Just Another Filthy, No Good, Drain On Society

I saw a posting on social media today, outlining how welfare and food stamps are not entitlements but rather, “handouts”. The comments following had a lot of hatred toward the poor. How we are all shysters, daily committing fraud against the hard working people. We are either illegal aliens, or lazy crack heads who are hell bent on getting everything for free, and loudly proclaiming our inalienable rights to a free ride.  It was the icing on the cake for another otherwise miserable day.

Let’s just back up a second here. I want to give another perspective.  Two years and three months ago today, I got a call from my employer letting me know I needed to clear out my desk and turn in my laptop, as my job had just been off shored. The economy was in the tank, and many people had already been on unemployment for over a year.  This made many of us less marketable, because employers had the advantage of a much larger hiring pool, and therefore wanted the best of the very best, no room for just really competent employees who wanted a mid career wage. 

We suffered a bit, adjusted our lifestyle a bit more, and got rid of any amenities we had left.  Yes, what we had left. You see; the lower middle class salary I once had prior to layoff, actually diminished by 35% over the course of 5 years due to cutbacks, and furloughs. Prior to getting let go from my assignment, our income was considered poverty level for a family of four. We were eligible for assistance, but tried to make it on our own.  Even after the layoff, we managed to keep from sinking by stretching tax returns, eating as much as we could from our garden, and using up our savings. 

Finally, we broke. It came down to either not feeding the kids, or swallowing our pride. We had to apply for food stamps. It was a great relief to know that our children would be able to not go hungry. I am very grateful for this assistance. However, there is a hidden cost to all of this. One they do not talk about in the seminars for the unemployed. It hits you in the face the first time you pull out that food stamp card. SHAME.  Raw, in your face, unabashed shame. You cannot hide it from the other shoppers, as it pops up on the cashier screen for everyone to see. Even the clerks change their behavior towards you when they see how you are paying for your groceries. They go from happy chatter, to stiff upper lip professional courtesy with you. You learn very quickly to avert your eyes so you cannot see the disgust they are barely masking. The people in line behind you look over your cart silently, and you feel that if there is anything but macaroni and cheap hamburger in your cart, you are committing a crime of some sort. I have even heard people complain that people on food stamps are not entitled to seafood, beef, or fresh vegetables. “Government cheese, peanut butter and skim milk should be all you get, you pathetic waste of a human!” 

It makes me wonder, is society really this callous? Do they really think that the majority of people who are on assistance are degenerate burdens on society? I wonder if they can understand that so many of us struggle minute to minute, day to day, week to week, with this poverty?  Each day, I feel the darkness taking a little bit more of my soul. The fear and shame of it all is crushing. My young children do not understand why they cannot have the same toys as other children. My seven year old has developed anxiety beyond what child should have to endure. Last week he mentioned that he wishes he had a good job so he could take us all out to get a burger or see a movie.  It tears me up inside. 

Each day, I wonder if this is the day we get a letter of foreclosure, or if the electricity will get shut off this month? Will we have running water in the morning? Will the phones get shut off just before I get a call for an interview? I lay awake all night, trying to convince myself that I need to keep pushing forward, because the kids need me, yet still wonder if maybe they would get better opportunities in life if I was not holding them back. 

It is peculiar to me, I hear these politicians, the same ones I voted for, issuing statements that America needs to stop coddling the lower class. Benefits need to be cut. Work, damn it or you deserve to starve. Contribute to society or get out. Last week, a commentator in the UK went as far as to advocate that older people, who are not self sustaining should be euthanized. I paid taxes for 35 years. I expect and hope to find work and pay taxes for at least another 20 years. But still, I am labeled as a drain on society, a burden that should be removed. 
 

I am sorry if this is over the top with maudlin, depressive overtones. I do not like feeling this way. A man wants to be able to provide for his family. He desires to make them proud, and have a comfortable, fulfilling life. It is hard not to give up and accept that I have nothing left of value to offer them, and have become a total failure. The heck of it is, I am sure that I am not alone in my thinking, How many other thousands are out there, men and women alike, who deal with this struggle? We want jobs, and not handouts. We do not want to be "a drain on society".

You know how I know you're not in college?

As I was driving up to my house today, I noticed a couple of young men canvassing the neighborhood putting out flyers. Sure enough, there was one wedged in my front door. I took it out and read it, only to find out that it was one of those college painter advertisements. It started out "Hi, My name is Billy Dumas, and I am a college student at the University of North Colorado, here in Greeley. I want to paint your house, yada, yada, yada. "

I have to admit, that my first inclination was to wonder if the boy was truly a college student, and next, if he was truly a painter. One, if he really was a college student, he would either be in class at 10 in the morning on a weekday or more likely he would still be sobering up from St. Patty's celebrations two days ago. (Seriously, I remember not seeing fellow students for a week after March 17th when I was at C.U. but admittedly we were sort of known to be a party school. )

I am on the board of directors for our neighborhood home owners association, and am always on the look out for abnormalities in our development. Not withstanding that I am really getting cagey not having employment for so long, and given the fact that our city prohibits door to door soliciting without a permit, I felt the need to explain to them why strangers should never touch my house.

My little 4 year old son Johnnie was all in for going to talk to the two guys, because even he wanted to see what I was about to come up with. I guess my son knows a good show when he sees one. He ran right out to the van, buckled in and yelled, "Let's get 'em daddy!" How could I say no to that cute little face?

With the flyer in hand, I found the two "students" 4 streets away, and I pulled up next to him. I said, "Excuse me, but which one of you is Billy?" One of the kids turned to me and responded, which unbeknownst to him, was sealing his fate.  I held up the flyer and pretended to read it. "So you are Billy Dumas (and I pronounced the 'mah' part as 'mass'), whats your partners name, Bobby Stoopedschitt? There was a glint of fear in his face, and suddenly I felt a rush of adrenaline, much like the feeling a deep sea fisherman gets when he hooks a trophy marlin. Time to start the trolling motor.

Billy stammered "H-h-h-how can I help you sir?" Well, young man, let me tell you how you can help me. Show me your permit for door to door sales that you got from the county clerk." He turned a little ashen and mumbled that he did not know he needed one. I raised my voice slightly and said; "Well now boy, you DO. I oughta call the police and have you fined for solicitation." He squirmed a little and squeaked "Doesn't that mean prostitution?" I knew now that I had three runners on base and was about to hit it out of the park. I barked loud enough for the mailman three houses over to hear, "Did you just ask me to pay for SEX??!!!" His buddy slowly started backing up, looking for safe passage out of this neighborhood. "Is that how you plan to get through college, sleeping your way to good grades? You had better figure out something, cause I know you not a very good painter!" Billy looked very confused at that statement, but I was about to cross home plate. "My house has a brand new paint job, are you even able to see that?" He started to wilt a little, and replied "Uhm, yeah, I saw that." to which I shot back "Oh yeah? What color is my house?" Again with the squirming. "Uhhh, gray maybe?", he guessed. "WRONG, it is puke green! Are you colorblind too?"

The poor kid had just about had all he could take. He looked desperate, like he wished he had studied harder in high school so he could have gotten better scholarships and not have to work during spring break. "Mister, I do not know what to say, what is it you want anyway?" I handed him back his flyer, and said; "I think I want some ice cream.", at which point my little boy squealed with delight and we drove off.

Teach Your Children Well

My first grader goes to a charter school that demands excellence from their students as well as their families. Academic rigor from the students, absolute surrender from their parents. Each month we are required to donate at least four hours of our time "volunteering" to help out in and around the school. Not that I am overtly complaining, mind you. I am grateful for the care that the staff shows to our little munchkins.

Today, I was scheduled to participate in a fatherly activity called "Watch D.O.G.S. It stands for Dad's of Great Students, although in my case it should be renamed to Father's Assisting The Academically Successful Student, or F.A.T. A.S.S. for short.: It amounts to me showing up in the early morning, working as a crossing guard, then providing security patrols to the campus and helping a little in the classroom and the cafeteria.

Now, when I signed up for a day to help, it was the first week of school, when it was warm, and I was not thinking of Colorado's convoluted weather patterns. The day I was scheduled finally arrived, and it was 5 below zero degrees. I rushed around trying to get the kid ready for school, and out the door we went, totally prepared to deal with the cold. I had warm ski gloves, a thermal carafe of extra stout coffee. I jumped in the car and hurried over to the school. Parked in a special designated spot just for the Watch D.O.G.S. volunteer. Josh came with me, because they like to take a picture of student and father for the "Wall of Fame", which turned out to be more of a pictorial line up to identify those who botched things up.

After I had parked, climbed out of the car, grabbed my gloves and coffee, I realized I had forgotten a coat. No worries, I thought to myself, I like the brisk weather. I walked up to the security door, and followed a set of cryptic entry instructions that were scrolling on an old style monochrome blue LCD and keypad next to the door. Nothing. No answer. I tried it again, and again. Josh looked at me with all the admiration of an awestruck child, and said, "Dad, no one ever has this problem!" then ran off to meet his crew on the playground. Five more tries, and finally someone buzzed me in. They gave me a safety vest, two pages of instructions, a STOP/SLOW sign on a stick, walkie talkie, and a metal whistle, and told me to go to my post.

I walked on over there, and cars were already dropping off kids. One stopped near me, rolled down their window, and asked why I had no coat, because it was 3 below zero. I answered that I was on a weight loss program, where I could freeze off the fat.  The twenty something mom, svelte, blond, buxom, and driving a Lexus looked me up and down and casually remarked that it was not working very well for me. A few minutes later, some kids show up needing to cross the parking street. I turn the sign to the stop position, and motioned for the kids to cross. A car was not paying attention and was moving toward the crosswalk, so I took grabbed the whistle, and blew it. There is a certain physical peculiarity that occurs when a piece of frozen metal touches skin. Much like the kid who touches his tongue to a frozen flag pole, my lips were glued to the whistle. To make matters worse, my nose was now running, so as I exhaled through the whistle, a bubble of steamy snot formed, then popped, followed by a faint toot of the whistle. It was so mesmerizing to the children that a crowd formed to watch, and 23 children ended up being tardy to class.

After the classes had started I was summoned to my son’s room to assist the teacher with filing of papers, passing out supplies to students, and other busy work. While I was cutting up construction paper for an art project, the teacher called up a student for show and tell. A little boy got up and showed his treasure, a dream catcher. Now, this kid was as fair skinned as an Irish choir boy, but he was telling how he believed in the protective powers of this Native American artifact, and how he and his father had gotten all the feathers dangling off of it by shooting a hawk with a .22 rifle. This captured my attention. Notwithstanding that hawks are an endangered species in Colorado, but that this kid was explaining how he hunted and expertly relieved a poor bird of its life spirit so that he could not have nightmares delivered to his slumber. After he got done with his presentation, the children were allowed a question and answer session. Most of the questions were what you expected, "How does it keep the nightmares out but let good dreams through?", or "What happens to the bad dreams when the catcher is full?" I raised my hand and the teacher said, "Go ahead, Mr. LeClere, ask away." It was a shame that no one had warned her ahead of time to not let me interact directly with the innocent hearts and minds of the children. "Yes, I do have a question. Aren't you a little bit too vanilla, to be acting like you have a tribal affiliation?" The teacher gasped and asked me to go see if I was needed elsewhere for a while.

I made my way to the cafeteria to help take out trash and monitor the playground. In the center of the lunchroom, there is a table with an ice bucket chilling squeeze bottles of mayo and ranch dressing. Apparently, when children balk over eating veggies, they are coaxed into eating them smothered in fat and cholesterol. This turned out to be a blast, because I asked the kids if they wanted ranch on all their foods, except the veggies. "Hi kid, howsa bout some ranch on the sammich?" The kid stammered. "But, it is peanut butter and jelly!" "Yeah, that’s what I am talking about, a PB,R&J sandwich was my favorite when I was a kid!" Blank, confused stares.  Another kid raised his hand, wanting to be excused to go to recess. I walked by, and he asked very politely, but I answered, "Pardon et moi, mais je n'est parle pas Anglais!" The kid next to him said,"What did he say?" and I replied in Spanish, "No habla ingles, soy no comprendo!" The third kid, looked at them and tried to gesture that he wanted to go outside, so I used sign language to ask him if he wanted to go outside.  I walked over to another table and saw a child whose Indonesian parents are friends of ours. The little girl beamed and said how I was her uncle. When the kids looked at me and commented I did not look like her, I told them I was a rare albino Indonesian, and was starting to tell them about how my tribe was famous for being warrior headhunters in the islands, when a woman introduced herself to me as the dean of students, and asked me to go empty the trash cans.

As I headed out the door to the back playground where the dumpsters were located, a kid lobbed a snowball at a window near my head. Out of nowhere, a short haired woman saw me and started yelling at the kid, "DID YOU THROW A SNOWBALL AT THE WINDOW? Why is my Watch D.O.G. out here? DID HE SEE WHICH ONE OF YOU KIDS THREW IT? ANSWER ME!!!" I was not interested in being part of this disciplinary process, and blurted; "Who are you, R.Lee effing Ermey, from the effing Marine Corps? Stunned silence. I made my way to the trash cans, and hid for a while.

Soon it was time for the kids to go home, and I took my place back in the crosswalk. I was not there 1 minute when the drill sergeant shows up and apparently I am in her spot. I politely ask, "What would you like me to do?" She glared at me and spit out; "I would LIKE you to die in a fire, but why don't you go to the other end of the parking lot and stay there?"

I walked away and started to make sure the kids got safely to their parents who were driving up single file to pick them up. I was getting along alright, when a quiet little boy walked up and stood near me, waiting for him mom. As it turned out, she was Deaf, and as she pulled up in her car, she signed a hello to him, and then flashed the "I Love You" sign to him. I looked at her, and signed right back, "Thank you, I love you too, hot stuff!" A look of embarrassed horror crossed her face and I think that she momentarily considered gunning her engine and running me over. I saw her sign to her child who immediately picked up a cell phone and started dialing. 2 minutes later, the assistant principal came out, and told me how my volunteer hours for today would count for the rest of the school year, and added that my son was remarkably well adjusted, given what they imagine his home environment must be.

I took it as a compliment.

You Can Dress Me Up.....

Last summer, I had a date. A real live bonafide dress up, leave the kids somewhere's and forget 'em date. This was a big deal, because Dessy and I have only gotten to dress up and go out twice before, once for our wedding and the other time was to go to a country-style wedding. The second one really does not count as a date,because it was really more of an opportunity to go and gossip that it was uber tacky to get married at a campground, wonder if the groom was unhappy about not getting to see the results of the paternity test, how trailer park it was to have a cake made of Hostess Twinkies, or how the bridesmaids dresses made them all look like Miss Piggy in silky, powder blue potato sacks.

About a year ago, Dessy mentioned that someday she wished that she could see this group called 'Il Divo'. I checked the interwebs for them and without really looking closely determined that they were kind of a pop opera troop, sort of a Euro - boy band made up of the illegitimate spawn of Doris Day and Liberache. I decided to surprise her and six months ahead, I ordered tickets.Now, the last time I had attended a concert, tickets were $15 dollars a piece, which tells you how long it had been since I have been allowed out. I got a shock, because seats ranged from $90 to $500. I blame Babs Streisand for the inflating ticket prices, because she charges 1100 dollars a pop to watch her engage in a personal wine and cheese tasting fest. The only way you would get me pay that much for a concert would be if if you  could get The Who, Elvis Costello, Aerosmith, and the the other Elvis onstage at the same time. I am talking about the skinny, cool Elvis Presley, not the fat,drunken, bloated-dead-on-a-toilet, Elvis.

The big day arrives and I am told that I had better dress up for the occasion, and that spray painting my sandals black, and wearing a tuxedo print T-shirt, is not going to fly. I go to the closet and dig out my best suit, which would have looked really great, if I could have just gotten my pants to button up I ended up wearing a dark blue blazer and what I thought were dark blue pants. Threw the kids in the car and dropped them off at the grandparents. Once we arrived at the concert hall it turns out parking was like $15 dollars. I was not having that so we drove around for half an hour looking for something reasonable. We found a parking spot about a half a mile from the concert that only cost $12 bucks,  and it was only about a half mile walk so I got to think about how I was saving 3 dollars as I walked in ill fitting shoes.As we approached the venue, the sun shone in such a manner so as to let the world know my outfit was mismatched, blue on black. Oh well, it was dark inside and It was not like I was going to be on stage or anything.

We found our seats and the lights lowered. It was all a man could have hoped for. Lots of women with low cut dresses jumping up and down, screaming their admiration for the four sissies on stage. I looked at my wife hoping to get a little appreciation for putting up with this, but it was not to be, as she was too busy trying to capture all the moments on her camera. I made an excuse that I had to go to the bathroom and made a beeline to one of the many cocktail stands. I waited in line with about 50 other guys, all who had the same defeated look on their faces, all wearing mismatched suits and ties. I ordered a lite beer. " That will be EIGHT Dollars, sir," said the bartender. I raised an eyebrow to this, but realized that this was the least expensive part of the event so far. I downed it, and returned to my wife's side. Not that I needed to be there, she was enthralled with the greasy haired Spaniard who was singing Italian versions of all the songs that most real men hate anyway.

After 10 more songs, I made an excuse to go back to the bathroom, saying I had forgotten to wash my hands. This time I decided to order a little stiffer drink. I asked for a very very dry martini, one so dry that the gin had only seen a picture of the vermouth bottle. The girl smiled knowingly and proceeded to pour half a cup of olive juice in the cup, the ice then topped it off with I can only describe as bottom shelf gin. I was about to protest when she winked and said, "I don't know how to make martinis, tee hee, you should have gone to that guy over there. That will be ten dollars please." Sonofa.... I pay her and walk away with my plastic cup of disappointment.

I get back to the concert, and Dessy looks to me and frowns. "Another drink? What are you, an alcoholic?" I reply by noisily slurping my olive juice on the rocks. Finally the concert ends. We go back to the car and I start to try and find our way home. Naturally I get lost in downtown Denver and
drive an extra 15 minutes to find the highway. Got honked at by a light rail train, a sports car and a horse drawn carriage beeped at me. And by beeped at, I mean the horse nearly crapped on my hood.

Apparently the excitement of it all was too much for my wife and she falls asleep almost immediately. I drove home in silence and was almost home when I realized that I had forgotten to pick up the kids from my folks place. Fortunately, Dessy was still asleep so I did not have to admit the mistake.Would not have wanted to spoil her night, ya know?

Travel Advice.

This is a departure from my normal story line, but I was asked for advice on traveling to S.E. Asia. I will take this opportunity to help alienate other cultures and maybe even thoroughly piss off my in-laws.

I took my first trip to Indonesia back in 2006. I did research on how to travel, how to be sure to not return to the USA in a near death state, and what to expect from other cultures in terms of social constructs and customs.  Largely that information turned out to be misleading if not outright incorrect.  Here is my take on visiting countries like Indonesia, Malaysia, Taiwan, and China.

This first thing I did was to look up information about foreign countries on U.S. Government websites like http://travel.state.gov/content/passports/english/go.html. It was recommended that I register my trip with the feds. I did so and immediately started getting emails warning me where not to go, when not to go etc. I arrived with trepidation, knowing that some Islamic extremest was waiting to gun me down. I still think it is a good idea to register, because in the event you lose your passport or run into trouble, at least the consulate will be aware of your trip and you may be able to gain an audience with them quicker if needed. I would largely disregard all warnings except those urgent matters like all Americans must leave the country due to impending wars or hostilities internally. So overall let your gut tell you when to heed the warnings.

The next thing to do is find out if you need a visa to enter the country or countries you want to visit. Some countries require a formal visa application process, others have a VOA program, (Visa On Arrival). With the VOA, you can generally step off the plane, get in line and pay cash for the VOA. Check ahead, but normally you can pay this with US currency. Note, bring new, fresh, crisp unfolded bills for this. Wrinkled money will likely be refused. I have no idea why. Many countries limit the amount of undeclared American cash you have on your person to $2000. Check ahead. I advise that you use your Visa debit or credit card anyway. When you use a local ATM, it converts from USD to local currency and calculates the currency exchange automatically so you are good to go. Make sure to alert your bank that you are traveling overseas. If you do not and they see that your card is being used out of the USA, they will block it, and you are truly hosed. Only draw the amount of cash you need for a day or two at a time while traveling. That way if you happen to get mugged, you will not lose a lot. When using an ATM ensure you log out when you are done. Broke and alone in Jakarta is no way to go through vacation, son.

Keep your card in a safe place which is safely concealed, not in a front or rear pants pocket, or inside a sock. This is where a one of those concealed pockets that hang around your neck inside your shirt may come in handy. Google "Neck Safety Pouch" for examples but the smaller the better. You do not want to have something so large that you stand out. You will become a target for theft. Money belts are not really needed, in my opinion. I traveled with a torso body wallet during my first overseas trip and I looked like a freakin idiot every time I reached deep inside my shirt to pull my papers out at customs, or when wanting to buy a drink at the various airports. It also made my belly sweat. while you are in the confines of the airports and all, your are most likely safe from being mugged. Once you get to your destination you can most likely carry what you need in that neck pouch. Purses, camera bags, and fanny packs are easy to breach with a razor blade. A skilled thief can slice open your bag, take your goods and you won't feel it, and discover it way too late.

The third thing I did was to go to the AAA website and find out where to get vaccinations. Chances are, you will need to get several before you go. DO NOT go to any travel company to get these. I recommend looking on http://wwwnc.cdc.gov/travel/destinations/list, plugging in your destination then seeing what vaccinations are required. Next go to your local county health department office and get the shots there. It is much cheaper this way. Also make sure they set up your yellow book (vaccination record for traveling. ) Have a record of all the vaccination you have ever gotten with you when you set this up so that the physician can sign off on it. Keep it with your Visa and passport as you travel.

The fourth thing I investigated was asking seasoned travelers (my parents) on what to take. I highly recommend that you NEVER ask an elderly person what to pack in your kit. I took nearly an extra suitcase of toiletries, cleaning items like clothes lines for the shower to hang my clothes that I clean in the tub, shaving gear, bug repellent kits, flashlights, first aid kits, stand alone currency calculators, toilet seat covers (butt-gaskets) etc. Big mistake. Unless you are actually going straight to a remote area with no amenities, you can pick it all up at your destination city. Most of the stuff they recommend at the travel shops are unnecessary. There are some things that are nice to have for packing however. Individual pouches for socks, and shirts, skivvies, etc, can be helpful to organize your luggage. I recommend sturdy, hard sided luggage with wheels and a handle for lugging log distances. Get the best luggage you can afford. Cheap ones will bust open easily, or only last one trip. Make sure to get enough TSA locks to secure everything, zippers and pockets.
If you have a laptop, get a car adapter for it so you can use it on the plane. Load some  movies and music so you do not have to pay the airline for that sort of entertainment.

Here is an additional list of things I found to be helpful:

1) Bring electrical plug adapters as well at power converters. There are converters for low and high wattage. Your hair dryer may have a switch for 220, so you can just use the plug adapter.
A word of caution, if you are on layover and decide to charge your cell phone or computer, make sure that your charger is dual voltage. Sometimes the plug you see looks like what you are used to but will be 220 volts. I learned the hard way on this and blew up my phone charger in Taipei.

2) Load a couple of apps ahead of time on your smart phone. a currency converter and a local language dictionary may help. Try and have google maps installed.  If possible get your cell phone unlocked before you travel so you can use the local phone services. It is cheaper, works better than here, and keeps you in contact with your fellow travelers.

3) Airport travel is both exciting and harrowing. Check ahead on your flight schedule to ensure you have time to make connecting flights.  Security measures can throw a wrench into the works. If you fly out of LA or San Francisco, ensure you have at least two hours to get through customs.
Make sure that you get in the right lines, as sometimes airport handlers will try and guide you to the wrong place. If you have a carry on, and have already checked your luggage into the international airport, get in the line where people do not have regular suitcases. You will save at least an hour in line.
International airlines are great. Prepare to be treated like a human. For comfort, bring light loose fitting clothing, noise cancelling headphones and comfy loose shoes.

4) When you get on the plane to leave the USA, look at your fellow passengers, memorize a couple of the faces. If you get to a layover destination,  follow them to the layover waiting area. Often the airport handlers who yell instructions on where you should go have very heavy accents, and you can get confused. If you see fellow passengers in the waiting area, you most likely are in the right place.
It is ok, to ask them if you are in the right place too.


5) Take appropriate clothing for the region, Any country that is near the equator is going to be hot and humid. Take light breathable items. Try not to take items that are totally western like short cargo pants. Most male adults in S.E. Asia wear long pants. You will totally stand out if you have sandals, black socks, and khaki shorts. Just wear cotton slacks, and light breathable shoes that will not readily mildew. Keep your clothes to a minimum. You do not need to pack a fresh set of clothes for every day you are there. The hotels generally have reasonable cleaning services, a basket in your room that if you put your dirty items in, will be returned clean to you in the evening. I only had to pay about 10 dollars for 2 weeks of doing my laundry. Totally worth it. So, skip the travel iron, the clothes line and the calgon packets.

6) Make a photocopy of the first two pages of your passport and laminate it. Keep it with you. Often a hotel will require you to surrender your passport until you pay your bill. It is a security measure for them, and non negotiable. You may need the copy in case you have to engage the consulate in an emergency. 

7) Do not take toiletries, except maybe a toothbrush and a trial size toilet paper in your carry on. You should buy all this stuff at your destination. Cheaper and less baggage. You can also get clothing tailor made in many of the countries you visit. Very inexpensive, fast turn around, and it is nice to return home with well fitting items.

8) Take a water bottle with either a decent filter or get one of those ultraviolet pens for sanitizing your water. Or both. Third world counties have incredibly scary water. Always request bottled water at your destinations, or buy it in their super markets. Make sure it is sealed in plastic bottles. Don't accept glass bottles and a bottle opener. Often these are bottled locally and sealed without actually using pure filtered water. Dua tang brand comes in what appears to be a pudding snack cup but these are sealed and safe. Use sealed bottled water to brush your teeth too. Never trust tap water. It is common to get served a glass of water at a restaurant that is boiling hot. It may throw you off, but this is safe to drink, if not a bit unsatisfying. Do not ask for ice. It is scary. Most places do not filter the water in their ice machines, or get ice blocks delivered to them daily, then chip off chunks to serve. If you saw how it was delivered, off the back of a truck, dirt all over it, and some worker in flippy floppies standing on the blocks, you will understand why. If you have to have ice water, buy some bottles at the store, and put them in your hotel fridge.

9) Be careful what you eat. Street vendor food is enticing but if you get the wrong thing, like those exotic drinks served in a plastic bag, or shaved ice on the cart, expect to spend your next half day crapping your brains out. This is a two fold curse, and I will get to that in a moment. Never order salads, as they most likely are rinsed with water that is not purified nor boiled. The bacteria you ingest will come back to haunt you. Only eat fruit that you peel, or that is freshly cut in front of you.
Cooked food is generally safe. Most desserts are OK too. Cooked veggies and meets are usually safe. Do not expect to get much pork unless you are in a non Muslim country. Do not expect to find napkins at the table, as it is not customary in many places to have them. Watch what you eat. Literally. Sometimes you will find objects in your food that you are not meant to eat. Like a large chunk of ginger. It makes the food taste great, but you do not want to bite into it. I routinely forget this rule at home and it is a shock to your mouth.
Alcohol may be an issue at times too. Many hotels in Malaysia and Indonesia are Halal, which means they follow Islamic dietary laws. You can pack a couple of flasks in your luggage if needed, but it is easy to find beer at most establishments that serve international clients.

10) If possible find someone at your destination country who is an expat, or a local resident who you are acquainted with for a guide. They can take you to the best restaurants, and tourist attractions, and they may even help you to avoid being fleeced by the local vendors. Americans are considered to be very rich, and therefore are targets for sales pitches. I often would step out of the hotel or a cab and would get mobbed. There are great deals to be had, and I was willing to buy some things but I got taken advantage of at times. It was not terrible but my wife, would tell me I was an idiot for paying that much for trinkets. Bartering is the norm for street vendors, but do not try to get TOO good of a deal. Remember, these people need to eat too. Supermarkets are non negotiable. No bartering is accepted.

11) When it comes to traveling, have a trusted source. Local buses have a set price, but taxi travel is an opportunity for cheating you. Ask the concierge about hiring a local driver service for the duration of your stay. It is better than a taxi, you get a driver on demand and a local guide all in one. Well worth the cost.

12) Now, back to one of the most important things of all. Bathrooms. In S.E. Asia, you need to ensure that your lodging has a western bathroom. You do not want to use a squat toilet unless you are in reasonably good physical condition. Even western bathrooms have their own sets of surprises. Next to the toilet, you will often see a sprayer like you have on your kitchen sink. This is how you wipe your butt. Do your business, rinse good then use the toilet paper to dry. DO not flush the toilet paper. It will clog the systems there, and you may get charged for the repair. The little wicker basket next to the toilet is the proper mode of disposal. Do yourself a favor and do not wipe your can with the TP. Just use it to dry.
One thing to look out for when you go to the bathroom, is how the whole toilet seems to be covered in little drops of liquid. Many people in Indonesia like to take the sprayer and rinse the toilet, and even walls and floor after they have eliminated. It is unsettling to the uninformed, but know that it is clean and you can even spray it down and wipe it dry with some tp, if you want to be sure it is clean.

13) There are also social rules related to bathroom use. Your left hand is the "impolite" hand. It is the one you use to clean yourself in the bathroom, and therefore is not used to shake hands, serve food, to point at,  or touch anyone. I would advise watching the first half an hour of the movie "Outsourced" to get a quick primer on what behaviours are acceptable. It is not all inclusive but it is a good start.
Try hard to be respectful of local customs. You do not want to become the "Ugly American."
You are not entitled to any special treatment, and you do not have any of your American rights in these countries. Be accepting and polite, non judgemental and you should be ok.

14) Be aware of the the local religions. Islam is very much the prevailing or official religion in many S.E. Asian countries. I received  many warnings from the state department about being careful, or even vigilant against being abducted by Islamic factions. This proved to be fear mongering at best. My first day in Indonesia, I was walking with a local friend, and suddenly I heard Arabic being yelled over a loudspeaker and I knew I was about to get shot. As I prepared for a sudden and violent death, my friend casually mentioned that the local mosque was calling people to pray, something that happens 5 times a day in the Muslim faith. Later that evening, I was invited into the home of a family who owned a prestigious Muslim school. They kindly fed me dinner and made me feel welcome. Much of what I had been advised about the terror of Islam turned out to be propaganda. Do not be too complacent however, there are exceptions. Just be aware of your surroundings.

15) Respect monkeys. Hindu's usually consider them to be sacred, or even incarnations of gods, and you need to be careful. Do not fight or tease them. One, they bite. Two, they scratch. Oh, and they always win. They like shiny things you are wearing.  If they take your sunglasses, let them have it, because man, they are gone. You can also be fined for messing with them.

16) Watch out for police. They do not serve the same function as they do here in the USA. Often if you get stopped for a violation, the goal of the officer is to get a bribe, rather than issue a ticket. This is a touchy area so really stay clear of them. if you have a driver, let them deal with it, and have your wallet ready. Usually the equivalent of 10 - 15 dollars takes care of an issue. Most of the time. If you have really committed a crime, and get caught contact the US consulate ASAP.

17) Be aware that as an American, you are very spoiled by our traffic patterns. In larger cities in S.E.Asia, traffic is like nothing you have ever experienced. It is your responsibility to not get hit by a bus, scooter, car or bicyclist. Sidewalks are not always for walking by the way. They are often platforms for the street vendors to sell their wares.

18) Know drug laws. Indonesia has a death penalty for drug dealers. Malaysia will beat drug offenders with a bamboo cane. Make sure your luggage does not get tampered with, as this can happen in transit and it is a tough rap to beat if drugs are found in your bags. Get certified TSA locks for your luggage. Be careful with what you bring into a foreign country. Know the laws before you pack, just to avoid delays at customs.

That is a lot to think about but it is not all inclusive. Feel free to message me if you have specific questions. Traveling abroad is a wonderful experience, and if you are mindful, you will have a great time. Keep it safe, keep it simple.Enjoy your adventure.

The "Talk"

Some things are better left unsaid, or better yet ignored completely. Children are always coming up with frustrating questions, but there is one that all parents dread having to deal with. "THE" question. As one could imagine, I generally come out with creative answers for most of them, so many of them in fact that my boys are catching on to the idea that Daddy is the pretty much not the "go to guy" for many of life's lingering mysteries. (For example, last week the 6 year old asked me why elderly people sometimes walk funny, and I told him it is because their adult diapers are full and often chafe.)

The latest barrage of questions actually started a couple of months ago when  Josh was watching an awards show with Taylor Swift and suddenly announce that she was dancing nice and it gave him action in the pants. Then last week the three year old backed me into a corner with this gem, "Daddy, how does a baby get into Mommy's belly?" to which I responded, "With a big bottle of wine, and extreme begging!" I heard a squawk from the other room, and realized it was a good time to go for a long walk.

A couple of days later, I was cleaning out a drawer of old papers and the like and stumbled across an article that Josh's doctor gave me when he was 5, stating that it was a good time to discuss sexual matters with your child. I got to thinking about when I learned about the birds and the bees, and how I was oblivious to the concept, and would have remained happily so, but my father sat me down and read from a book about the whole process. I distinctly remember how nervous he was even to the point of shaking as he explained it all to me. I talked to my wife about what the article said, and we decided to gently approach the subject. I took Josh aside and asked him if he ever had heard the "F" word before. He thought about it, and said; "Just when you say it I guess, but sometimes my friend Blaine says dammit!"

We discussed about how boys were different than girls. Not physically of course. More like women are irrational and emotional, yet they are able to rule the planet with a special hidden power that emanates from a special part of their body called "a rack." I also explained a mans ongoing dysfunction of making decisions with their private parts instead of their brains, and their apparent inability to read a map while taking a trip into the unknown. We discussed the proper names for a body parts, so he would stop calling everything in that region his "pee-pee." I asked him if he had any other questions, and after a moment of thought, he asked; "How do you change the oil in the Kia?" I was starting to tell him how you carefully remove the cover, get out a bottle of oil, pull out the dipstick..." at which point my wife burst into the room and asked me just what the hell I was telling him, and told me to get back on script. Sometimes even the innocent explanations sound wrong, but maybe it is just the juxtaposition of it all.

Josh wanted to know how a baby actually grows inside of mommy, so me being the analytical buffoon that I am, got out a pen and paper, explained cellular division theory and the six stages of mitosis. Maybe a bit heavy for a six year old so I tried to bring it back to his level and talked about how a chicken egg grows. Josh kept nodding and acting like it was very interesting, and I was  so proud that my little genius was absorbing all of this so well. I put down the pencil and said; " Any more questions?" "Yes Daddy, will you make me some scrambled eggs?  I am hungry now."

I have now decided that when it is time for him to learn more, that maybe I will just drop him off at his grandparents and let them explain it, although this could turn out badly as well. I remember when I was a little boy, and hearing my 13 year old sister asking my parents if it hurt to have a baby. My mom, in the manner that has served the Italians well for generations replied; "You betcha it does, you ever try having one, and I am gonna knocka you teeth out!"

The Crush

Kids these days. They grow up so fast. Just yesterday my son was a few days old and today he announced that he loved a classmate. Normally this does not warrant any special attention from me, as he frequently tells me he loves one friend or another. He even signed a birthday card to one of his guy friends,"Love, Josh." I had to have a talk with him about the rules we have in society over that one. The talk where we set boundaries about proper macho behavior, such as no talking to dudes while you are peeing in a public restroom, and guy hugs are only to be performed when drunk and/or at a funeral. I let Josh know that it is still OK to grab a guys butt on the football field, as long as you are the quarterback trying to run a play.

This afternoon as I went to pick up Josh from kindergarten he jumps in the van, buckles up and then announces a girl gave him a gift. "A girl gave you a gift? What kind of gift? What is her name?" I asked. " Her name is Jasmynne, spelled with a "Y," and two "N's". My first thought was that was a great stripper name. My second thought was that her parents must be part of some religious cult from the 1960's

Josh then showed me his prize, it was a little tiny flashlight. This changed the game a bit. He would have to reciprocate in some appropriate manner. "You should give Jasmynne a present, Josh. Do you like her?" Josh emphatically answered "YES!!, I love her, and she is my best friend!" Things just got real. I started the harassment. "OOOOOHHH, Josh has a a girlfriend, and he LUUUUUVVVVVVVS her! He wants to MAAAAARRRYYYEEEEEE her and move into an apartment with her.
Josh was quiet as he thought this one over. "Daddy, Can I have my allowance so I can get her a ring with a diamond in it?"

"Josh, how do you know she loves you?" I asked. "Corbin told me, and she just laughed when he said it!" Uh oh. She is not afraid to let him know. Not to mention that he seems very comfortable with the idea. When I was his age, the idea of girls being carriers of cooties overrode any ideations of hearing wedding bells.

"Josh, when do you have time to have dates? It seemed like a question that would stump him, but he said, "We meet at the playground and sometimes we kiss each other." At this point I slammed on the breaks of the van, pulled over and took ten deep breaths. "YOU KISSED HER?" I tried not to yell this but I think the guy in the next vehicle still heard it.
Josh seemed very mater of fact and explained that they would kiss on the cheek. He took a close look at my beet red forehead, and backpedaled. " No, I was just kidding, we have not kissed. But I am going to kiss her soon." Well then, I have nothing to worry about do I? At least her does not have a specific date in mind. Although, Valentines day is just around the corner. He will need to get her an appropriate gift. One that is reciprocal to the degree of present she gave him, but not one that will land me an angry call from a crazed parent. Or worse, get Josh punched in the arm by Jasmynne.

I got that punch once. I was in 3nd grade, at St. Pauls  Catholic School. I had it bad for a girl named Amy Keller. Even back at the tender age of 8, I had an appreciation for the whole Catholic schoolgirl outfit, plaid skirt, knee socks and the white shirt. It still sort of works for me, provided the wearer is over 21.  Now, kids learn early that it is a horrible mistake to confide a secret love to ones parent. I made mention of it to my mom and the next day I was sent to class with a little box of candy that I was told I had to give to little Ms. Keller. Fortunately, she was out sick that day, so I just slipped it into her desk with a little note.  Unfortunately, Sister Mary Lizardo saw my action and hissed out my name as she slithered back to confront me. "What did you take from her desk?"
I pissed myself, and started to stutter: "N,N,N,Nothing, Honest Sister. I just left her a note!"
"Give it to me!" I reached in the desk, took out the note and the Whitman's Sampler, then handed it over. The Serpent then read the note, smiled sweetly then softly said to put it back, it would be our secret. JUST KIDDING, she made me read the note to the entire class. "Dear Amy, I like you, would you be my valentine?" I was the center of ridicule. I was mortified, and felt so small. Never mind  that it was mid October, and Valentines was months away. Never mind that I was now scarred for life and would never have the courage to ask a girl out again until I was 25.
Thank God it was Friday and maybe the class would forget this little travesty.  Then next week, I was sitting at my desk, and felt a sharp pain on my arm. Amy was smiling nervously and thanked me for the present. We never made eye contact or spoke ever again. The next year I transferred out of that school to a place that had never heard of vindictive nuns or autumn valentines.

This afternoon I called to Josh and asked what he wanted to do about a present for his new squeeze. He thought about it and disappeared for a while. after about twenty minutes he emerged from his room with a broken item from his toy box. "Here Dad, can we wrap this for her? I looked at it and beamed. Nothing says lovin like a Tonka truck with no wheels and 3 Sesame Street stickers on it.
"Sure Josh, lets do that right away."

I have a feeling I won't have to pay for a wedding dinner any time soon.

AARP : Declares Kids Shows A Danger For Senior Citizens.

Editors Note:

I am going to interrupt my normal subject matter with some pieces that I wrote a while back. Over the next few days, I will be posting some satirical material. I hope you will enjoy them.

 -Mark

PHOENIX, AZ. –
Researchers for The American Association of Retired People have found that senior citizens who are forced to endure certain children’s programs have an 80 percent higher mortality rate than the national average. During a double blind study, people over the age of 50 who were exposed to the insane babble of Barney, Tele-Tubbies, or Veggie Tales videos while babysitting their grandchildren were likely to commit suicide 200 times more often than those in the control group.

  Senior men over the age of 73 were found to have a higher incidence stroke or heart attack after watching "The Doodle Bops", presumably because the chick is kinda hot. One heart attack victim, Harold Niemeyer, was interviewed in a Miami- Dade I.C.U. after experiencing a myocardial infarction. He stated: “I would still like to tickle her ‘Ivory’s’ and not the ones on her keyboard dress, if you know what I mean.”  Mr. Niemeyer’s wife then reportedly pulled the plug on his respirator.


Other more extreme cases were found during the case studies. Three percent of all grandparents who were repeatedly subjected to Second Hand Singing, or “S.H.S.” from toddlers who continually and loudly sang songs The Barney Song, were actually found to die of massive brain trauma.
Even the musical numbers of seemingly innocuous Sesame Street characters such as Elmo and Cookie Monster were found to have correlation to nervous breakdowns with repeated exposures. Mayo Clinic Director of Geriatric Medicine, Dr. Schlomo Chen, weighed in with his latest findings; “The unfortunate truth of the matter is that many of these children’s songs have catchy tunes, and become self propagating ear worms that the victim continues to hear long after the children have turned off their videos or CD’s and have gone to sleep. In fact, hearing the “Elmo Song” one too many times was reportedly the reason that actor James Gandolfini perished while vacationing with his family in Italy, earlier this year.

As it turns out, “C” is not for cookie, it is for “crazy”.
 

Adult subjects over the age of 80 were found to have markedly lower susceptibility to S.H.S. Clinical researchers were initially bewildered by the drop in traumatic incidents, until it was discovered that post octogenarians either were completely deaf, or no longer were aware enough of their environment to give a damn.

Ya Don't Say!

I am rounding the corner into a new phase of middle aged fatherhood. One where both of my children are past being babies and are on their way to normal little children. It is a relief in one sense, as they are getting are articulate and able to express their needs and desires without crying and pointing. " I want some juice", or "Can I have an XBox?" Unfortunately, they are also able to express their feelings of outrage at having a older and therefore defective father. I get asked questions like: "Daddy, why are you fat?" or "My friend Tommy says his grandmother knew you in high school, Is that true?" and my favorite; "Daddy, when I grow up can I be better than you?"

One problem (and by extension, their problem) that I am experiencing  is selective and non selective hearing loss. The older I get the more I tune out. In my defense, there is a lot of noise to filter. Kids are always humming, screaming, or incessantly begging. The TV is always on. Washer and dryer always running. The wife constantly crying out to God to forgive for whatever she did so she can be set free from this hell.

I have developed a hearing filter that allows only certain kinds of sounds in. Calls to dinner. Items breaking or about to get broken get priority processing. inappropriate dialogue on broadcast media. Any of these will trigger a physical response which sets my body in motion to stop the potentially damaging behavior. Case in point, I was making breakfast this morning and heard something from PBS that triggered the filter. I leaped into action and changed the channel because the narrator said they were going to have a dinosaur *mating* game. My feeling is that if I cannot watch mating rituals on late night cable TV, then my kids cannot see it during the day. There were of course dueling squeals of displeasure, and my wife came to the rescue and switched it back, because they were only having a dinosaur NAMING game. My bad.

I may be at a bit of a disadvantage because our household is frequented by lots of non native English speaking peoples as well as those who do speak English as their first language, they just learned it in a different part of the world. I routinely have to mentally transliterate three year old,  British, Chinese, Indonesian, Vietnamese, and various Latin accents. I have gotten good at it and sometimes am called on to translate one accent to another for the benefit of our diverse gatherings.That being said, sometimes the filter does not work as well as it should, sort of like the word recognition program needs tweaking.  

Sometimes I can blame the misunderstandings on toddler speak, for example:
"He has a bag eye."                             (He is a bad guy.)
"Daddy, Cam eye have a gun?"           (Daddy, can I have some gum?)
"My wand duh no men."                      (I want some ramen.)

 Other times what I think I hear is plainly inexplicable:
"The green plate is alert."                    (We are going to be late to church!)
 "This puddle pizza wuzzle fit!"          (This puzzle piece does not fit.)

My hands down favorite however was:
"I sh** on France!"                              (I ripped my pants)

My wife says I need to have my hearing checked, but all I hear is; "Unique calves earring stacks." I think she wants me to get something from the dairy store, but I just do not know what.

Whatever Floats Your Boat.

Weather is a funny thing. We have been experiencing a drought, but that all came to an abrupt end last week. Rains came and made up for lost time. Now I am not saying we had a flood of biblical proportions, but being that it is Colorado, I am sure that someone loaded up their boat with two dime bags of every variety of marijuana known to man. The rising waters  got so bad that my wife mumbled that she would like to kill me in my sleep, hollow out my carcass for a boat, and call it Noah's Mark.

It was not long until the rumors of impending doom started circulating. I heard from an absolutely credible source, the internet, that our water supply was contaminated. I called the city government and they denied it, but suggested that if I was worried I could drink bottled water or boil the tap water before consuming it. Now, I am not normally paranoid, but I thought that it would not hurt to get a few bottles of water. I went to the store and found out there was a run on water. Sheeple and their panic. I laughed at them as I loaded up my van with 50 rolls of toilet paper and 200 bottles of water. I had to hide this from my wife because, well you know, she did not need an excuse to turn me into a canoe.

Soon we got word that our waste water treatment plant was submerged and we were stricken with a no flush order. This put us in a panic. No flushing, no washing dishes, no showers or doing laundry. What to do? First, I taught the boys to pee off the back porch. Did not take much coercing, the 2 year old thought this was the best thing since Disney themed diapers. Next I had to think about how to deal with the other biological waste issue. A neighbor mentioned that if kitty litter was good enough for cats, it was good enough for people. It sounded good so I tried it. It was not working at first. In the first place, the kitty boxes kept breaking under my weight, and secondly, the cat nearly scratched my back to pieces when I tried to use her box. Then reason prevailed and I came up with a plan. I constructed something that I called  "My totally bitchin, 2x4 - Home Depot bucket - kitty litter $h*tter"

Now that I had our immediate needs met, one of the oil companies decided to donate the use of porta- potties which they had set up around the neighborhood. Pretty soon it became evident that there was such a thing as "Flood Crisis Economics". Even in a podunk town like ours, you can see that there are the "Haves" and the "Have Nots". Soon the redneck elite had rented their own porta-potties. The local news highlighted some people who are actually embellishing theirs, cause nothing screams Martha Stewart Living, like an upholstered outhouse.


Before long, I had to go back to the store to get other supplies, and saw they were already out of water, but sure enough they had a stack of Charmin T.P. that reached the ceiling. I asked a manager why they were hawking toilet paper when they knew we could not flush. Her face turned the color of cat meat and I got out of her face.

Now, let it not be said that my Boy Scout survival training had been lost on me. I gathered a list of essential items to save my family. A boxed set of Breaking Bad DVD's, two cartons of smokes to use for currency when the money system failed, Kevlar body armor and a Mossberg 590 riot gun to fend off looters and zombies. Oh, and 4 cases of Twinkies, cause those darned things have a great shelf life.

We were adapting, my wife figured out a method of washing dishes in buckets and we started using disposable plates as much as possible. After a couple of days however we had a new problem. Maybe it was the fact that the sewers were backing up, maybe it was rotting debris in the flood plane, which by the way turned out to be about 300 yards from the house. In reality it was none of the above. We all just needed a shower. Our solution? Bathe in the kiddie pool. In retrospect, it may have been better if I had waited until dark because the neighbors were horrified at the sight of a fat yeti singing and soaping up on the back porch. (By the way, the neighbors are equally disturbed if you wait until dark, and stand naked in the back yard, shaving your head under a water hose in the middle of a lightning storm.)

Eventually the rain stopped and we had sunshine again. It was only then that we realized how bad it really was. We could not leave town, because all the roads were either closed or washed out completely. Here is a video just a few hundred yards from my house:
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10201117583674263&l=5938359666390599106

 Despite all that has happened, our family is actually quite fortunate, as we are blessed to have people reaching out to us. We have had several families invite us over to shower, wash clothes and have a meal. We are very grateful, because at best we are inconvenienced. Many others are homeless. within 1 mile of us, over 200 homes are being condemned due to contamination or outright destruction.