A man, his privacy, and a popular social network.
h/t: Ace
Welcome to WRITE ENOUGH!
Friday, March 12, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Physical Therapy Graduation
Once again, finishing up physical therapy tomorrow. The tendinitis in my shoulder is mostly cleared up, with pain down to a twinge. However, my knee has been sore the last few days. I walked briefly today. I'll rest up and ice through next Tuesday before I attempt another walk. Anyway, glad to be done with therapy, though I'll miss the therapists. They made pain fun.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Live Blogging My Call With the Franchise Tax Board
1111 AM: You have reached the Franchise Tax Board. For our menu in English press one. For our menu in different languages including Pig Latin and Esperanto, press two. (I press one.)
1112 AM: For individuals broken under the millstone of the state, press one. For businesses, press two. To be instantly disconnected, press three. (I press two.)
1113 AM: For a complicated electronic menu that addresses all needs but yours, press one. Otherwise, wait on the line for an operator. Your estimated wait will be ten minutes in geological time. (I wait, trying to figure out how long ten geological minutes might be. I'm not encouraged.)
1119 AM: Muzak consists of soothing New Age melodies, lots of harp and Celtic drum. It sounds like the LOR underscore when Frodo visited various Elf Towns. I'm nodding off. Drool rolls down the corner of my mouth like a gentle Elven waterfall.
1134 AM: I awake with a snort, my sweatshirt soaked. The music is fading, dying out. Excitement builds. But then the muzak swells. False alert. I eat a whole-wheat waffle.
1146 AM: The music changes to a peppy Calypso beat alive with steelpan, bongos and flute. I'm happy. I'm on vacation, dancing on the sand in a large straw hat. But then, I catch myself. I'm on the phone waiting for the Franchise Tax Board. No one dances to that. No one good.
1152 AM: Another false alert. But this time I refuse to be baited into hope.
1158 AM: A ring tone! A man's voice! Hello, this is Pembry Teal, workstation number 8925, how may I assist you?
Me: Please don't leave me! Please. I want to see if an estimated tax check cleared.
Pembry: Sir, please don't plead. We're trained to react to pleading as if it were a dodge used by cheaters to avoid tax liability.
Me: I withdraw my plea. I'm a regular guy, checking on a check. Is that Okay?
Pembry: (Long sigh.) Don't be cute or coy or use irony or sarcasm, sir. We're trained to react to these tones as if they were dodges used by cheaters to avoid tax liability.
1201 PM: (I give Pembry my tax ID, name and address of corporation. There is no inflection in my voice whatsoever, nothing that would activate Pembry's hair-trigger cheater alert.)
Pembry: Sir, there is no indication that you ever sent a check.
Me: What if I send another one before March 15?
Pembry: Is this a ruse to avoid tax liability?
Me: No. I want to send you money.
Pembry: Very well. But add a $35 penalty for failure to pay 2009 estimated tax.
Me: But I paid it! Someone lost the check, either the post office or you guys. Why do I have to pay more for government mistakes?
Pembry: This is tax dodge talk.
Me: Okay, okay. Thirty-five bucks.
Pembry: Send it before March 15 or there will be further penalties. I won't say 'good-bye' or 'have a nice day' because I believe you're a slick avoider of liabilities, a sand crab hiding in the glove box of efficient government.
Me: 'Sand crab?'
(Disconnect.)
1112 AM: For individuals broken under the millstone of the state, press one. For businesses, press two. To be instantly disconnected, press three. (I press two.)
1113 AM: For a complicated electronic menu that addresses all needs but yours, press one. Otherwise, wait on the line for an operator. Your estimated wait will be ten minutes in geological time. (I wait, trying to figure out how long ten geological minutes might be. I'm not encouraged.)
1119 AM: Muzak consists of soothing New Age melodies, lots of harp and Celtic drum. It sounds like the LOR underscore when Frodo visited various Elf Towns. I'm nodding off. Drool rolls down the corner of my mouth like a gentle Elven waterfall.
1134 AM: I awake with a snort, my sweatshirt soaked. The music is fading, dying out. Excitement builds. But then the muzak swells. False alert. I eat a whole-wheat waffle.
1146 AM: The music changes to a peppy Calypso beat alive with steelpan, bongos and flute. I'm happy. I'm on vacation, dancing on the sand in a large straw hat. But then, I catch myself. I'm on the phone waiting for the Franchise Tax Board. No one dances to that. No one good.
1152 AM: Another false alert. But this time I refuse to be baited into hope.
1158 AM: A ring tone! A man's voice! Hello, this is Pembry Teal, workstation number 8925, how may I assist you?
Me: Please don't leave me! Please. I want to see if an estimated tax check cleared.
Pembry: Sir, please don't plead. We're trained to react to pleading as if it were a dodge used by cheaters to avoid tax liability.
Me: I withdraw my plea. I'm a regular guy, checking on a check. Is that Okay?
Pembry: (Long sigh.) Don't be cute or coy or use irony or sarcasm, sir. We're trained to react to these tones as if they were dodges used by cheaters to avoid tax liability.
1201 PM: (I give Pembry my tax ID, name and address of corporation. There is no inflection in my voice whatsoever, nothing that would activate Pembry's hair-trigger cheater alert.)
Pembry: Sir, there is no indication that you ever sent a check.
Me: What if I send another one before March 15?
Pembry: Is this a ruse to avoid tax liability?
Me: No. I want to send you money.
Pembry: Very well. But add a $35 penalty for failure to pay 2009 estimated tax.
Me: But I paid it! Someone lost the check, either the post office or you guys. Why do I have to pay more for government mistakes?
Pembry: This is tax dodge talk.
Me: Okay, okay. Thirty-five bucks.
Pembry: Send it before March 15 or there will be further penalties. I won't say 'good-bye' or 'have a nice day' because I believe you're a slick avoider of liabilities, a sand crab hiding in the glove box of efficient government.
Me: 'Sand crab?'
(Disconnect.)
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Monday, March 08, 2010
Colin Back From Combat Ops
Still in-country, Colin Wells returned to base from operations with the Strykers in Afghanistan. On Facebook, he mentioned being displeased that Hurt Locker won best picture. I've heard this view from other soldiers and marines who feel the film disses them as adrenaline junkies and violence freaks. I suppose Hurt Locker is to the war, what Slap Shot was to semi-pro hockey. Nonetheless, a sigh of relief that Colin is Okay.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Saturday, March 06, 2010
In Addition
to the growing list of people I know competing in the rain this weekend, Ernesto ran 16 miles in preparation for the LA Marathon, looming on the running horizon - provided he avoids pneumonia.
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