a programming thing, like the government computer waits until the end of Saturday to determine any and all information that came in after Sunday.

 

For now I’ve been using my credit card for groceries and lattes.  What I know is that I need to mail my mortgage and credit card payment by Wednesday, or I’ll be in trouble.

 

I wouldn’t have had to use the credit card though.  Occasionally, I play the Pick4 game.  Always the same number in combo.  I had a feeling to play, but then I only had four dollars in my wallet, and I’d need to hang onto the money.  And what happened?  The numbers came up, that’s what!  It wasn’t the straight combo because then I would have really been steamed about not getting $5,000.  This was a least $50, which is slightly more than I’ve charged.

 

But the way this month has been going, if I had bought a ticket a mouse would’ve probably gotten hold of it and chewed it up.

Dream: Redneck monster truck in the garden

I dreamed hens and chicks succulents had sprouted up everywhere around my property.  They had even sprouted up through the cracks in my driveway.  But these were some gigantic plants.  The buds were larger than cabbages.  I wondered how I could get in and out of my driveway.

Later I’m in my house and I hear a loud noise outside.  And this huge truck with a custom made bumper like a battering ram ramps over my retaining wall and then crashes through the rose arbors and into my front porch.  There’s a redneck in the driver seat and a little boy in the passenger seat.  The redneck throws the truck into reverse and turns right.  The huge truck tires churn up half my front garden, shredding the plants.

“I’ll be back later this week to finish up!” he yells.  And then he roars out of my yard and down the street.

October Ornaments Arrive…right after the economic downturn.

Light crowd for the October ornament premiere. I spotted a couple hardcore collectors. They were the ones with dozens of little post-its bookmarking their Dream Books. But most people were heading to the checkout with only two or three boxes. It’s definately the economy.

I myself could only afford two–Tammy Haddix’s Season’s Treatings and Sue Tague’s Decking the Dog–and that’s with the help of the ten dollar gift card I received during the first premiere in July. If I had more spending money I would’ve purchased all three of Sue Tague’s ornaments. I’ve been curious to see them on display, but what I didn’t realize is that they’re made from a combination of materials, not just plastic. The scarves and some of the hair is cloth and yarn. The little boy’s fuzzy slippers in Decking the Dog are actually pipe cleaners. The dog is tangled in real tiny-sized ribbon.

If I do buy another Hallmark this year it will probably be the Play Family Farm ornament. Before seeing the display, I had reservations. For $16.50 plus tax it needed to have more than a battery-powered moo-ing sound.  But it turned out to be a nice enough minature replica of the original toy.

I, like others, am going to wait and see if there’ll be a sale.  A big sale.

Although I’m still not crazy about the look of the Spin-A-Majigs, I’ll admit that the animation when you turn the little crank is amusing. But I can’t see someone–especially small children–turning the crank while it’s attached to a tree without having some other ornaments shaking loose.

Obama Rally at Fifth Third Field

I’ve been following the election closely, so imagine my surprise when I came to school this morning and learned Obama would be speaking at Fifth Third Field.  But it just so happened that I had worked ahead on this week’s computer lesson, so it would only take me an hour to finish my class assignment.

I’d never been to a political rally, and I wasn’t able to see Obama when he’d been in town twice before. But this was a historical election, and if I had the chance it would be good to say that I just didn’t see history being made entirely from my television.  At the very least, I’d have some sort of anecdote to share.  “Ah, yes, I remember that chilly October morning when I saw Barack Obama speak at Fifth Third Field…”

However, I wondered if I would still be able to get there in time and get a good seat, or even get into the stadium.  News reports have talked about the huge turnouts at Obama rallies, and there was some buzz at school about people standing in line overnight.

But Fifth Third Field was on the way home, and while driving through downtown it seemed that the event parking lots were still pretty empty, so I swung by the house to get my camera and returned downtown. 

The field and lower level seats were reserved. I guess for campaign volunteers and donors and their family members.  But I’d arrived early enough to find a good space between the upper level seats with a good view of the podium.

So I waited.  And waited.

At one point the attendees in the upper level started doing the wave to pass the time.  A woman nearby held up a sign that read: PALIN IS AN INSULT TO MY PITBULL.   I spoke with a woman from Springfield and her husband.  He worked at a factory I had worked at eight years ago.  She was an Obama supporter from the beginning and he eventually came around.

The news channels harp about Obama’s difficulties reaching the older and working class whites.  However, it was a very diverse audience, with a great many older whites in attendance.  Instead of an Obamaniac rock concert or church revival atmosphere, there was more of a polite anticipation, which is to be expected from a concerned early morning crowd from an area facing an uncertain economic future. 

Actually, if the media wanted to do a story about the differences between white and black voters at Obama rallies, they could focus on who buys the most Obama merchandise.  I noticed many more black audience members wearing all sorts of Obama shirts compared to white audience members.

I didn’t realize how many speakers there are at these rallies even before the main speaker appears.  The mayor and governor were among five speakers that spoke briefly and stressed the importance of getting out to vote this election.  Then for twenty minutes or so campaign workers handed out stacks of CHANGE WE NEED signs to the people around the stage so there was a significant amount of blue surrounding the podium.  I’d never thought of it before, but even if the rally were televised for only a few moments on CNN or MSNBC and later on the local news, a candidate surrounded by a crowd holding up several signs with his campaign message does carry visual impact.

Finally, about forty or so minutes later than he was scheduled to speak, Obama came out on stage to music and applause.  There was a lot of echo at the beginning of the speech, and it was hard to hear him in the upper levels, but eventually the sound guys corrected the problem.

It was a good speech.  When he talked about the current financial mess and people’s 401ks, someone yelled it was more like a 101K now.  I particularly liked the part about bringing green technology to the area and incorporating existing facilities and businesses into a greener future.

After the speech, the lower levels emptied quickly, so I was able to walk down to the first row by the exit.  I couldn’t spot him from a distance.  However, his progress through the crowd was easy to follow just by watching the sudden clusters of raised cameras that would sprout up as well as the many outstretched arms holding out books and other pieces of paper for autographs.  Or the babies that might be held or kissed.

One person had their little baby dressed in a cute pumpkin outfit.  Maybe the costume was a deliberate way to get Obama’s attention, but it seemed to work because Obama held her when he came by.  But, heck, I and other people around me cheered, “Hooray, the lucky pumpkin baby got to meet Obama.”

I wouldn’t be able to get a handshake or autograph, but I just wanted to get one good picture of him when he came nearby.  However, the closer he got the more people squeezed in around me.  At one point I just held up my camera like a submarine periscope and started clicking away.  I have so many pictures that would have been good if someone’s hand or head didn’t just happen to be right front of Obama’s face.

A group of women around me had a plan to get him to look their way.  “At the count of three, we’re going to yell, ‘We love you, Obama!’ to get him to look in our direction, okay?”  Uh, no thanks, I thought.    

Eventually, as he neared the exit, I did get one halfway decent picture. 

And the group of women yelled, “Mr. President! Mr. President!”

And then when he was fifteen feet away, he looked in my and the group of women’s direction.  I was fifteen feet away from this man who is making history. 

And then he was gone.  It was then that I wished I hadn’t been behind my camera so much trying to capture a memory or evidence of the event and just experienced what was going on around me.  Maybe it would have been more significant.  Or made my future anecdote more interesting.

Outside the stadium, there were still a large crowd though.  The vendors were still going strong.  “Obama t-shirts!  Obama t-shirts!” one vendor yelled to the crowd. “Guaranteed to last eight years!”

Dream: Different dentist. Same ex-wife.

At the beginning of the dream I’m overhearing people on a news channel discussing a film supposedly starring Masi Oka from Heroes.  The discussion is if the film is too “counterculture”.

Then I’m in a dentist’s chair getting a check up.  I’m guessing it’s a school of dentistry because three people approach me and examine my open mouth.  The third young woman (I’m guessing a dental student) gives me a shot of novacane and then goes to talk with an older woman, who could be a supervising instructor.  Meanwhile my mouth is filling up and I can’t swallow.  No one is noticing this, so I have to reach for the little suction tube myself.  But no sooner do I get rid of the mess when suddenly a little nearby sink starts backing up with my blood and saliva.  The older woman rushes over and takes care of the problem so all the gunk flows down the drain.  She hurriedly explains something about the drains having been plugged while the plumbing was being worked on, and they forgot to unplug them once the work was finished.

Then I’m driving through the parking lot near school and I remember I’ve forgotten my lunch.   This is odd because I don’t normally take a lunch to school.

Then I’m at a reception hall after the wedding party and guests have left.  There is still food available at the buffet though.  I pick up a deviled egg and suddenly my ex-wife is there telling me how I should eat it.  Not advice on how to not make a mess or get anything on my face or clothes.  No, she’s instructing me on how many bites I should take and where to bite.  I look at her bewildered and feeling insulted.  I tell her I know how to feed myself, and I eat the deviled egg.

Then my ex-stepdaughters arrive.  One tells my ex that she read the text message she had sent to someone.

There’s talk of someone in jail.   One tells me about hearing news recently about one of my older cousins doing something, but I know it’s a lie because the cousin they’re talking about has been dead for three years.

Actually, they’re not really having a conversation with me.  It’s more like the three of them are talking around me about people and places I’m not familiar with and occasionally telling me something they want me to know.  Me?  I just want to eat in peace.

Looking in my dream book, the dream might symbolize worries about my life being out of control.  That’s what it says dentistry represents.  I question if it might actually involve communication issues, or verbalizing negative emotions or uncertainty, which is what bleeding and saliva are supposed to represent.

There are three women in both the dentistry school and reception hall.  In both situations I’m either being told what to do and then ignored.  The explanation about the sink could have been a lie, so that would mean in both situations I’m also being lied to.

The part about Masi Oka?  His character can control time, so I wonder if that symbolizes wanting to deal with issues from the past.

My Urban Garden 10-5-08: Water Lily Pad Pile Up and Goldfish

Next year I’ll have to learn how to divide water lilies.  Last season they started outgrowing their container, and this year they’ve started outgrowing the pond.  If I knew someone else with a pond, I’d give them my extras.  I’ve seen the ponds in front of megachurches and suburban office buildings and have wondered if there was a way I could sneak in and do a little guerilla water gardening.

There’s also close to forty goldfish of various sizes swimming around in my little pond.  I’m going to have to find a new home for most of them too.

Actually, I’d like to build a larger pond.

What’s interesting is watching the sparrows hop on top of the lily pads and use them as mini-birdbaths.

Dream: Ex-Wife and Dentist

I haven’t seen my ex-wife in years, but last night I had a dream about her.

I’m in the hallway of a dentist’s office, and I discover she’s working there as a dental hygentist.  Of course, it instantly becomes the last place I want to be.  It isn’t just the thought of my ex sticking my teeth and gums with sharp metal objects that bothers me.  I just don’t want to see her. 

Down the hall,  I notice the dentist in one of the rooms, and I realize she’s involved with him.  Now this is even more the last place I want to be.

My ex is being weirdly pleasant, and I become aware that the dentist knows who I am and has been expecting me.  Then I sense that the real reason my ex is hanging around so close is that her new boyfriend might want to ask me some questions about our marriage.  She wants to monitor the conversation and steer it clear of any touchy subjects, especially the reasons behind our breakup.

Typical.  But I just want to leave.  This is beyond awkward and uncomfortable.

Then I’m walking through downtown Dayton, but I’m a young Paul Newman.  I’m carrying a fishing pole with a small freshly caught fish still hanging from the line.  I walk into a parking garage because it’s the back entrance to a skyscraper.  Security tries to stop me, but I give them a look like, “Hey, I’m Paul Newman,” and I walk past them.

I walk up the stairs and open a door which leads behind a bar.  There’s a very busy bartender and he has these little mini sinks–or friers–he’s tending to.  I ask him if he knows what type of fish I’ve caught and if he could prepare it.  The patrons around the bar have a good laugh, but the bartender doesn’t like my attitude.  I’m partially serious: I want to know what kind of fish I’ve caught and if it can be eaten.

Then I’m me again, and I find this little blond-haired toddler.  He couldn’t be more than two or three years old; and he’s trying to get to a bathroom.  He’s almost hysterical thinking he could mess himself.  I get him to a bathroom, and he’s fine.

It turns out that this little boy is under my ex-wife’s care.  She’s the one he didn’t want to disappoint by dirtying himself.  I remember when I first met my ex that my then stepson who is blond was three years old; but this is a different little boy.  I think this might be the dentist’s son.

She’s preparing the little boy beef stew for supper.  I notice the bowl she places in front of him is steaming hot, so I go to the fridge, get a few ice cubes, and place them on the stew.  It cools down, and the boy starts eating.  He asks questions about how I know her, but I give vague answers about knowing her years ago before he was born.

My ex tells me how helpful I am and asks if I couldn’t stay for dinner.  I lie and say I’ve already eaten.  There’s a lot of prepared food on the counter though.  But my wife’s chipper tone is irritating me because I know what she’s implying is that if she makes me supper and we sit down and have a meal together then it’s like we’re friends and it absolves her of all the bad things she did and said to me–all the bad things she’d hate for her dentist boyfriend to discover.  Those things would no longer matter.  And if they didn’t matter then they wouldn’t be worth bringing up to her boyfriend.

But they matter to me, and I’m so relieved to get out of the apartment, which turns out to be on the top of the parking garage.  I do hope the little boy will be okay though.