American Dream

Is the American Dream dead? Or just ill?

In my parent's day, the American Dream was to own their own home, for the kids to have a better life than they'd had. They did own a house, at various times while I was growing up. At other times, they rented. My husband and I have owned this particular house for 20 years this month, so in that respect, we're doing pretty well. Other families, and especially younger families, are having a much tougher time these last few years in getting and keeping ownership of a home. I don't know exact figures, but that aspect of the American Dream seems to be slipping away.

As for the kids having a better life than the parents – my parents imagined the correct route for that was to see that we all went to college. So far, out of 3 children, 1 ½ of us have finished college. I still have a ways to go to get any kind of degree, but I've made it through over half the required credit hours towards that degree. The youngest of us has never started college. But since neither of my parents ever had any college classes – and lately, there's been some confusion over whether or not one of them even graduated high school – then it seems that my generation did better than they did.

In my husband's family, both parents were professionals, with all the schooling that that entails … some kind of degree, I'm sure. Of their 3 children, all of them have at least two master's degrees, and one also has a doctorate. So far as 'better education' goes, they definitely all have their parents beat, but that has not necessarily meant 'better off financially'.

Which brings us to our kids. Ours are still young, just out of high school a year or so. They have both taken some classes at the local community college. One signed up at a private junior college, and went deep into hock to do so. The junior college promptly lost its accreditation, but he still has to pay those loans back. A lot money down the drain for nothing. It'll be a long time before he can get back to school, if he every makes it.

I think that's why these types of economic times are called depressions. Everybody gets depressed. Everybody gives up. Welcome to the American Dream on Life Support.

Taxing the UnRepped

For years, the City of Omaha has taxed its citizens by charging an annual 'wheel tax', which was collected when car owners renewed their state license plate. It always seemed a little unfair to me, as those who didn't have a car didn't pay, and those who had an old car paid the exact same amount as someone who had a brand new one. But nobody asked me my opinion on the subject.

At one point, the wheel tax was extended to those who worked in city government but didn't live within city limits. However, they only charged those people the wheel tax on one car, probably because they had no way of knowing exactly how many vehicles that person might own. This was even more unfair. Employees were being taxed based on who they worked for! But of course, their only recourse was to quit.

The city has its reasons for wanting to get as many people to pay this tax as they can manage. Supposedly, it pays for maintaining the streets, which all those auto tires are busily wearing out. Do other cities pay for street repairs by charging a wheel tax? I don't know. I wish I did.

The most recent proposal from the Omaha city government is that everybody who works inside the city limits – but lives outside the city – should have to pay this wheel tax. I haven't heard how they propose to make that happen. Are the employers supposed to collect it and turn it in? I'm sure they think they've found a way. But wait a minute. People who live outside the city don't have the opportunity to vote on whether or not they should have to pay this tax. They don't have any representation within City Government. Isn't that Taxation Without Representation? Didn't we once fight a war against that very concept?

So, what comes next in this effort to make people pay for the street asphalt they use up by driving through town? Why doesn't the city erect toll booths on all the roads coming into town, all the exits from the interstate, and charge for the privilege of entering the City of Omaha? Think of all those tourists who pause to use a hotel or grab a tankful of gas, a bite to eat. Aren't they also using up the asphalt? Shouldn't they have to shoulder their share of the replacement cost? Of course, they aren't represented on the City Council, either, but such things don't seem to matter in Omaha.

Can't Go Home

There's an old saying that you can never go home again. I've heard it most of my life, but I never really believed it. Until I tried to do it earlier this fall.

To me, home is where your family and friends are, preferably in a location familiar to you from your childhood. As my parents, grandparents and other family members passed, I lost that contact with those familiar faces and places. Maybe it was my age, maybe it was that lost connection with my childhood, but more and more, I started remembering the small town where I grew up, the friends I had, the classmates I shared so many years with. Where were they, what were they doing? I drooled over remembered pastries from the bakery on Main Street, wondered if the school system still served peanut butter sandwiches on Fridays. I didn't realize I was romanticizing my childhood.

Earlier this fall, I had a chance to return to that town for a class reunion. It was culture shock. The highway that used to go through town now veered around. Both trucks stops – one on either end of the town – where my mother and sister used to work were gone, replaced by simple gas stations, fast food joints and pizza places. Main Street was mostly unrecognizable, because a tornado had torn through about 15 years ago, and most of the buildings had to be replaced. The only piece that was recognizable was the theater, but it operated only on the weekend, rather than all week.

When I actually got together with a number of those classmates, I reverted to the shy wallflower I had been in school. I did okay when I could talk to one or two people, but most of them concentrated on conversing with larger numbers, to get the most ground covered, I suppose. And I'm not sure, but I only remember one of them as still living in that town. Some of them recognized me, even after all these years. Strangely, the ones I remembered the most strongly barely remembered me.

The house I grew up in looked ready to fall to the ground.

That wasn't home anymore. Like me, 'home' had changed.

Team Spirit

I've got a friend who's been working a temporary job at a big bank. I get two versions of this job from her whenever she has a chance to talk.

1. It's a fun team to be part of, with rewards and competitions all over the place. The one who closes the most loans this month gets a free turkey! The sooner we reach our goal, the sooner we get to wear jeans! Everybody's worked so hard, we're giving out free ice cream cones this afternoon!
   
2. Her work space is about as far from ergonomic as it can get, and no opportunity to make it better suited to her body. This led to horrendous pain in her neck and shoulders the first week, pain in her lower back radiating down her legs the second week. At last she seemed to 'adjust', and the pains faded away, but she wondered what she might be doing to her body in the long term, by adjusting to her workspace instead of adjusting her workspace.
   

I suppose every job is like that. You learn to do what's expected of you so that you fit in. If you're lucky, you get rewarded for good work with a little more than just a paycheck. But sometimes it seems to me that those 'fun rewards' are just a gimmick to get you to think your workplace is a caring place to be. Upon further study, it doesn't cost the company anything to let the workers wear jeans, or to have a competition to see which team collects the most food for the food bank. Even a few dozen ice cream cones is chump change for a bank as big as this one. How about a reward that would actually mean something, like NOT raising the employees' insurance premium?

Not only companies have a bottom line. Families do, too.

Hide and Seek

I was getting ready to type up a new blog … must be halfway consistent, mustn't I? … when MicroSoft dealt me another blow. That's the problem with MicroSoft (and maybe all giant computer programs, for all I know) – they aren't consistent. Just when you think you've got a mutually working relationship with them, they go and do something unexpected.
Today when I opened up a new blog document, the view of it was not what I expected. The lettering seemed half the size I expected, or less, although the program claimed it was its normal 11 point size. When I compared this new blog document to one I'd previously written, the old one went to '10' according to the ruler along the top. The new one goes to 16 ½.
Now, if this were a document document, I could simply adjust the size at which I'm viewing it. But it's not a document document, it's a blog document. And despite all my efforts, all my searching, I can't find any way to change the size of the view. I even got desperate enough to consult the help files, but they were no help. Help files never actually help, do they?
And so I had to change the size of the font to twice what it normally is, in order for me to see the letters I was typing. I expect when I post this blog, I'll have to change the font back to its normal size, or everybody will think I'm screaming at them. I'd rather just scream at MicroSoft, like that would do any good. Why should they listen to customer complaints? They already have their money.

Anti-Politics Rant 1

Coming up on another election, and those running for office seem particularly stupid this time. Everybody hates mud-slinging ads, and yet, that's all we ever get: "A is going to raise taxes!" / "I'm not going to raise taxes! B's going to! Plus, he gave himself 87 raises in the last two years!" / "A voted himself a raise that doubles his salary! And he was seen drunk!" / "Enough of this mud-slinging; let's discuss the issues. B's going to end social security benefits!"

It's impossible to tell the grain from the chaff, and all anybody can do in such a dearth of information is vote along party lines. That's fine for the followers who feel they must belong to a party, but what about those of us who actually try to determine who they think would be the better choice?

What we need is somebody who could study the records and put out a factual, unbiased report on what the politicians HAVE done in the past. Did C vote to privatize social security? Did D sell his vote on this bill for a big pork-barrel addition that doesn't benefit anybody? That would at least give the voter some information on which to base his decision.

But who would do it? The average person can't spend the required time to do that much research; they have a job and family. My initial thought was that it was a job for the news media, but they seem to have abdicated that responsibility. The only thing they seem to be interested in doing is asking such questions as, "How does this faux pas affect this candidate's ability to win the election?

So, it seems impossible for the average voter to get any real information on the candidates, and yet, they are expected to choose one, even though all the candidates act like idiots. I'm beginning to think only idiots run for office. Do I really want idiots representing me?

What choice do I have?

Oct Road Trip Part 2

Okay, so there I was in Colorado, where I had a cozy chat with friends from long ago. Eventually, I had to start home.

I never did find a place in that small town to get a decent breakfast. The hotel offered donuts, but I have to watch my blood sugar, so that wasn't a good option. All the restaurants I saw were either fast food without a breakfast menu or associated with a bar and not open until 11 AM. I pulled out of town at 7:30 AM with a couple ounces of cheese to serve as my breakfast. Not a great start to the day.

It started raining while I was on that 2-lane Colorado highway. I carefully considered the landscape every time I came across a sign that declared this section of road was in a 'flash flood zone'. I suppose the locals know what they're talking about, but … all I saw were low ridges all around, sloping down to a valley some 5 or 6 feet below the asphalt roadway. No dry creek bed or eroded section to indicate past floods. Happily, it wasn't raining hard enough for me to see where a flash flood would come from.

It was still raining when I got to Nebraska, and suddenly I had plenty of company on the road. You know, it's disconcerting to find yourself zipping along at 75-80 amidst a herd of 18-wheelers, all jostling each other as they jockey for a position closer to the front of a VERY long line of traffic. Add rain heavy enough to put your wipers on high speed, and the experience becomes worrisome. So my trip east through Nebraska was not as happy as my trip west had been, except that each exit I went past put me that much closer to home.