Barack and the Beanstalk

Once upon a time, there was a family who fell upon hard times. They'd been on a spending spree for eleven years, buying wars and banks and a couple of car companies. Then their income dried up and they realized they'd spent not only all their money, but all their children's money, and even their grandchildren's money. All they had left was a cow. This had happened once before, and that time they bred the cow and turned it into a whole herd of cows and they were able to use the herd to work their way out of debt. This time, though, no one wanted to spend money on all that bull. So, even though they knew that their cow was their only hope for the future, they decided to sell it. So they sent young Barack, who was charming and smart (though not much of a scrapper) off to the big city to make the best deal he could in exchange for the cow. "Trade it for food," his mother said, because she was soft-hearted, and worried about people having enough to eat. "Sell it for money," said his father, who like to think of himself as fiscally conservative, even though he was the one who'd done most of the spending over the past eleven years. But when young Barack got to the city, he fell among slick-talking businessmen who talked him out of trading the cow for food OR money. Instead, they convinced him to trade Bessie for a handful of magic beans. They told him if he planted the magic beans a beanstalk would grow right through the ceiling, and he wouldn't have to worry about it again until 2013. And that's just what he did.

Drivers, Stop Farding!

So I'm waiting at a red light on Friday morning and I notice that next to me, in the turn lane, all the traffic has gone, except for this solitary black Nissan. I glance over to see what gives and realize the driver is talking on her cell phone. Ahead, the light turns yellow, but, absorbed in conversation, she doesn't notice. Then I see, in addition to a cell phone, this chick has a makeup brush in her hand. So she's not only talking on the phone while she's driving, she's also applying cosmetics. The upshot of this extreme multi-tasking is when she finally looks up, the light is turning red. She guns it and zooms through the intersection under the crimson beam, making everyone else wait on her. Naturally, I'm still bitching about this when I get to work and Dave-Who-Knows-All across the aisle says, "Oh, she was farding." "No idea," I say. "Both of our windows were up." "No," he says, "farding. It means applying make-up." So I pulled it up on dictionary.com and sure enough, it does. So, to drivers (male or female) who insist on applying their make-up behind the wheel, I say this, "NO FARDING BEHIND THE WHEEL!" (Photo by Xavi Talleda.)

Fiction...Monday!

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to attend the Midwest Writers' Workshop, in Muncie, Indiana. It was a great conference and I learned a lot of cool new things, including some great tips on ways to improve my blog that I'll be incorporating over the coming weeks.

I also met bunches of new people (bear in mind that I'm kind of an introvert, so my idea of "bunches" and yours may differ) and was invited to join a cyber-critique group.

While I was there, I pitched my recently completed manuscript to Jessica Sinsheimer of the Sarah Jane Freymann Literary Agency and she asked me to submit my first hundred pages!

Family and friends, please note: for the next 96 hours I will be polishing prose like a madwoman. If you don't hear from me, it doesn't mean I don't love you anymore. It just means I'm in hot pursuit of a dream.

Two Grandmothers

The grandmother I want to be doesn't get all hung up about nutrition, feeding the kids whatever they want. The grandmother I am makes deals--one piece of candy, and only after you eat some real food. The grandmother I want to be plays Candyland and Mousetrap and Hungry, Hungry Hippos for hours. The grandmother I am talks the kids into watching Despicable Me instead. The grandmother I want to be is laid-back about bed-time. The grandmother I am threatens to call your parents if you kids do not settle down right now. The grandmother I want to be is even-handed, lavishing on each of her grandchildren the same amount of attention. The grandmother I am connects more tightly with the child who needs it the most. The grandmother I want to be is always up for an impromptu overnight. The grandmother I am needs time to mentally prepare. The grandmother I want to be has a lovely wooden toy box full of carefully selected educational toys. The grandmother I am has a Rubbermaid tub filled with cast off junk and things she found at the thrift store. The grandmother I want to be has grandkids who squeal with joy when she walks in the door. The grandmother I am lucked out: she got that, too.

Bringing Good Things to Light

General Electric just signed a deal with my hometown to open a research facility here on the grounds of the University of Dayton. The lab, dedicated to electric power research for the aviation industry, will create 30 to 40 jobs in its first year of operation, eventually leading to as many as 200 jobs.

Which is great, right?

Except that, to get GE to agree to locate the lab here, the City of Dayton had to agree to forego property taxes for 30 years.

That's right--30.fucking.years.

Here's my question to GE: who do you think is going to pay for the road maintenance and the street lights and the cops and the firemen that will service and protect your facility? Not to mention the schools that will churn out your future workers?

When you add to this the fact that GE paid no federal income taxes in 2010, it starts to be clear that this fairy godfather bringing the gift of good jobs is really a giant mooch who just plopped his fat ass on our couch and snapped his fingers for someone to bring him a beer.

I can already hear my pro-business friends arguing that GE has an obligation to their shareholders to keep their tax bill as low as possible.

To which I say, "Maybe they do, but I don't."

So start paying your own way, GE, and stop asking me to pick up your tab.

Note to Old Dog: Do not buy so much as another light bulb from those freeloaders.

Scaling Mt. Debtverest

The above graphs represent our national debt in dollars, and as a percent of GDP. See how the lines are climbing? They look like the East Anglia version of the climate change chart. And the scary thing is, it's growing like that despite historically low interest rates. What happens when rates go up again?

Old Dog and I successfully used the following recipe to get our own financial house in order and while it may seem simplistic, I think it would work for the federal government, too:

1) Stop spending so much money. Separate the "must haves" from the "nice to haves" and only buy the "must haves."

I know cutting entitlements seems like breaking promises, but the fact is, we've promised more than we can deliver. At some point, we're going to have to admit that we over-promised and square accounts. And the sooner we do it, the less painful it will be.

2) Stop buying on credit. I'm not advocating a 100% balanced budget. We (almost) all buy big-ticket items like houses on credit, but long-term money should be used for long-term investments. I'm okay with deficit spending and accruing debt if we're buying infrastructure that will benefit the coming generations who'll have to pay it off. I'm not okay with sticking them with our dinner tab.

3) Make more than the minimum payment. At the federal level, this means (choke) raising taxes. Because if you only make the minimum payment, you're never going to get out of debt.

4) Stop building budgets that are sprinkled with fairy dust. When Old Dog and I budget, we don't include his potential overtime. Set up best, worst and middle-of-the-road scenario and figure out, realistically, what kind of revenue stream you can expect. You'll still get blindsided the next time the "we don't need no stinkin' regulation" banks figure out a new way to lie about their balance sheets, but most of the time it will work.

5) Make everyone pay their share. General Electric paid NO taxes last year (but that's a separate rant). When did Americans lose sight of the fact that paying your taxes is a form of patriotism?

Because anybody can stand around and jaw about how much they love America, but real patriots put their money where their mouth is.

Can This Marriage Be Saved?

Over the long weekend, Old Dog and I cleaned out the basement, along with some other storage areas around the house. (I know what you're thinking: "If only I could party with the Raisin-Dogs." Alas, such is the nature of Blogworld that it cannot be.) The plan was to get rid of excess/duplicate/no longer needed items, taking them to our daughter to put in her garage sale next month. Unfortunately, excess/duplicate/no longer needed turns out to be in the eye of the beholder. Example: this is my idea of a nice coaster: While this is Old Dog's idea of a nice coaster: I'm all about "form follows function" while Old Dog's aesthetic sensibilities run more along the lines of "Screw form; as long as it functions, who gives a shit what it looks like?" I predict that it's going to be a long and painful de-cluttering process....