More on the pASSport People

This is Congressman Gary Miller. He's my congressman (and yours too if you live around me). Not even he could get Jason's passport done on time. Well...it's not like he really tried all that hard. He forwarded my e-mail to one of his constituent affairs people who couldn't get anything done - not even in the name of the good congressman. His representative was a nice guy and I believe he tried his best to help. But, he's not a congressman.

So...the pASSport people said I needed to make an appointment at the pASSport office in San Francisco and head out there with wife and son in tow to get an emergency pASSport. I called the automated pASSport appointment line ('cause you can't speak to a live person) and was told there were no appointments available. Of course.

I contacted the congressman's constituent affairs rep again and explained what was happening. He was able to arrange for us to be seen. But, we have to be on a standby list. I was told we need to plan on arriving before the doors open and being there all day. Great.

So, off we go to San Francisco tomorrow to spend the day sitting in a government office waiting to be seen. That should be fun. Oh, and I have to pay for the pASSport again - with emergency service fees. "Oh, you'll get a refund for the first application," I was told. Yeah...that doesn't include the overnight postage I paid for, a day I'm going to have to miss from work, all the cell phone minutes I burned up, and the stress we've been through over this.

I was thinking, isn't it ironic that we call ourselves the "Land of the Free," when in fact we're really kinda like prisoners in a way. We're prisoners of an inept government that lacks leadership and vision. Because they won't let you leave without a pASSport. It's a shame.

Don't get me wrong. Nobody loves this country more than me. I spent over 22 years defending it. But this situation has really opened my eyes to the amazing inefficiencies of our government agencies. Once I get this pASSport...IF I get this pASSport...I might just find the time to do something about it.

What do you say? Laurence for Congress???

Stupid pASSport people!

Why is it our government agencies have to be so fantastically inept, so incredibly inefficient, and so monumentally stupid?

Why is it I can spend over $160.00 on express handling and overnight shipping in two directions back in May, and still be biting my nails 6 days before the flight in July because my son’s passport hasn’t arrived? Why?

Why can my wife – a Spanish citizen – casually apply to her embassy (thousands of miles away from her capital of Madrid), and have her passport ready 3 days later? Why? And why does hers only cost $20.00? Why?

The guy on this passport pictured here? That’s Frank E. Moss, Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Passport Services. He’s got his passport. Big fat jerk!

I checked the status of Jason’s passport online: It says it will arrive within 2 to 3 weeks from the date we applied (it’s been 6).

I called the Passport Agency on Thursday: I was told his application hasn’t been processed yet and that they’ll send an e-mail to a supervisor to speed it up.

I called the Passport Agency on Friday: I was told they started it, but they haven’t finished it. “Why have they not finished it?” I dared to ask. “Well, because they have to do background checks and things like that,” I was told.

What? Background checks on a thirteen year-old? How long can that take? Could he possibly have mob ties or connections with al Qaeda at that age?

Note: I mentioned al Qaeda on purpose so that I might get a few hits from the FBI or the CIA on my blog. Maybe they can speed up my son’s passport.

Hey, you! Mr. FBI Agent Dude…My son doesn't have any ties to al Qaeda! And I spent over 22 years in the U.S. military fighting those bastards. So, can he PLEASE have his passport now? He's supposed to leave next week. Call the passport agency for me, will ya?!?!

I e-mailed my congressman, The Honorable George Miller. There was no response from him. He probably has his passport and is vacationing in Europe. Thank you to all you liberal Californians who voted Democrat and made that loser my congressman.

And so we wait...

The Trouble with Feminine Hygiene Products

DISCLAIMER: The following post contains the word “douche.” If you’re offended by the innocuous name of a feminine product, you probably shouldn't read any further. I vacillated on whether or not to post this. And, now that I decided to press forward with it, I’m still not sure if it was the good or the evil side of my brain that won out. I mean, if I can't be real on my own blog, then why bother?

There they were, two kids I know fairly well (and probably you too – it shouldn't take much imagination) standing in the feminine products aisle of Walgreen’s giggling like a couple of school girls. Something they found was making them laugh uncontrollably.

What were they up to? They were taking pictures with their cell phones of a certain box on the shelf. Yep…you guessed right…it was a box of Summer’s Eve Douche.

Where did I go wrong?

Okay…I gotta come clean, as I’m convinced this was some sort of delayed lesson for me. God, in His own perfect timing, has His way of driving home these little lessons. You see, I had a kind of “experience” with this product when I was in the sixth grade.

Douche bag; it was the expression of the day. We used to say it on the playground in reference to the…well…dorkier among us. Yeah…I know it was wrong and I’m not proud of it. But that’s the way it was and I can’t change that. If you don’t like reality TV, you may want to tune out now. It gets worse.

Of course…I had no idea what “douche bag” REALLY meant. It was just the cool thing to say, so I said it.

Anyway, one beautiful spring day, my sixth grade teacher Mr. Porter was working on a lesson in class. He was a nice guy; a little on the effeminate side with a thick black beard and probably a little more touchy-feely with the kids than teachers are allowed to get nowadays. Everyone liked him. He never got mad and he’d reward certain students who had excelled each month with a trip to the Exploratorium in San Francisco. I got to go once. I think it was out of pity. It was that or he thought he could bring me back from the Dark Side with kindness and mercy. Silly man.

Alright, back to the story…

So, there’s Mr. Porter, holding up a poster board he’d put together with a montage of people’s pictures he’d cut from magazines. To this day, I don’t understand the lesson or the point he was trying to make. It may have had something to do with diversity, but I was too bored with it to really care. All I remember was him asking, “Okay, what do these people remind you of?”

There was a long silence. Nobody knew how to answer. What kind of question was that? Was there a right answer? Would someone be embarrassed by speaking up? Most of the kids looked away as though they weren’t listening. Maybe if they didn’t make eye contact, he wouldn’t call on them for an answer.

“They look like a bunch of douche bags to me!” someone yelled across the class.

There was a moment of deafening silence. You could’ve heard a pin drop. And then the class erupted in roaring laughter. All control was lost. Anarchy reared its ugly head.

Who said those words?

Oh…it was me.

Nice Mr. Porter…that wonderful man who never got angry…well, he was angry now. He was visibly glowing red right through that thick black beard as he yelled for the class to be quiet. Nobody was listening. Control was completely lost. It was pandemonium. And, the more he yelled and nobody listened, the madder he got.

Next thing I knew, he was literally dragging me by the arm to the principles office. Twin Creeks Elementary would never be the same sanctity of innocence again.

Mr. Porter tossed me in a chair outside the principle’s office while he barged right in. He slammed the door behind him. I couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but there was a lot of yelling. I heard him say the F-bomb a couple of times followed by my name. It was an impressive display of vulgarity rivaled in intensity only by my own father. And you wonder where I got it.

I was suspended from school and my parents were told to explain to me what “douche bag” meant. I then had to write a report about it. My report was my ticket back into class two days later when they allowed me to return. I think I may have been the first kid suspended from Twin Creeks Elementary. And I came back to a hero’s welcome by my classmates.

And that’s my story. Oh…and I guess I’ll be having a serious conversation with a certain someone. Yeah, I get it, Lord. Lesson learned.

33 Percent (Part Deux)

I created the logo (told you I was serious). I've already started using this with my team. I don't demand you overachieve; just achieve results! Look for the book coming soon. I'm gonna make millions!

Bono Joins The Family

Oh, sure…they look all cute and fluffy. But, do you know what your hamsters are doing when the lights go out at night?

When I woke up this morning, I caught Jason's new hamster Bono hanging out with a couple of white lab mice. I couldn’t help but hear their conversation.

“Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?” one of the mice asked the apparent ringleader.

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world!” the one with the big head announced.

The first mouse responded with, “Narf!” (That must be some sort of rodent code for, “Kill all humans.”)

Bono was cheering them on, shooting his little rifle up in the air. “Jihad! Jihad!” he was yelling over and over.

Yeah, he looked a little shocked when I snatched him up. He tried to play it off, saying that he was going deer hunting with his friends. Like I’d fall for that one!

I’ve banished him to the wheel. He’ll spend the rest of his life running and running but getting nowhere. That’ll show him!

I Hate Shopping

Day 6 - Ikea
We haven't seen Begoña for two days. The last time was somewhere in housewares. She was looking at cheap plastic bowls when Jason and I became distracted by a blue light.

"This would look great in my room," Jason had said as we turned away from Begoña and moved towards the smooth lines of this futuristic looking reading lamp. It was a mistake, and we haven't seen Begoña since.

We're now starving and I fear for me son's life. Three days earlier, we found the cafeteria and were able to stuff ourselves with Swedish meatballs and roasted baby potatos. Unfortunately, we didn't stock up enough for the rest of the journey. I pulled the last meatball from my pocket this morning and gave it to Jason. He'll need his energy if we're ever to find our way out of here. We're now dehydrated, starving, and tired. I'm not sure we'll make it.

Somewhere around the couches, we came across the remains of another family. The skeletons reminded us of our pending fate if we don't find a way out of here soon. We prayed.

We've finally made it into the warehouse. I made us a camp for the night.

In the morning, we'll continue our journey towards to check-out stands. If we can make it that far, we'll make camp for another night and make our push towards the exit in the morning. I only hope we find some food and water along the way.

We still haven't found Begoña. She's probably been trapped by the 50% off sale items and their low everyday prices. Yeah...you pay way less here than at other furniture stores. But, then there's the insanity of putting it together later with instructions written in Swedish. Oh, we'll pay in the end!

Signing off for the day. Need to rest up for the remaining journey.