No, I'm not rude - you are......

...a respectful response to John Skylar's article:

 (http://www.johnskylar.com/post/59499652245/new-yorkers-arent-rude-you-are)

I read this article yesterday, and was initially taken aback by what I perceived as its smug arrogance. Then I though I'd put it aside for a little while, in case I was jumping to an incorrect conclusion.

But you know what?  Its tone smacks of the arrogance that those of us living in less massive cities (where apparently our time is somehow less precious than that of those who live in New York) often associate with New Yorkers - particularly Manhattanites. As if, by dint of living there, New Yorkers achieve some sort of superior status over those of us who choose not to.

[Now, I know several people who live in New York, and this is not aimed at any one person, but is rather a perception that New York has given the rest of the Country - at least to those of us who live out here in District 13]

Don't misunderstand me, I believe that New York is an amazing city, with every "thing" imaginable there.  This why tourists want to come to New York (at least to the Times Square area!).  To see the stuff, and to do the things. Many of us hayseeds do look up at the tall buildings, and maybe stop inappropriately in the middle of the street while you are scurrying to your oh so important work-sites.

Would you rather we not come to your city? Sorry, we're coming whether you like it or not - and you know what?  There are a lot of us who do what we can to not get in your way.  At the same time, I have no problem bringing my hard earned (yet slightly less cosmopolitan) dollars and inserting them into your economy. I would think that you might enjoy those dollars being there.  We certainly appreciate it when you visit us and spend your money on our second rate offerings - we accept them a lot more politely as well.

This isn't a case of  "tourists and social malefactors stopping in the middle of sidewalks", as you so kindly put it.  This is your Important City. Build an infrastructure that can handle your citizens as well as the bumpkins that visit. Your City is one that that we wide-eyed tourists want to see - deal with it.

But don't worry - this over-inflated sense of importance is not unique to New York.  I remember being in San Francisco (around Union Square) with my wife and daughters.  My wife was taking a picture of the girls at one of the City provided photo ops, and inadvertently got in the way of a Very Busy Person.  My wife moved out of the way, of course - she is polite, after all - but we still heard the lady mutter "Tourists" with scorn and derision. Had I been a less polite person, I might have muttered back something along the lines of  "Bitch! Who is on vacation, and who is on her lunch break?".  Of course I didn't, because I'm not rude.

Mr. Skylar - I did get your point.  It can become annoying when you're rushing around, doing your daily thing, and constantly find yourself impeded by clueless tourists - and yes it behooves travelers to do their best to not disrupt, but sometimes we get in the way. Perhaps you shouldn't live in such a great city.

Tell you what, come to Chattanooga.  I'll show you around. It's a pretty neat city - doesn't have all that New York has, but still it's a pretty nice place - I promise that I won't judge you if you talk faster or walk faster than I do.  You see, I understand that that doesn't make you inferior to me.

Traffic Court, part 2

If you remember, back in June (on my birthday, to be exact), I went to traffic court. Read all the thrilling details here: http://somestufffromian.blogspot.com/2013/06/a-comedy-of-errors.html.

Executive Summary:  It didn't go well

Anyhow, yesterday was my do-over day.  I had to be in Courtroom One at 8:30 am (Chattanooga).  I got up early, then proceeded to fiddle around for so long that I left myself zero breathing room.  I sat through the Entrance Ramp From Hell - I-75 South. Exit 25.  It's been designated the worst designed interstate entrance ramp in America by the B.I.S.S. (Because Ian Says So), for three years running.

I drove down the interstate behind the little old lady who was on her way to, I don't know, NOWHERE FAST!!!  

View from the perspective of the person she just ran over

I sped down I-75 so that I wouldn't be late to contest my speeding ticket (Don't even say a word.  Don't), and got to a parking space at 8:27. I had no change for the meter!! Drat!! Luckily, I was at one that would take my debit card.  I tied my tie in the car window ("winder" as we call 'em down here in real America), and went running into the courthouse, where I stood in line with my belt off and my pockets emptied.  I kept beeping.  I.dunno.why.  Finally, they decided that I wasn't a threat and let me through.  Kinda hurt my feelings.  I mean, I'm an imposing accountant...never mind.

OK - I got into the courtroom at 8:40, and they were already calling peoples names - I didn't know if they'd called mine. I didn't know if I should ask.  I decided to wait it out, and in a few minutes, the judge called me. Armed with a well practiced argument, I walked to the bench.  Three minutes later, with very little discussion, the ticket was dismissed.  I felt cheated out of my William Jennings Bryan moment (Scopes Monkey Trial, Dayton, TN - look it up), but left quickly before he could read my mind and look into my black, black soul.

I went to my car, where I DIDN'T have a parking ticket, then drove to a clients office, where I WASN'T impeded by red lights and bad drivers. Creepy, right?

Speaking of feeling cheated, do you feel cheated now that you've read this far only to realize that I had no real point when I started this, and am now out of things to say?

I am a Heelist

There.  I said it.  I am a Heelist. This morning I went to the cabinet to get a slice of white bread for my breakfast.  It was a new loaf, and like all new loaves, it had a damned brown heel piece right there in my way.  I became irrationally angry at the sight of the heel. Never mind that I was going to toast my bread, and the taste would be the same.  Never mind that a heel is still part of the loaf - just looks a little different than the majority of the loaf.

Whitebread

Instead of eating the heel and getting on with my life, I huffed and pushed it aside so I could get to the more desirable next piece. I know that I will be irritated all the way through the loaf, every time I go to get more bread.  Just the sight of a heel irritates me.

Oh, and what happens at the end of the loaf?  That's right - there's another heel right there, just waiting.  And then what?  Two heels together.  Where does it end? An entire loaf of bread consisting of only heels????

The Devil is in the details

Admit it.  This morning you woke up and said to yourself "Gee, I wonder what Ian would put into a playlist if he were going to reference the Devil?"

Well, I heard you.  And this is it:

Me and the Devil - Gil Scott-Heron

Sympathy for the Devil - Rolling Stones

Devil went down to Georgia - CDB (I don't really like this one, but it has to be included)

Christmas with the Devil - Spinal Tap

Friend of the Devil - Grateful Dead

Devil Song - Beth Orton

Run Devil Run - Jenny Lewis

Some Devil - Dave Matthews

Angels and Devils - Echo and the Bunnymen (that other Liverpool band)

Devils Food - Alice Cooper

I don't know why you were thinking about this.  Kind of weird, really.

A comedy of errors

INTRO:

On April 12, I was coming back from Chattanooga - I'd been at the IRS, after successfully getting a wage levy lifted from a client's account (I'm a CPA and it was three days before the end of tax season btw, so I was feeling pretty harried).  About halfway back to Cleveland, I was pulled over and given a speeding ticket.

FAST FORWARD TO YESTERDAY:

I realized yesterday, that I had missed my court date for the speeding ticket.  Ordinarily, I would have just paid the ticket, but this time I wanted to talk to the judge, and explain the circumstances, in the hope that he or she would give me a break and keep the ticket off my record (and therefore off of my insurance record).

"Why did you miss your court date?", you ask.  I'll tell you:  I have an employee, Terry, who was taken into hospital a week so so ago, leaving us both worried about him, and also short staffed.  He is going to be fine, but is leaving his appendix and part of his colon with the hospital. We are a small office, and it was pretty chaotic - to the point that I JUST PLAIN FORGOT. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l00GGEy_72c)

AND NOW THIS MORNING ROLLS AROUND:

Ok, so I made arrangements to go to court this morning, where I would presumably be able to charm the judge.  I was supposed to be there at 8:30 sharp. However, this morning a semi crashed on the interstate, closing I-75 south, and re-routing everyone.  I finally made it to court at 9 am, and was able to sit in the courtroom with thugs, scalawags, Mother rapers, Father stabbers, Father rapers! (homage to Arlo Guthrie right there).  The guy before me was wearing handcuffs, an orange jumpsuit and orange Crocs. He and the judge were arguing about his next court appearance, since the guy was due to go to prison in Georgia until 2015, and wouldn't be available in 60 days.

Thankfully, not my judge

Finally, it was my turn.  I went up to the bench with my coat, tie, and accountants face on.  The judge asked me why I missed the original court date, and had no sympathy when I told him about Terry. He chewed me out and rescheduled the court date for my heinous crime to August 26, with a stern warning that excuses would not work a second time.

This is in no way reminiscent of my morning in court:

I left court, chagrined, and went to get into my car.  Guess what was on my windshield?  Yep:

Happy birthday, Ian.

Eating and exercising

If you know me, you've watched me blossom from about 195 lbs at the beginning of 2012 to 217 (!!!) at the end of tax season this year. I went from bumbling through my 8th marathon, to not being capable of running a mile without stopping. I went from eating like I was going to run a marathon to, well, eating like I was going to run a marathon (minus the exercise).

Anyhow, nowadays I go to work in my only pair of sweatpants that still fit.

Me, the day after tax season ended:

OK, not really, but I have started looking at my eating and exercise routines. Each day, I do at least an hour of something and usually alternate running one day and biking the next. My goal is to run the 4 Bridges 1/2 marathon in the fall, followed by a credible Chickamauga 1/2 Marathon in November.

BUTIGOTTALOSEMESOMEWEIGHTFIRST

I've been using an app called "My Fitness Pal" (http://www.myfitnesspal.com/), which tracks calories taken in, records sodium, protein, cholesterol, sugar, various vitamins and other stuff.  It also takes away calories burned through exercise, based on the type of exercise, and my weight.  I can plug in my goal weight, and how quickly I want to reach it and the app (I mainly use it on my phone) will adjust the desired caloric intake to what it would take to get me there.  I've been using it for a little while now, and it is working. An interesting byproduct of using it is that I'm paying attention to what I eat now, and don't want to put entries in that go against my goal.

So, I'm down 8 lbs so far.  Looks like I'm dropping about 2 per week, AND I'm getting back into shape. AND I feel much better about myself.  Pretty soon, I'm going to have to buy some smaller sweatpants.

Self awareness, AKA The emperor has no clothes...

...AKA, it's good to have good people close to you.

Michael Jackson died of an overdose of propofol, because his doctor didn't have the stones to tell him no. At the time of his death, he had become a freak of nature, surrounded by sycophants who sucked the money and common sense right out of him.

Likewise, Elvis Presley. In my opinion, he was ruined because he was surrounded by people who had no motivation to tell him when he was being ridiculous. They were making too much money off of him to ever stop him short and tell him a few truths (I'd have told him not to put on that white jumpsuit, for one thing!)

Nooooooooo!!!!!

I was talking to a friend on Thursday about self awareness. My point being that all of us of believe that we are self aware, but are we really? If you don't have someone who cares about you enough to jerk a knot in your tail, you may start to believe your own press and forget that not all of your decisions are good ones, and that you may not actually appear to the world the same way you appear in your mind.

A sibling can really help to keep you grounded. A typical brother or sister isn't going to listen to self aggrandizement without snorting at your silliness and telling you to get over yourself. Also, I think that one of the hallmarks of a good marriage is when a spouse is not afraid to (nicely and lovingly) point out that the other is wrong, or on the wrong track - ultimately, the correction will make the person being corrected a better, more stable person.

Now in my opinion, and referring back up to the top to the Michael Jackson paragraph, Michael's family don't appear to have served him very well at all.  Somewhere down the line, people - his family included from what I've seen - stopped saying "You're an idiot".  Idunno, maybe because they were all making a ton of money off of his very large amount of talent?

This really could have been nipped in the bud, couldn't it?

I own a teeny-tiny accounting firm right here in beautiful downtown Cleveland, Tennessee.  I am the only CPA in the firm - Luckily, I have a good network of other CPAs of whom I can ask questions.  I also depend on, and ask the opinions of, my staff.  I may have more technical knowledge of accounting (doesn't that phrase just send a sexy shiver down your spine?  No?  Huh.), but I hope that I have enough of their respect to where they will give me their honest opinions about a business decision I might make.  I may not take their advice, but I do listen.

I believe that it is the process of listening to others advice and gentle (hopefully) corrections that they make, that enable a person to have a glimmer of self awareness. I have no illusions that I am self-aware, but I hope that the knowledge that I'm not, makes me be...just a little.  Know what I mean?

By the way, do these jeans make my butt look big?