Sunday, May 16, 2010

We Are Greece

Why do we argue if we are Greece or not? That’s as stupid as standing in the middle of a burning house with a pack of matches in your hand and saying, “but I didn’t light it.” Who the hell care? Your standing in the middle of a burning house. Got out.

I’m not a liberal intellectual like Paul Krugman. I can’t get away with speculating about the economy with unproven theories and flat out denial about the economic situation. I’m just a smuck like everyone else who experiences reality. If I don’t have enough money coming in, I must either earn more money or cut my spending. I’m responsible to do this because no one is going to bail me out. I can safely say I’m not Greece. I get no bailout. And you probably aren’t like Greece either.

I do know that the US Debt to GDP ratio is over 10%. (For the economically challenged this is not healthy.) The United States is 13 trillion in debt. And here comes Congress – like a seagull to shit over everything – to add another $500 BILLION in spending on top of everything else. This could happen by the end of the month. Are you serious that my concerns about the debt are only a ploy to attack Congress' spending on social welfare? Well, hell yeah. Otherwise it is the same as your spouse saying in response to your lay off, “It’s okay honey. Let’s go and get that new car and take that vacation anyway. We’ll just borrow more money and worry about it later.” Later is now.

No the US is not like Greece. California which must close a $20 BILLION dollar budget deficit is. Huge slashes welfare, school spending, hospital programs, etc. are needed. Not little cuts, deep cuts. It hurts all. But it slaps those who have grown dependent on government created ballooning bureaucracies, the government union.

80% of workers in the US have defined pension plans. Those plans are in the market. They have already taken a wallop in the debt crises of 18 months ago. Unions held firm on their strangled hold on government and you the taxpayer. Public sector employees represents just 15% of the workforce, but they are paid by federal, state, and local governments who are all at risk when these governments go belly up.

Begin to dump this workforce into the 10% already unemployed and what do you think won’t happen? Riots in the street? Because we are not Greece? I’m sure Greece didn’t even think this would happen. We are humans and we are all greedy. Give us something and then try to take it away. What will happen? Greece? Isn’t New Jersey getting a little contentious?

Interest rates are going to rise. The economy is going to choke on new taxes. What we need is a credible solution and that does not include $500 BILLION more in spending. Spending needs to be reigned in now or we will face drastic cuts. Congress hasn’t the stomach to do it. Idiots like Jack Krugman say we are not like Greece. If we don't get a grip, we will be. Please, you can hide under a rock if you want. I’m building an ark.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Callie

This may cause some of you to scoff, “Valerie, you need to get out more.” Scoff if you will, but this clearly illustrates the amazing power of the Internet’s social networks.

Throughout the ages man has been able to stir emotions through the use of various media. It would seem impossible to compare emotion caused by “art” to that caused by life. Nevertheless, the protagonist portrayed in novel or film suffers a loss, we feel that loss. He experiences triumph; we too bask in the glory and success. Every emotion is possible to evoke by word, photo, painting, music, etc. We never discredit the emotion as fake, but applaud the artist for the skill to capture our heart and soul, for bringing us along on the escape, an escape that brings us right back to the reality of human experience, an emotional connection to our world and others. (Aren’t we all going to cry when the last episode of Lost airs?) Friendships borne on the Internet suffer no loss in the ability to tap into a connection of human experience.

For the last year I have been on Twitter communicating with those who responded to the insane, poignant and humorous musing of my cat Diablo, known as Southbound Cat. My twittering cat is not novel. Millions of others do the same. For Southbound twittering was the next step in the evolution of expression. Diablo and her—yes Diablo’s online persona is a male, an often confusing point for others when I discuss my cat—companion, Phoenix, have blogged since my book tour in 2006.

There were only so many observations the cat could make in the confines of the house, and since my imagine lacks at times, I allowed Diablo to escape and begin a four month journey across the country. Ultimately, she would end up in Hawaii just about the time I would leave.

Along the way Diablo has brought with her a pile of followers, mostly other felines, the occasional airport, marketing firm and a few XXX’ers. I can’t explain it. She kept her reciprocal following to a minimum to filter out the drivel and concentrate on a special few who regularly have something entertaining to say. I am socially challenged and can not keep track of much more than a couple hundred others. Diablo’s cadre of followers is now over 1000. By the way, my own twitter account has only 23 followers.

She has developed some unique friendships with equally feisty if not wittier felines, cats with cat-titudes suffering the embarrassment of living with humans just because they can’t operate a can opener. It is an opposable thumb, not a lack of intelligences issue. Of equal attachment she has a community of humans with a fondness for the felines.

Diablo conspired to take over the world with the help of a few other felines. They have developed The Code, and have weaseled enough Tuna out of their humans to put Charlie the Tuna out of business. Diablo has been invited to stay with numerous feline and human friends and even a hedgehog during her transcontinental traipse. While most communication has been banter from a cat’s perspective behind the scene real life occurs. And that is were the connections rest.

Diablo shared in the joys of new kitties and loveable adoptions. "He" laughed out loud at hilarious antics and comments. "He" especially enjoyed taking stabs at foibles. Diablo shared the pains of illness and death, which included Boots, my mother’s cat. Some cats twitter the daily tribulations of their battles with disease and sickness. We watch, listen and pray. Others never mention their woes. Humans share their experiences in the similar fashion. Diablo offered sympathy to those whose pets have crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. In Direct Messages Diablo has come out of character to extend prayer to a friend whose father-in-law is gravely ill. While the adventures and tales of the Twitter characters are unreal (come on, a typing cat?), their personas, created by the person behind the keyboard are no less real.

Of this group, Diablo’s best friend and partner in crime has been a cat named TooncesCat. Toonces helped develop Diablo’s bad ass yet, loveable male character. As Diablo morphed on Twitter a connection to other fellow Twitterers, both cat and human grew. You may say virtually, but that does not diminish the resulting friendships.

I acknowledge all the emotions I have experienced on Diablo's behalf, yet I was caught off guard this morning, when I received a message that one of Toonces’ sibling house kitties passed away with kidney failure. Sadness met my heart and filled my eyes with tears. A real loss. I so felt the loss of a cat I had never met, never twittered to, and rarely discussed. But this cat belonged to Toonces’ owner. My heart goes out to The Human of Toonces on the loss of Callie, a beautiful 15 year old calico, the sister of Toonces, the friend of Diablo.

Weird yes, but that little bit of me that hurts is no less real.

Saturday, May 08, 2010

$75 Tomato

The only thing I’ve ever been good at growing has been my toenails. As a little kid, my first gardening attempt involved peas. I netted five pods and ever since I’ve never been a fan of peas. When I attempted tomatoes I lost the battle to cutworms the size of hotdogs. In January, when I was making a salad I sliced open a tomato and found little sprouts. I decided to see what would happen if I planted them.

It started as a simple whim, an experiment in my backyard, kept it simple and inexpensive, after all, condo rules state no fruit bearing plants. Something about attracting rats. If I got caught and had to remove the plants, I didn’t want a lot of money sunk into a few illegal plants.

It began with some dirt taken from beneath my palms and a cottage cheese container. No big investments. Four days after I planted them I took off for two weeks. I stuck the plastic container in one of my ti pots hooked up to a drip irrigation system. I placed the pot in a shady area of my lanai so the sun wouldn’t fry them. The tiny sprouts were not given much chance to survive. When I returned I had two dozen plants about three inches tall. That’s when I got emotionally involved in the experiment. And that cost money.

My nursery of little seedlings needed something larger than a cottage cheese container. And they needed more dirt. My Hilo cousin, an organic fruit and sheep farmer explained dirt was what you get on your clothes. What I needed was soil. I bought two bags soil and a window box size flower container, although I was advised I needed bigger containers. I transplanted the tiny plants expecting to lose some to shock, but all twenty seven seedlings made the first transplant. Surprised me. I knew I had to thin the herd, but like I said I got emotionally attached to the little guys. Pulling some of them up by the roots seemed criminal.


Over the course of the next few weeks they grew to be a foot tall. I needed more dirt and more pots. Cha-ching, cha-ching. I culled some of the plants and transplanted the rest into four more pots. Again, I expected some to die in the process, but all made it. In the culling process, I pulled one plant up and then decided to jam it back into another pot. The next day it lay limp. I continued to water it and it regained its upright posture, although stunted. Eventually it began to grow. In all I kept ten. They grew. I purchased tomato cages. (That was a sight. Traveling home on my scooter with four cages strapped to my basket. Looked pretty much like a scene from Bangkok, minus five other passengers.)


Bugs attacked the leaves. I bought a biological insecticide. Later the leaves started to yellow. I began to feed them Miracle Grow.

The plants are on the west side of the condo. By the afternoon, when they could get direct sun, the clouds have moved in. They are lucky if they get two hours. When I read that tomato plants need 6-8 hours of sunlight I went all out and bought a 120 watt grow light which are damn expensive in Hawaii.





My experiment was a measured success. I harvested my first tomato today. It cost about $75, not counting the cost of the original tomato purchased at the local farmer’s market back in January.