We are five days into the trial of George Zimmerman's killing of Trayvon Martin.
So far, there have been no major material differences between what eye/ear witnesses have said before and are saying now.
It is uncontroverted that:
-Martin, a 17 year old visiting his father's home in Florida, went out for skittles and soda on a rainy evening.
-Zimmerman, a neighborhood watchman, spotted Martin, and profiled him as suspicious.
-There had been a rash of burglaries in the neighborhood, and on several previous occasions, "these F...ing a..holes always get away" when Zimmerman called 911.
-Zimmerman called 911 and proceeded to follow Martin. He was instructed not to by the 911 dispatcher. There is, however, no law mandating he obey the dispatcher.
-Martin, who was on the phone, noticed he was being followed and sought to "lose" Zimmerman.
-Zimmerman pursued and found Martin, while Martin was still on the phone.
-Martin asked why he was being followed, Zimmerman asked Martin what he was doing.
-several persons thereafter heard sounds of struggle.
-Several persons heard repeated cries for help, some seeing one man atop the other.
-A gunshot from Zimmerman blew through Martin's heart, killing him.
-The best eyewitness says, with uncertainty, Martin was above Zimmerman, punishing him. This is corroborated by Zimmerman's injuries, and Martin's lack of any injuries except for the bullet which took his life.
-Zimmerman was found with a bleeding broken nose, bleeding on the back of his skull, with several blunt trauma markings.
At this point, every lawyer practicing criminal defense must ask this question: "Why did the State of Florida try this case as 2nd degree homicide?"
To this point, the prosecutions witnesses have established that Martin did confront Zimmerman, there was a fight and just before the gunshot, someone cried for help several times. They have not established who started it, or who called for help. They have a fight, calling for help, and a gunshot.
This is not enough evidence for a conviction for 2nd degree murder. Why? Because the standard of proof is that jurors must know what happened beyond a reasonable doubt in order to convict. Specifically, they must know beyond a reasonable doubt that Zimmerman killed Martin, and that Zimmerman did so without fearing for his life.
The error isn't charging Zimmerman, the error is what they charged Zimmerman with. 2nd Degree murder? Should've been a manslaughter charge. They could have won that case. Zimmerman would have taken that offer because of the real possibility of losing. But, prosecutors stuck to their guns, and wanted 2nd degree homicide, a charge, it appears, they always knew they could not win.
At best, the prosecution has established, Zimmerman may not have been justified. "May" is not a conviction.
If the witnesses testimony was known before trial, then why would any decent prosecutor try this case, knowing it was a loser?
Prosecution is subject to political pressure. That is why. This was not originally charged because prosecutor's investigated and heard the testimony that we have, and decided, Zimmerman may not have been justified, but it is impossible to prove.
But then the media came in and began race baiting. And then all the race baiters on either side, like Sharpton and Jackson, whose disrepute is known to all but the most ignorant, threatened civil unrest unless something was done.
So it is being done. Trayvon Martin is getting his day in court. But nobody who knew the facts beforehand, including the prosecution, really believed this was a winnable case.
The defense hasn't even had their turn yet, and the prosecution's evidence tends to convince most people that Martin confronted Zimmerman, got the upperhand, proceeded to beat Zimmerman, Zimmerman called out for help, not getting any, he shot Martin.
This case is imperiling Zimmerman simply to satisfy those who cannot bring themselves to believe that this was a stupid tragedy resulting from the stupid actions of both parties. Zimmerman should not have followed Martin, certainly not engaged him, and, in my opinion, should not have shot him even though he was being beat up. Martin, for his part, should never have attacked Zimmerman. And if he didn't attack Zimmerman, he certainly should have stopped once he gained the advantage described by several witnesses...pounding Zimmermans head into the pavement.
The trial is a show.
It imperils ZImmerman and threatens to compound senseless tragedy with injustice.
I believe Zimmerman profiled Martin because of his age and race. I think Martin compounded this impression with his behavior. It think Zimmerman was wrong. But, once attacked by Martin, Zimmerman had a right to defend himself with lethal force. That doesn't make it ok in my book, but it does make it legal.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Monday, June 24, 2013
Fools celebrate Snowden's blunder
Snowden--
Should Go To Prison For the Rest of His Life
He committed treason
It doesn't matter whether or not you think the government PRISM program is legal. What Snowden did was not legal. It was not smart. It was dangerous.
The kid has a high school education and upper level programming skill. He is not an NSA agent, nor a highly skilled hacker. He was a plant. Planted by people smarter than him. He immediately fled to...China?! Then to Russia? The kid is a spy, now hiding in plain sight. The Chinese debriefed him in Hong Kong, as the Russians did yesterday. "What exactly do the Americans have access to?" "How quickly does it take them to develop their information?" "By what methods do they infiltrate?", "Do they use it to access commercial data?" On and on. The kid was or is now a spy. Which is why he is suspected of carrying 200 more classified documents...for whom?
He knowingly committed a crime, without a glimmer of the depth of the consequences. The term Classified exists for this exact reason (although thoroughly abused). So when a person does come across documents that they would like to reveal, they cannot. Why? Because they don't have the whole picture and therefore cannot know the ultimate consequences of leaking their conscience.
Snowden, spy or not, should go to prison fro treason. The U.S. should be emphatic about getting him. This kind of breach is plain treason. If he didn't think our adversaries knew about Prism, then he committed high treason by describing--in detail-- our most potent not-so-secret weapon...simply because he passed his own myopic judgment upon it.
He Weakened Us Internationally
The timing, right before meetings with China--where our media is critiquing Chinese censorship regarding Tianaman Square--is suspicious. Just look at their media...lowering the bar by bringing us low.
Did Snowden think he was going to stop the program? No. Did Snowden think that China and Russia and all other technologically advanced adversaries didn't know about PRISM, and have one of their own already? Of course not.
Who benefits? China and Russia. Why? Because we lost our moral high ground at a very economically and politically weak time. Why? Because we now may limit a technology that is our ONLY effective measure against non-state adversaries.
If Snowden was going to do something that hurt us and our adversaries equally, then perhaps that would mitigate. It would be a human rights story. But Snowden solely hurt the U.S., at a time that the U.S. is already internationally vulnerable. We have lost the high ground for neutrals to look up to.
He Has Blunted Our Best Defensive Domestic Weapon: Intelligence
Who did know about PRISM? Most of our adversaries, China, Russia etc...
Who didn't? Our avowed enemies, foreign and domestic. Non-state actors such as Al Queda and home grown psychos who look up bomb construction on their computers. (Did you know the FBI used to track library check-outs? If you checked out any "flagged" material, they would look into it to see if you were trying to make sarin, stealing academic science, or whatever).
About the time the Clinton Administration was learning that this Osama Bin Laden guy was responsible for killing US soldiers on the USS Cole, and was becoming a formidable threat, somebody let slip that we were listening to Osama's satellite phone. Though there is enough blame to go around, that particular leaker may be the one person most responsible for 9-11. Tracking Osama's phone calls was our best source of protection. When we lost it, we lost him--for over two years. Then the Two Towers fell. It took us 11 years after that. Intelligence secrets matter.
He Betrayed Our Process, lessened our Security,
Like it or nor, our elected officials chose to keep this program secret from us. Why? Because it is hard to catch criminals when they know they are watched. Our elected leaders balanced the interests, and made a decision.
Ask yourself, if the NSA offered to stop PRISM tomorrow, would you be ok with that?
What if it meant that we never find the people who bombed the Boston marathon? What if it means a commercial plane is bombed once every two years? (I am not claiming that PRISM found the Boston bombers, or does foil terrorist plane bombings every two years...but somewhere, sometimes, either more or less frequently, it is preventing stuff).
Would you pay that price--guilty go free, a few more preventable innocents die every year--for freedom?
Think about it. How much do you really value freedom, when it poses a measurable cost against your security? Even a miniscule one?
Snowden stole away this timely (and timeless) debate. We need to confront these issues. Unfortunately, acting as our benevolent Big Brother, he made the decision for us, forever upset that balance and retarded a meaningful discussion.
In Utah, the press has reported upon the completion of the NSA's redundant informational storage complex . Citizen silence gives a palpable nod of approval with only a handful of protesters. (This, from a state constantly decrying government overreach). Utahns are more concerned with catching Snowden than considering PRISM.
Undoubtedly, some future casualties would have been avoided where perpetrators were not aware of the details of this program. Snowden informed some unaware threats that they must stay offline to avoid detection. And some of them will now be successful, whereas otherwise, they would not.
Snowden made the trade for you. And traded for nothing. PRISM goes on. So we did not trade anything for our lessened security. We are not more free. Just less secure and embarrassed.
Although Creepy, Ominous, and Underhanded, The PRISM Surveillance Is (Probably) Legal For A Lot of Reasons
The Fourth Amendment assures us security against illegal search and seizure. Illegal wiretapping is an illegal search, and arguably, illegal seizure as well. We can compare PRISM to a wiretap. Whereas a Wiretap involves a thin wire, PRISM is comparably a firehose.
If you did not already suspect that Russia, China, U.S., Apple and Google were reading your non-encrypted cyber behaviors, you are an idiot.
Snowden revealed that the government was secretly recording all internet communications it could. That, however, is not clearly illegal. If I copy all mail sent by postage, but never actually read it, have I invaded your privacy? What if I throw my copy away six months later? At no time did anyone have (legal) access to any specific person's information without probable cause.
It is not clear that the gathering of information is, in itself, illegal. We know that commercial companies often collect information from us indefinitely after we visit their site. They use cookies. We normally do not give them permission to do this. They don't ever throw that information away. They access it, profile it, and sell it to marketing companies...or otherwise use it to optimize their products. Ever seen the ads on the side of your email account adapt themselves to the text of your email?
Cyberspace is not a private space. You don't own the servers that run it, nor the fiberoptic highways it travels upon. What do you pay for? The only thing you paid for was your access instrument, and small amount of personal memory...a personal computer, and monthly fee to hook up an IP address. (Theoretically) The government is not searching your personal computer...unless it gets probable cause...derived from your activities in cyberspace.
So why can't the government do this? How is this not like cops on a beat, just patrolling for suspicious behaviors? What about internet searching and communications is private?
Where is the expectation of privacy online? We know viruses are there. WE know Google and Apple watch our email. Facebook owns our uploaded photos. It is not like someone is opening your front door, that you paid for, and have a lock. You don't get to shoot people for entering your cyberspace.
As I understand it, the government only accesses the information when, according to its wundergadget--Prism--flags certain behaviors which the algorithm tells them is suspicious. Then they determine whether or not there is probable cause to search.
But they do not actually access the information unless there is a suspicion strong enough to satisfy probable cause.
How is this unlike sitting at a high crime area, or all areas, looking for suspicious behaviors, and then investigating them as they happen? If we had an infinite number of cops...
Because NSA computers cannot analyze all traffic real-time (yet), they must store it until PRISM can observe it. Also, it can be stored for a time in order to look back in time for evidence after a crime has occurred. But they don't (legally) look back unless there is a crime..in other words, probable cause.
Why We Will Tolerate Prism, Even Though It Remains Anti-American and Orweillian
Most media reactions feign horror, then moderate with a natural press cycle. (See Benghazi for exhibit A. Romans extincted populations for less than what happened to our Ambassador's team. Americans acted horrified, its politicians pointed fingers...and after weak words...nothing.) Few are calling for a stop to PRISM. They are just mad we were called out on it by China, er, uh, Snowden. We allow for PRISM for the same reason we allowed the Patriot Act. The same reason we choose to venerate 9-11 attacks.
Fear. We remember what we fear. Fear motivates. In the long run cowardice prevails. (All men harbor fear, survivors remember it, cowards move forward forever distorted by its counsel).
Although ethically permissible, and legal, PRISM is UN-American. Politically and morally. It is secret, it is subject to "trusting the government". Recall, government is a "necessary evil" according to some Americans.
The government made some secret rulings, in secret courts, creating secret judicial precedent, to provide for secret surveillance. What if the judge is in on it? The legislature certainly cannot be trusted to know too much about our secrets.
You cannot, and should not trust a government who grows everytime there is an emergency, and then, like any power, refuses to relinquish the ground gained. Look at the dates associated with spending debt to GDP spending here.
Particularly a government, fueled by editorialized media which seeks out a crisis every news cycle and election.
I don't trust government. But, our fear will fuel PRISM. Eventually, the government will betray our trust, whether we know it or not. A frog boiled slowly...
This is the America we've evolved through affluence and complacent citizenry. We just won't admit it. .Never.
Friday, May 28, 2010
The U.S.: Never quite as powerful as it is now.
How do uber superpowers become just regular old superpowers again?
Some believe that the U.S. is looking to downgrade from World hyperpower to mere superpower in the near future. Citing hubris, individual and collective selfishness, and laziness, doomsayers claim that it all contributes to what one day end US dominance:
In the short term, I completely disagree. A loss of US geopolitical "power" implies that some other nation will gain "power". Who is gonna fill that void? Europe? The EU is less stable and united than the US. Moreover, its economy is much, much more volitile, with energy and military dependencies which ultimately limit its short term potential.
China? With an economy 60% dependent on the US consumer market, and industry which is deeply dependent upon two far distant continents for raw materials (Africa and South America), China must assume responsibilities to stabilize governments of African trade partners (like the U.S. already does with a significant military presence), while trying to make political inroads into the U.S. traditional sphere of influence.
That, coupled with complicated domestic politics surrounding the care and placation of billions of really really poor people makes China's rise in power, relative to the U.S., pretty small.
Russia? Maybe. But it would take a while. Russia enjoys Europe's energy dependence on its natural gas and oil. It also has a decisive and distinct controlling body which is adept at geopolitical maneuvering. But Russia is hedged in by Europe on one side, and China on teh other, with the unstable Middle East below it, Russia has a lot to overcome.
In the short run, nobody is in a position to encroach upon U.S. global power. The current recession, has, ironically, empowered the U.S. because it has weakened its competitors more than itself. It has also rudely reminded the world of the economic primacy of the U.S. economy.
However, in the long run, (and by long run I mean outside of the next 20-40 years), quite a few things could internally rot and waste the U.S. most precious advantages:
How to knock down a superpower 101 (in the long run):
How to knock down a superpower 101 (in the long run):
1. Got debt? Spending beyond your means (over and over and over for 30 years)
2. Got lazy? Not disciplining and maintaining your superior trade/military relationships via the rest of the world.
3. Got apathy? Apathy so deep that leadership doesn't even have the stones to ask its people to pay for war or social services.
3. Control of money supply: Every superpower has to have control of its money supply...ie: other dependant nations must tie thier currencies to the value of yours, thus guaranteeing your currency's primacy, which permits the flexibility to temporarily increase the U.S. money supply or debt when absolutely necessary. The active word is temporary. Nobody, not even the U.S., can sustain long term deficits and debt at the same time.
4. Got immigrants? Every healthy hegemon needs cheap, migrant labor. Migrants do more for less and like it. Given the opportunity, they provide some of the nation's most ingenius technologies and reforms.
5. Got Independence? Independence? Not from other nation's but from your own government. Independence from government allows independent effort, ideas, personality and ideology to continue an undistorted healthy evolution of efficient development. Unfortunately, this 'market' has losers, and the disparaty between winners and losers can be grim. But, in the U.S., where our losers look like the winners compared to other nation's citizens...we're doing ok.
California...the 'Greece' among us?
Today it was announced that the European Union will use the IMF to lend Greece 1 trillion Euros. Yes, Euros are still worth more than dollars. (Just so you recall, the IMF is almost a fully 1/3 funded by US taxpayer dollars).
Greece, that itty bitty little southern tip of the the EU is the iceburg that the EU fears will sink it's united currency. That's what happens when you form economic alliances like the EU or the United States, you ride the tailwinds of your champions, and eat the poop of your pretenders. Greece, as it happens, is a pretender.
The United States is (lest Texans again remind us) simply an economic and political Union of States. Barely four generations, or 140 years after really getting unified (in 1865 Union Armies settled some Southern Confederate commitment issues), we can't imagine a State really acting independently...I mean, to do so it would have to give up federal road, education and agricultural subsudies!
Whether it is a sudden catastrophic stress, or a slow cancerous stress; anyone of us is capable of rebelling against the source. Economic recession is stressful. If it lasts long enough, things start to break. In the long run, this recession probably isn't that big of a deal. But what of entities which are were in poor shape before the recession?
I don't think we're going to see any States leave the Union anytime soon. But we have our own 'Greek' State among us.
When was the last time California paid a bill? No really. When? They've paid the interest on a lot of things they've purchased for themselves, becoming one of the most benevolent and intrusive state governments in the Union. Right and Left, they eat pork on both sides of the table. Problem is, they aren't eating their own meat anymore, they're borrowing it. They have been since the mid 1990s. Since then they've just struggled to pay the interest or 'minimum payment' on thier credit.
California is a serious risk to default. It's credit rating is horrible. But it continues to be allowed to borrow money because there is a silent assumption that it, like the banks, is too big to fail. Unless it someday says otherwise, the Federal Government is implicitly cosigning on California debt.
And what happens if California does default? B-A-I-L-O-U-T.
Bailouts are common in every recession. Lest tea partiers forget, these last round of distasteful bank bailouts were the fourth time in the past 55 years that the Government has asked all taxpayers to assume the toxic assets of a particular and relatively small group of Americans. Here's the list:
- late 1970s - early 1980s: Brady Bonds are invented to bail out bankers who invested in 3rd -World raw materials/commodities, which went bust when thier governments went kabloowee.
-Late 1980s: Government Resolution Trust Corporation is created to buy up overvalued commercial real estate to bail out bankers who got too into a commercial real estate bubble. (sound familiar?)
- Chrysler was to 1980s as GM is to the new millenium. Bailed out.
- Late 1980s: New York City goes bankrupt, State of New York turns to Feds, Feds turn to taxpayers. Taxpayers lend NYC money, NYC gets bailed out.
Noteably, 4 of the 5 bailouts were orchestrated by Reaganite Republican Regimes. So, bailouts are not a partisan issue. They are a tried and true governmental fallback.
California is like an overspending college kid who has a job, but just can't help but overcharge the credit card. Everytime the credit card company calls, she reminds them of the cosigner to her accounts--Daddy. California has not made a tough spending decision for 20 years. Why? Because Daddy Fed is there to ultimately back them up, and bond buyers, whether they consciously acknowledge it or not, rely upon this.
So it is the other 49 states credit that California is borrowing upon, just like Greece spent the EU credit card for 10 years. Utah is one of two states who retain a AAA credit rating. Many others have decent ratings as well, in spite of the recession.
Ultimately, it is likely that California will be insulated from the consequences of longterm overspending on over-lavish public services, (relative to other states'), while responsible states will be exposed to unexpected costs of bailing it out.
Greece, that itty bitty little southern tip of the the EU is the iceburg that the EU fears will sink it's united currency. That's what happens when you form economic alliances like the EU or the United States, you ride the tailwinds of your champions, and eat the poop of your pretenders. Greece, as it happens, is a pretender.
The United States is (lest Texans again remind us) simply an economic and political Union of States. Barely four generations, or 140 years after really getting unified (in 1865 Union Armies settled some Southern Confederate commitment issues), we can't imagine a State really acting independently...I mean, to do so it would have to give up federal road, education and agricultural subsudies!
Whether it is a sudden catastrophic stress, or a slow cancerous stress; anyone of us is capable of rebelling against the source. Economic recession is stressful. If it lasts long enough, things start to break. In the long run, this recession probably isn't that big of a deal. But what of entities which are were in poor shape before the recession?
I don't think we're going to see any States leave the Union anytime soon. But we have our own 'Greek' State among us.
When was the last time California paid a bill? No really. When? They've paid the interest on a lot of things they've purchased for themselves, becoming one of the most benevolent and intrusive state governments in the Union. Right and Left, they eat pork on both sides of the table. Problem is, they aren't eating their own meat anymore, they're borrowing it. They have been since the mid 1990s. Since then they've just struggled to pay the interest or 'minimum payment' on thier credit.
California is a serious risk to default. It's credit rating is horrible. But it continues to be allowed to borrow money because there is a silent assumption that it, like the banks, is too big to fail. Unless it someday says otherwise, the Federal Government is implicitly cosigning on California debt.
And what happens if California does default? B-A-I-L-O-U-T.
Bailouts are common in every recession. Lest tea partiers forget, these last round of distasteful bank bailouts were the fourth time in the past 55 years that the Government has asked all taxpayers to assume the toxic assets of a particular and relatively small group of Americans. Here's the list:
- late 1970s - early 1980s: Brady Bonds are invented to bail out bankers who invested in 3rd -World raw materials/commodities, which went bust when thier governments went kabloowee.
-Late 1980s: Government Resolution Trust Corporation is created to buy up overvalued commercial real estate to bail out bankers who got too into a commercial real estate bubble. (sound familiar?)
- Chrysler was to 1980s as GM is to the new millenium. Bailed out.
- Late 1980s: New York City goes bankrupt, State of New York turns to Feds, Feds turn to taxpayers. Taxpayers lend NYC money, NYC gets bailed out.
Noteably, 4 of the 5 bailouts were orchestrated by Reaganite Republican Regimes. So, bailouts are not a partisan issue. They are a tried and true governmental fallback.
California is like an overspending college kid who has a job, but just can't help but overcharge the credit card. Everytime the credit card company calls, she reminds them of the cosigner to her accounts--Daddy. California has not made a tough spending decision for 20 years. Why? Because Daddy Fed is there to ultimately back them up, and bond buyers, whether they consciously acknowledge it or not, rely upon this.
So it is the other 49 states credit that California is borrowing upon, just like Greece spent the EU credit card for 10 years. Utah is one of two states who retain a AAA credit rating. Many others have decent ratings as well, in spite of the recession.
Ultimately, it is likely that California will be insulated from the consequences of longterm overspending on over-lavish public services, (relative to other states'), while responsible states will be exposed to unexpected costs of bailing it out.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Told you so. This is unprecedented, but not surprising?
http://www.politico.com/blogs/scorecard/0809/Charlie_Cook_Dem_situation_has_slipped_completely_out_of_control.html
http://www.politico.com/blogs/scorecard/0809/Charlie_Cook_Dem_situation_has_slipped_completely_out_of_control.html
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
On Bailouts--because mine (and your) opinion matters...
Point:
1. America is about being your own person, determining your own fortunes
2.Auto Unions, while a necessary evil, have grown greedy--killing American competitiveness
3. GM, Ford and Chrysler would benefit from Bankruptcy because it would allow them to restructure without Unionized labor--it will not affect thier production any more than a subsidized deal will.
4. Any bail-out $ will go straight to paying already overpaid unionized workers.
5. Bailouts are not always unAmerican, but this one is.
Unions are Un-American
No Wonder Your Ford Costs More for Less
1. America is about being your own person, determining your own fortunes
2.Auto Unions, while a necessary evil, have grown greedy--killing American competitiveness
3. GM, Ford and Chrysler would benefit from Bankruptcy because it would allow them to restructure without Unionized labor--it will not affect thier production any more than a subsidized deal will.
4. Any bail-out $ will go straight to paying already overpaid unionized workers.
5. Bailouts are not always unAmerican, but this one is.
"The American Dream is that dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement...but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position."
Unions are Un-American
Plumbers, carmakers and many other employments that the rest of the world could and would gladly do for a fraction of the wage are usually unionized in the U.S. Just as current big company CEO salaries are often a good example of excess and indirect plunder of companies, Unions represent the same thing from the other extreme. Unions are not made up of persons who are hell bent on rising through their own individual merit, To the contrary, unions, once established, tend to be very corrupt and intimidate and discriminate against any non-union colleagues who dare go it alone and be recognized upon thier own distinguishable skill.
So are Parasitic Executives who Plunder Established Companies
Unions like CEOs invariably inflate their own salaries far beyond what the market says they are worth–but Americans tend to ignore it because Union workers aren’t ever going to be rich–just overcompensated.
And compensation is the problem. When there is an alternative, Americans don’t support Unions, we buy the cheaper alternative--a Toyota. Unions have killed the Big Three– Sucked any excess from them, any opportunity to reinvest in the next generation of vehicles, so that they could guarantee themselves incredibly greedy wages.
Unions like CEOs invariably inflate their own salaries far beyond what the market says they are worth–but Americans tend to ignore it because Union workers aren’t ever going to be rich–just overcompensated.
And compensation is the problem. When there is an alternative, Americans don’t support Unions, we buy the cheaper alternative--a Toyota. Unions have killed the Big Three– Sucked any excess from them, any opportunity to reinvest in the next generation of vehicles, so that they could guarantee themselves incredibly greedy wages.
Example: When Ford was in trouble three years ago (it was Chrysler three years before that), it absolutely had to downsize it’s workforce. But the Auto Union wouldn’t let it. Ford needed to build some international factories in order to enter international markets, but the Unions wouldn’t let them. How do the Unions prevent it? By buying ad space and telling everyone that Ford is shipping jobs overseas...when in fact Ford was not shipping jobs overseas but instead creating them overseas. They also threatened to strike. And if you are a union member and don’t want to strike, well, that’s too damn bad. The first time? Ford was forced to pay laid off workers two years of salary at 90% plus benefits, which, if you take advantage of all those benefits (knowing they won’t be around after two years) comes out to $70/hr for two years. This, for non-college educated factory workers who are paid $8-$14/hr in another developed country--Japan, where cheaper Toyotas come from.
No Wonder Your Ford Costs More for Less
Now you know why your Ford is more expensive, because you are paying for high school educated guys to make $25/hr to do what anyone else in the developed world will do for 30% less.
The next time Ford needed to lay off workers because it needed to close its antiquated Norfolk plant. But creditors, looking at Ford’s already enormous pension liabilities, refused to allow it to add to it’s long term debt.
The Union demanded, and won, lump sum severance payments of $100,000 per worker, plus benefits for a year and college tuition. Insane. "I just hope we get as much as other plants get," said Chris Kimmons, president of United Auto Workers Local 919, which represents the Norfolk Ford workers. Are you insane Chris? Other plants get that? That is insane and unsustainable. Doctors don’t get that. Lawyers don’t get that...true Americans do not get that. Loyal employees making a minimum base salary of $20-$26/hr don’t ask for that. Greedy, corrupt and unreasonably spoiled Unions do.
The Real Skinny--Any Bailout for Autos is a Direct Subsidy of Unions
And now, the United Auto Workers, combined with their horrible and overpaid executives (CEO making $2.2 million this past year...as his company burned; while Toyota’s CEO has never made more than $1 million in a year), have sucked the Leviathan dry...GM motors is going bankrupt. The piggy bank is broken. And they want the U.S. to pay for it--you and me.
And now, the United Auto Workers, combined with their horrible and overpaid executives (CEO making $2.2 million this past year...as his company burned; while Toyota’s CEO has never made more than $1 million in a year), have sucked the Leviathan dry...GM motors is going bankrupt. The piggy bank is broken. And they want the U.S. to pay for it--you and me.
You see, if GM goes bankrupt, all pensions and other benefit payments promised to Union workers evaporate.
When the host dies, so does the parasite.
BUT, if they get bailed out, all of those parasitic employee benefits remain, (albeit renegotiated). So, this bailout isn’t about saving GM, GM will survive no matter what–bankruptcy is not the end. It is about bailing out the Union. It will not improve GM nearly as much as bankruptcy might (bankruptcy can free them of the Unions!) I can’t support this bailout. It will happen anyway–cause Congress, in spite of their show, doesn’t listen to Americans nearly as closely as special interests, but it is Un-American anyway.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Damn
I think sometimes God hates me...or at least thinks I'm fun to mess with.
True story(ies) follow(s):
A year or two ago, my older brother Pete and I were eating lunch at Mandarin with one of his buddies. Pete, being the older brother fiel was sharing some of my more embarrassing moments with his friend—in front of me. He concluded by saying, “I swear, Sam has the worst luck of anyone. Nothing really bad…just lots of small stuff.” I disagreed, telling Pete it wasn’t bad luck, but mostly just him screwing me over and over. Pete looked down at the table where the lunch tab sat with three fortune cookies, and then offered a bet: “I’m so sure of your luck, I’ll bet you lunch that my fortune is better than yours.” “Deal” I said, I mean, who on earth has ever heard of a bad fortune coming out of a fortune cookie? “But on the condition that we all agree that it is bad.” “No”, Pete replied, “We’ll just let you decide whose is better.” I smelled a set-up (26 years of living under the cunning cu
rse of an older brother will make any otherwise virtuous lad suspicious) “Fine” I said, “But I get to pick my cookie”. “Deal” Peter said and smiled. “I think you made a bad bet Pete,” said Pete’s friend, “I mean not only are there never any bad fortune cookies, but he has to agree…” Pete just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Pete opened his first:
Great wealth and good fortune are soon coming.
“Figures”, I said. Then I opened mine:
Procrastination will cost you much this week.
“DAMMIT!” I tossed the little slip of paper on the table and pulled out my wallet and credit card…
Pete thinks I’m unlucky. Bouk agrees. Dad often asks, “Are you serious Sam? Why does this stuff always happen to you?” and Mom says,” Sam, you poor kid…” Kim would often remind me that ”God hates you sometimes”. I sense a pattern.
A long list of non-luckiness evidences Pete’s point:
Like the time I was 13 and took my parents Range Rover out in January 2, (coldest day of that year) for a good midnight workout…and discovered I had a flat tire in front of Watterson’s house…and thereafter took 1.5 hours changing my first tire, by myself, while my ‘friends’ stayed inside next to the heater.
Or that other time, when I was snowmobiling at the ranch, and on a dare (from Pete of course) rode up the side of a steep hill, and, confronted by an overhanging cornice at the top, gunned the throttle to bust through…and…did—through the cornice and into the sky, straight up, my legs lost their foothold and flailed off the back end while my chest thumped against the seat pad and my hands kept a white-knuckle-kung-fu grip upon the handle bars. I fortunately, was fine, but, unfortunately, I’d landed the snowmobile upon the only remaining non-snow covered rock in all of the Continental Divide, and broke the machine’s suspension. (it was a rental, dad was pissed…no, Pete didn’t get in trouble)
Or when, traveling on the Boulevard at 2am a deer suddenly flashed into the road from the ONLY tree stand in the park to the South of Fredrico’s Pizza and I expertly maneuvered my truck to only clip him…then I stopped…and then, of all people, Peter came driving by from the opposite direction—at 2am (I got in trouble for endangering myself).
Or when I was 25, and discovered that the social security number I’d been using for the past 9 years was one digit off… which, believe me, is a bad thing.
Or when Peter gave Brandon the wrong title to register his Audi, and the registrar in Wyoming didn’t properly check and compare the VIN numbers, and Brandon registered my car, in his name, in Wyoming…thereby obtaining good title to MY CAR.
Or like the time two weeks ago when Pete and I parallel parked next to each other before going out to eat in Salt Lake, and upon returning, I’d received a parking ticket, at 7pm on a city street, from Amco—owners of the pay lot across the street. (Peter’s car didn’t get a ticket, of course)
Therefore, I’m coming to accept my position as fate’s bitch. Or at least accepted that my guardian angel, while very good at keeping me healthy and alive, ain’t too savvy with the small stuff.
The latest adventure deals with what initially was a stroke of good luck: Bouk giving me some front-row tickets to the Kurt Bestor concert in Provo next Monday. He bought them before discovering he had a test that day, my job was to either use or sell them. Now, I don’t know a thing about Mr. Bestor except that on my mission he had some of the most peppy songs we were allowed to listen to and he’s a big hit with Mormons, which immediately makes him suspect because I’m way too hip for that.
I imagine Mr. Bestor in the mold of the Osmonds…clean cut and cheesy to the point of creepy. His music, I must be honest, is largely unfamiliar to me. So I’m trying to find a way to sell or give away the tickets…
At 6am this morning I left home to meet someone to play squash (yes, squash, I’m a beginner and don’t ask) downtown. The person I was supposed to meet never showed, so I ended up playing a few games with some intermediate players who were hanging around. Mike, the first one, was really cool as he kicked in my brains.
The second was a long haired fellow with an earring and, I thought, in really good shape for a 50-year old. He said he was a musician and primarily wrote compositions for TV stuff. I told him I was a young, sprite attorney. I joked about me being immediately jealous of his job, he joked of being jealous of my earning potential. I responded by noting that often, as an attorney, that money compensates the misery of some of the work. He laughed. As the score approached 7-0, (advantage old musician guy), I asked him what kind of music he makes, and turns out, he’s currently arranging the music for the Kurt Bestor Christmas concert series, “ya know, coordinating the orchestra, some of the solos, piano…stuff like that”.
“Oh really, that’s cool, I’ve actually got tickets to that concert in Provo on Monday, guess I’ll see you there” I piped in, cause, at the time it seemed relevant and in no way embarrassing.
“Uh, well, I’m not sure I’ll see you, cause it’s hard to see anything with the lights and all, but…” he began, I cut him off “No, I think I have, like, front row seats.” 7-1, I scored, finally. “Oh, well if I see ya then I’ll say hi or make fun of you or something” he joked. Whatever music composition-arranger dude, you’ll be busy doing your music arranging-- I thought.
After beating me three games in a row, and offering a lot of encouraging advice to me, the beginner, we left the court and met up with the rest of his playing pals. “Hey, he’s going to my Kurt Bestor concert in Provo on Monday” said the guy in an odd, jovial tone. Mike, the first guy I played just nodded his head as he looked at me. Um weird?
As they left, Mike asked if I’d be here in the mornings and I told him yeah, “oh, well then we’ll have to play again”, “Yeah, chimed in the other guy.” “See you on Monday” said Mike, smiling at the other guy.
About three hours later, as I am on the phone trying to find someone to buy the tickets from me, and they are asking me what time and where its
at etc, so I google ‘Kurt Bestor”. Oh DAMMIT.. does that picture look familiar or what--the long, thick flowing hair of a succesful artist (the same hair I'd admitted to being jealous of this morning, commenting," well you may move like you are half a century old, but you've got more hair than I do at a quarter century...")
I’m a moron. Apparently Kurt Bestor likes to play squash. And of all people to play with, as I’m trying to ditch the tickets…Man I hope I didn’t say anything stupid about trying to get rid of my tickets. The dude was totally messing with me when he realized that I had front row tickets to HIS concert, without having any idea who HE is.
It’s like what happened when dad ran into somebody in Logan the other day, and when the person found out Dad’s last name is Goble, said, “You related to Dr. Goble?” “umm yeah”, Dad replied coyly.
“Yeah, well, he’s from around here and I need to go see him about my knees.”
Dad drove away never telling that guy who he was….and now I’M ‘that guy’!
Sometimes, I think God hates me.
True story(ies) follow(s):
A year or two ago, my older brother Pete and I were eating lunch at Mandarin with one of his buddies. Pete, being the older brother fiel was sharing some of my more embarrassing moments with his friend—in front of me. He concluded by saying, “I swear, Sam has the worst luck of anyone. Nothing really bad…just lots of small stuff.” I disagreed, telling Pete it wasn’t bad luck, but mostly just him screwing me over and over. Pete looked down at the table where the lunch tab sat with three fortune cookies, and then offered a bet: “I’m so sure of your luck, I’ll bet you lunch that my fortune is better than yours.” “Deal” I said, I mean, who on earth has ever heard of a bad fortune coming out of a fortune cookie? “But on the condition that we all agree that it is bad.” “No”, Pete replied, “We’ll just let you decide whose is better.” I smelled a set-up (26 years of living under the cunning cu
rse of an older brother will make any otherwise virtuous lad suspicious) “Fine” I said, “But I get to pick my cookie”. “Deal” Peter said and smiled. “I think you made a bad bet Pete,” said Pete’s friend, “I mean not only are there never any bad fortune cookies, but he has to agree…” Pete just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Pete opened his first:Great wealth and good fortune are soon coming.
“Figures”, I said. Then I opened mine:
Procrastination will cost you much this week.
“DAMMIT!” I tossed the little slip of paper on the table and pulled out my wallet and credit card…
Pete thinks I’m unlucky. Bouk agrees. Dad often asks, “Are you serious Sam? Why does this stuff always happen to you?” and Mom says,” Sam, you poor kid…” Kim would often remind me that ”God hates you sometimes”. I sense a pattern.
A long list of non-luckiness evidences Pete’s point:
Like the time I was 13 and took my parents Range Rover out in January 2, (coldest day of that year) for a good midnight workout…and discovered I had a flat tire in front of Watterson’s house…and thereafter took 1.5 hours changing my first tire, by myself, while my ‘friends’ stayed inside next to the heater.
Or that other time, when I was snowmobiling at the ranch, and on a dare (from Pete of course) rode up the side of a steep hill, and, confronted by an overhanging cornice at the top, gunned the throttle to bust through…and…did—through the cornice and into the sky, straight up, my legs lost their foothold and flailed off the back end while my chest thumped against the seat pad and my hands kept a white-knuckle-kung-fu grip upon the handle bars. I fortunately, was fine, but, unfortunately, I’d landed the snowmobile upon the only remaining non-snow covered rock in all of the Continental Divide, and broke the machine’s suspension. (it was a rental, dad was pissed…no, Pete didn’t get in trouble)
Or when, traveling on the Boulevard at 2am a deer suddenly flashed into the road from the ONLY tree stand in the park to the South of Fredrico’s Pizza and I expertly maneuvered my truck to only clip him…then I stopped…and then, of all people, Peter came driving by from the opposite direction—at 2am (I got in trouble for endangering myself).
Or when I was 25, and discovered that the social security number I’d been using for the past 9 years was one digit off… which, believe me, is a bad thing.
Or when Peter gave Brandon the wrong title to register his Audi, and the registrar in Wyoming didn’t properly check and compare the VIN numbers, and Brandon registered my car, in his name, in Wyoming…thereby obtaining good title to MY CAR.
Or like the time two weeks ago when Pete and I parallel parked next to each other before going out to eat in Salt Lake, and upon returning, I’d received a parking ticket, at 7pm on a city street, from Amco—owners of the pay lot across the street. (Peter’s car didn’t get a ticket, of course)
Therefore, I’m coming to accept my position as fate’s bitch. Or at least accepted that my guardian angel, while very good at keeping me healthy and alive, ain’t too savvy with the small stuff.
The latest adventure deals with what initially was a stroke of good luck: Bouk giving me some front-row tickets to the Kurt Bestor concert in Provo next Monday. He bought them before discovering he had a test that day, my job was to either use or sell them. Now, I don’t know a thing about Mr. Bestor except that on my mission he had some of the most peppy songs we were allowed to listen to and he’s a big hit with Mormons, which immediately makes him suspect because I’m way too hip for that.
I imagine Mr. Bestor in the mold of the Osmonds…clean cut and cheesy to the point of creepy. His music, I must be honest, is largely unfamiliar to me. So I’m trying to find a way to sell or give away the tickets…
At 6am this morning I left home to meet someone to play squash (yes, squash, I’m a beginner and don’t ask) downtown. The person I was supposed to meet never showed, so I ended up playing a few games with some intermediate players who were hanging around. Mike, the first one, was really cool as he kicked in my brains.
The second was a long haired fellow with an earring and, I thought, in really good shape for a 50-year old. He said he was a musician and primarily wrote compositions for TV stuff. I told him I was a young, sprite attorney. I joked about me being immediately jealous of his job, he joked of being jealous of my earning potential. I responded by noting that often, as an attorney, that money compensates the misery of some of the work. He laughed. As the score approached 7-0, (advantage old musician guy), I asked him what kind of music he makes, and turns out, he’s currently arranging the music for the Kurt Bestor Christmas concert series, “ya know, coordinating the orchestra, some of the solos, piano…stuff like that”.
“Oh really, that’s cool, I’ve actually got tickets to that concert in Provo on Monday, guess I’ll see you there” I piped in, cause, at the time it seemed relevant and in no way embarrassing.
“Uh, well, I’m not sure I’ll see you, cause it’s hard to see anything with the lights and all, but…” he began, I cut him off “No, I think I have, like, front row seats.” 7-1, I scored, finally. “Oh, well if I see ya then I’ll say hi or make fun of you or something” he joked. Whatever music composition-arranger dude, you’ll be busy doing your music arranging-- I thought.
After beating me three games in a row, and offering a lot of encouraging advice to me, the beginner, we left the court and met up with the rest of his playing pals. “Hey, he’s going to my Kurt Bestor concert in Provo on Monday” said the guy in an odd, jovial tone. Mike, the first guy I played just nodded his head as he looked at me. Um weird?
As they left, Mike asked if I’d be here in the mornings and I told him yeah, “oh, well then we’ll have to play again”, “Yeah, chimed in the other guy.” “See you on Monday” said Mike, smiling at the other guy.
About three hours later, as I am on the phone trying to find someone to buy the tickets from me, and they are asking me what time and where its
at etc, so I google ‘Kurt Bestor”. Oh DAMMIT.. does that picture look familiar or what--the long, thick flowing hair of a succesful artist (the same hair I'd admitted to being jealous of this morning, commenting," well you may move like you are half a century old, but you've got more hair than I do at a quarter century...")I’m a moron. Apparently Kurt Bestor likes to play squash. And of all people to play with, as I’m trying to ditch the tickets…Man I hope I didn’t say anything stupid about trying to get rid of my tickets. The dude was totally messing with me when he realized that I had front row tickets to HIS concert, without having any idea who HE is.
It’s like what happened when dad ran into somebody in Logan the other day, and when the person found out Dad’s last name is Goble, said, “You related to Dr. Goble?” “umm yeah”, Dad replied coyly.
“Yeah, well, he’s from around here and I need to go see him about my knees.”
Dad drove away never telling that guy who he was….and now I’M ‘that guy’!
Sometimes, I think God hates me.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Warm up the bus...
...Cause somebody's going home.
Somebody ought to tell the McCain campaign to "warm up the bus", cause the game is over. When Colin Powell speaks, the election God listens. Even accounting for latent racism in this election, Obama blue is turning even the reddest states purple. This is accompanied by a probable *gulp* Democratic supermajority Legislature. Call me too Jeffersonian, but I feel that a supermajority sounds like something from the Empire Strikes Back. (Actually, Empire Strikes Back will be the Republicans in two years...they act more like the Empire anyway. So let's call this "Return of the Jackass").
I trust Obama as President 10 times farther than I trust Reid or Pelosi to run a supermajority for 2 years. Will Obama be a strong enough leader to temper the Party's pet agenda?
They say that this election marks a turning point in the U.S. political culture--perhaps a turn towards 'market-friendly socialism'; replacing Bush's entirely mislabeled 'compassionate conservatism' aka: "Eat, Drink, (War), and Be Merry, for tomorrow I suicide the Republican Party"
Either way: market crash, credit crises, inflation, rising unemployment, Global recession, wars, rumors of wars, Democratic Supermajority...tell me if you've heard this before.
Ah yes...the Great Depression and the New Deal. The list of the surviving New Deal programs read like a rap sheet of modern mega money mismanagement: Social Security, Federal Housing Commission and....Fannie Mae!
(PS...the New Deal wasn't very successful...in fact, New Deal legislation was largely repealed during WWII. The only proven effective answer to the Depression is a good dose of disgruntled Germans starting a Global War which decimated all America's economic rivals and, in just 4 years, grew the US military from 240,000 men to over 8.2 million and many times that employed in U.S. warmaking factories.)
This time could be different however, in spite of the media drool and blubbering, Obama seems to be something special...as well as, in case you haven't heard, being black...which, in itself is not a qualification, but it is, as a friend remarked, "an inspirational step for America." In this time of patriotic pessimism and insecurity, 'an inspirational step' might really mean something.
Anyhow, McCain ought to just hope that he beats Republicans worst ever electoral showing (1938) where they lost 57% to 39% to Democrats and (472-59 electoral votes).
Somebody ought to tell the McCain campaign to "warm up the bus", cause the game is over. When Colin Powell speaks, the election God listens. Even accounting for latent racism in this election, Obama blue is turning even the reddest states purple. This is accompanied by a probable *gulp* Democratic supermajority Legislature. Call me too Jeffersonian, but I feel that a supermajority sounds like something from the Empire Strikes Back. (Actually, Empire Strikes Back will be the Republicans in two years...they act more like the Empire anyway. So let's call this "Return of the Jackass").
I trust Obama as President 10 times farther than I trust Reid or Pelosi to run a supermajority for 2 years. Will Obama be a strong enough leader to temper the Party's pet agenda?
They say that this election marks a turning point in the U.S. political culture--perhaps a turn towards 'market-friendly socialism'; replacing Bush's entirely mislabeled 'compassionate conservatism' aka: "Eat, Drink, (War), and Be Merry, for tomorrow I suicide the Republican Party"
Either way: market crash, credit crises, inflation, rising unemployment, Global recession, wars, rumors of wars, Democratic Supermajority...tell me if you've heard this before.
Ah yes...the Great Depression and the New Deal. The list of the surviving New Deal programs read like a rap sheet of modern mega money mismanagement: Social Security, Federal Housing Commission and....Fannie Mae!
(PS...the New Deal wasn't very successful...in fact, New Deal legislation was largely repealed during WWII. The only proven effective answer to the Depression is a good dose of disgruntled Germans starting a Global War which decimated all America's economic rivals and, in just 4 years, grew the US military from 240,000 men to over 8.2 million and many times that employed in U.S. warmaking factories.)
This time could be different however, in spite of the media drool and blubbering, Obama seems to be something special...as well as, in case you haven't heard, being black...which, in itself is not a qualification, but it is, as a friend remarked, "an inspirational step for America." In this time of patriotic pessimism and insecurity, 'an inspirational step' might really mean something.
Anyhow, McCain ought to just hope that he beats Republicans worst ever electoral showing (1938) where they lost 57% to 39% to Democrats and (472-59 electoral votes).
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
When in doubt, fly Jetblue
Last weekend I travelled to San Diego to play.
I went to Seven Peaks "fright night" and it was actually pretty fun. Also went to the beach and hung out downtown.
I used to prefer Jetblue solely because they had newer planes with bigger seats, more baggage space, cool gadgetry (like live tv) and more attractive stewardesses who smile a lot and often are near my age. Now I have an additional reason:
My Delta flight departed at 615 am--without me. You see, I was late getting to the airport, arriving at 545; and then waited in Delta's line for 20 minutes before being told, "Sorry, but you have missed your flight, you should have told us you were waiting in line for that flight." Oh, my bad.
Thus, since it was 'traveler fault', I had to pay $100 more to catch the 1pm Delta flight. So, in the meantime, I went to the beach and ate breakfast. Upon coming back to the car around 10am, my phone showed an unknown number had called me It was Delta--who left no message. So I called them, waited on hold until 1010, operator asked me why I was calling, I asked her why they called me--she didn't know. After a bit of investigation on her part, the only thing she knew was that I was booked on the 1130 flight. "You mean 1pm, right?".
"No, the 1130...there is no 1pm flight to SLC." she responded. "You sure?," I responded,"Cause I could swear i'm holding a reciept for $100 for a 1pm Delta flight from SD to SLC."
"Hmmm" she hmmmed. "Is that it? Is that an answer?" I asked. "Hmmmmm" she responded...and then "Mmmm..let me see something...clicky clack click (background typing) OH! that's it, your 1pm flight was cancelled so you've been rebooked on the 1130."
"Uh, really? So you guys called to tell me my flight leaves 1.5 hours earlier than expected, and didn't leave a message?" I inquired, stupified.
"Uh huh" she merrily replied. " May I help you with anything else?"
"Uh, what time is it?" I asked, panicked...I didn't have my watch.
"I don't know, I'm in Tampa...anything else?" she cheerfully replied.
No...I hung up and checked my phone 1030, I had 30 minutes to check in.
After racing to the airport in 15 minutes, the computer kiosk couldn't find me. Luckily I got to speak with the same Delta representative as earlier that morning when I missed my flight. "Hi Carl, remember me?" He did, and smiled--I was the one he helped to miss a flight. Cheers.
"Um Carl, the kiosk can't find my reservation. If you recall, you booked me on the 1pm, it was subsequently cancelled 40 seconds later, and I was magically and secretly rebooked on the 1130 but the computer can't find me...help"
Carl typed his clickity clack on the computer and suddenly his cement smile cracked. "Uh, Mr. Goble, you are booked for tomorrow's 1130 flight. Will you need a car or place to spend the evening?"
Well shoot. (I didn't say that out loud). I've got a life, bed and, importantly, a job awaiting me in SLC (I didn't say that out loud either). Instead I begged for him to find me a plane, train or automobile to SLC before tuesday. He couldn't. I asked him whether any other airlines had flights. He checked. Nope, all other possible flights today were booked to SLC.
I told him to hold on for a few minutes, I'd be back after making some phone calls. Instead of making a phone call, I walked, literally 10 steps over to the Jetblue counter (I love Jetblue for so many reasons), and asked "Help. Can you get me to SLC today?"
The plucky middle aged lady in Jetblue uniform responded cheerily, "Sure, we have a half empty flight leaving at 120pm and if you order it online you can save $15!"
This was stated literally within earshot of Carl, the delta representative. He looked over, shrugged and said, "They are not part of our partnership network, so they don't show up on my search for flights, nor may we comp that flight."
"Who is in your 'partnership network? And can I get a refund?" I asked, trying so hard to mask my ire, irritation and sarcasm.
"American, Continental and United; Ummmm, I'll ask my supervisor if you can get you refund". (that leaves out Jetblue, Southwest and like 6 other possible airlines operating in the American west who may run flights from SD to SLC...)
The moment Carl said that to me, a guy from the (very large) Delta line asked in a loud voice,"Does JetBlue have a flight to SLC?"
Carl, and all of the other Delta employees faces turned ashen and turned to await my bubbly reply:
"Yep, but it it won't show up on Delta's flight search because they don't partner with Jetblue. It costs $215 and is empty-- $200 if you order online." Half of the Delta line moved ten paces to their right...into the Jetblue line. Apparently I wasn't the only guy who got screwed by the cancellation of the 1pm flight. Very quickly, Delta also granted my partial refund (anticipating many, many more requests I'm sure).
So I got home around 4pm yesterday. Lesson, whenever possible, fly Jetblue.
I went to Seven Peaks "fright night" and it was actually pretty fun. Also went to the beach and hung out downtown.
I used to prefer Jetblue solely because they had newer planes with bigger seats, more baggage space, cool gadgetry (like live tv) and more attractive stewardesses who smile a lot and often are near my age. Now I have an additional reason:
My Delta flight departed at 615 am--without me. You see, I was late getting to the airport, arriving at 545; and then waited in Delta's line for 20 minutes before being told, "Sorry, but you have missed your flight, you should have told us you were waiting in line for that flight." Oh, my bad.
Thus, since it was 'traveler fault', I had to pay $100 more to catch the 1pm Delta flight. So, in the meantime, I went to the beach and ate breakfast. Upon coming back to the car around 10am, my phone showed an unknown number had called me It was Delta--who left no message. So I called them, waited on hold until 1010, operator asked me why I was calling, I asked her why they called me--she didn't know. After a bit of investigation on her part, the only thing she knew was that I was booked on the 1130 flight. "You mean 1pm, right?".
"No, the 1130...there is no 1pm flight to SLC." she responded. "You sure?," I responded,"Cause I could swear i'm holding a reciept for $100 for a 1pm Delta flight from SD to SLC."
"Hmmm" she hmmmed. "Is that it? Is that an answer?" I asked. "Hmmmmm" she responded...and then "Mmmm..let me see something...clicky clack click (background typing) OH! that's it, your 1pm flight was cancelled so you've been rebooked on the 1130."
"Uh, really? So you guys called to tell me my flight leaves 1.5 hours earlier than expected, and didn't leave a message?" I inquired, stupified.
"Uh huh" she merrily replied. " May I help you with anything else?"
"Uh, what time is it?" I asked, panicked...I didn't have my watch.
"I don't know, I'm in Tampa...anything else?" she cheerfully replied.
No...I hung up and checked my phone 1030, I had 30 minutes to check in.
After racing to the airport in 15 minutes, the computer kiosk couldn't find me. Luckily I got to speak with the same Delta representative as earlier that morning when I missed my flight. "Hi Carl, remember me?" He did, and smiled--I was the one he helped to miss a flight. Cheers.
"Um Carl, the kiosk can't find my reservation. If you recall, you booked me on the 1pm, it was subsequently cancelled 40 seconds later, and I was magically and secretly rebooked on the 1130 but the computer can't find me...help"
Carl typed his clickity clack on the computer and suddenly his cement smile cracked. "Uh, Mr. Goble, you are booked for tomorrow's 1130 flight. Will you need a car or place to spend the evening?"
Well shoot. (I didn't say that out loud). I've got a life, bed and, importantly, a job awaiting me in SLC (I didn't say that out loud either). Instead I begged for him to find me a plane, train or automobile to SLC before tuesday. He couldn't. I asked him whether any other airlines had flights. He checked. Nope, all other possible flights today were booked to SLC.
I told him to hold on for a few minutes, I'd be back after making some phone calls. Instead of making a phone call, I walked, literally 10 steps over to the Jetblue counter (I love Jetblue for so many reasons), and asked "Help. Can you get me to SLC today?"
The plucky middle aged lady in Jetblue uniform responded cheerily, "Sure, we have a half empty flight leaving at 120pm and if you order it online you can save $15!"
This was stated literally within earshot of Carl, the delta representative. He looked over, shrugged and said, "They are not part of our partnership network, so they don't show up on my search for flights, nor may we comp that flight."
"Who is in your 'partnership network? And can I get a refund?" I asked, trying so hard to mask my ire, irritation and sarcasm.
"American, Continental and United; Ummmm, I'll ask my supervisor if you can get you refund". (that leaves out Jetblue, Southwest and like 6 other possible airlines operating in the American west who may run flights from SD to SLC...)
The moment Carl said that to me, a guy from the (very large) Delta line asked in a loud voice,"Does JetBlue have a flight to SLC?"
Carl, and all of the other Delta employees faces turned ashen and turned to await my bubbly reply:
"Yep, but it it won't show up on Delta's flight search because they don't partner with Jetblue. It costs $215 and is empty-- $200 if you order online." Half of the Delta line moved ten paces to their right...into the Jetblue line. Apparently I wasn't the only guy who got screwed by the cancellation of the 1pm flight. Very quickly, Delta also granted my partial refund (anticipating many, many more requests I'm sure).
So I got home around 4pm yesterday. Lesson, whenever possible, fly Jetblue.
Friday, September 26, 2008
My Fellow Americans
Glancing out over the 30 or so persons seated in the crowd it seemed an odd bunch.
A twenty something brown haired mother with pale skin, accompanied by her child. She wore thick makeup which cloaked her face a lighter hue than the tan on her neck, and her deep red lips were littered tiny specks of chunked deep-red lipstick. Her eylashes were heavily dowsed with black mascara, bordered by subtle crows feet deepening upon an otherwise young face. She wore large red heels, a blouse and tight knee length skirt. Her boy was probably 6 or 7 .
Next, it was hard to miss the tall clean cut, close-shaven twenty something blond guy. He's the type that rich girls from suburban Sandy like to date. He looked sharp. Ironed and starched collered white short sleeve button up shirt and pressed tan slacks--the type of clothes typical for yuppy college preppies. No doubt he carried either at Nordstroms or Abercrombie credit card. He had blue eyes and, had it not been for curl of his locks drifting just to the collar in the back, one could easily see him in the CougarEat cafeteria on BYU's campus. He sat behind the first lady, alone.
Next to him sat a latino kid, probably 18 but could have passed for sixteen. His black hair was buzzed short, chin baby smooth and chin postured upward as if in defiance. The deep dark lines of the top of a large tattoo broached the line above his collar climbing halfway up his neck. His baggy pants and T-shirt were too big for him. He held the hand of a similarly aged girl--maybe his uptown girlfriend. She was latino too. Her skin was smooth and unblemished by ink. Her makeup a bit heavy but not overdone. Her most striking feature was her almond shaped eyes--they were a soft brown.
On the other side of the aisle sat a primped woman, probably in her early thirties. Her thick long curly blond hair fell down the back of a stylish dark brown suit jacket. She also wore a matching skirt. Her nails were long, perfectly smooth and a reddish chocolate color. Similarly, her meticulous makeup was conservative and tasteful. She could have been a real estate agent selling homes, a legal secretary for an upscale firm or perhaps just a professional you meet after hours at a nice restaraunt.
In the row in front of her sat a middle aged lady, probably in her late 40s. She also must have shopped in Nordstroms--maybe she saw the preppy blond boy there - maybe she knows his mom. Or perhaps she was just a savvy Target customer? Either way, she seemed like the type who would have been the preppy college boy's mom; or a relief society counselor. Her hair was dark reddish blond, short and curled--like many mothers wear. She dressed conservatively in a flowered dress cut like one you'd see in church. A thin expensive gold necklace with a pearl pendant adorned her neck. Her makeup was expensive and perfectly done, to hide deeping lines upon the brow and around the lips. Her shoes were short black heels and wore sunglasses and carried a tissue.
There was an old weathered guy in faded jeans, a long sleeved red button up plaid shirt and dressy cowboy boots. He stood in the back next to the door, as if ready to leave. His calloused and gnarled hands rubbed one another in nervousness. He could have been sixty. But with farmers it is hard to tell.
There were many more, in the audience and I looked over all of them in wonder. No patterns, no predictability. They were everywhere and anyone.
"All rise" said the bailiff in the corner. He was a stout balding man dressed in a sheriff's uniform.
"Be seated. Bring the first one in--Morales."
The attorneys at both tables shuffled papers. The public defender, who could not yet be thirty years of age with trendy long hair past his ears and a dark brown tweed coat leaned over the defense counsel's table--back to the judge--and stated without turning around, "Didn't come Judge. Jail said she refused."
"Alright, we'll move it to 24th. Is she done with evaluation?" said the black cloaked judge, seated behing a high podium.
"I don't know. I'll talk to her later." Said the Public defender.
"Campbell?" asked the judge.
"She's here" said the prosecutor.
The bailiff walked out of the room through a heavy reinforced steel door located on the far wall. He shortly re-emerged, escorting a dirty freckled 20-something kid with, reddish hair and tattoos running up and down his arms. His prisoner's uniform was peach.
"Chase, this is disappointing, you got picked up for possession" said the judge from above as Prisoner Chase Campbell shuffled to the speakers podium in front of the judge.
"It wasssnt mine. It was innabag uh friend gave me...uh...I-dinno." stammered the the young man...never looking up from the floor.
"90 days. Drug Court is a no tolerance program - if you are telling the truth--you need new friends. See you in 90 days." said the Judge sternly.
"Yes Judge, thanks." the young man said, refusing to let the tears roll down his cheeks. "uh. Sorry." he never looked up from the floor.
"You can't give up, this is just part of it. Be good." said the judge, as the kid was escorted out.
"Alright, 3rd phasers?" asked the judge.
A large group in the crowd rose and walked forward, through the gates which separate the audience from the court and onto the courtroom floor in front of the judge. There were eight. Each picked a folded red square of paper from a plastic jar and took thier place in the circle.
"Ok, James you start." said the judge, nodding his head to the tall blonde Abercrombie college boy who had walked up with the rest of the group.
James unfolded the little red paper and held it up and read loudly and quickly,"The only one who fails is the one who falls and fails to get up again."
"You back in college?" asked the Judge.
"Yeah, they said I can graduate this spring" replied the James. He stood erect, shoulders square and looked up at the judge.
"Good, everything else going good?"
"Sure, I'm applying for a job, no dirties, no dilutes and haven't missed for a long time." replied James.
"Well, I know you've been clean because you've made every drug test and passed them all for several months. How many days?" asked the judge.
"147 days Meth. 77 alcohol." Everyone in the room clapped, including the judge, including me.
It continued until each group member had finished reading thier paper and announcing the number of days they'd been clean. Some also read personal letters out loud expressing how grateful they were to participate in drug court and the difference it was making. When the last finished, a large girl with a dirty t-shirt the judge excused them and they filed out of the court.
"Martinez. Maria Martinez?"spoke the judge.
"Here. The pretty girl sitting next to the young latino kid rose and walked to the podium."
"Ms. Martinez, you got a dirty." said the judge sternly.
"I know, I know, my sister had her little boy and I had a few beers and well, it came up on the test." her voice was steady and calm, but tears flooded down her cheeks.
"3 days." said the Judge. The bailiff walked over turned Maria around and handcuffed her arms behind her back.
"Judge?", said her inked boyfriend. He was now standing in the audience. "Judge? I need her keys, we parked out front." said the boyfriend.
The girl awkwardly tried to get the keys out of her jeans pocket, the large balding bailiff, even more awkwardly tried to help. Finally he walked the keys over to the separating gate, where the boyfriend was waiting and handed them over. The boyfriend looked Maria in the eyes and nodded. He turned and walked out the courtroom doors. Maria turned toward the steel door, not making a sound, her face a mess of tears. Again, awkward as the bailiff tried to help her by wiping her tears with a tissue.
"You're doing good Maria. This is only a small thing. You're doing real good. I'll see you soon." said the judge compassionately.
Maria nodded as she was escorted through the thick steel door. It closed behind her.
One by one members of the audience were called up in front of the judge. One by one they admitted, denied or explained thier drug related infractions. Some left out the courtroom doors, others through the steel door on the side.
The professional looking thirty year old woman had an addiction to painkillers and anti-depressants and her doctor disagreed with the Courts order of abstinence, arguing through a note that she needed to gradually wean off. The judge responded to the note by asking her if she would like to opt out of drug court, because he understood the doctor's point, but drug court was a court of abstinence. She declined opting out, instead asking to stay and expressing appreciation for drug court. She'd entered through the courtroom doors, she left through the steel one.
The relief society counselor--looking lady is a mother of 3 and addicted to prescription medications relating to depression. She had been convicted of felony possession with an intent to distribute. In order to secretly fund her habit she'd sold the extra anti depressants to neighbor, who had been caught and turned her in. She was accepted into drug court just weeks ago, and if she completes it successfully the drug court the felony charge will be dropped.
And on it went. Person by person.
Last was a young 21-year old girl. Beautiful generic blond. Cute face, prettily shaped body with a trendy pink purse. She'd been sitting with her dad. She was really hot. I had to remind myself that there might exist dumber things than picking up on girls called into drug court...but not many. She'd been convicted of felony DUI. She was just beginning drug court. She must have already exhausted all of her tears because her face was stone the entire time she spoke with the judge.
A twenty something brown haired mother with pale skin, accompanied by her child. She wore thick makeup which cloaked her face a lighter hue than the tan on her neck, and her deep red lips were littered tiny specks of chunked deep-red lipstick. Her eylashes were heavily dowsed with black mascara, bordered by subtle crows feet deepening upon an otherwise young face. She wore large red heels, a blouse and tight knee length skirt. Her boy was probably 6 or 7 .
Next, it was hard to miss the tall clean cut, close-shaven twenty something blond guy. He's the type that rich girls from suburban Sandy like to date. He looked sharp. Ironed and starched collered white short sleeve button up shirt and pressed tan slacks--the type of clothes typical for yuppy college preppies. No doubt he carried either at Nordstroms or Abercrombie credit card. He had blue eyes and, had it not been for curl of his locks drifting just to the collar in the back, one could easily see him in the CougarEat cafeteria on BYU's campus. He sat behind the first lady, alone.
Next to him sat a latino kid, probably 18 but could have passed for sixteen. His black hair was buzzed short, chin baby smooth and chin postured upward as if in defiance. The deep dark lines of the top of a large tattoo broached the line above his collar climbing halfway up his neck. His baggy pants and T-shirt were too big for him. He held the hand of a similarly aged girl--maybe his uptown girlfriend. She was latino too. Her skin was smooth and unblemished by ink. Her makeup a bit heavy but not overdone. Her most striking feature was her almond shaped eyes--they were a soft brown.
On the other side of the aisle sat a primped woman, probably in her early thirties. Her thick long curly blond hair fell down the back of a stylish dark brown suit jacket. She also wore a matching skirt. Her nails were long, perfectly smooth and a reddish chocolate color. Similarly, her meticulous makeup was conservative and tasteful. She could have been a real estate agent selling homes, a legal secretary for an upscale firm or perhaps just a professional you meet after hours at a nice restaraunt.
In the row in front of her sat a middle aged lady, probably in her late 40s. She also must have shopped in Nordstroms--maybe she saw the preppy blond boy there - maybe she knows his mom. Or perhaps she was just a savvy Target customer? Either way, she seemed like the type who would have been the preppy college boy's mom; or a relief society counselor. Her hair was dark reddish blond, short and curled--like many mothers wear. She dressed conservatively in a flowered dress cut like one you'd see in church. A thin expensive gold necklace with a pearl pendant adorned her neck. Her makeup was expensive and perfectly done, to hide deeping lines upon the brow and around the lips. Her shoes were short black heels and wore sunglasses and carried a tissue.
There was an old weathered guy in faded jeans, a long sleeved red button up plaid shirt and dressy cowboy boots. He stood in the back next to the door, as if ready to leave. His calloused and gnarled hands rubbed one another in nervousness. He could have been sixty. But with farmers it is hard to tell.
There were many more, in the audience and I looked over all of them in wonder. No patterns, no predictability. They were everywhere and anyone.
"All rise" said the bailiff in the corner. He was a stout balding man dressed in a sheriff's uniform.
"Be seated. Bring the first one in--Morales."
The attorneys at both tables shuffled papers. The public defender, who could not yet be thirty years of age with trendy long hair past his ears and a dark brown tweed coat leaned over the defense counsel's table--back to the judge--and stated without turning around, "Didn't come Judge. Jail said she refused."
"Alright, we'll move it to 24th. Is she done with evaluation?" said the black cloaked judge, seated behing a high podium.
"I don't know. I'll talk to her later." Said the Public defender.
"Campbell?" asked the judge.
"She's here" said the prosecutor.
The bailiff walked out of the room through a heavy reinforced steel door located on the far wall. He shortly re-emerged, escorting a dirty freckled 20-something kid with, reddish hair and tattoos running up and down his arms. His prisoner's uniform was peach.
"Chase, this is disappointing, you got picked up for possession" said the judge from above as Prisoner Chase Campbell shuffled to the speakers podium in front of the judge.
"It wasssnt mine. It was innabag uh friend gave me...uh...I-dinno." stammered the the young man...never looking up from the floor.
"90 days. Drug Court is a no tolerance program - if you are telling the truth--you need new friends. See you in 90 days." said the Judge sternly.
"Yes Judge, thanks." the young man said, refusing to let the tears roll down his cheeks. "uh. Sorry." he never looked up from the floor.
"You can't give up, this is just part of it. Be good." said the judge, as the kid was escorted out.
"Alright, 3rd phasers?" asked the judge.
A large group in the crowd rose and walked forward, through the gates which separate the audience from the court and onto the courtroom floor in front of the judge. There were eight. Each picked a folded red square of paper from a plastic jar and took thier place in the circle.
"Ok, James you start." said the judge, nodding his head to the tall blonde Abercrombie college boy who had walked up with the rest of the group.
James unfolded the little red paper and held it up and read loudly and quickly,"The only one who fails is the one who falls and fails to get up again."
"You back in college?" asked the Judge.
"Yeah, they said I can graduate this spring" replied the James. He stood erect, shoulders square and looked up at the judge.
"Good, everything else going good?"
"Sure, I'm applying for a job, no dirties, no dilutes and haven't missed for a long time." replied James.
"Well, I know you've been clean because you've made every drug test and passed them all for several months. How many days?" asked the judge.
"147 days Meth. 77 alcohol." Everyone in the room clapped, including the judge, including me.
It continued until each group member had finished reading thier paper and announcing the number of days they'd been clean. Some also read personal letters out loud expressing how grateful they were to participate in drug court and the difference it was making. When the last finished, a large girl with a dirty t-shirt the judge excused them and they filed out of the court.
"Martinez. Maria Martinez?"spoke the judge.
"Here. The pretty girl sitting next to the young latino kid rose and walked to the podium."
"Ms. Martinez, you got a dirty." said the judge sternly.
"I know, I know, my sister had her little boy and I had a few beers and well, it came up on the test." her voice was steady and calm, but tears flooded down her cheeks.
"3 days." said the Judge. The bailiff walked over turned Maria around and handcuffed her arms behind her back.
"Judge?", said her inked boyfriend. He was now standing in the audience. "Judge? I need her keys, we parked out front." said the boyfriend.
The girl awkwardly tried to get the keys out of her jeans pocket, the large balding bailiff, even more awkwardly tried to help. Finally he walked the keys over to the separating gate, where the boyfriend was waiting and handed them over. The boyfriend looked Maria in the eyes and nodded. He turned and walked out the courtroom doors. Maria turned toward the steel door, not making a sound, her face a mess of tears. Again, awkward as the bailiff tried to help her by wiping her tears with a tissue.
"You're doing good Maria. This is only a small thing. You're doing real good. I'll see you soon." said the judge compassionately.
Maria nodded as she was escorted through the thick steel door. It closed behind her.
One by one members of the audience were called up in front of the judge. One by one they admitted, denied or explained thier drug related infractions. Some left out the courtroom doors, others through the steel door on the side.
The professional looking thirty year old woman had an addiction to painkillers and anti-depressants and her doctor disagreed with the Courts order of abstinence, arguing through a note that she needed to gradually wean off. The judge responded to the note by asking her if she would like to opt out of drug court, because he understood the doctor's point, but drug court was a court of abstinence. She declined opting out, instead asking to stay and expressing appreciation for drug court. She'd entered through the courtroom doors, she left through the steel one.
The relief society counselor--looking lady is a mother of 3 and addicted to prescription medications relating to depression. She had been convicted of felony possession with an intent to distribute. In order to secretly fund her habit she'd sold the extra anti depressants to neighbor, who had been caught and turned her in. She was accepted into drug court just weeks ago, and if she completes it successfully the drug court the felony charge will be dropped.
And on it went. Person by person.
Last was a young 21-year old girl. Beautiful generic blond. Cute face, prettily shaped body with a trendy pink purse. She'd been sitting with her dad. She was really hot. I had to remind myself that there might exist dumber things than picking up on girls called into drug court...but not many. She'd been convicted of felony DUI. She was just beginning drug court. She must have already exhausted all of her tears because her face was stone the entire time she spoke with the judge.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Week in Review September 16
1. Friday: Traveling home through the flat unobstructed desert of Wendover, a rest stop sign 
reminded me that tingle below my tummy was nothing more than the desire to pee. The rest stop door was locked. So I began peeing on the far wall of the building—out of sight from the highway—suddenly none other than a bona fide sheep turned the corner near me, startling us both and making a mess. He must have enjoyed the green lawn of the rest stop…and then I rudely interrupted it.
2. Saturday: So I study for two months to successfully pass a two day test, which, among other things, qualifies me to be paid for my legal work instead of pay tuition to do pretend legal work. Yay.
3. Tuesday: Sallie and Brandon are moving into a new house. So they asked that I remove the shrubs, small trees and miscellaneous cement and crap from their backyard with the trackhoe. I spent a day building a giant pile of debris—then wondered how I was going to move it to the front yard and into the dump truck.
4. Wed. Bouk bet me $1 that he could back the 2 ton 1960s-era
dump truck through the alleyway between Brandon’s house and the neighbors fence and into the backyard so I could load the debris from the pile directly into the dump truck. Bouk saving me a day’s work cost $1.
5. Thursday. While dumping the first load of trees and shrubs at the dump, I was reminded that the tailgate of the old dump truck can open in two ways. It may either open from the top, hinged from the bottom,--like a regular truck bed. Or it may open at the bottom, hinged from the top. Given the two options, there is a right answer. I chose the other.
By leaving the top hinge intact and allowing the tailgate to open from the bottom, I created a top constraint for my trees and shrubs to wedge and get stuck into.
So I stood there at the dump for two hours with the truckbed fully vertical with a bunch of branches, trees, and shrubbery stuffed half crapped-out of the back. I saw many construction demolition trucks come and go-their drivers’ laughing. I saw some twice. Finally, I drove up the steepest hillside I could find, raised the bed so that it was upside-down and the shrubbery fell out the back. Yay…I was on my way. One more load.
6. Unfortunately, as I backed the truck into the backyard I heard an ominous hissing sound. Yep…flat tire on the dump truck. $500, two hours and a whole bunch of rust flakes later, the tire was changed…probably for the first time since 1965.
7. By the time I finished loading the final pile of debris into the dum
ptruck, it was 4pm. After loading it, I endeavored to cover it with a tarp, as required by law. The truck was positioned against the neighbor’s fence. I stood upon the cab cover part of the dump bed, 13 feet off of the ground, seeking to pull the tarp free of a snag. As you might guess, I pulled too hard, the snag freed, and I lost my balance—atop the dump truck—
with nothing to steady myself.
As I fell, I honestly thought to myself, “This is gonna be bad”, I tried to turn, so as to meet the ground facedown, but a branch from the neighbors tree knocked me back so that I continued to fall, with my face to the sky. My calves struck the top of the neighbor fence with such force that it broke the fenceboard. Now, I was falling with my feet pitched above my head…falling…9 feet,…8 feet,…7…..crack, crack SMACK! I’d landed safely in the fork of the neighbor’s plumb tree. My pants torn at the calf and all of the way across the buttocks, by my calf and buttocks intact. “That ended about as well as it could have!” I exclaimed out loud. The neighbor’s English Bulldog whined in agreement.
8. The fall from the top of the dump truck into the safe embrace of the neighbor’s plumb tree made my day. How lucky was that? How badly would a trip to the hospital with broken ribs and a fractured cranium have cramped my schedule? Truly, the plumb tree made my day…
..until I discovered that I’d lost my car keys. (Thereafter found where I left them...in the gascap)
9. A day or two later I drove to the ranch towing the trackhoe and sod. I arrived at the Ranch and helped the landscaper, Kirk Wilcox, and his help lay the sod. You may not know this, but hunting season for elk has already started for bow hunters. Some family friends were staying at the ranch and one of them, named Davis, had already bagged a 5-point elk. Unfortunately for him, nobody else had and Davis needed to head home on Friday. Davis was driving home in a Jetta. It is rather difficult to get a full 5-point elk rack to fit into a Jetta—in fact it is impossible. So Davis was forced to—I kid you not—strap the Elk head/rack to the roof of his Jetta and drive home. Hilarious. (One imagines the many Full sized Dodge/Ford/Chevy trucks pulling trailers full of camoflauged ATVs and driven by the ‘hardcore’ Idaho hunters, watching some flea in a Jetta steam by with Utah plates and a trophy head tied to the roof).
reminded me that tingle below my tummy was nothing more than the desire to pee. The rest stop door was locked. So I began peeing on the far wall of the building—out of sight from the highway—suddenly none other than a bona fide sheep turned the corner near me, startling us both and making a mess. He must have enjoyed the green lawn of the rest stop…and then I rudely interrupted it.2. Saturday: So I study for two months to successfully pass a two day test, which, among other things, qualifies me to be paid for my legal work instead of pay tuition to do pretend legal work. Yay.
3. Tuesday: Sallie and Brandon are moving into a new house. So they asked that I remove the shrubs, small trees and miscellaneous cement and crap from their backyard with the trackhoe. I spent a day building a giant pile of debris—then wondered how I was going to move it to the front yard and into the dump truck.
4. Wed. Bouk bet me $1 that he could back the 2 ton 1960s-era
dump truck through the alleyway between Brandon’s house and the neighbors fence and into the backyard so I could load the debris from the pile directly into the dump truck. Bouk saving me a day’s work cost $1.5. Thursday. While dumping the first load of trees and shrubs at the dump, I was reminded that the tailgate of the old dump truck can open in two ways. It may either open from the top, hinged from the bottom,--like a regular truck bed. Or it may open at the bottom, hinged from the top. Given the two options, there is a right answer. I chose the other.
By leaving the top hinge intact and allowing the tailgate to open from the bottom, I created a top constraint for my trees and shrubs to wedge and get stuck into.
So I stood there at the dump for two hours with the truckbed fully vertical with a bunch of branches, trees, and shrubbery stuffed half crapped-out of the back. I saw many construction demolition trucks come and go-their drivers’ laughing. I saw some twice. Finally, I drove up the steepest hillside I could find, raised the bed so that it was upside-down and the shrubbery fell out the back. Yay…I was on my way. One more load.
6. Unfortunately, as I backed the truck into the backyard I heard an ominous hissing sound. Yep…flat tire on the dump truck. $500, two hours and a whole bunch of rust flakes later, the tire was changed…probably for the first time since 1965.
7. By the time I finished loading the final pile of debris into the dum
ptruck, it was 4pm. After loading it, I endeavored to cover it with a tarp, as required by law. The truck was positioned against the neighbor’s fence. I stood upon the cab cover part of the dump bed, 13 feet off of the ground, seeking to pull the tarp free of a snag. As you might guess, I pulled too hard, the snag freed, and I lost my balance—atop the dump truck—
with nothing to steady myself.As I fell, I honestly thought to myself, “This is gonna be bad”, I tried to turn, so as to meet the ground facedown, but a branch from the neighbors tree knocked me back so that I continued to fall, with my face to the sky. My calves struck the top of the neighbor fence with such force that it broke the fenceboard. Now, I was falling with my feet pitched above my head…falling…9 feet,…8 feet,…7…..crack, crack SMACK! I’d landed safely in the fork of the neighbor’s plumb tree. My pants torn at the calf and all of the way across the buttocks, by my calf and buttocks intact. “That ended about as well as it could have!” I exclaimed out loud. The neighbor’s English Bulldog whined in agreement.
8. The fall from the top of the dump truck into the safe embrace of the neighbor’s plumb tree made my day. How lucky was that? How badly would a trip to the hospital with broken ribs and a fractured cranium have cramped my schedule? Truly, the plumb tree made my day…
..until I discovered that I’d lost my car keys. (Thereafter found where I left them...in the gascap)9. A day or two later I drove to the ranch towing the trackhoe and sod. I arrived at the Ranch and helped the landscaper, Kirk Wilcox, and his help lay the sod. You may not know this, but hunting season for elk has already started for bow hunters. Some family friends were staying at the ranch and one of them, named Davis, had already bagged a 5-point elk. Unfortunately for him, nobody else had and Davis needed to head home on Friday. Davis was driving home in a Jetta. It is rather difficult to get a full 5-point elk rack to fit into a Jetta—in fact it is impossible. So Davis was forced to—I kid you not—strap the Elk head/rack to the roof of his Jetta and drive home. Hilarious. (One imagines the many Full sized Dodge/Ford/Chevy trucks pulling trailers full of camoflauged ATVs and driven by the ‘hardcore’ Idaho hunters, watching some flea in a Jetta steam by with Utah plates and a trophy head tied to the roof).
Monday, September 15, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Republican Convention
In my opinion:
Palin Rocks. Loved her speech. Gutsy move from McCain is paying off. Reflects well on McCain's judgment and guts.
As for McCain's Speech:
Did anyone gather that he was a war prisoner of some sort?
Palin Rocks. Loved her speech. Gutsy move from McCain is paying off. Reflects well on McCain's judgment and guts.
As for McCain's Speech:
Did anyone gather that he was a war prisoner of some sort?
The Humble submission of the not-so-mighty
I have marched to the top of bar-exam-hill, seen the beauty of the valley called 'Esquire & Income' spread lushly before me; and it is good.
Unfortunately, the powers-that-be keep me suspended upon that perilous perch between success and failure, wobbling for another month between the sexy beauty of income in front of me, or back into the coal-black abyss of bar failure behind--where the howls of the previously unsuccessful move even the hardest of lawyer hearts.
I will know the results of the Exam at the beginning of October. For those who are curious about my success I advice the ol' adage: "Don't call us, we'll call you".
And don't ask me about jobs either... cause I won't know till the Bar-Gods tell me whether I suck or not.
In the meantime I am fishing--For Jobs. Nobody wants a pre-bar admitted-could-be-lawyer so everyone says: "Call when you've got your bar results".
After 7 years of paying people to tell me what the book says, I'm a bit impatient for people to pay me to tell them what those same books say...in the meantime, anyone need a gardner?
Unfortunately, the powers-that-be keep me suspended upon that perilous perch between success and failure, wobbling for another month between the sexy beauty of income in front of me, or back into the coal-black abyss of bar failure behind--where the howls of the previously unsuccessful move even the hardest of lawyer hearts.
I will know the results of the Exam at the beginning of October. For those who are curious about my success I advice the ol' adage: "Don't call us, we'll call you".
And don't ask me about jobs either... cause I won't know till the Bar-Gods tell me whether I suck or not.
In the meantime I am fishing--For Jobs. Nobody wants a pre-bar admitted-could-be-lawyer so everyone says: "Call when you've got your bar results".
After 7 years of paying people to tell me what the book says, I'm a bit impatient for people to pay me to tell them what those same books say...in the meantime, anyone need a gardner?
Saturday, July 19, 2008
I'm going private.
You, few, such a precious few who read the blog may post/email me your email addresses for a week or so before I actually turn private. Thereafter, you'll have to email me (and pay a reasonable user fee) to access my blog (joking). my email; samgoble@gmail.com
Why am I doing it? Because I write some of this stuff so I remember it and so I can easily share it with others. But that doesn't necessarily mean I want to share with everyone.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Bar study makes life brighter
Doing things that suck can really makes mundane things...awesome. I won't lie, preparing for the bar sucks. It's not so hard to learn as it is just to stay focused. I liked law school and thought it was interesting. But this bar prep stuff is not interesting--at all. I study for it quite a bit. I am grateful that it does, however, make sunny days brighter (outside my window); food taste better (far from a library); sleep last longer (more sleep = less study = more smile); friends more interesting (because they aren't test questions); women prettier (because they aren't test questions);
I abide with hope that the next two weeks shall pass (quickly). Meanwhile, to keep my spirits up, here are some great things that have happened in the last little while:
1) At dinner, Grandma slaps a 'misquito' off of her guest's forehead; finds out the misquito is surgical stitches from a recent accident. Ouch.2) My (shrinking) trendy Armani jeans with distinguished (read: expensive) holes in the legs split at the buns while I bent over to pick up a ball out of the miniature golf hole. It was on the first hole. 1 hole done, 17 more to go with split pants. Was it a date? Yep. Smooth. Was it a first date? Uh huh. Smoother.
3) My niece Belle, who is almost 2 was playing in Grandma's backyard. She ran 
up to Grandma to show her a potato bug in her hand. The poor bug was scrambling to survive when grandma reached over into Bella's palm and poked it -- the potato bug quickly curled into its little armoured ball and rolled back into the center of Belle's palm. "awesome" whispered a fully engaged 22 month-old Bella.
up to Grandma to show her a potato bug in her hand. The poor bug was scrambling to survive when grandma reached over into Bella's palm and poked it -- the potato bug quickly curled into its little armoured ball and rolled back into the center of Belle's palm. "awesome" whispered a fully engaged 22 month-old Bella.I agree Belle, awesome.
4. Travelled to Southern Utah to go camping in Zions three weeks ago. Upon stopping for gas in Cedar city I discovered that I'd forgotten my wallet in Salt Lake City. And my cards. And my checkbook, and my cash. Yup. No cash, no check. No gas. 2 hrs to meet friends at the park entrance. 75 Miles to Zions park. Screwed and all alone in Cedar City.
Luckly, Zions Bank took pity--and upon disclosing all of my personal information--let me pull out some cash from my account. That could've ended badly.
Then today, travelling to a business lunch on the other side of town, again I stop for gas. Again this moron forgot his wallet. Again tank is nearly empty. Again near a Zions bank. Again they have mercy.
I can't make this stuff up. I'm helpless.
5. Utter boredom and hostility over practice exam questions provoked a 1 hr and 33 minute, 10.7 mile run. I've never run that far before and never ran for that long. Wasn't even tired or sore afterward (except my poor nipples--which were rubbed raw--ouch). yay me. That's 7.133 mph. If I get up to running 8.3 mph I finish a marathon in under 3 hrs...a guy thinks about these important issues whilst preparing for the bar.
6. I've added 13 new facebook friends in two weeks! That's a record. If the facebook website ever fails...so fails life's meaning.
7. I have called Sallie twice in the past two weeks just to chat and get away from the books (i even left a message once). She was pretty surprised. So am I. My pride faileth within the iron grip of Sir Drudgery.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
A weekend in Zions (click to enlarge photos)
Our trip mascots...The Zion Dragon, the unrelenting rodent, and creepy owl.
Rock Climbing near the Narrows. 
Observation Point
Kim didn't mention that she was afraid of heights: until we were on the razorback ridge of Angel's Landing, or when we were rappelling down a 200 cliff face, or standing on the edge of 3,000 ft. cliff on Observation Point.
Some Scenery
For the record...I made this shot.
Jail sucks. Lucky Miss Molly was there to bail me out.
Some Scenery
For the record...I made this shot.
Jail sucks. Lucky Miss Molly was there to bail me out.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
If only we had leaders who could lead as well as this opinion columnist opines:
America In Decline by Thomas Friedman
I'm not a doomsayer, niether is Mr. Friedman. But c'mon guys--at some point you, me and u.s. gotta confront the real issues--and sacrifice our entitlements now before they are foreclosed upon tommorrow.
America In Decline by Thomas Friedman
I'm not a doomsayer, niether is Mr. Friedman. But c'mon guys--at some point you, me and u.s. gotta confront the real issues--and sacrifice our entitlements now before they are foreclosed upon tommorrow.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Be Grateful
(photo borrowed from Eliza's Wish)I suppose a personal event like this provides a different lesson for every different person.
I met Calihan, Eliza's father, in Brazil in 1999. We've been good friends ever since. He and his wife, Nikki, are exceptional people in every way.
The article does not speak to how content Calihan and Nikki are, in spite of such trauma. I do not pretend to know the profoundity of the feelings that accompany such a trial, but I do see that neither Calihan nor Nikki waste the day in self-pity. Rather, they seem inspiringly grateful. Such is reassuring to those like me, who've yet to confront such inexeplicably unfair challeges.
Be grateful. That is the lesson I'm taking from it. Be grateful for the healthy niece, nephew and parent. Be grateful for the siblings and friends. Find meaning in challenge and loss. Be grateful for those things which are universally difficult--that they are not too difficult to bear--nor are borne alone. Be grateful, even if it means finding contentment in a monthly birthday party for your terminally-ill daughter; who presently lives, however briefly, only to feel her father's touch and hear her mother's breath.
Be Grateful. Blessings are blessings-- including those found in loss.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
End of Law School Hiatus: Greece: Part 1-Attica
I took my last law school final at 12:30pm on April 28, 2008. It was the last of 17. None shall be missed. Graduation was on May 14, which left more than two weeks of irresponsible playtime. As always, irresponsible playtime morphs into expensive fun...
The below photos will be accompanied by dry explanations of what things are and what I learned. You obviously don't have to read them...but you know what they say.
Day one on the Acropolis at Athens: Ruined columns and their Poppy companions
On the Acropolis ('above city'), the hill which houses the 2500 year old Temple to Athena in Athens-then turned Christian Temple (6th Century)-then turned Muslim Mosque(14th Century)-turned Turkish armoury. (aka: The Parthenon, built during the height of Greek and Athenian cultural power). It stood on its original architectural integrity for nearly 2300 years, until some incredibly bright and sensitive Turkish occupierss used it as an storage bunker for Arms and gunpowder while facing an invasion. Predictably, it blew up by accident, blowing off the roof and walls of Western civilization's oldest building. See here for more details.
Does my shirt make me look fat?
This was supposedly the 'low' season for tourist crowds on the Acropolis. In the background is the Temple of Nike. Yes, the inspiration for the brand of golf shirt you wear. Nike= Greek goddess of Victory. The swoosh is actually a representation of Nike's wing. Now you know.
Kim and I in front of the Sanctuary of Zeus on the acropolis.
The Acropolis and Parthenon, as viewed from a nearby mount, which housed its own unmarked ancient ruins.
The basement of an ancient ruined municipal building that is said to have housed Socrates just before his house arrest (I doubt that).
Have Ibiza , will travel. Our 'hog'. The rental we used to get hopelessly lost in on our way to Delphi. For further reference Delphi is spelled Δελφοί on a road sign.
Delphi: An excavated ancient Roman retaining wall which also provided for ornamentation and places for statutes. The Romans held tremendous respect for the Greeks. Copying much of their culture. They also rehabilitated the ancient shrine at Delphi. A religious haven since 800 years before Christ's birth.
Greek Legos at Delphi?
I just thought this was funny. ( Apparently it is a Greek Law firm)
The restored columns of Apollo's Temple at Delphi. The Greek center of the Earth and Universe, also the home of the eternal flame.
Doing some classic Greek pondering near Athena's temple in Delphi.
Kim, and a seriously mismatched column and base to her right.
Another View of the ruins of Apollo's temple. Also a good look at just how steep the mountainside is.
Ruins of Athena's Temple located on a lower tier of the Mountainside at Delphi.
The below photos will be accompanied by dry explanations of what things are and what I learned. You obviously don't have to read them...but you know what they say.
Day one on the Acropolis at Athens: Ruined columns and their Poppy companions
On the Acropolis ('above city'), the hill which houses the 2500 year old Temple to Athena in Athens-then turned Christian Temple (6th Century)-then turned Muslim Mosque(14th Century)-turned Turkish armoury. (aka: The Parthenon, built during the height of Greek and Athenian cultural power). It stood on its original architectural integrity for nearly 2300 years, until some incredibly bright and sensitive Turkish occupierss used it as an storage bunker for Arms and gunpowder while facing an invasion. Predictably, it blew up by accident, blowing off the roof and walls of Western civilization's oldest building. See here for more details.
Does my shirt make me look fat?
This was supposedly the 'low' season for tourist crowds on the Acropolis. In the background is the Temple of Nike. Yes, the inspiration for the brand of golf shirt you wear. Nike= Greek goddess of Victory. The swoosh is actually a representation of Nike's wing. Now you know.
Kim and I in front of the Sanctuary of Zeus on the acropolis.
The Acropolis and Parthenon, as viewed from a nearby mount, which housed its own unmarked ancient ruins.
The basement of an ancient ruined municipal building that is said to have housed Socrates just before his house arrest (I doubt that).
Have Ibiza , will travel. Our 'hog'. The rental we used to get hopelessly lost in on our way to Delphi. For further reference Delphi is spelled Δελφοί on a road sign.
Delphi: An excavated ancient Roman retaining wall which also provided for ornamentation and places for statutes. The Romans held tremendous respect for the Greeks. Copying much of their culture. They also rehabilitated the ancient shrine at Delphi. A religious haven since 800 years before Christ's birth.
Greek Legos at Delphi?
I just thought this was funny. ( Apparently it is a Greek Law firm)
The restored columns of Apollo's Temple at Delphi. The Greek center of the Earth and Universe, also the home of the eternal flame.
Doing some classic Greek pondering near Athena's temple in Delphi.
Kim, and a seriously mismatched column and base to her right.
Another View of the ruins of Apollo's temple. Also a good look at just how steep the mountainside is.
Ruins of Athena's Temple located on a lower tier of the Mountainside at Delphi.
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