A little background - My daughter has a car licensed in her name.  She purchased it this past summer.  It was a cheap find on the internet but needed some tender loving care.  After numerous hours of basic maintenance, cleaning, and some specific mechanical repairs she has a pretty decent car.  Reliable enough for her to take to school at an institution of higher learning outside the boundaries of our fair state.

  The plates on this pheonix expired at the end of October.  This event came and went without too much fanfare as the car was with her AND no notification from the state was received.  This is where the bureacracy kicks into high gear.

I sent an email inquiry to the DOT commenting that I would ‘renew online’ if I had the confidence that they would send the tabs to the right mailing address.  To verify the address, I wrote ‘is the address on file for the vehicle the same as the address on file for me?’  Note that I didn’t specify an address, a simple YES or NO would not reveal any private information.  It should be known that I had the vehicle title directly in front of me which should imply the answer would be YES (title address = my home).

What I got back was ‘Due to data privacy restrictions, your daughter...’. 

  The internet process is such that I CAN renew them online (but they will be mailed to whatever address is on file, you know, the one they won’t tell me about).  If I had the mailing, I COULD renew them over the phone or in person.  I don’t have proof that they address on the renewal is correct and have ample reason to lack confidence that it is.  Limited options here.  Hmmm...

So I took copies of the title to the service counter.  Standing there with a copy of the title, they told me that I could not renew her plates and that she would have to either take care of it herself or fill out a form authorizing me to do it for her.   Hello! If she could do it herself she would, but now she can’t because she doesn’t have legal transportation.  And to get her the form?  They recommended Fed Ex.  It’s a damn $40 renewal and the instant I walk out the door they wouldn’t know if I filled out the forms (falsely and illegally) or if she did so what’s the difference?

Fed Ex once to her to fill out, back to me to execute, back to her with tabs.  What’s the cost of three Fed Ex overnight deliveries?  What’s the cost of a ticket?  What’s the risk?

And we wonder why so many people try to work at the fringes of the system...

As Buddee approaches age 12, I realize how much I appreciate the loyalty of this old dog. But, let's face it, there are some unpleasant aspects of old dog ownership.

First, there is an increase in vet bills. This vet we see has not tried to upgrade the yearly routine bloodwork to the "geriatric" bloodwork (costing 3 times as much), although most vets will sell it to you by using guilt. What the "geriatric" bloodwork results usually show is that your dog is old. But this vet was successful in selling me the teeth cleaning. I got a call at work a few hours after I dropped him off at the vet's. The vet is asking for permission to pull a tooth on the dog. My response: "I don't know. I think Buddee wants to keep all his teeth." But the doctor describes the state of the tooth in gory detail, and I agree to the extraction after he assures me that the tooth is not on the same side that is already missing several teeth by nature. $500 dollars later, I pick up my very woozy, drunk dog. As I looked into the glazed eyes on the bobbling head, I thought, how sad it is when a dog outlives his teeth.

Second, as the cost of the dog increases, the usefulness of the dog decreases. (We need to pause here. I need to introduce the words Useful and Dog to each other. They have never met in the same sentence.) Old Buddee remains a great companion, and, in some ways, is better than young Buddee because he doesn't demand as much attention. He's old and he just wants to be left alone. And he is awfully tired. He engages in a 5 minute play period before I leave for work and 10 minute play period in the evenings and then he's tuckered out. And that is where the problem is. The once great watchdog is still fierce when he is awake and notices the intruder. So, he still rates high as a companion but his usefulness as an alarm system is over. The only other useful thing he did was greet me each day as if my coming home was the best think that happened all day. Oh, how I remember that feeling after a hard day at work, of being greeted with squeals of delight that didn't seem like they could come from such a rough-looking large dog. These days, I drive into the driveway, get out of the car, and open the iron gate before he notices I'm home. And then the dog is so groggy from his deep sleep that he takes a couple of minutes to recognize me. By then, even if he had the energy to act excited, the moment is ruined.

Third, people start to make fun of your dog when it gets old. At my last holiday party a couple of Christmases ago, I noticed a crowd gathering around Buddee's orthopedic ($200) bed. I pushed through the crowd to see what the laughter was about. The dog was snoring, fast asleep, as my then-husband was lifting Buddee's front leg and letting it drop over and over again as Buddee snored, and things were being said like, "Buddee, you need to relax. It's the holiday." I shoo-ed them away and told myself, as my mother had told me when I was little, that they weren't laughing "at" Buddee, they were laughing "with" Buddee. Also, the tricks Buddee knew so well, that made me so proud---"sit", "shake","stay", "go lay down"---don't go over as well as they used to. He had a beautiful sit. He sat quickly on command, with head held high, as if he thought he was a pure breed. His proud sit was what had made me fall in love with him at the shelter---he seemed so confident, even though his ears are situated crooked on his head and his tongue perpetually hung out the side of his face (because he's missing lower teeth on that side) and even though he was in a terrible place, that shelter. But now, when I show off for people and command the sit, it takes so long for him to lower his butt onto his arthritic heels that the trick evokes pity from the audience and I get a look of "how could you be so cruel?" or "can't you see he's old and just wants to be left alone?" I usually skip the "shake" command at this point because it just comes across as the dog's begging for mercy.

And, finally, I get to the worst old dog problem of all. BTW, if you are not a bodily function kind of person (meaning you don't like to talk about body functions ever), you should read no further. That problem is the problem of gas---a common problem in old dogs. To be honest, the dog had a mild gas problem early on in our relationship. When I brought the 5-year-old dog home from the shelter, I attributed the problem to his recent heartworm treatments. However, it seemed to linger long after he recovered. One day, my then-husband, who is sympathetic to the plight of being tall, suggested that the long-legged, lanky dog should have an elevated dog bowl. It looked uncomfortable to have him lean over to the ground to eat. So, off to Petsmart, I went. As I compared dozens of options in the elevated feeding department of Petsmart, I noticed a common theme in the benefits listed on the sides of the boxes---"Helps alleviate gas!" they all claimed. I thought, "You have got to be kidding me!" So, I made my selection and, lo and behold, the gas problem ceased. The next time I went to the vet, I had to ask about it. The vet said, "Oh, yes, some dogs get terrible gas from bending down to the floor to eat." I replied, "You could have mentioned that a couple of years ago. I mean, the dog has a bed in every room and he is always with me. That includes the bedroom. The dog's little problem interrupted sex on more than a couple of occasions." (The vet engaged in a kind of nervous chuckle, at the same time that I realized that his training probably didn't include human sexual dysfunction related to canine digestive disorders or perhaps I just over-shared and he had no idea what to say.) So, the gas subsided, but as age set in, it is back and here for the duration of his life, I'm afraid. (And, yes, I have tried every dog food that exists---sometimes at $3 a can.) I have accepted it and learned to live with it. I apologize in advance when people visit my home. When Buddee and I go for walks (which seem to stimulate gas production) and Buddee exhibits the little problem loudly (he is of human size, so he can exhibit human sounds), I just smile at the neighbor working in his yard, looking at me with disgust, and I say, "excuse me". I'd say, "It was the dog," but what would be the point? They'd never believe me.

Despite the problems with this old dog, I know that he is trying to be the very best dog he knows how to be. It's like I always tell him: he is the best large tan male dog in the whole house.

There were raw material suppliers, equipment suppliers, presses, robotics, tool makers, automated processing equipment, automated packaging equipment, molds and molders. They were injection molding, blow molding, rotational molding, processing sheet film, making bags, foam manipulations, you name it, it was there. And many of these groups were passing out there wares.

So now imagine that you are a representative of your company, attending this gathering of epic proportions. Can you see yourself gathering samples of everything from toothbrushes to laundry baskets, petri dishes to 5 gallon water cooler bottles, and constantly carrying them with you? I witnessed the gambit, press operators who looked like they were dressed to work in the garden to presidents of small companies in the best traveling suits they owned, all carrying so much crap that they had occluded their vision. And at the next stand, they would put down their booty, and gather in whatever that stand had to give away. And the combination of adoration and fierce protectiveness that they had over their 'prizes' was enough to press serious concern about the progress of mankind. And if you were to sum it all up, they were in possession of about $6.08 of miscellaneous purchasables from the local Target store.

I just wish I had been there when they tried to get on the airplane.

It's not that I don't like camping, but having bodily fluids involuntarily drained from my body (mosquito) or having flesh torn from my body (black fly, horse fly) or being bit for no apparent reason (spider bites are the worst) somewhat diminish the pleasure of the endeavor. Fortunately, the memory of swatting helplessly and itching madly seems to fade (a possible side effect of the poisons) and we go camping again. Silly me, I dock my boat in the middle of a swamp, a veritable misquote nursery. Just before sundown are about the worst two hours, they come out of the reeds in waves. After that its tolerable, unless one gets stuck in the cabin and insists on flying by your ear every minuet or so, ALL NIGHT!

Really Dean, either live up to the claim, or change the name.

Don't get me wrong, I really like Christmas. Bright flashing lights, the annual slaughter of evergreens, T.V. specials we've all seen too many times, family and friends, ect... But "Xmas", that's got me a little irate. I'm sick of "Xmas Sales", "Book now for this years Xmas Party", the worst and most flagrant are the Xmas Tree lots. The holiday is called "Christmas" people. That's C H R I S T M A S!!! I know it's eight letters long and will require a whole three extra seconds to spell it out fully. But are the people making these signs really that pressed for time? Maybe they should work for the government where time is irrelevant? Maybe this is part of the dumbing* of North America, and the huddled masses can't handle anything longer than four letter words? Could their attention spans be that short? Is " Christmas Sale " really too long to catch the eye of the average consumer, or maybe they're aiming for the below average consumer.

Inquiring yahoo's want to know!!

Season Greetings

* Yes, I know it's not a real word.

It was just one year ago today that Dean warned us all of the evil of the Randall's Remarkable Card. Remarkable profits maybe. But alas, a glance down El Dorado still shows that festering plague of a grocery store. I know that I have not pulled my weight in this struggle against this tobacco owned giant. I have not made the sacrifices required and I am ashamed. So, I asked each of you to tear up your Randall's card, burn it and send the toxic remains to corporate headquarters to show that you can not be taken advantage of when it comes to buying squash. Riiiiiiipppppppp. My is gone now. Of course, I live out of state.

I've heard it said that men carry their brains in their pants. While not entirely true, the statement is based in fact. The Johnson has a mind of its' own. How else could you explain the inappropriate behavior, creating embarrassing moments at the least appropriate times. Or the 'sleeping dog' syndrome (of which I have only heard of, thus I cannot speak from experience). But the worst of all, taking your rightful place on the throne, only to expunge yourself with such great urgency, that a splashing effect dowses you from below. I didn't set out to do that.

When did "bums" become "homeless"? I see them all the time at parking lot entrances and street corners holding up signs which read "Will work for food". Yeah, right. If you asked one to mow your lawn in exchange for a hearty meal he would probably spit on you and or your car. Of course, I wouldn't let one get into my car, considering how fithy they usually look. And I definitely don't want any bums knowing where I live. Some, but not all, are as crazy as a rat in a coffee can. And then I look bad if I don't seem sympathetic to their plight. Not enough beds in the shelters? Get a job and some ex-bum friends for roommates. It works for the Vietnamese, six or eight people in an apartment. But then again, the Vietnamese want to work, and be productive members of society, don't they? I guess my biggest complaint is that bums are an eyesore. If they want to live in boxes under highways and bother the people who work downtown, fine. Be leave the decent people alone once they head home from work.

Not to sound like Jerry Seinfeld, but why is it that people don't take the time to mount the roll of toilet paper. You know what I mean, the half used roll balanced precariously on top of a convenient perch, the empty tube hanging there in the dispenser. I can understand it happening in my home, with small children unable to understand the intricacy of the spring loaded paper dispenser, but in an office full of educated professionals? Are they otherwise too busy to take those few seconds to eject the old tube and mount the new roll? If they are too busy, what are they doing (or do I really want to know)? Perhaps it's me, able to multi-task, both taking care of business AND change the roll at the same time, thus making me something of a super human? Could that be the answer? For the sake of mankind, I hope not.

Then there is the creative use of English. Sure, I'm no expert, but when Michael Stipe says "Arvo Part's music is a house on fire and an infinite calm" I'm thinking that this is not the same English I know. Personally, if my house is on fire, an infinite calm is not a top ten emotion. In fact, my butt is in panic mode trying to save myself. Maybe those Healthy Choice buyer's have infinite calm. Maybe they will die in a fire. Good riddance.

• My homepage is that way.