I’m leaving for Germany tomorrow. I decided to extend my trip a bit since it was only 10 days long to begin with. When I called Delta 2 days ago they said it would be about $475 to change it. Ouch. I told them I’d think about it and call back. This was a hard thing to do as I’d patiently waited for 34 minutes on hold before reaching a human.
Today I called back and was magically connected after only 3 minutes! Wow! Just when I thought I was having a stroke of luck, they now told me it was going to cost $2500. I just started laughing. I was like, wait, you have to be kidding me, right? The agent mumbled something about putting me through to someone else. Uh yah, can I speak to someone in the crack-smoke-free wing? Thanks. I got through to a very nice lady who was frustrated to tell me that the only thing she could do for me was a change with a $305 fee. SOLD.
Let me preface this article by saying that while I disagree with a lot of what Ron Paul has to say, I think there’s a lot of value in what he says here. This is pretty right on where he’s cited below. It’s times like this when I’m sure glad that I’ve got myself a nice little EU residency…August 21, 2008
By Roger Ebert
A letter to our grandchildren, Raven, Emil and Taylor: I see you growing up into such beautiful people, and I wish all good things to you as you make the leap into adulthood. But I have just seen a documentary titled “I.O.U.S.A.” that snapped into sharp focus why your lives may not be as pleasant as ours have been. Chaz and I had the blessing of growing up in an optimistic, bountiful America. We never fully realized that we were paying for many of our comforts with your money.
Let me explain. There is something called the “national debt.” In the movie’s interviews with ordinary people, it has a hard time finding anyone who knows exactly what that is. Well, I’ve never exactly known, either. I thought I knew, but it never came up in conversation, and it became a meaningless abstraction, even though in 2009, the debt will pass $9 trillion. You might think of those as dollars our nation has spent without having them.
What will this mean to you? It will mean you will live in a country no longer able to pay for many of the services and guarantees we take for granted. In 40 years, when you are still less than my age, it looks like the government will only be able to pay for three things: Interest on the national debt, “some” Social Security and “some” Medicare. It will not be able to afford any of the other functions it now performs.
How did we get into this situation? With a federal government that has been throwing bad money after good. Of all the presidents in the last century, the only one who was able to achieve a balanced budget and produce a surplus was Bill Clinton. He did that by bravely raising taxes and cutting spending. Our current president, George W. Bush, is now finishing up eight years of throwing around money like a drunken sailor. His fellow conservatives, like Rush Limbaugh, like to talk about “tax and spend Democrats.” But they seem to be “don’t tax and spend even more Republicans.”
Not that this film takes sides. It is non-partisan and includes many Republicans who agree with its argument that the country is headed for disaster within the lifetimes of many now living. It centers on David M. Walker, until recently the U.S. comptroller general, and Robert Bixby, the head of the nonpartisan Concord Coalition, who have been on a national “Fiscal Wake-Up” tour that will last until the November elections. They are trying to sound the alarm, but they speak to half-empty town halls and captive Rotarians and get pushed off the local news by a story of a man who swallowed a diamond.
I don’t really believe this review will inspire enormous numbers of people to go see the film. But if they do, they’ll find it accomplishes an amazing thing. It explains the national debt, the foreign trade deficit, the decrease in personal savings, how the prime interest rate works, and the weakness of our leaders. No, not only George W. Bush, but politicians of both parties, who know if they vote against tax cuts, they will be lambasted by their opponents and could lose their jobs. In the film, we see President Bush being asked about the debt and replying: “Ask the economists. I think I only got a B-minus in economics.” Then he gives that little chuckle. “But I got an A-plus in cutting taxes.”
Yes, he cut taxes while our national spending mushroomed. What we have to do is bite the bullet and pay higher taxes while spending less. The war in Iraq is a much sexier issue. But no matter what happens in Iraq, the real crisis we face is the debt. The movie includes testimony by former Fed chairman Paul Volker, former Treasury Department secretary Paul O’Neill, billionaire Warren Buffett, congressman Ron Paul and others on both sides of the fence who all agree: Don’t buy what you can’t pay for.
Here’s an interesting statistic. I remember when “Made in China” meant cheap and shabby merchandise. No longer. In the ranking of the trade imbalance among all the world’s nations, China is first with the highest surplus, and the United States is last with the largest deficit. The Chinese now hold a huge chunk of our debt. If they ever call in the loan, it would destroy our economy. In the presidential debate earlier in the year, Ron Paul was a lonely voice talking about the debt; the others on both sides paid lip service to the problem and moved on.
So here’s the bottom line, kids. The United States is probably going to go broke during your lifetimes. Actually, it’s already broke, but getting deeper into debt allows it to keep running on thin air, like the Road Runner. My advice? Learn Chinese. Start savings accounts. Don’t buy what you can’t afford. Any politician who tries to win votes by promising to cut taxes is digging our country’s grave.
Colby and I are among some very exclusive, brand-new knowers of life-changing information. For us, anyways. We bit our tongues momentarily, but last night at his little birthday BBQ, my dad started expounding a little loudly on this cat we were working so hard at keeping in ye olde bag. It was like a social ripple effect among the guests, and before you know it, Colby had gathered the whole group outside. On our back porch, surrounded by all kinds of fabulous friends, Colby made an announcement over the PA that is his booming voice.
Friends, Nicole and I…
are going to be…
…
…
PARENTS!!!
This is a strange time, to be sure. But in a very fantastic way. I will be writing here more, but I had to be mum before I could really get my head around the entirety of this situation. It’s got some gravity, people.
I’m not very far along at all, which was why we didn’t really want to let it out, but it is so, you know, whatevs. Of course, we’re dying to just shout it from the rooftops, but we know the 1st trimester is tenuous. So much for the secrecy! So cross all your digits, send us a bunch of positive jujus, and any tips you have on overcoming weird pregnancy things. Like what, you may ask?
Well, like how about Monday when someone flipped the switch on my sniffer from “works like a charm” to “supersonic nasal hell”. I swear, I can smell and taste EVERYTHING and it is not a blessing. I had to wash my hands about 4 times on Monday with different hand soaps to experiment with which scent made me the least nauseous. I’ve found that all natural stuff is the way to go. Chemical and fake scents can be so overwhelming to me that I get queasy with a quickness. Other than those 30-second waves of all-out rumble in the Bronx, I’m pretty much good with the morning sickness.
The other thing is that stuff that was gross before… is WAY grosser now. I mean, I don’t love cat barf. Is there anyone besides my lab-mix that does? Hey normally you stoop down and snatch it up, hoping that you don’t feel the warm, chunky ooze through the paper towel, or get it on any exposed skin, flush neatly, wash hands, voila. Oh, but things have changed, my friends. I can’t even be in the same room with that stuff before I get that ole rot-gut feelin’.
I pee with the frequency of a hamster drinking a gallon a day.
Next, let’s take a moment of reflection for how hard it is on your constitution to physically make another person. I swear, I feel like I’ve been up all night every night starving myself and the whole world is at least 40 degrees warmer. So, if you see me with eyes half-mast, nibbling everything within reach, fanning myself incessently… well, there’s somethin’ going on under that there surface.
BTW, I’m going to need this pacifier:
Oh, and PS: If we work together and you’re reading this, keep in mind that I haven’t laid this doozie on the bosses yet. So maybe come talk to me kinda quietly about it. I mean, I just told them I was leaving the company to go work in Germany. (And, no, I am not now going to be flitting off overseas. Not with newborn on the horizon. Nope.) I also haven’t gotten the chance to tell the would-be new boss for the Germany job what’s going on. Things are a bit complicated in that area since he bought me a ticket to go work on some groundwork stuff next month with him in Munich. Aaaaaaand now this wrench. Oh yah, it’s all a bit, um, entangled.
Strangely, the mood swings that you’re supposed to have… totally non-existant for me so far. Fantastic!
That lady… pacing on the side of the interstate, between the upper and lower decks at the traffic light. I mean, she was crying. I take home jack shit for cash, but my resources abound and hers… they don’t even exist. She’s probably only a few years older than me but her face has a million different lines to detail each of her prior privations. Rode hard and hung up wet.
Desperation is a frightful thing. Most often there’s this inner hedge (and not to mention personal financial deficit) that prevents me from even allowing my wallet the luxury of giving handouts. I feel like a sitting duck at those nighttime traffic lights, with men outside my narrow slip of window-aegis, bickering with each another over whose turn it is to sit at which corner.
Oh crap, I realized. She’s not just wiping her eyes. It was a Thursday night at 10:30 and this woman was in tears, insulted by her own vulnerability. It’s the first time I’ve rolled down my window in such a long time. The light was green, but I didn’t give a shit. Let those hummer drivers be inconvenienced.
I leaned out, extending a paltry styrofoam box of leftovers from an overpriced Mexican joint. I was disgusted with myself, somehow embarrassed. I blurted something about not having any cash after asking if she’s hungry. Her eyes darted away, snatching the box and muttered something about having been out there for hours and only earned a dollar so far. I can’t even help her, I think. She’ll feed that box to the roaring traffic below to obliterate.
Why in the hell am I offered so much in life? What’s the defining line that keeps any of us from being in that position? I guess for me, the answer is that there is no answer so those questions are way rhetorical. I have a serious problem with stuff like say, Scientology. Aside from the aliens-are-going-to-save-us theory, there’s that crap about affluency being something that one has because they deserve it. Because they’re better. I don’t buy that junk. I don’t think anyone with wealth has it because they were meant to, so can it with the justifications, yo. I have no rationale as to those whys.
OK, I apologize for the bleeding heart rant, but seriously. Life is so randomly cruel and generous that it’s astounding to me. I’m so damned comfortable, with my dogs chewing carelessly on their bones here by the couch. The temperature is a soothing 74 in my house. Hell, I think I’ll go to sleep now, buried in quilts beneath a too-cool fan.
I mean, he would make his servants take him on midnight alpine snowy rides in this thing:
Are you even kidding me? That’s his ride??
Some people in the court weren’t all that stoked about this grandeur. The people of Bavaria, however, loved the shit outta him! He was like, creating jobs and supporting the arts (some say his philanthropy extended to a homosexual relationship with his purported paramour, Wagner). Oh, but wait. He did kinda go a little too far with that whole Wagner thing. And suddenly, things went a bit downhill. I mean, Wagner… what a bum! The court kicked him out and threw Ludwig into a depression…
And really, he was going over the top. He had a grotto built into the side of the mountain. No, really, wouldja please just look at this:
This was getting out of control. He was holding dinner parties for royalty that had been dead for like, 200 years. Tonight, we dine with Marie Antoinette! SWEET!!!
This Bismarcky dude, Otto… yeah, he had some other plans:
Like, you know, uniting Germany into one big ole country instead of a bunch of piddly fiefdoms where fantastic gay princes could, say, build fancy castles because they felt like it. Do I need to tell you that the politico homies in ole Ludwig’s court were seething? I mean, they don’t have any money for defending their kingdom. There’s a badass Prussian stalking control of the entire Germanic region and their leader is foppin’ it up with broke-ass opera writers.
I mean, hey, ole Bismarck was busy war-mongerin’ around, the likes of which our modern Dubya could probably only clap excitedly about. Oh crap, then the Franco-Prussian war was on.
Our ill-fated effeminate hero? He was swimming obliviously around in his pretty alpine lakes when the powers that be decided to restrain his ass.
And so the pseudo psycho analyses proceeded. Herr Ludwig, you are totally outta your mind. And on house arrest. But you can still go swimmin’ every morning. Did I mention that he was like 6 foot 5? Big guy. Large.
‘Member that purty cousin of his? Well, she smelled some rats. She lived in Austria, and figured if she could get him out of the country she might be able to save him. They planned a rendevous. He would swim his normal lap across and back… except not come back. Some say his personal fisherman who manned a boat was appointed to ferry him to the other side for expediency’s sake. I mean, they’re gonna kill ya dude. This is pretty clear.
One thing is clear about the mystery that ensued: Ludwig did not make it to either side of the lake alive. Shots were heard, and the official story is that he drowned. In 2 feet of water of a shallow lake. That he swam every day. Remember that part where he’s a giant guy? Totally in shape, too, let’s be clear. Fishy!
Le sniff!
It’s also said… that his clothing contained bullet holes… cue creepy musics!
I tend to think of this place as a scrapbook of my brain. (Welcome to Randomtown, population 1). I live in Austin, TX with 2 mutts, 1 extremely puffy cat, and 1 giant boyfriend that resembles a handsome Brawny Towel Man. I make designy things and would like to one day own my own biergarten. I like to call myself a humanist.
