The Smell of Progress

I visited San Francisco once. Took the wife and kids. Beautiful city. My son spent the first week of his Honeymoon in the area. By all accounts, they had a great time.

But there’s something...rotten... in Frisco.

This beautiful city has benefitted greatly from its proximity to Silicon Valley. The coffers have swollen so much at City Hall, it’s annual operating budget is now over 11 billion dollars. And from the smell of things, it looks like they will need every dime of it.

San Francisco is perhaps the most progressive demographic in all of America. It’s government has enjoyed virtually unanimous one party as well as one ideology rule for most of my lifetime, and with such hegemony of thought comes the occasional overreach. Sometimes, the government there just lets it’s progressive freak flag fly...like a while back when the powers that be decided to de-criminalize public defecation.

Ivan P. Freely, Assistant to the Under-Secretary of Homeless Affairs, explained the new policy this way:

These are merely basic, ordinary bodily functions, no different than sneezing, or coughing. When we make it illegal for the homeless to urinate or defecate in public, we are guilty of elitism, of enforcing our homeowner-centric ethos on the dispossessed.

Unfortunately, the burgeoning homeless population of the city has taken San Francisco up on its new libertine attitude towards public sanitation. Now, the cost of cleaning up the mess has been, er...piling up.

That’s twenty pounds of fresh human waste, deposited on a public sidewalk, collected by some very brave volunteers. But, public minded volunteerism has its limits. So, the city government...flush...with cash, has decided to hire five elite sanitation engineers to deal with the growing public health implications of 7,000 people using public sidewalks as an open latrine. Here is an actual photograph of them in action. And no, I am NOT making this up...

Before you jump to the obvious conclusion that you have finally discovered the absolute worst job in America, you better sit down. The annual compensation for these public servants is...$184,000. It’s hard to begrudge these poop policemen their outrageous pay packages though. How much would you demand to be paid to literally shovel shit all day? But, that’s not all. San Francisco, being a city fully in the throws of the power of government spending to cure every ill, recently announced an even more ambitious plan to deal with the number one and number two problem...

• A $72.5 million-a-year street cleaning budget
• $12 million a year on what essentially have become housekeeping services for homeless encampments
• $2.8 million for a Hot Spots crew to wash down the camps and remove any biohazards
• $2.3 million for street steam cleaners
• $3.1 million for the Pit Stop portable toilets
• $364,000 for a four-member needle team
• An additional $700,000 set aside for a 10-member, needle cleanup squad, complete with it’s own minivan

Unless my math deceives me, that’s almost 100 million dollars. According to the city, San Francisco has roughly 7,000 homeless citizens. So, the city could write every homeless person a check for over $14,000 a year with the cash they are spending to....clean up after them.

Homelessness is no laughing matter. Neither is encephalitis and typhoid fever.  Far be it from me to advise a city as Progressive as the City By The Bay, but I’m thinking they better wipe out this problem sooner rather than later. The long suffering property tax-payers out there might eventually get tired of having this problem dumped on them.

But, on the other hand, at $184,000 a year to shovel crap...who says the government can’t create good paying jobs??

In a rare moment of candor, Assitant to the Under-Secretary of Homeless Affairs, I. P. Freely, did acknowledge the difficulties associated with being a self-described Mecca for the homeless...

Sure. Compassion isn’t easy. This sanitation problem is a tough one. We were offered several competing ideas of how to fix it but none of them is guaranteed to come out right in the end.. 

In other words...it’s a crapshoot.

What To Do?

Bad news is back...with a vengeance.

The horrific grand jury report out of Pennsylvania detailing over 1,000 sexually violated victims at the hands of over 300 Catholic priests is a gut punch to any person of faith. I am not a Catholic. But this news comes as a blow to all Christians. Indeed, it is a devastating indictment of organized religion, that men, ostensibly called out and set apart to serve God, would use their power in such a vile and despicable way. As I have read the various accounts of this story, it occurs to me that this is but one state. Nearly 10 percent of the priests in that state were involved in this abomination. To do the math of extrapolation is a sickening project.

It is easy to fall into despair at such news, especially when you understand that this story fits easily into the pattern of our day. We have been buffeted day after day with stories that have rocked our faith in the great institutions of our nation and civilization. A short list of those institutions that have taken a beating of late would include...

-the news media

-the FBI

-the NFL

-Congress

-the Presidency

-the constitution 

-truth

-men

-and now...#metoo women

The prudent and imminently logical approach would be to assume that everyone out there is a lying, cheating, self serving hypocrite. That way, you would no longer be disappointed by the next betrayal. But, prudence and logic can only get a person so far. 

Of course, some have become activists of some kind or another, choosing to fight this thing or that thing. Others have just become angry and cynical, turning inward, withdrawing from the mess. Neither of these options appeal to me. First, activism only seems to feed anger and resentment. Nobody is persuading anyone of anything. Activism merely places you in a tribe of like minded people where your anger and resentment can be fed and nurtured. Cynicism takes you out of the fight altogether, and moreover..is a horrible way to live. I read a great piece in the New York Times the other day that made the case that, at the end of the day, we love our political anger, because righteous indignation has always been a comfort in confusing times. So, what to do?

You will have noticed lately that both my blogs and my social media commentary have been riddled through with diabolically corny Dad Jokes. Yes, I confess and declare my guilt. But, when I look at the running back and forth on Twitter and Facebook, I’m thinking that a few cringe-worthy puns couldn’t possibly hurt, and may very well help to lower the temperature. The interesting thing I’ve noticed about your response to these pathetic attempts at humor is that people from a wide variety of political and religious views seem to agree that they are, in fact, pathetic. Bad jokes seem to unite people. Apparently, Republicans and Democrats both find themselves laughing at jokes which are so bad, they’re good. So, even if it’s for the briefest of moments, if by posting a few jokes I can bring the warring factions together for five minutes to share a reluctant laugh...I’ll take it.

Whistling past the graveyard? Rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic? Perhaps. But...we all have a job to do.

...What lies at the bottom of the ocean and twitches?

A nervous wreck.

...I am terrified of elevators.

I’m going to take steps to avoid them

...Have you heard of the band 1023MB?

They haven’t got a gig yet.

Miscellaneous...

I’m feeling quite miscellaneous this morning. Perhaps it’s collateral damage from transitioning from leisure to work. Or maybe it’s just the salmon I had last night. So, this post might not be as coherent as you’ve come to expect...admittedly a low bar.

So, you know how when people go on vacation and flood Facebook with idyllic pictures of all of their adventures? Yeah, well...guilty as charged. But, I was thinking maybe I should do an outtake blog, and show you some of the embarrassing pictures that didn’t make the cut. Isn’t that a more honest presentation of what really happened on vacation?

Here’s the view I had every time I looked down at the dock trying to find a fishing hook.

Although I did manage to catch one decent sized bass, this is what I caught 99% of the time...hand sized crappie. The embarrassing part of this was that I thought it worthy enough for a photograph.

This was supposed to be a picture of something else, but I had the camera view backwards.

Now, here’s an example of a photograph which the family will gaze upon years from now and ask...what the heck? Dad must have taken this.

Of course, this is a must-take photo that every vacationing family longs to capture...proof that we drove our car to Maine.

Here’s that picture you take for the sole purpose of hoping you capture your son falling into the water on his first ever attempt to stand up on a paddle board. 

Ok, that’s enough of that.

Now, a few great jokes I’ve come across lately...

Our Dad died because we couldn’t remember his blood type. As he died, he kept encouraging us to ‘be positive’ but honestly it’s hard without him.

I just burned 2000 calories. That’s the last time I leave brownies in the oven while taking a nap.

“Doctor, there’s a patient on line 1 who says he’s invisible.”

“Well, tell him I can’t see him right now!”

I Need Help

Consider what a strange and mysterious thing is the human mind. 

This morning my eyes sprang open at 4:40 am. After a brief perambulation to the bathroom, I got back in bed with the Tony Orlando and Dawn song...Knock Three Times...firmly ensconced in my head. I can assure the reader that I haven’t listened to that insipid tune for at least 30 years now, but there it was playing over and over inside my head. Not only is this sort of thing annoying, it is also inexplicable. But, there are many such inexplicable things that happen in our brains. Take puns, for instance.

Ok, a friend of mine posted this awesome picture on Facebook yesterday, with the following problematic comment:

Those of you who get our Christmas card/letter know that I consistently brag about my wife’s tremendous legs. Well, here’s a photo from our wedding—now you understand why I’m so proud.

Immediately, his friends started making comments about how far into the doghouse he was going to be if his wife sees the picture, etc...all in good fun. But, the minute I saw this picture, I reminded myself that I had just returned from three weeks in Maine. I hadn’t done anything productive in almost a month. I had work to do. I could not let myself get distracted by this golden punning opportunity. But, there it was...staring me in the face. Damn Facebook!!

See, here’s the thing. Puns are like a bag of Doritos. You’re sitting there at the table with an open bag. You know that the only way you’re not going to slam the entire bag is to never reach for that first Dorito. Because, once you’ve had the first one, you’ve got no chance.

My first offer was weak, not fully formed. Basic. Entry level stuff:

Dont expect me to ...pony up...your bail money if she sees this.

I told myself that I was done, that I could walk away. And for a while I actually did. I made a few calls, set a couple of appointments, studied several account statements. An hour or so later I could feel one coming together somewhere in the primordial soup of the brain, gestating, coalescing in the strange way that all puns do. Suddenly, I was typing:

If you had asked my advice before posting this, I would have said, “Ney”

I quickly busied myself with some fund research, some due diligence work, trying to convince myself that I was done with this Facebook foolishness. But now I had the bright red Doritos bag firmly in both hands, and my hands looked like I had spent half a day finger painting traffic cones. Then, my friend made the terrible mistake of complimenting me...which, of course, had an effect similar to waving a bag of donuts at a fat kid...

Thanks! The last thing I want to do is...stirrup...trouble.

It was at this point where I knew I was too far gone to fight it. The bag of Doritos was lifted high above my head and I sat there with my mouth wide open, like a four day old robin, trying to catch that last corner of crumbs, not even caring that half of them were hitting me in the face...

As one husband to another, I can say that posting this picture is a classic symptom of hoof in mouth disease.

But, in your defense, at least you haven’t gone out and had an affair with your Secretariet.

Just trying to keep things light here. With the climate we are in today, posting this sort of picture might make people think you’re an insensitive husband...and nobody wants to be...saddled...with that.

It was a shameful performance. I had lost all control, done in by a nameless, mysterious and ultimately toxic force...the pun. So, in full repentance mode, I opened the Bible for comfort and it fell open to James 1:26...

If anyone thinks he is religious and does not...bridle...his tongue, this person’s religion is worthless.

Sigh....

A Relic From My Immature Past

So, yesterday I made the adjustment back to the real world in the most direct way...by getting started on paying this month’s bills for Richmond Financial Associates. In so doing I found myself going through an often neglected filing cabinet looking for an old receipt, when I stumbled upon a relic from my past, one that served to remind me of just how far I’ve come, how far I have progressed in my personal and professional development...

 Behold the Vimeo Strafer2000, still in mint condition. Yes, there once was a time when I wasn’t beyond this type of asshattery. This device used to be a fixture on my credenza...back when I was far less mature. I still remember stumbling upon it on a pranks website run by a company out in California which specializes in this sort of thing and with which I once did considerable business. Back in the day, this was something that I simply couldn’t resist. Thankfully, I have moved beyond this sort of juvenile hijinkery...mostly. But, just in case you’re interested, I suppose I should let you know how the Vimeo Strafer2000 worked.

First, you had to plug it in to your computer. The device was equipped with a camera on the front just above the four rotating nerf rockets. Once deployed, the view from said camera would appear in a pop up box in the lower left hand corner of your computer screen so as not to be noticed by anyone other than the user. Using the arrow keys you could adjust the rotating guns and aim them precisely at whatever target you desired. So, I could be sitting at my credenza with my back to my office door, and say..Doug Greenwood walked in my office. With a few taps of the arrow keys, I could bring Doug’s big bulbous head into the target circle, then by simply pressing the space bar, unleash all four nerf missiles at him without even turning around to acknowledge his presence! I’m telling you, this was cutting edge pranking technology at the time. And while I once thought it was awesome and took great delight in blasting my coworkers with it, as you might imagine, they weren’t entirely thrilled. Eventually pressure was brought to bear on me to retire the Vimeo Strafer2000, which I did. I put it in the filing cabinet and never gave it another thought...until yesterday. Yes...it still works. But, I have moved on from such childishness...mostly. I now realize how inappropriate it is for someone entrusted with millions upon millions of people’s life savings to carry on in so unprofessional a manner...I think.

So, while I no longer deploy the Vimeo Strafer2000, if you or someone you know has not yet evolved to my level of maturity...I am entertaining bids for her sale. 

Back To Work

Back to work.

As is my custom, after unpacking the car yesterday afternoon, I headed into the office to sort through three weeks of mail and messages and reintroduce myself to my profession. Things were pretty much how I left them, thanks to my Uber-Assistant who makes these sabbaticals possible. The transition back into reality should be smooth this morning. 

The 815 mile drive home was uneventful, making it the only such uneventful trip in recent memory. No torrential downpours, no traffic backups, no accidents, and no car trouble. Lots of country music, Cheese-Its and mentos. No news..also in keeping with my vacation custom.

Going three weeks without listening to or even reading any news is a unique experience. The only journalism I consumed since July 22nd was the Lincoln County News’s August 2nd edition. Since it was a local weekly, there were no recognizable bylines and no word of Trump. However, I did learn perhaps a bit more than I needed to know about the new K-5 program director at the Lincoln County YMCA, and the amazing leniency of  Lincoln County’s finest, who gave out four warnings for every actual ticket issued for speeding and other moving violations. However, this prosecutorial discretion seems to have had the desired effect on the locals since they all drive 5 mph slower than the posted speed limit. At first this is a source of great frustration, but after a week or so, it’s like...what’s the rush?

The weather for this vacation was a 7 on a scale of 10. The first week was cloudy and rainy, unfortunate for Patrick and Sarah. But after that, largely dry and sunny. It was warmer than normal, with a couple of days actually topping out at 90 degrees. There was humidity, an unwelcomed imposition, but not Richmond style humidity. Our last two days were more in keeping with our past Maine experiences...high temperature of 72, and not a cloud in the bright blue sky.

We ate too much. I haven’t stepped on a scale yet, but I expect the news won’t be good. Frankly, I don’t care. Whatever weight I have gained over the last three weeks represents the tribute that vice pays to virtue, everyone wants to eat right and lose weight, but when restraints are cast aside on vacation, we all return to our natural state. What we all really want is delicious food and lots of it! So, I will shed the extra pounds over the next 30 Days, and then reaquire them happily when next I go to Maine...from September 14 - October 6. If two three weeks vacations in Maine seem excessive to the reader I should admit that you are right...it is excessive. I’ve never done it before. The money spent on this indulgence more appropriately could have been enlisted into building up my retirement accounts, or financing Pam’s new kitchen, or any number of other more worthy and cost effective projects.

But...I am 60 years old. As of this moment, neither of my children have presented me with a grandchild to spoil rotten. I don’t want or need a bigger house. I’m not a car guy. The house will be paid off soon, leaving me officially debt free. So, I can either shovel money into savings for that rainy day I have been warned about since I was 5...or I can spend six weeks on a lake in Maine with people I love,  putting on temporary weight in exchange for permanent memories.

Easy decision.

The Last Day of Vacation

The last day of vacation is always a bummer. No matter what you tell yourself, instead of relaxing and being fully in the moment, in the back of your mind you’re already packing. For the first time in three weeks you find yourself concerned about what time it is. The day takes on a manic check list feel...like you’re trying to cram in too many things into too short a period of time. The key to a successful LDOV( last day of vacation ) is to prioritize. For example, here is a list of the things I would like to do today:

Catch a 5 pound bass.

Kayak.

Go for a 3 mile run before breakfast.

Have blueberry pancakes at the Camden Deli.

Have breakfast at Crissy’s.

Have ice cream at River Ducks.

Play a third round of golf at Rockland Golf Club.

Take a nap while bobbing up and down on the lake in a float.

Go swimming.

Have toasted tuna rolls for lunch served on the dock.

Have a fried clam lunch at Marriner’s in Camden.

Figure out a way to get that guy across the lake to take me for a ride in his pontoon ultra light plane.

Even better, talk him in to teaching me how to fly it!

Read the local newspaper while sitting in the window seat of the Camden Library.

Have a picnic lunch of lobster rolls on the lawn at the Camden Hills State Park.

Go shopping for the perfect hat and coffee mug one last time at The Smiling Cow.

Have a beer at Cuzzy’s.

Sit on a bench beside the harbor master’s house in Camden and watch the schooners come and go for an hour.

Have a cup of coffee and a whoppie pie in a booth at Moody’s while reading the latest edition of the Lincoln County News.

Listen to the loons.

Catch a glimpse of the Pemaquid bald eagle one more time.

Grill a steak for dinner.

Grill some shrimp for dinner.

Have a large bowl of seafood chowder at the Newcastle Public House for dinner.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a lot to do today and I better get to it...