It has been a long time since my last post. Mostly, this is because I have not been sufficiently motivated to write about anything, and when I am, I am not sufficiently happy with what I have written. Well, that is all about to change. I have been growing increasingly unsatisfied with the new New York Times Ethicist Ariel Kaminer. The column has been one of my favorites for years because, but I have reached a point where I have decided to start a campaign to replace her. From this point until the point I am hired as the new Ethicist, I will link to each Sunday's Ethicist column and write my very own response here (be sure to save some of your free articles for the Ethicist every week). From that point on, you will be required to purchase a Sunday Times subscription; however, I will do my best to reward my loyal readers with a free copy . Incentives are important. I learned that during rehab.
This week's question asks about the responsibility of one person in a relationship to care for the other person in a time of crisis: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/13/magazine/the-topic-of-cancer.html?ref=magazine. Specifically, a girlfriend of one year has become her boyfriend's caretaker ever since he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. In short, the Ethicist answers that she has an ethical obligation to take care of him.
When I saw this question, I immediately thought, "Wow! That is a tough one." I was split between two lines of thought. There is the level of commitment in the relationship to consider, but there is also the gut-reaction that it just feels wrong to leave someone when they are in need. So which is the ethical choice?
First, I think a gut reactions should be taken seriously. This is something I picked up from Professor Potter in my into philosophy classes. He encouraged us to disagree with something even if we could not articulate the reason behind our feeling. Then we would discuss the cause of unease in greater detail to usually find out that there was a good reason for it. In this case it just feels wrong to leave someone in need. If someone has a heart attack in front of us, I think most of us would agree that we have a responsibility to call an ambulance instead of walking away because we don't know them. Most of us would like someone to help us if we were in a similar situation. It is the Golden Rule applied to an extreme circumstance, and I think there are few of us who would disagree with its basic premise. In this situation, though, it is not as if the girlfriend has simply walked away. In fact, she has already served as his caregiver for some amount of time. Is that enough, or is she required to see it through to the end?
I think the level of commitment the girlfriend must ethically provide is defined by the level of commitment both people agreed to before finding out about the cancer. The girlfriend says that the relationship was one year old, but we do not have a good idea about how committed it was. I do not think the length of the relationship is a good factor on which to make this ethical decision. Some couples are still fairly casual after one year, while others have already decided to get married. If you decide one year requires her to see this out to the end, then what would she be required to do if they had only been together 10 months? 6 months? 1 month? Basing the decision on time is arbitrary, which is not a good basis for making ethical decisions. The level of commitment both people signed on for seems to be the only good way to determine what more she owes to the relationship, if anything.
From her letter, we have some information. She says that they "had" a wonderful relationship but did not make long-term plans. I take that to mean that neither party expected a life-long commitment, which is literally what this situation requires. It is important for the girlfriend to use the pre-crisis understanding of the relationship to inform her decision. After finding out about the cancer, her boyfriend may have assumed that she should take care of him, but he cannot change the boundaries of the relationship alone. If before the cancer neither of them expected an absolute commitment from the other, I think she is ethically permitted to end her role as caretaker with one caveat: she must talk to him and make an attempt to find an alternative means of care. This goes back to the first point about the Golden Rule. I think that even though she can leave, she should not do so suddenly or without making an effort to help set up something to take her place. I do not think this has to be a drawn out process. I can envision a situation where the boyfriend wanted to draw out the process so she would remain the de facto caretaker. She certainly must be wary of such an outcome, but that is not what she is required to do. I think she should explain as gently as possible that agreed to a life long commitment and she has done all she feels she can do. She should explain that she is leaving but would like to help him get someone else in her place. If he says he has no one, she can suggest a professional service. After she has suggested another option, I think she has fulfilled her ethical responsibility.
I hope these posts stimulate some conversation. I know I will not always hit the mark, and I would like to hear other perspectives.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Attracting new followers
No, I am not trying to start a new religion, but I am trying to increase my number of followers by 33%. How will I accomplish such a feat, you ask? As it turns out, I have had some interesting experiences in my life, and by telling them, I can bribe people to follow my blog.
I was not aware of this, but I guess people sometimes get emails that say something to the effect, "I am stuck in London's Heathrow airport and could really use your help." Then you have to wire them money so they do not have to live through that horrible Tom Hanks' movie. Where was his accent supposed to be from anyway? My friend told me this last night, and fortunately for me he did not ask for me to send him money because I did not understand that he was really in sunny California. I am upset that this scam is out there because I was once stranded in a foreign country. I fear that if I ever find myself in a similar situation, I will be told to pass the time by playing a game of hide and go *&@# myself! Actually, I played a very similar game in Italy, in that there was a lot of running and *&@#ing involved.
Rome. The eternal city. Beautiful. I reached a point in college where was trying to expand my horizons and try new things. I talked about doing things that I always wanted to do, but never followed through with them, and I wanted that to change. Spending a couple weeks by myself in Italy seemed like the perfect opportunity. I found some ridiculously cheap airfare in February and went for it. The trip was for the most part amazing. I met lots of great people for all over and saw amazing art and architecture. I am thinking of turning it into a screenplay called Beneath the Roman Sky. Diane Lane will obviously play me. Then, I got to see the real Italy, or at least the Italy that confirms the stereotypes.
I flying back to Denver on Sunday, and on Saturday morning I found out that my passport was missing. You just cannot trust those damned Italians! While I was convinced that I had put my passport in the safe at the hostel, it turns out I had been carrying it on my not so safe person. At least I was not the only one to have something stolen. I found some comfort in knowing there was so much theft on public transportation that they conveniently located the police office in the Metro station. I walked in to find no fewer than 6 police officers sitting around. I had always wondered if the stories about Italian civil servants were true. Luckily, I was able to confirm that they do not feel pressured to assist you if they are already engaged in doing nothing. For twenty minutes. I figured that they must just be very thorough individuals, and that they would devote the same painstaking attention to the recovery of my lost passport as they did in ensuring that the quality materials used in their chairs could support their weight for extended periods of time. Unfortunately, I was mistaken. They simply handed me the police report and made me fill it out. I guess the chairs warranted further testing.
As you can see, I provided valuable insight as to what happened. When asked about the circumstances surrounding the incident I wrote, "I do not remember." Yet, they still wanted to know where the theft took place and at what time. We decided that it was stolen on the Metro at noon on February 13th, 2004. Perhaps my passport was lost in the negative space on the police report! It is not like I was expecting them to do anything, but I wanted the report signed off on in a timely manner so I could take it to the embassy and get a replacement passport. The report says it was signed at 12:35 pm. Time was of the essence, because the embassy closes early on Saturday, and they are not open on Sunday.
Part of me was excited to go to the embassy. I pictured it as this huge, white marble building that reflected the prestige of our great nation. Unfortunately, the passport office is in a trailer in what seemed like an old parking lot. To get through to the trailer you have to pass through a security building staffed by Italian police. Who only speak Italian. At the American Embassy. Where Americans go for help. Speaking English. When I got inside the embassy/parking lot, they informed me that a new passport was going to cost 72.25 Euro, that they only accepted cash, and that they were closing at 4pm. It was already 2:30pm. This would not have been a problem if I had 72.25 Euro, but I only had about 20 Euro left. I swear this isn't a scam!
The time difference between Denver and Rome is a painful 8 hours. My salvation was most likely still curled up in bed, sleeping at 6:30 am on this particular Saturday morning. I proceeded to call every number I had in my phone for the next hour, leaving messages saying, "I am stuck in the American Embassy in Rome. I need your help. Please wire me money." Maybe I could have increased my response rate if I had said something about not wanting to steal their identity. The futility of calling my sleepy friends and family was causing some tension in me. There were no more numbers to call. There was nothing I could do except start looking for a job in a laundry that wasn't too particular about immigration status. Instead, I decided to take some passport photos just in case someone called me back. Being a classy parking lot, there was a carnival style photo booth located outside the passport trailer. The expression on the photos can best be described as my silent disaster face. Regardless, I was not in a beauty pageant, and it was one less thing to worry about. Finally, at about 3:30 pm my mom called me back!!! Oh, sweet, sweet salvation! I told her to wire the money post haste. The nice lady at the embassy, who could see I was on the verge of a mental breakdown told her where to send the money, and she gave me a map showing how to get there to pick it up. She also warned me that they were closing in less than a half hour, so I had better hurry. Thanks. She could have just told me to play hide and go *&@# myself because this is where all the running and *&@#ing comes in.
The Western Union (pink x) was about 5 blocks from the embassy (#1), and it was almost 3:40pm. I took the map and sprinted down the street, and the fashionable Romans eating al fresco must have thought they had witnessed a new land speed record. I must have dropped something on the floor at the Western Union because that is where I was bent over. The receipt clearly states on the bottom left that I was to receive $85 or 72.25 Euro. I know this is the exchange because that is how much the passport cost. Yet, the Western Union employee, seeing that I was in a hurry decided not to weigh me down with the full burden of 72.25 Euro and gave me 62.23 Euro, instead. Now, I know what you are thinking. The Western Union takes a percentage of the transfer as a fee. This is true, but that is why my mother wired enough so it would be $85 after the fees. She just lacked the foresight to account for the I'm a corrupt Italian fee.
The receipt at the Western Union is stamped 3:50pm. Uh oh! Something told me that the embassy was closing on time today, so I sprinted back, breaking my own land speed record.
I got back to the embassy and everything was set. I already had my pictures, and they had been preparing the passport while I had gone to the Western Union. I paid the lady and got the passport at 4:05pm. It turns out, they were very accommodating, and I owe them a debt of gratitude for treating me so well when I was so upset. I canceled my interview at the laundry and got ready to go home.
When I arrived in Denver, they immediately locked me up in the little white room. I guess they thought I had a fake passport and was trying to enter the country illegally. I am guessing the angry expression on my passport photo did not help my case. They asked me a series of questions to find out if I was really American. When I told them I liked to go snowboarding, they were convinced I was telling the truth. It is probably for the best that I did not ask them to wire me the money. In the end, the trip was a success. I was pushed way outside my comfort zone, and I think I am better for the experience. If nothing else, Dustin has agreed to follow my blog, and that is a win in my book!
I was not aware of this, but I guess people sometimes get emails that say something to the effect, "I am stuck in London's Heathrow airport and could really use your help." Then you have to wire them money so they do not have to live through that horrible Tom Hanks' movie. Where was his accent supposed to be from anyway? My friend told me this last night, and fortunately for me he did not ask for me to send him money because I did not understand that he was really in sunny California. I am upset that this scam is out there because I was once stranded in a foreign country. I fear that if I ever find myself in a similar situation, I will be told to pass the time by playing a game of hide and go *&@# myself! Actually, I played a very similar game in Italy, in that there was a lot of running and *&@#ing involved.
Rome. The eternal city. Beautiful. I reached a point in college where was trying to expand my horizons and try new things. I talked about doing things that I always wanted to do, but never followed through with them, and I wanted that to change. Spending a couple weeks by myself in Italy seemed like the perfect opportunity. I found some ridiculously cheap airfare in February and went for it. The trip was for the most part amazing. I met lots of great people for all over and saw amazing art and architecture. I am thinking of turning it into a screenplay called Beneath the Roman Sky. Diane Lane will obviously play me. Then, I got to see the real Italy, or at least the Italy that confirms the stereotypes.
I flying back to Denver on Sunday, and on Saturday morning I found out that my passport was missing. You just cannot trust those damned Italians! While I was convinced that I had put my passport in the safe at the hostel, it turns out I had been carrying it on my not so safe person. At least I was not the only one to have something stolen. I found some comfort in knowing there was so much theft on public transportation that they conveniently located the police office in the Metro station. I walked in to find no fewer than 6 police officers sitting around. I had always wondered if the stories about Italian civil servants were true. Luckily, I was able to confirm that they do not feel pressured to assist you if they are already engaged in doing nothing. For twenty minutes. I figured that they must just be very thorough individuals, and that they would devote the same painstaking attention to the recovery of my lost passport as they did in ensuring that the quality materials used in their chairs could support their weight for extended periods of time. Unfortunately, I was mistaken. They simply handed me the police report and made me fill it out. I guess the chairs warranted further testing.
As you can see, I provided valuable insight as to what happened. When asked about the circumstances surrounding the incident I wrote, "I do not remember." Yet, they still wanted to know where the theft took place and at what time. We decided that it was stolen on the Metro at noon on February 13th, 2004. Perhaps my passport was lost in the negative space on the police report! It is not like I was expecting them to do anything, but I wanted the report signed off on in a timely manner so I could take it to the embassy and get a replacement passport. The report says it was signed at 12:35 pm. Time was of the essence, because the embassy closes early on Saturday, and they are not open on Sunday.
Part of me was excited to go to the embassy. I pictured it as this huge, white marble building that reflected the prestige of our great nation. Unfortunately, the passport office is in a trailer in what seemed like an old parking lot. To get through to the trailer you have to pass through a security building staffed by Italian police. Who only speak Italian. At the American Embassy. Where Americans go for help. Speaking English. When I got inside the embassy/parking lot, they informed me that a new passport was going to cost 72.25 Euro, that they only accepted cash, and that they were closing at 4pm. It was already 2:30pm. This would not have been a problem if I had 72.25 Euro, but I only had about 20 Euro left. I swear this isn't a scam!
The time difference between Denver and Rome is a painful 8 hours. My salvation was most likely still curled up in bed, sleeping at 6:30 am on this particular Saturday morning. I proceeded to call every number I had in my phone for the next hour, leaving messages saying, "I am stuck in the American Embassy in Rome. I need your help. Please wire me money." Maybe I could have increased my response rate if I had said something about not wanting to steal their identity. The futility of calling my sleepy friends and family was causing some tension in me. There were no more numbers to call. There was nothing I could do except start looking for a job in a laundry that wasn't too particular about immigration status. Instead, I decided to take some passport photos just in case someone called me back. Being a classy parking lot, there was a carnival style photo booth located outside the passport trailer. The expression on the photos can best be described as my silent disaster face. Regardless, I was not in a beauty pageant, and it was one less thing to worry about. Finally, at about 3:30 pm my mom called me back!!! Oh, sweet, sweet salvation! I told her to wire the money post haste. The nice lady at the embassy, who could see I was on the verge of a mental breakdown told her where to send the money, and she gave me a map showing how to get there to pick it up. She also warned me that they were closing in less than a half hour, so I had better hurry. Thanks. She could have just told me to play hide and go *&@# myself because this is where all the running and *&@#ing comes in.
The Western Union (pink x) was about 5 blocks from the embassy (#1), and it was almost 3:40pm. I took the map and sprinted down the street, and the fashionable Romans eating al fresco must have thought they had witnessed a new land speed record. I must have dropped something on the floor at the Western Union because that is where I was bent over. The receipt clearly states on the bottom left that I was to receive $85 or 72.25 Euro. I know this is the exchange because that is how much the passport cost. Yet, the Western Union employee, seeing that I was in a hurry decided not to weigh me down with the full burden of 72.25 Euro and gave me 62.23 Euro, instead. Now, I know what you are thinking. The Western Union takes a percentage of the transfer as a fee. This is true, but that is why my mother wired enough so it would be $85 after the fees. She just lacked the foresight to account for the I'm a corrupt Italian fee.
The receipt at the Western Union is stamped 3:50pm. Uh oh! Something told me that the embassy was closing on time today, so I sprinted back, breaking my own land speed record.
I got back to the embassy and everything was set. I already had my pictures, and they had been preparing the passport while I had gone to the Western Union. I paid the lady and got the passport at 4:05pm. It turns out, they were very accommodating, and I owe them a debt of gratitude for treating me so well when I was so upset. I canceled my interview at the laundry and got ready to go home.
When I arrived in Denver, they immediately locked me up in the little white room. I guess they thought I had a fake passport and was trying to enter the country illegally. I am guessing the angry expression on my passport photo did not help my case. They asked me a series of questions to find out if I was really American. When I told them I liked to go snowboarding, they were convinced I was telling the truth. It is probably for the best that I did not ask them to wire me the money. In the end, the trip was a success. I was pushed way outside my comfort zone, and I think I am better for the experience. If nothing else, Dustin has agreed to follow my blog, and that is a win in my book!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
We'll be rich, live in a palace, and never have any problems at all...
Yeah right! This week has not been the best in terms of problems at the palace. On Sunday I woke up to the sound of what I first thought was a really noisy washing machine exploding. When I came to my senses I decided it was really a car exploding...after having crashed into the side of the building. Then the power went out. It turns out it was something on the power line exploding. The fire department came and sprayed foam all over the place so the power company could do their thing. I called my roommate/landlord to tell him the power would be out all day, but he did not believe me. He came over and asked the power company guy how long he thought it would take to get the power back on, and the power company guy said, "If everything goes well, we should have it up in an hour." For a moment, I thought there was a chance he was telling the truth. Maybe I was just hoping beyond all hope it would only take a short time. After all, the final of the World Cup was on in a mere five hours. Even if it took longer than he thought, surely I would be able to watch the World Cup while sitting in the comfort of air conditioning, right? Wrong! After the power had been out for four hours I decided to get some ice from the store to try and salvage the food in the refrigerator. I put as much food as I could in coolers with ice and went to my friend's to watch the game.
On Tuesday, I went out on my porch to finish reading a book, and I noticed there was a very welcoming wasp's nest above my head, with many welcoming wasps ready to greet me. While I do not like to offend those who are ready to greet me with open arms, these wasps looked like they wanted to double cross me. Thus, I ran back inside. Once inside, I heard a strange beeping sound coming from the carbon monoxide detector. The alarms in the apartment usually beep when the power is out because they are running on battery back-up, and we never bother to put in fresh batteries. When the power is on, they run on some kind of sophisticated electrical wiring and should not beep. There was no reason for alarm, as I assume the alarm makes a really hideous sound when there is actually a danger, but being protective of my life I immediately worried that I would die from carbon monoxide poisoning. I wasted no time in running outside, downstairs, away from the devil wasps, to take in one last gulp of fresh air before keeling over. When I realized I was not dying, I did notice how disgusting the entry to the door was. There was a tremendous amount of dirt and leaves and debris in the corners and on the ground, including a couple of shoes that had been sitting outside for a year. There were countless spiderwebs and other bugs that may have been colluding with the wasps. I decided something had to be done, so I spent the next hour cleaning the door, door frame, and sidewalk. This all follow the discovery of mice in the apartment a few weeks ago, which led to a massive cleaning project. Also, the garage door is broken. All in all, I am fed up with how poorly the place is taken care of.
As I was cleaning the door with the heat index pressing towards 100, sweat dripping down my face, gross water dripping down my arms, I wondered if the concept of homeowners taking better care of their property than renters still holds. One of the most popular arguments homeowners use to try and keep renters out of their neighborhoods is that renters will bring down property values. The basic argument is that homeowners take better care of their property because they are invested in both their home and the neighborhood. Renters, on the other hand, move in and out often and do not care about upkeep. I am wondering if this basic truth has changed at all over the last few decades, if it was ever completely true. There is some intuitive sense to the idea that people who know they are going to live in the same house for twenty years will want to take care of it. In fact, I tend to believe the underlying logic that people will maintain their property up to a standard they can stand to live with for a certain amount of time. Renters can stand to live in mess for a year if they know they can just leave, and putting up with the mess may be preferable to putting in all the hours of cleaning. In other words a person will determine if putting in the work to keep up the property is more or less onerous than putting up with the discomfort of living in filth and disorder over an expected period of time. The basic assumption that homeowners take better care of their property seems to hinge on how long renters and homeowners live in their respective homes and on how messy they can stand it. I wonder if the gap is closing now that many homeowners are looking to flip their homes within five years.
Most of the ongoing problems are the result of my roommate/landlord wanting to put off a lot of maintenance until he is ready to sell the place. He is trying to wait to replace the garage door and paint the place so he does not have to do it again. I think a lot of the general neglect is a result of the fact that he always has it in the back of his mind that he is going to leave. In that sense, maybe there is no difference between a renter who is expecting to stay only a year and a homeowner expecting to stay five years. If they know they will eventually leave, they have no incentive to take care of the place even in the beginning (a problem inherent in any finite game, eh Chris?). If that is the case, homeowners only have an incentive to take care of the place if they expect to live there forever. While I am sure that is not the case in practice, there probably is a significant difference between investment-type homeowners and homeowners buying for life in terms of property maintenance. I think this is an interesting research question that needs answering. Maybe I will put more thought into answering that question in the future, but for now, I am going to clean the palace. I just wish Jasmine would come back.
On Tuesday, I went out on my porch to finish reading a book, and I noticed there was a very welcoming wasp's nest above my head, with many welcoming wasps ready to greet me. While I do not like to offend those who are ready to greet me with open arms, these wasps looked like they wanted to double cross me. Thus, I ran back inside. Once inside, I heard a strange beeping sound coming from the carbon monoxide detector. The alarms in the apartment usually beep when the power is out because they are running on battery back-up, and we never bother to put in fresh batteries. When the power is on, they run on some kind of sophisticated electrical wiring and should not beep. There was no reason for alarm, as I assume the alarm makes a really hideous sound when there is actually a danger, but being protective of my life I immediately worried that I would die from carbon monoxide poisoning. I wasted no time in running outside, downstairs, away from the devil wasps, to take in one last gulp of fresh air before keeling over. When I realized I was not dying, I did notice how disgusting the entry to the door was. There was a tremendous amount of dirt and leaves and debris in the corners and on the ground, including a couple of shoes that had been sitting outside for a year. There were countless spiderwebs and other bugs that may have been colluding with the wasps. I decided something had to be done, so I spent the next hour cleaning the door, door frame, and sidewalk. This all follow the discovery of mice in the apartment a few weeks ago, which led to a massive cleaning project. Also, the garage door is broken. All in all, I am fed up with how poorly the place is taken care of.
As I was cleaning the door with the heat index pressing towards 100, sweat dripping down my face, gross water dripping down my arms, I wondered if the concept of homeowners taking better care of their property than renters still holds. One of the most popular arguments homeowners use to try and keep renters out of their neighborhoods is that renters will bring down property values. The basic argument is that homeowners take better care of their property because they are invested in both their home and the neighborhood. Renters, on the other hand, move in and out often and do not care about upkeep. I am wondering if this basic truth has changed at all over the last few decades, if it was ever completely true. There is some intuitive sense to the idea that people who know they are going to live in the same house for twenty years will want to take care of it. In fact, I tend to believe the underlying logic that people will maintain their property up to a standard they can stand to live with for a certain amount of time. Renters can stand to live in mess for a year if they know they can just leave, and putting up with the mess may be preferable to putting in all the hours of cleaning. In other words a person will determine if putting in the work to keep up the property is more or less onerous than putting up with the discomfort of living in filth and disorder over an expected period of time. The basic assumption that homeowners take better care of their property seems to hinge on how long renters and homeowners live in their respective homes and on how messy they can stand it. I wonder if the gap is closing now that many homeowners are looking to flip their homes within five years.
Most of the ongoing problems are the result of my roommate/landlord wanting to put off a lot of maintenance until he is ready to sell the place. He is trying to wait to replace the garage door and paint the place so he does not have to do it again. I think a lot of the general neglect is a result of the fact that he always has it in the back of his mind that he is going to leave. In that sense, maybe there is no difference between a renter who is expecting to stay only a year and a homeowner expecting to stay five years. If they know they will eventually leave, they have no incentive to take care of the place even in the beginning (a problem inherent in any finite game, eh Chris?). If that is the case, homeowners only have an incentive to take care of the place if they expect to live there forever. While I am sure that is not the case in practice, there probably is a significant difference between investment-type homeowners and homeowners buying for life in terms of property maintenance. I think this is an interesting research question that needs answering. Maybe I will put more thought into answering that question in the future, but for now, I am going to clean the palace. I just wish Jasmine would come back.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Wizard of Oz
I was watching the Wizard of Oz today, and I started wondering about a few things like where does that red brick road go? Perhaps that was covered in Wicked, but I did not read or see it. However, there are other things I was wondering about:
- Do you think the Lollipop Guild is the Teamsters of the Munchin world? They look like they have broken a few legs in their day. Why else do they carry such large lollipops if not for mob style enforcement? Like, buy some confections and maybe we'll only rough you up a little!
- What happens if someone pops Glinda's bubble? Does she just fall out of it, or does she end up on the island with the rest of Oceanic 815? That was a joke. Everyone knows you have to take your hot air balloon to the island (stupid Henry Gale).
- How long was the tin man standing in the woods? My guess is approximately 14 years.
- Why would the Wicked Witch of the West want to stuff a mattress with the scarecrow? Whatever happened to the Sleep Number Bed or a good ol' box spring?
- Is it just me or do lions, tigers, and bears live in different parts of the world? My money would be on finding a bear in the woods. My girlfriend and I were recently on a hike in the woods and wondered what we should do if we saw a mountain lion. This movie has shown us the answer! You just slap them across the face. Maybe that only works on lions native to Sub-Saharan Africa and Asia, found in woods with apple trees.
- Where did the Wicked Witch of the West come by a Palantir? There are only 7 or something like that. Seems like a pretty good find. Do you think she frequents the same bars as Aragorn and won it in a game of chance? Maybe she drugged him with all of her opium, which would explain why he never talks about it, because who knows what else she took!
- Where did the Wicked Witch study to learn her flying broom penmanship? If I were her, I would get a refund. The Wizard did much better in choosing Acme's Amazing Academy of Alliteration.
- When is the scarecrow planning on using that pistol? Maybe the next time he runs into the Lollipop Guild?
- Why don't I say impoceros more often?
Monday, May 24, 2010
Is there an opening for Royal Vizier?
This post has been a long time in the works, so it is basically two posts badly forced into being one post. However, both concern my as yet unsuccessful attempt to get a job.
I have been seeing a lot of articles about lying and embellishing the truth lately, mostly because of Richard Blumenthal. The article that scared me most was the one in the Sunday Times titled "Resumes Made for Fibbing." I was particularly frightened for two reasons. First, I am trying to get a job and have serious doubts about how I can compete with some of my colleagues. Second, I have been tempted to embellish a thing here or there on my resume, hoping it would get me through the screening process.
I would really like to get a government job, but they have a very frustrating application process. The self-evaluation questionnaire is especially troubling to me. It basically asks you to rate yourself on a scale of one to five in terms of experience dealing with several different categories. There is then an open space for you to write something that will hopefully back up the claim you just made. I don't want to exaggerate my experience, but I am never sure if I can credibly call myself an expert. Compared to 95% of the population I am definitely an expert, but compared to people who have an MPP from an elite university I may be only knowledgeable.
My fear with lying is that it is the same as admitting I am not good enough. I find it repulsive to suggest I am something I am not, because it devalues what I am. I can try to rationalize embellishing the truth by saying I am just trying to get my foot in the door so I can get an interview, and they can decide if I would be a good fit. In the end I find it too depressing to lie. I think what gets me so sad about rejections is that I take it as evidence that I am lacking. I shall keep plugging along, comfortable in the knowledge that at least I have my integrity intact.
Maybe all of this concern over my qualifications is driven by the increasing cost of higher education (This is where I try to seamlessly fit in the second post. It is magic Jafar would be jealous of!). It seems to me the increasing cost of higher education is going to increase the quality of employees in government positions and at non-profits. I think currently the general of impression of government employees is that they are like Flounder in Animal House: fat, drunk, and stupid! Okay, so maybe fat is a little rough, but I am fairly certain most people feel government employees are lazy, unproductive, and immune from firing because of civil service laws. Yet, I think that impression is quickly coming to an end. The government has a program to forgive outstanding student loans after ten years of payments for those working in government positions and non-profits. The program is only useful for those who accumulate enough debt that they need more than ten years to pay it off and cannot find a job in the private sector that pays enough to offset the potential reward of debt forgiveness. However, with the increasing cost of higher education, especially master's degrees at prestigious private universities, I think more and more of the nations intellectual elite are falling into that category. This is somewhat disheartening in that it is much more difficult for me to get a federal position, but it is incredibly encouraging to think that the government is attracting so many quality people. I am just wondering if Agrabah has a similar program.
I have been seeing a lot of articles about lying and embellishing the truth lately, mostly because of Richard Blumenthal. The article that scared me most was the one in the Sunday Times titled "Resumes Made for Fibbing." I was particularly frightened for two reasons. First, I am trying to get a job and have serious doubts about how I can compete with some of my colleagues. Second, I have been tempted to embellish a thing here or there on my resume, hoping it would get me through the screening process.
I would really like to get a government job, but they have a very frustrating application process. The self-evaluation questionnaire is especially troubling to me. It basically asks you to rate yourself on a scale of one to five in terms of experience dealing with several different categories. There is then an open space for you to write something that will hopefully back up the claim you just made. I don't want to exaggerate my experience, but I am never sure if I can credibly call myself an expert. Compared to 95% of the population I am definitely an expert, but compared to people who have an MPP from an elite university I may be only knowledgeable.
My fear with lying is that it is the same as admitting I am not good enough. I find it repulsive to suggest I am something I am not, because it devalues what I am. I can try to rationalize embellishing the truth by saying I am just trying to get my foot in the door so I can get an interview, and they can decide if I would be a good fit. In the end I find it too depressing to lie. I think what gets me so sad about rejections is that I take it as evidence that I am lacking. I shall keep plugging along, comfortable in the knowledge that at least I have my integrity intact.
Maybe all of this concern over my qualifications is driven by the increasing cost of higher education (This is where I try to seamlessly fit in the second post. It is magic Jafar would be jealous of!). It seems to me the increasing cost of higher education is going to increase the quality of employees in government positions and at non-profits. I think currently the general of impression of government employees is that they are like Flounder in Animal House: fat, drunk, and stupid! Okay, so maybe fat is a little rough, but I am fairly certain most people feel government employees are lazy, unproductive, and immune from firing because of civil service laws. Yet, I think that impression is quickly coming to an end. The government has a program to forgive outstanding student loans after ten years of payments for those working in government positions and non-profits. The program is only useful for those who accumulate enough debt that they need more than ten years to pay it off and cannot find a job in the private sector that pays enough to offset the potential reward of debt forgiveness. However, with the increasing cost of higher education, especially master's degrees at prestigious private universities, I think more and more of the nations intellectual elite are falling into that category. This is somewhat disheartening in that it is much more difficult for me to get a federal position, but it is incredibly encouraging to think that the government is attracting so many quality people. I am just wondering if Agrabah has a similar program.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
How do I look? Like a prince.
I like ceremony. I think there is purpose to a lot of ceremony, especially the ceremony associated with certain political offices like the Supreme Court. Do the justices really need to wear hand-stitched robes and sit elevated above those lowly lawyers arguing before them? Of course not. Wearing a robe does not change the merit of the arguments, but it lends a certain gravitas to Supreme Court decisions. Without such ceremony, maybe their decisions would not carry so much weight (see The Hollow Hope). It is not unheard of that some rulings go unenforced. Would the lack of enforcement spread if their illusory authority were to be somewhat weakened? I think their power would be diminished to an extent without all the pomp and circumstance.
Since Obama was sworn in as our president, I have become increasingly annoyed at the "I'm a normal guy who understands normal people" attitude that seems to take away from the prestigious veneer of the office. I started thinking about this a while ago when a friend of mine remarked that she would never vote for Scott Brown because of his Cosmo nude shot. I found that statement strange coming from someone who strongly supported Obama, fully aware of his Men's Health shoot. To be clear, I do not think that shoot says anything about Obama's ability to be president, but there is a pattern of "everyman" behavior that rankles me. There are the small things like not wearing a jacket during some meetings. There is the highly publicized trip to eat a hot dog for lunch, or was it a hamburger? There is the endless obsession with Obama's knowledge of sports and his seemingly professional prowess at basketball. Why do I care if the President thinks college football should have a playoff? The basketball thing really irked me during the NCAA men's championship game, when CBS took most of halftime to show us Obama's victory over Clark Kellogg in horse.
All of that bothered me. A lot. This weekend I saw an article in the NY Times Sunday Magazine that sent me over the edge. The article chronicles the lives of several twenty-something Obama staffers. The article had several interesting statements like:
"President Obama’s young staff and their senior counterparts mix seamlessly and often sweetly. During the primaries, Axelrod once dropped by a party at the Pad — a group house in Chicago where seven campaign staff members lived, worked and played the video game Rock Band. The rumpled, over-50 “Axe,” as nearly everyone calls him, impressed the crowd by playing a game of beer pong."
How could it possibly help our standing in the world knowing that senior staff members are playing beer pong? Do you think it reinforces our strength at the bargaining table? For someone who places so much emphasis on diplomacy, I find it irritating that Obama does not control the his image and the image of the White House better.
I don't think he should abandon all fun, but it is important to control the image of the White House. Play basketball as much as you want, just politely decline when CBS asks if they can film you playing horse. I am all for throwing out the first pitch at the All Star game, just don't do it in jeans. Okay, maybe that one isn't a big deal, as long as he gets it over the plate! Most importantly, tell the reporters to shove it when they ask to write an article detailing the drunken exploits of your staffers! You are the president. I am sure they will listen.
Since Obama was sworn in as our president, I have become increasingly annoyed at the "I'm a normal guy who understands normal people" attitude that seems to take away from the prestigious veneer of the office. I started thinking about this a while ago when a friend of mine remarked that she would never vote for Scott Brown because of his Cosmo nude shot. I found that statement strange coming from someone who strongly supported Obama, fully aware of his Men's Health shoot. To be clear, I do not think that shoot says anything about Obama's ability to be president, but there is a pattern of "everyman" behavior that rankles me. There are the small things like not wearing a jacket during some meetings. There is the highly publicized trip to eat a hot dog for lunch, or was it a hamburger? There is the endless obsession with Obama's knowledge of sports and his seemingly professional prowess at basketball. Why do I care if the President thinks college football should have a playoff? The basketball thing really irked me during the NCAA men's championship game, when CBS took most of halftime to show us Obama's victory over Clark Kellogg in horse.
All of that bothered me. A lot. This weekend I saw an article in the NY Times Sunday Magazine that sent me over the edge. The article chronicles the lives of several twenty-something Obama staffers. The article had several interesting statements like:
"President Obama’s young staff and their senior counterparts mix seamlessly and often sweetly. During the primaries, Axelrod once dropped by a party at the Pad — a group house in Chicago where seven campaign staff members lived, worked and played the video game Rock Band. The rumpled, over-50 “Axe,” as nearly everyone calls him, impressed the crowd by playing a game of beer pong."
How could it possibly help our standing in the world knowing that senior staff members are playing beer pong? Do you think it reinforces our strength at the bargaining table? For someone who places so much emphasis on diplomacy, I find it irritating that Obama does not control the his image and the image of the White House better.
I don't think he should abandon all fun, but it is important to control the image of the White House. Play basketball as much as you want, just politely decline when CBS asks if they can film you playing horse. I am all for throwing out the first pitch at the All Star game, just don't do it in jeans. Okay, maybe that one isn't a big deal, as long as he gets it over the plate! Most importantly, tell the reporters to shove it when they ask to write an article detailing the drunken exploits of your staffers! You are the president. I am sure they will listen.
It's already won the Poolitzer and it hasn't even been pooblished
Alas, it is only my second post, and I have already abandoned my original plan to title every post with a line from Aladdin. All is not completely lost, because this title is a line from a movie that I find more entertaining than I probably should.
I have been thinking of a great and important subject for my second post, but I cannot decide what the purpose of a blog is. As I mentioned last time, I would like to win many prizes with this blog. At trivia I was talking with my friends, and we somehow wondered if a blog could win a Pulitzer Prize. I have continued wondering exactly what a blog is for. I could use it to vent my personal frustrations, hoping no one would read my most personal thoughts. That would make it more like a diary, and if that is the case, I should probably just get a diary so I can hide it under my bed. I could also use it to vent my most personal thoughts secretly hoping people will read the blog, or I could just be an exhibitionist, wanting everyone to see how strange and great I am. While the ability to expose myself without the risk of a fine or jail time is comforting, I want my blog to be something else.
While looking at the no doubt factually accurate Wikepedia page on the Pulitzer Prize, I discovered that online-only news can qualify for a prize. There is also a category for commentary. I think I can win one of those. Lord knows my Brendan Frasier-like good looks and firsthand knowledge of gin will help me in my quest!
I would like this blog to hopefully stimulate conversation on subjects I find interesting among my hopefully growing readership (I am calling you out, Beth). If I hope to graduate to the editorial prize, I must be able to "influence public opinion in what [I] conceive to be the right direction." Therefore, I would like you all to disagree with me from time to time so I can then convince you of the correct way to see things. Now that all of that is out of the way, we can get back to the business of blogging.
I have been thinking of a great and important subject for my second post, but I cannot decide what the purpose of a blog is. As I mentioned last time, I would like to win many prizes with this blog. At trivia I was talking with my friends, and we somehow wondered if a blog could win a Pulitzer Prize. I have continued wondering exactly what a blog is for. I could use it to vent my personal frustrations, hoping no one would read my most personal thoughts. That would make it more like a diary, and if that is the case, I should probably just get a diary so I can hide it under my bed. I could also use it to vent my most personal thoughts secretly hoping people will read the blog, or I could just be an exhibitionist, wanting everyone to see how strange and great I am. While the ability to expose myself without the risk of a fine or jail time is comforting, I want my blog to be something else.
While looking at the no doubt factually accurate Wikepedia page on the Pulitzer Prize, I discovered that online-only news can qualify for a prize. There is also a category for commentary. I think I can win one of those. Lord knows my Brendan Frasier-like good looks and firsthand knowledge of gin will help me in my quest!
I would like this blog to hopefully stimulate conversation on subjects I find interesting among my hopefully growing readership (I am calling you out, Beth). If I hope to graduate to the editorial prize, I must be able to "influence public opinion in what [I] conceive to be the right direction." Therefore, I would like you all to disagree with me from time to time so I can then convince you of the correct way to see things. Now that all of that is out of the way, we can get back to the business of blogging.
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