I need new shoes and was thinking of getting a pair of loafers, but I wouldn’t accomplish anything in them.
After dropping off my boy this morning and driving to work, an utterly out of the blue question popped in my head:
If there were no taxes at all, if the government was a clean slate, and there were no party politics or history bogging us down, what would we collect taxes from and what would we collect them for?
It really was a random musing. I haven’t put any thought into it, as I’ve just sat down at work and felt like posting the question. If we could hit the reset button on all tax law and government spending, what would we do?
I’m going to just leave it out there. Toss your ideas into the hat (comments box) if you wish. It’s a carte blanche, so go for it.
I write a response to a question posed and commented on at The Debatable Land.
With further thought, I disagree more and more with the commenter. Yes, California is the sixth largest economy in the world. But if California decided to leave the Union, disaster would strike both sides. However, it would be far worse on the Californian side having to suddenly sustain itself and fight for trade agreements for all the goods it would export. The remaining 49 would at least be free of being remotely governed by the regulations hammered out by people who have no idea how the world actually operates (yet know so much about a poor egret’s digestive tract) and the 49 might actually find and execute solutions to problems the country faces.
Well, as I’ve posted before about my return to higher education, I am in a radically different place and mindset than I had six years ago when beginning college. So, here is more evidence that I am in the right place to take on my master’s program:
What do I care? Really? Actually, I’d love to pull this sort of thing off with my driver’s license next time I have to take a picture (in 2035 or so). At least if I die in some kind of awful mishap, the news will use my most recent school photo:
My dear, loving wife said of this picture, “You look like you just said something stupid.”
And I am okay being remembered that way. Toodles~
After a great Friday at work, I headed home. As usual, I was driving my champion 1992 ‘two-tone’ Corolla. Given what it looks like, it almost never gives me grief. Well, when crossing the intersection at Main Street, I heard a loud bang and a tink tink tink coming from the rear of my car. It wasn’t a blowout, so I kept on driving just thinking (oh man, if I can simply get home, I’ll deal with it from there.)
The ride home was rougher than usual, believe it or not, and quite a bit noisier. That’s right, my muffler blew off. And once I was home, I regretted not having stopped and picked it up for hopeful reattachment.
Now I’m looking at 125 bucks down the drain to replace and repair parts on a $100 car. The debate raging in my head is boiled down to this: do I really want to keep putting money into a car I don’t want, and if not, what should I get?
I just found a new blog: My Crazy Roommate.
I think a great deal of us have definitely been there. I know I have. Ah, the Doritos incident…
Aside from blogging at work (and on the taxpayers’ dime), I email my wife while at work:
Oh, you know you dig me like a grave… oh wait.
I tell you, my mind works in mysterious ways. I woke this morning with the thought in my head that they had devised a way to making roofing material out of excrement, which really redefines the phrase shit on a shingle.
Your Lovable Hubbable (Hubble? Like the telescope?)
And on Monday, there was a Jazz Band rehearsal after a long, yet successful, day. And fifteen minutes after it was to begin, I had four students. I’ve got nine enrolled, and in the past three rehearsals, no more than five showed up. I need fifteen to twenty to make it viable. I had four. And those four, I couldn’t even get them to sit together at the same time for a single bar. Before we had even played, there was whining about the parts.
So I killed it. I have nowhere near the energy or time for this, so I’m done. No money has changed parties, so really I’m just out a few hours of my life. I will make it up in lesson money. More and more kids are asking about private lessons, and I will coordinate with the band director to do before school lessons, and now with my free time, I can do after school a couple days a week too. And lessons pay way the heck better than this gig.
I just love jazz. I love it. There’s a brilliance to improv, and within confines, it grew and shaped and changed so much over time. And, damnit, it is more our American heritage than anything else, and I love it for that too. I’m listening to the Dave Brubeck Quintet’s album Take Five and my mind is clearing and focusing at the same time.
I need to play again. I miss the old combo so much. If even once a week, my butt needs to be in a band or playing. For my own health, I need to play again.
I don’t even know where to begin with the week I had. Monday still had some spillover rubbish from the previous week (which I’m still livid about, but it definitely has some perspective now.) What it amounted to was a third-party outside of work telling me how to do my job when the person who is in charge apparently was not up for talking to me about her computer needs. It was insulting and obnoxious to say the least. So that carried over into my normal morning of being 10 minutes behind schedule because I like to let my son sleep as much as possible before heading out the door.
Tuesday was by far worse. They are long days in general, because I work my normal nine hours, then head straight to Saint Paul for class. For some reason, I developed an increasingly bad headache that made me depart class early. It was a good thing I went home, because by the time I got to the store to pick up things on my way back, I had a full-blown migraine with nausea and everything. So I did my best to get some water and food in me and passed out.