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.)
I accompanied Ernesto to the LA Marathon Expo at Dodger Stadium so he could grab his bib and goodie bag for this Sunday's race. 
Goodie bag pickup was a crush of humanity, but Ernesto wove through the crowd, spotting a short line. Going to a marathon expo when you can't run is like visiting your old high school - awash with memories but you're an outsider, especially if you show up at gym class. Afterward, we swung by the Team in Training booth to chat with our former teammates, and blood cancer survivors extraordinaire, Van and Virginia. 
Apparently, the streets reopen after six hours and anyone slower than a 13 min. per mile pace will be shunted onto the sidewalks and required to obey all traffic signals, even the ones they disagree with. And while the finish line stays open for 8 hours, there's a question whether water stations will also close at the 6-hour mark. Sunday promises to be warm and sunny. 
Slower runners and walkers could find themselves thirsty and adrift, waiting for traffic lights and hoping to finish before they run out of medals. Whatever the outcome, all the best to Sunday's participants. I'll be Tivoing the race avidly.
