My friend and I were talking this weekend. We were talking about governments and my grief at getting some documents.
She said, “The government is there to make my life easier. That’s their job.”
I find such optimism charming. Even when I strongly disagree.
I think the governments job is to get paid.
I think that’s the absolute grief still left from Bush – he who believes in helping the rich, condemning the poor, who thinks freedom is not a right but a privilege for the select few; that the rich can lead the cattle cows of the poor to the slaughterhouse and have them singing nice pop tunes in praise of the abattoir while filling them with fear of the black helicopters that seek to enslave them. You got to love the Republicans, the Conservatives and any other ruling party.
We’re Americans and we do this kind of stuff better than most.
What I mean is that Bush hires guys, who hire guys, who hire guys building a pyramid, a great ponzi scheme to enrich themselves.
And the guys at the bottom, the faces of the government we actually deal with are guys with a sinecure, a job for life.
Funny thing is that government jobs, their raises, their promotions, their job prestige have twisted goals. No government employee gets a push for customer satisfaction.
You can make a claim that elections are the ultimate expression of customer satisfaction, but elections haven’t really been that for a long time. Even the recent election was more about customer dissatisfaction and fear.
Have you ever heard of a cop getting a promotion because he went out and talked to kids and managed to get them to give up gang banging and cut crime? Of course not. Those guys are out there. Normally they get transferred out. Stopping crime cuts into federal allocated funds.
Its like a traffic cop doesn’t get kudos for stopping drivers and correcting bad driving habits. He gets his perks by writing tickets, and if he’s below his quota maybe he sees somethings that aren’t there. Because he’s got that guilty conscience or if his entire moral foundation has been eroded by his job he gets nasty, surly and hate filled and takes it out on you for no reason over than he can.
They don’t fire this cop. They don’t try and calm him down. As long as he’s bringing in the money they give him promotions and praise. He gets to train others to be like him and all the other guys see that and begin to emulate him.
Or the corpulent 350 pound guy from Homeland Security. He can’t get another job. He’s fat, slovenly, sluggish and not very bright in the bargain but he gets to go through all of your belongings at the airport and he gets to keep whatever he sees or likes because in his limited world he can make a case for it being dangerous. Once one of these clones confiscated a nail clipper so I wouldn’t clip a stewardesses jugular or something.
He’s got a government job. Its impossible for him to get fired. Ever.
All the way down to the crabby lady at the DMV. She’s been there for 20 years. She’s mean, inaccurate hates her job and hates you, sees you as an inconvenience in the way of her happy life dream. She’ll be there until they promote her or she decides to retire at a pension that will pay her 80% of her salary. No one cares, in government, that she’s inept and slowing down a flawed system even further. She shows up.
I was in the Immigration office in London. Leave me alone too long and I explore. I saw a chart on the wall, very prominent. It was a list of all the immigration officers and it tracked how many Jamaicans, Africans and Hispanics they’d managed to deport or deny entry. Maybe it was a pool but it looked to white board official not be sanctioned.
There was no chart for how many people they’d allowed in who were leading happy productive lives, contributing to the community. Governments can’t afford to expand their vision that far.
You can always remember a good experience with a government official or agency because they are rare glowing moments that shock and surprise. It takes a while to recollect all the miserable times with the government because they are the rule. Why remember the routine and ordinary.
It will take a generation to get rid of Bush’s deadwood. Obama, shockingly, seems to be making attempts in that direction. I think that will fail.
We tried to watch “The Watchmen” yesterday. We were both falling asleep within fifteen minutes. What a dreary, talky mess.
I read “The Watchmen” comic. I thought it was okay. I even sought out some other Alan Moore stuff. As to thinking it was a “great novel”. I’m a bit dumbfounded by that. I didn’t even think it was a great comic book.
We watched the super hyped credit sequence set to Dylan’s “The Times They Are A’Changing” and thought it was just messy.
We went and watched something else. Enjoyed it.
I expect to have three teeth pulled. I’ll be aggravated that they won’t let me have the teeth. I want to save them up.
In “The Mother and the Whore” there’s a character, an artist. He plans to have his left hand amputated and then place it in an ornate jar with a brass inscription that says, “The Artist’s Hand 1956-1973”. I don’t want to got hat far I just want to have a cigar box collection of the things I used to be. Like Seth Brundle in Cronenberg’s “The Fly”. A display of the proof that I at least used to be human.
This morning the ibuprofen nearly masked the mouth pain. I was considering canceling the appointment, not seriously considering but it crossed my mind for sure. I can barely chew food now. When these 3 teeth (if it only becomes 3) are gone it will still be hard to eat, to chew. Of course I’m more worried about how I’ll look.
Appointments at ten. I expect the crabbiness to last for about 30 days . . .
On the 20th I have to see the GP doctor . . . so much fun.
On Saturday we have to take the new car in for warranty work. Nothing serious. Squeaky brakes and a blown sounding front speaker.
Its been raining. Warmish and damp. A chilling damp. Plenty of mud so the dogs are very happy.
I’ve cut back on feeding skanky cat. Yesterday I discovered she was living in or at least keeping out of the weather in the collapsed bomb shelter.
The idea of trapping a feral cat, taking her/it to the vet fatigues me. I’ve decided to feed it only every other day. That should keep it comfortable enough to stay alive but hungry enough to look for someplace else to hang out.
At least I hope so. I don’t know much about cats. I think they started the bubonic plague and give people cancer. At least that’s what I’ve heard.
There’s so much that I think that I’ve forgotten. Maybe its not important but it seems important to me. At least too important to risk forgetting. Remembering used to be in my blood.