Sunday Coffee 1

Early Sunday morning at Starbucks.  They’ve changed the décor.  It’s not very friendly to those of us who like to hang out and read or write.  Power outlets at a premium and the seats are damned uncomfortable.

An elderly Asian woman is rummaging through the trash outside.

Sitting at the newly installed communal table.  Not that I want to be communal, it’s just near one of the few outlets.

The local group of regulars is sharing the table with me.  Blue collars, bikers and retirees.  I don’t know them, they don’t know me but I can’t help but to hear their conversation.  It isn’t very communal.  Guy in the camo bandana disparaging Filipinos and the other agrees; those people.  The women who staff the place are Filipino.  These guys are always “friendly” towards them.  Watch your backs ladies.  My wife is Filipina and the temptation is to call them on it.  What’s in it for me?  Will I open closed minds?

Twenty first century racists in the San Francisco Bay Area.  They have to talk sotto voce, in hushed tones.  You mean you’re not proud of your beliefs?

Woman ties her dog to a table outside and settles inside to read.  Would you tie up your best friend?

Two of the old boys here are finding work hard to come by.  Maybe if you were a little more charitable to those different from you, God would smile on you.

People in their Sunday best; coming from or going to church.  Is God smiling on them?

The Asian guy at the table is capping on Mexicans.  I wonder if he knows  his buddies cap on Asians.

The smokers are banished to the cold (yes cold) outdoors.  They’re not even welcome at the outdoor tables anymore but they smoke there in defiance of the signs.  Starbucks doesn’t enforce it.  Bad for business.  Money talks.

A man brings roses to the woman who’s been sitting near the window.  She cries, he turns to leave. She talks and he turns again to sit.  He talks, she cries.

A woman walks in wearing a Brandon Crawford, Giants jersey.  He’s a rookie batting around .200 and he has a jersey already?

The woman who was crying leaves with her flowers and the man.  Good.  They’re all smiles and so it looks like all’s well.

The old boys have drifted from the communal table.

A Hispanic couple sits nearby.  Speaking Spanish.  Good thing the old boys are gone.  They’d have something to say.

They’re heating up one of those breakfast sandwiches.  I love the smell of bacon in the morning.  Actually I love the smell of bacon in the afternoon and evening.

A man sitting at the table formerly occupied by the couple with the flowers.  A woman walks in, he gets up and they shake hands.  “Hi. Nice to meet you.”  Online dating?  He pulls out a stack of papers.  Just business.

               

Sunday morning at Starbucks.  It’s 10 AM and the crowd is sparse and it’s quiet as a library in here.  Not a good sign for the remodel.

The American People

It seems that every time I turn on the news lately I hear a sound bite of some politician invoking “the American people.”  Usually they’re discussing the ongoing budget and debt ceiling mess.

From President Obama, “The American people may have voted for divided government, but they did not vote for a dysfunctional government.”

Republican John Boehner said, "The American people don't want higher taxes".

From Michelle Bachmann, “I want to state unequivocally for the world, as well as for the markets, as well as for the American people: I have no doubt that we will not lose the full faith and credit of the United States.”

I have to disagree with President Obama.  The American people most certainly voted for dysfunctional government.  When they cast their ballots for men and women so thoroughly steeped in ideology, be it left or right, that they wouldn’t budge one small fraction of an inch, they voted for dysfunction.  I’m an American person and of late when I’ve voted it’s been with a resigned sigh, realizing that it would result in one more term of bickering, name calling and ideological posturing.  And amidst all of the grandstanding the least of the concerns is for the oft mentioned, “American people.”

And Mister Boehner, I’m willing to pay higher taxes.  If we want services we’re going to have to pay for them.  We’ve reached the point at which we’re closing courthouses indicating to me that we had better start coming up with more coin of the realm.

Michelle Bachmann raised the bar dramatically by speaking for everyone; no really, everyone, as in the whole world.

Republican Senator Mike Lee of Utah said, “I wouldn't call any plan 'bizarro' that 75 percent of the American people support. That's how Americans feel about the need for a balanced budget amendment.”  The senator was probably referring to a CNN poll citing 74 percent of Americans favoring a BBA.  Another poll, the Sachs/Mason Dixon, came up with 64 percent favoring a BBA.  Well, fair enough, if I were the senator speaking for “the American people” I’d cite the poll that best supports my position.

I doubt that Senator Lee would cite a Washington Post/ABC poll taken in April that found 72 percent of “the American people” would support taxing the rich to help balance the budget.  Understand though that now I’m speaking for Senator Lee but that’s a damn site less ambitious than the senator speaking for “the American people.”  A scant six weeks later a Gallup Poll found that only 47 percent of “the American people” favored taxing the rich to redistribute wealth.  I guess that just goes to show what a fickle, waffling lot are “the American people.”

Pollsters advertise their surveys as a reading of the pulse of “the American people.”  A diagnosis might find that “the American people” have an irregular heartbeat.  And just who are “the American people” that are being polled?  Whoever they are it isn’t very damn many that’s for certain.  The CNN poll surveyed 1009 “American people,” the Mason Dixon 625 “American people”, the Washington Post 1001 “American people” and Gallup 1077 “American people.”  The surveyors go to great pains to explain the methodology which is essentially random phone dialing.  They also cite their margins of error.  The Mason Dixon folks put their margin of error at 4 percent while the CNN poll a few weeks later cited a 3 percent margin of error.  All of this makes the 10 percent swing between the two polls very puzzling unless you figure that in six weeks “the American people” just got more pissed off.

I guess it’s assumed that the random dialer contacts a broad spectrum of the country but someday I would like to see a survey in which the random dialer goes out of whack and “randomly” dials 1000 people in, oh,  Berkeley, California.  That would put a whole new spin on who “the American people” are; “New poll shows that 95 percent of “the American people” regularly smoke pot.”  But there I go, speaking for “the American people” of Berkeley, who some other “American people” don’t consider real “American people.”  Does that sound confusing?

A quick look at one of those internet quote pages turns up all kinds of quotes on “the American people.”  Most of the good ones speak about “the American people” and not for them.

For instance, Will Rogers said, “For the American people are a very generous people and will forgive almost any weakness, with the possible exception of stupidity”

Gore Vidal offered a rather cynical view when he said, “Half of the American people have never read a newspaper. Half never voted for President. One hopes it is the same half.”

But I think one of my favorites comes from a former U.S. President who said, “I think the American people—I hope the American–I don't think, let me—I hope the American people trust me.”

In the Summer Of:

My seventh year:  I lived in the suburbs of San Mateo.  It was a white, middle class neighborhood.  There were literally no Asian, African-American or Hispanic families in or near our neighborhood.

My fifty seventh year:  My family lives in the suburban town of Hercules.  Our neighbors on each side are African-American.  The neighbors across the street are Filipino and Chinese.  A Hispanic family lives just down the street. 

 My seventh year:  The top three television shows were Wagon Train, Bonanza and Gunsmoke; all westerns.  One reality show, of sorts, was in the top ten; Candid Camera.  There were three major networks; ABC, NBC and CBS.  Although cable was making inroads, most homes still relied on rabbit ears and rooftop antennas for reception.

America's Favorite 1961

My fifty seventh year:  There are four major networks; ABC, NBC, CBS and Fox.  There are multitudes of cable channels.  Many homes have their own satellite dishes.  It’s hard to fathom the most popular TV shows since there are so many different categories but from what I could gather, the 3 most popular shows this past week were, America’s Got Talent, Big Brother and The Bachelorette.  Keep your Bachelorette and her Big Brother and just give me Bonanza, Wagon Train and Gunsmoke please.

 My seventh year:  The president was a former Junior Senator from Massachusetts.  His campaign relied heavily on the relatively new medium, television, helping him win the election.  He was the first Catholic President.  His Vice-President was a Senior United States Senator from Texas.

My fifty seventh year:  The president is a former Junior Senator from Illinois.  His campaign relied heavily on internet technology, helping him win the election.  He is the first African-American President.  His Vice-President was a Senior United States Senator from Delaware. 

 My seventh year:   I was on break between second and third grades.  My days were mostly taken up with play.  My friends and I played army pretending to fight against Japanese and Germans.  We were the sons and daughters of men and women who went to war against Germany and Japan and the memories and stories of that war were still fresh. 

My fifty seventh year:  The games we played in my seventh year are not at all politically correct today.

My seventh year:  There were a total of 18 teams between the National and American Leagues and no divisional play.  Two All Star Games were played that year.  An upper deck seat at Yankee Stadium cost $3.25.

My fifty seventh year:  There are 30 major league teams between two leagues and six divisions.  There are two layers of divisional play before the World Series and there is one All-Star Game played.  An upper deck seat at Yankee Stadium costs 30 dollars.  And let’s not even talk about the cost of a dog and a beer.

My seventh year:  The world record in the mile was held by Australian Herb Elliot, at 3:54.5 and was set in 1958.  The world record in the marathon was held by Ethiopian Abebe Bikila, at 2:15:16.2 in the 1960 Rome Olympics.

My fifty seventh year:  The current world record in the mile is held by Hicham El Guerrouj of Morocco at 3:43.13 and was set in July 1999.   The current world record in the marathon is held by Ethiopian Haile Gebrselassie at 2:04:26 and was set in 2007.

My seventh year:  Our nation was dipping its national toe into the swamp of a Southeast Asian country that hardly anybody had ever heard of.  The war had something of an initial public backing but after a few years the nation grew weary and the conflict would become a national controversy.

My fifty seventh year:  Our nation is trying to emerge from a conflict in Afghanistan that had initial public backing.  Ten years later the nation has grown weary and the war is becoming a national controversy.

My seventh year:  A fully loaded Corvette Convertible retailed for about 7000 dollars.  A gallon of gas cost 27 cents.

Would you spend $7000 for this?

My fifty seventh year:  A 1961 Corvette Convertible featured on the internet is being offered for 77,500 dollars.  As I look out the window of Starbucks at the local station I see premium gas at 3.95 a gallon.

Maynard G. Krebbs Beatnik

My seventh year:  A coffee house was considered a meeting place for Beatniks reciting politically charged or off color poetry.  They weren’t considered a fit family environment.  You drank coffee or espresso.  A cup of coffee cost about 10 cents.

My fifty seventh year:  A coffee house is a place where people of all stripes congregate to discuss all kinds of topics.  Families are welcome.  The smallest cup of coffee at the Starbucks I’m sitting at now is 1.50.  You can get coffee, espresso and a whole variety of other nonsense on the menu board.  I’ll have a cup of mud please, black.

My seventh year:  My mother used to admonish me that one day I would have kids of my own that I would worry about and fret over.
My fifty seventh year:  I watch my son and daughter and their spouses worry about and fret over their children.  And I still worry and fret over that whole crew now and then.

My seventh year:  My mom was a working mom and my grandmother from Italy was helping to raise me.  I had an aunt in Italy named Luciana.

My fifty seventh year:  I have three grandchildren, one is half Filipino.  One of my granddaughters is named Luciana. 

My seventh year:  The price of a 30 foot by 15 foot in ground pool was 2695 dollars.

My fifty seventh year:  In Chicago the minimum base price of an in ground pool is 20,000 dollars.

Yuri's 108 min. flight shocked the world

My seventh year:  Yuri Gagarin was the first man in space shocking the US and prompting one congressman to suggest that the country be put on a war footing.  It could be said that Gagarin's flight kick started America's lunar program (actually the flight was not in summer it was in April).

My fifty seventh year: The Space Shuttle took its last flight and now we will be hitching rides with the folks who first launched Yuri.

My seventh year:  A first class postage stamp cost .04.

My fifty seventh year:  What in the hell do you need a stamp for?

Justice Served -- Late or Not At All

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State ~ From The Sixth Amendment of The United States Constitution

So it’s come to this.  California is closing the courthouse doors.  The recently enacted state budget is slashing 350 million dollars from the California Judicial System.  Over the last three years the court budget has been reduced by more than 30 percent.  And of course, he remarked dryly, the criminal element has chosen to reduce its activity by 30 percent so as not to further burden the groaning justice system.  This is just another casualty of the scorched earth, revenue free budget passed by that pompous Sacramento crowd. 

Let’s take a moment to delve into some of the details of what the budgetary meat axe wrought.

                You’d best get used to that albatross you once called your loved one because a divorce is now going to take 18 months.  That’s going to take a toll on the kitchen crockery.

                Lawsuits are now going to take five years to get to trial.  On the plus side I guess this gives the frivolous a few moments of pause but a truly egregious offense will fester. 

                Child custody cases which used to take four weeks will now wait for up to four months and there really isn’t anything humorous or cute I can say to that.

                In San Joaquin County the small claims court is closed.  Yes, I said closed, as in out of business.  So you’re a landlord whose property got trashed or a tenant whose landlord unfairly kept a deposit?  You’re just going to have to suck up that loss. 

                According to an article in The L.A. Times, the cuts may require changes in the law allowing for shorter trials or trials without juries.

                And you know that right to a speedy trial that The United States Constitution guarantees.  Well you can look for that guarantee to expire soon.  Closed courthouses, staff cuts and shorter hours will guarantee nothing but a pushed out trial date.

                But here is my favorite of all from The Times article, “State lawmakers raided Judiciary Branch funds for courthouse construction to balance this year's budget. The funds, built up through legal fees and fines, were supposed to be used to replace decrepit courthouses riddled with health and safety problems. State legislators said the funds would be repaid in more solvent times.”  That’s absolutely hilarious.  They’re going to pay it back.  That money is as gone as the 500 dollars you loaned to your 20 something year old child who says he swears he'll pay it back once he's back on his feet.  The difference of course is you love your child and you'll simply write it off.  Nobody loves the legislators, I dare say not even their parents.  I wouldn’t loan a thin dime to any of those brigands.  And if they don’t pay it back I suppose the courts can sue the state; that is if they have time to wait for it to go to trial.

Look, this is nothing short of travesty.  In a previous post, I commented on The State Legislature abdicating its responsibility and here is yet another instance.  It is a case of the budgetary knife cutting not just to the bone but into the bone so that the marrow is oozing out.  And we have a Republican wing of the legislature to thank for this.  A contingent that has made a no taxation vow come hell, high water or the rending of The Constitution.  Republican bashing you say?  Sure, but if it were on the Democratic foot I would be bashing them and frankly I’m a little tired of the continual caving on the part of the Democrats.

I’m also getting a little tired of the shop worn “tax and spend” cliche and the overworked analogy of “Well when you max out your credit at home you stop spending."  Personally I recall a time when my expenditures were exceeding my income.  Yes I did cut where I could but I also decided that I needed to raise more revenue and that’s just what I did.  I took a second job.  It wasn’t fun and it put a crimp on my lifestyle but I needed more revenue.  Well, California needs more revenue and while that might not be fun either we’re well beyond the point of biting that bullet.

Many of the cuts could have been avoided simply by renewing a quarter-percentage point increase in personal income tax and a one percent increase in sales tax.  These aren’t exactly usury taxes that require pulling the musket down off the wall and marching on Sacramento but a minority of legislators dug in their ideological heels.  The result is that in The State of California you’ll have your justice served; it will just be served late and cold.

Scapegoating a Clown

“RESPONSIBILITY, n.

A detachable burden easily shifted to the shoulders of God, Fate, Fortune, Luck or one's neighbor. In the days of astrology it was customary to unload it upon a star.”  ~ Ambrose Bierce

A notorious criminal lost a court appeal this week.  U.S. District Judge Maxine Chesney turned down this unrepentant malefactor’s bid to have his case heard in Federal Court, ruling that the desperado would have to be tried in State Court.  The felon is none other than Ronald McDonald.  It seems that there is a proposed class action lawsuit against this clown for using toys to lure children into his restaurants in order to make them fat.  Sound all very lurid doesn’t it?  Sounds all very ridiculous too.

The suit was brought by Monet Parham and its aim is to force McDonald’s to stop using toys as a marketing tool.  Parham complains that her daughter asks to go to McDonald’s to get toys that are in the Happy Meals.  She goes on to say that the toy monopolizes the attention of the daughter and the food almost seems beside the point.  Huh?  So what’s the problem?  When the kid says, “I want to go to McDonalds,” just make a turkey sandwich, grab some carrot sticks go get the Happy Meal and when she starts playing with the toy and ignoring the food, swap out the burger and fries for the sandwich and carrots.  Problem solved.  Yeah I understand it isn't that simple since the child is already smart enough to work mom.

“I am concerned about the health of my children and feel that McDonald’s should be a very limited part of their diet and their childhood experience,” Parham said. “But as other busy, working moms and dads know, we have to say ‘no’ to our young children so many times, and McDonald’s makes that so much harder to do. I object to the fact that McDonald’s is getting into my kids’ heads without my permission and actually changing what my kids want to eat.”  Oh I get it now. You can’t say no to your kids so you need the government do it for you.  Simple.

I have an idea for Ms. Parham.  Maybe she should move to San Francisco.  In San Francisco you can get a ***** Meal.  It used to be a Happy Meal but that was before Supervisor Eric Mar went into action and sponsored an ordinance that requires any kid’s meal which offers a toy must not contain more than 600 calories (food and drink combined).  The ordinance also requires the restaurant to provide fruits and vegetables with any meal offering a toy. This must make the restaurant owners long for the days when another Ronald, Reagan, in a clownish move of his own deemed ketchup to be a vegetable.  The reasoning behind the ordinance is of course the epidemic of obesity among our nation’s youth; fat kids who in most cases grow up to be fat adults with all of the health and cost baggage that obesity carries.  At least that’s what Eric Mar would have us believe.  It turns out that Mr. Mar has the same problem that Ms. Parham has, in that he can’t say the “N” word….No!  In an interview on a local talk show Supervisor Mar complained that he had trouble saying no to his kids when they wanted a Happy Meal.  And so he did what anyone else would do in his position of power; he got a law passed so even those responsible parents who control the domestic circle and can say no most of the time, but say yes on occasion have to leave town to do so.  I'm curious what these parents are going to say if the little nipper wants to have a pull from that bottle of Stolichnaya in the liquor cabinet.

To further add to Ronald McDonald’s woes, earlier this year a group called Corporate Accountability International called for McDonalds to retire him.  Like Parham and Mar the group claims that Ronald is enticing children to eat junk food and promoting childhood obesity.  It’s not been a good year if you’re a spokesclown.

Mar got his ordinance passed and Parham might win her lawsuit and all it will amount to is those folks being able to sleep better at night thinking that they’re winning the obesity war.  The problem is Mar’s ordinance is just firing blanks and as for Ronald retiring, the clown could get hit by a train and it won’t curb childhood obesity one whit.

Let me clarify a few things here. First of all I’m not here to defend McDonalds. I don’t like McDonalds or most other fast food restaurants, and not for any other reason than they serve bad food; food as plastic as the toys that come in the kid’s meals (unless you live in SF).  I do like a good greasy burger and an unhealthy helping of onion rings now and then but I usually get my gut bombs at the local independent burger joint (tastes better and I can usually get a real malt to go with it).  I’ve also been a runner and cyclist for a good many of my 57 years and am in excellent shape.  Finally, while I don’t deny that there is indeed a crisis when it comes to generations of obese children I don’t agree that legislating menus and firing mascots makes a difference.

So if we don’t take the toys from Happy Meals and we don’t have Ronald committed to the old clowns home then what can be done?  The collective we can do nothing.  This is largely a personal matter that demands better parenting.

I’m wondering if the McDonald’s bashers are walking around with the notion in their minds that children eating junky food is some new phenomenon; as if kids in the ante-obese years never gorged on Halloween candy, never fed off the ice cream truck and never inhaled the contents of the Christmas stocking.  Are they suggesting that the family diet was healthier in generations past?

When I was growing up, candy, ice cream, donuts and a variety of other crap were the childhood staples.  When it came to the dinner table, it usually groaned under the weight of a meat and potatoes diet, loaded with fat, butter, whole milk and saturated fats.  There was nowhere near the dietary awareness that we have today, mom didn’t know about the food pyramid, calories weren’t counted, there were no food exchanges, and there was no Center for Science in the Public Interest or any other culinary cops that I know of. 

And so while a fat laden, sugar coated diet isn’t a new innovation something has changed since my childhood; activity.  Physical activity is becoming extinct.  When parents aren’t allowing their children to grow roots into the couch playing video games they’re treating them like porcelain dolls, yelling at them not to run because the little darlings might fall and get a boo-boo.  The parents of my childhood banned couchpotatoism.  We got an hour or so of afternoon lounging before an angry, “Turn off that damn TV and go play,” came shrieking from the kitchen.  And play we did. We played sports, tag, hide and seek, army (yeah I know, not PC), cowboys and Indians (not PC either), climbed trees and explored the fields behind the neighborhoods and we did so for hours on end.  Our society has pulled the budget plug on physical activity.  We’ve decided that we can no longer afford to fund PE in school.  Local park and recreation departments haven’t the money to maintain playgrounds, sports fields and activity programs. 

It’s something of a national pastime in this country to shift responsibility to someone or something else.  That’s why our court system is jammed with lawsuits like Monet Parham’s.  That’s why Eric Mar wrote an ordinance when he lacked the testicular fortitude to say no to his little angels.  Mar and Parham had better learn to make NO a part of the lexicons before the cherubs become defiant teens, or the inmates will be running their asylums.  But isn't that happening already?

There is a generational disconnect that is taking place if it hasn’t already. My generation recalls physical education programs, sports, hours of childhood play and parents who knew how to say no.  All of that has become anecdotal as physical education has gone the way of the rotary telephone, hours of video gaming are becoming accepted behavior and worst of all parental spines have become so much jelly.  It’s time to accept personal responsibility and stop feeling comfy and self-righteous for roughing up a clown.

Finally, it would be nice if legislators would park their issues at the workplace door.  We don't need the teetotaler assemblyman sponsoring dry laws, vegan senators legislating against pork (the eating kind) and congressmen trying to regulate the Bowl Championship Series when their favorite team doesn't get into the National Championship Game.  And we don't need a supervisor outlawing a rubber super hero out of a kid's meal because he can't control his children. 

Buying Leadership

Example is not the main thing in influencing others.  It is the only thing.  ~Albert Schweitzer

My last post discussed the recent University of California tuition increases passed by the UC Board of Regents.  Not to be outdone the California State University (CSU) Board of Trustees, in a twisted version of “keeping up with the Joneses,” passed some increases of its own.  According to their website, the CSU system is the largest university system in the nation, with 23 campuses and an enrollment of nearly 412,000 students.

Like UC, the CSU has passed a series of increases in less than a year’s time.  In November of 2010, the trustees did a financial two step and passed a 5 percent mid-year increase that went into effect in January of this year and a second increase of 10 percent beginning in fall 2011.  Last week CSU tuition was increased again by another 12 percent for a total increase of 27 percent.  The increases are due to the miserly budget recently passed by the California State Legislature which slashed 650 million dollars of state funding to the CSU system.  Along with the fee increases, CSU is expected to cut faculty and staff and to reduce enrollment by 2.4 percent.  That’s about 10,000 students that will be making other plans this coming fall.

But in nearly the same breath, the Board of Trustees did what could only be described as breathtaking.  Right after announcing the tuition hikes, the board announced that the incoming President of San Diego State, Elliot Hirshman would be getting a raise of 100,000 dollars over his predecessor and making a comfortable 400,000 dollars.  Needless to say folks all over the state from students to parents to legislators to the governor himself came off the wall. 

Members of the board defended the pay hike citing that high salaries are necessary in order to attract top talent.  The Governor, in a dry rebuttal, said, “The assumption is that you cannot find a qualified man or woman to lead the university unless paid twice that of the chief justice of the United States.  I reject this notion.”

Frankly I’m tired of hearing that stock excuse that you have to waive the combination to the bank vault in the air in order to find a qualified leader.  Hirshman’s case is particularly odious when you consider that a professor’s salary was sacrificed so that the top bureaucrat wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of earning a paltry 300,000 dollars.  How many scholarships would 100,000 dollars have bought?

I imagine that it’s rather quaint and naïve of me to think that it would have been nice to see Hirshman recognize the crisis, turn down the raise, accept the job and tough it out on 300K.  He certainly would be able to walk through campus and command respect rather than the resentment that will surely follow in his rich wake.  My kind of leader is an individual who will recognize a problem and lead by example.  Hirshman is doing neither.  In accepting his raise Hirshman is turning up his nose at the budget problem and setting the example that he is exempt from the sacrifices that faculty, staff, students and parents are forced to make.  My question to Dr. Hirshman would be, how in good conscience can you accept that raise?  I suppose that in the cold world of business, outrageous and inappropriate salaries are the expected norm.  But to me, and here I go with my innocent way of thinking, in the world of academia there is an expectation of a nobler ideal. 

Less is More

In the year 1960 I was growing up in San Mateo, California; the Promised Land.  Everyone was migrating to California.  We were the Golden State with the California sunshine, never a rainy day and we were setting all of the standards for our nation.  The jobs were all moving here; in California, like nowhere else the car was king and our educational system was the envy of the world.

My granddaughter will soon be starting school here in the San Francisco Bay Area, in a system that seems to be working diligently to set the standard for everything that can go wrong with an education system.  This past week we plunged further to the depths as both of the California State University systems once again hiked tuitions.  This in addition to cuts in classes, enrollment, staff and services.  What a deal we have for you; we want you to pay more and get less.

In the year 1960 a resident student wishing to go to The University of California did not have to pay tuition.  Yes, you read that right but just in case that didn’t sink in, let me repeat; in 1960 a resident student DID NOT have to pay tuition to go to The University of California.  The university charged a registration fee of 120 dollars and a miscellaneous campus fee of 27 dollars for the grand total of 147 dollars.  Today that might cover a Chem. textbook and a highlighter.  In 1972, when I graduated from high school an actual tuition had been put in place, insisted upon by then Governor Ronald Reagan (here is where I bite my tongue and keep my comments to myself).  In that year tuition and fees amounted to 640 dollars.  That was a pretty decent deal when compared with the thousands my parents were preparing to shell out for my Santa Clara University education. 

In 1993 about the year today’s incoming freshmen were born, UC tuition and fees totaled 3727 dollars.  When those same children were entering high school the total damage was 6852 dollars.  About this time, parents who were diligently trying to save money for their child’s college education were probably finding the ever increasing gradient to be daunting.  This fall, UC tuition plus something called a mandatory campus fee will total 13,218 dollars.  The increase that was approved last week represents a 9.6 percent increase.  This is on top of an 8 percent increase that was enacted in November 2010, for the 2011 fall semester.  Since 1960 tuition has increased over 9500 percent.  Middle class parents have seen the college bill double in the four years since their children started high school.  The price increase of college has been in overdrive while the middle class wage has been stuck in neutral for a lot longer than four years.  The added financial kick in the groin to these middle class families is that they make too much money to qualify for financial aid.  

The cause for this spike is of course the state budget crisis which has not only necessitated the fee hikes but has also forced a number of service cuts.  To close the financial gaps, UC has been forced to lay off faculty and staff and to cut back on classes.   So to add a monetary upper cut to that groin shot, the cuts in class offerings has created a situation in which the student is forced to stay in school longer.  We all know the old jokes about kids who become “professional students” because they either waffle on declaring a major or keep changing in mid-stream.  The system, with all of its cuts is now busy creating “professional students” all by itself because it can’t offer enough classes to allow students to graduate in four years. 

I discussed this with my daughter in law who just last year received her nursing degree.  She told me of fellow students trying to get into the impacted nursing program and having to stay in school longer because required classes were closed.  Other students give up on their dreams and change majors and yet others simply leave school.  Ever wonder why, when you go to the hospital you find that the nurse who is caring for you graduated from a school in another country?  During a recent, short hospital stay I was under the care of three Filipina nurses and one who hailed from China (For the record, I had no issue with the care that I received.).  We can’t fill nursing spots with home grown nurses because we have decided not to educate them.  What the hell, we import everything else from Asia, why not nurses. 

In the wake of the tuition hikes former Assemblyman and UC Regent Bill Bagley called this just what it is; a parent tax.  He also rightfully accused the State Legislature of abdicating its responsibility.  The Republican wing of the State Legislature has consistently blocked efforts to raise taxes in order to balance the budget.  In a disingenuous statement Republican leader Connie Conway said, "Republicans listened to the voters and stayed true to the only special interest we represent - California's taxpayers.”  In fact Republicans in The California Legislature not only did not listen to voters, they took the very ballot out of the hands of the electorate.  When Governor Jerry Brown proposed putting a measure on the ballot to allow voters to approve or deny the extension of some expiring taxes, the Republicans in the Legislature defeated the proposal.  The GOP has been consistently thumping its collective chest for blocking taxes and forcing an austerity budget.  The truth of the matter is they’ve simply handed the problem off to others.  To Bagley’s point, with a decline in state funds, agencies and local governments are now forced to increase fees which simply amount to de facto taxation.  But allow me to offer a descriptive, if not disgusting analogy.  Let’s suppose that I go about thumping my chest over how clean I keep my backyard.  Let’s further suppose that I have a big dog who deposits big steamers in that backyard and I handle that problem by taking a shovel and tossing them over the fence into the neighbor’s yard.  Behold!  I have a clean yard and my neighbor got a crappy deal.  Kind of like how the legislature abdicated; and students and their families got dumped on….To be continued.

Would You Like Some Just Desserts With Your Coffee?

I was sitting in Starbucks this morning, working diligently on this brilliant rag that you're reading when I witnessed justice being served.  Looking up from my work I saw one of Hercules’ finest writing out a ticket for a truck parked in one of the two handicapped spots in front of the shop.  There was no placard and the truck did not have a disabled plate.  The truck’s owner was in line waiting to be served and went outside to confront the situation.  As it turned out there was no confrontation, only a short discussion in which the driver apparently had to give in to the inevitable (at least for the time being pending a dispute), at which point she returned to the coffee queue.  Now on a Saturday morning Starbucks can generate a lot of traffic in this little strip mall, but barring some sort of special event the parking lot is never full.  Sometimes you might have to walk 50 yards to get your coffee.

Lately I’ve taken a new found interest in cars parked in those blue zones, taking note as to whether the car is there legally or not.  The reason behind my interest is that, having broken my ankle two months ago I’ve gained some appreciation of their value to those who really need them.  I would have qualified for a temporary placard but I decided against that figuring I might be dancing with the stars before the DMV would get around to processing my application and secondly being in pretty good shape I can clop, clop on crutches a few extra feet and save the spot for someone who needs it more than I do.  Having said that, take it from me, hobbling across the lot or a mere ten yards is not a real easy thing to, particularly if I’m carrying something.  Just getting out of the car and gathering my things have become cumbersome chores that take more time and effort than I'm used to.  Beyond that what I’ve also learned is a sense of vulnerability that goes with limited movement.  When I’m moving clumsily through a parking lot while motorists distractedly look for a spot, driving like it’s a Grand Prix circuit, I’m given one hell of a dose of pause.  And for the first time in my life, and call me paranoid, I’ve wondered if maybe I present an opportunity for some criminal entrepreneur.  How much worse for someone with a real disability?

I’ve heard the excuse, “Oh I’m only going to be here for a minute.”  Well the woman in question this morning was there for many minutes because the Starbucks line was nearly to the door.  And that minute might just happen to be the one when someone who legitimately needs that spot cruises by to see his rightful spot taken by someone who is both lazy and inconsiderate.

I suppose that this is just another symptom of sedentary, can’t haul my lazy self across the lot, America.  Or maybe it’s our rush, rush, I’m running late, don’t have time, society.  Or could it be just more evidence that we have a growing me, me, me, oh my God it’s all about me culture, like one of my wife’s former co-workers.  This was a perfectly healthy, fit young woman in her twenties who learned that if she took the placard from her grandmother’s car she could park in the blue zone and not be inconvenienced.  Is there anyone out there who can explain to me the rationalization of that behavior?

Back in My Day: Office Edition

It must be some law of nature that once we start approaching sixty we start using the phrase “Back in my day we…..”  Usually spoken in a curmudgeonly, condescending manner it’s an introduction to a treatise about how things were done, undoubtedly better, back in the “olden days.”  As my dad got older he said it and these days, as I enter the glide path to 60, I find myself saying it with an increasing and disturbing regularity to my own grown children.  As the words form I’m thinking, “Geeze, it’s come to this, I’m crossing over into geezerdom.”

And so in honor of this rite of passage we’ll take an occasional visit back to “my day” and compare it to our present day.  These will be irregular posts because as I’m constantly reminded by television ads, folks my age are, well, losing their regularity.  And so for your reading enjoyment I present, Back in My Day; Office Edition.  (Those who don’t enjoy it can of course jump off of this ride at the nearest period).

Back in my day:  We didn’t have computers.

Today:  Most modern offices have computers, which of course leads us to all of the other comparisons that are linked to the computer.

Back in my day:  We generated hand written documents.  They were often multi-part, separated by carbon paper between each sheet that left your hands with black smudges.

Today:  The computer generates as many neat clean copies of a document that you need.

Back in my day:  We put a document in the snail mail.  Depending on the circumstance this could create a week long lag in business.

Today:  Documents are emailed and the business lag is reduced to seconds.

Back in my day:  Snail mail was replaced by the fax. Now purchase orders and other documents could be faxed and received at the destination the same day. It was printed on rolls of slick thermal paper.

Today:  See email above.

Back in my day:  Overseas communication was done by Telex which was generated by a large cumbersome teleprinter.

Today:  See email above.

Back in my day:  If you were on the road, you had to find a payphone to touch base with the office or a client and you were very often incognito.

Today:  Cell phones and smart phones let you communicate with anyone from anywhere; even a quiet restaurant (see inappropriate below).  

Back in my day:  The guys always went into the warehouse on the first of the month to see the new picture on the pinup calendar posted above the shipping and receiving desk.

Today:  Put one of those up and you get to have a meeting with the HR manager.

Back in my day:  The men in the office often referred to some of the women as “sweetie”, “honey”, or some other term of, uh, endearment.

Today:  See pinup calendars above.

Back in my day:  It was called vacation and sick time.  You accrued your vacation time and you were allowed a given number of sick days in a year and each resided on a separate ledger.  So even if you weren’t sick you could take some unused sick days for “mental health” that didn’t come off your vacation time.  “Yeah, uhh, I’m not feeling well, my, ahh, malaria is acting up.  I *cough* probably should stay home.  I should *cough* be in tomorrow *weeze*.” Click.  “Yes!  Now back to bed.”

Today:  It’s all PTO (Paid Time Off) and if you need mental health it shaves days off of that trip to Disneyland.

Back in my day:  There were three martini lunches and we would walk to John’s Grill in San Francisco for a steak sandwich and three martinis, served up and very dry please.  Then we would stagger back to work and try to function.

Today:  Yeah, not such a great idea even with mints and Peppermint Schnapps (Does that really do anything except get you more drunk?).  In the event you can stay under the office radar there is still the unforgiving nature of an inappropriate email being launched whilst wasted.

Back in my day:  Nobody used the work inappropriate.

Today:  “Inappropriate” is a buzz word, a warning, and the most commonly used word in the employee handbook.

Back in my day:  You could date someone in the office.  Hey, that’s how I met my wife and 30 years later we’re still going strong.

Today:  Inappropriate.

Back in my day:  You had betting in the office.

Today:  Inappropriate.

Back in my day:  You brought those boxes of chocolate bars or raffle tickets that your kids (read: you) had to sell for the school/church/athletic team/band, etc, fund raiser.

Today:  Inappropriate.

Today, as I email a purchase order I think back to the days of taking a hand written PO and putting it an outgoing mail tray to be sent and possibly not acknowledged for two weeks.  I wonder how I managed to get through an afternoon after a medium rare steak, a baked potato and three Beefeater martinis.  I still can’t get used to calling vacation, PTO.  In fact I don’t think I knew what PTO even was a couple of years ago.  I am getting a little tired of hearing the word inappropriate.  And I do wonder how people meet other people these days.  My relationships were most often made through work, including my most lasting one.