Rob and Kristi
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Posts in category Everyday Life

Closing Remarks

Oct31
2010
Kristi Written by Kristi

This was not a rally to ridicule people of faith or people of activism or to look down our noses at the heartland or passionate argument or to suggest that times are not difficult and that we have nothing to fear.  They are and we do.  But we live now in hard times, not end times.  And we can have animus and not be enemies.

But unfortunately one of our main tools in delineating the two broke.  The country’s 24 hour political pundit perpetual panic conflictinator did not cause our problems but its existence makes solving them that much harder.  The press can hold its magnifying up to our problems bringing them into focus, illuminating issues heretofore unseen or they can use that magnifying glass to light ants on fire and then perhaps host a week of shows on the sudden, unexpected dangerous flaming ant epidemic.

If we amplify everything we hear nothing.  There are terrorists and racists and Stalinists and theocrats but those are titles that must be earned.  You must have the resume.  Not being able to distinguish between real racists and Tea Partiers or real bigots and Juan Williams and Rick Sanchez is an insult, not only to those people but to the racists themselves who have put in the exhausting effort it takes to hate–just as the inability to distinguish terrorists from Muslims makes us less safe not more.  The press is our immune system.  If we overreact to everything we actually get sicker–and perhaps eczema.

And yet, with that being said, I feel good—strangely, calmly good.  Because the image of Americans that is reflected back to us by our political and media process is false.  It is us through a fun house mirror, and not the good kind that makes you look slim in the waist and maybe taller, but the kind where you have a giant forehead and an ass shaped like a month old pumpkin and one eyeball.

So, why would we work together?  Why would you reach across the aisle to a pumpkin assed forehead eyeball monster?  If the picture of us were true, of course, our inability to solve problems would actually be quite sane and reasonable.  Why would you work with Marxists actively subverting our Constitution or racists and homophobes who see no one’s humanity but their own?  We hear every damn day about how fragile our country is—on the brink of catastrophe—torn by polarizing hate and how it’s a shame that we can’t work together to get things done, but the truth is we do.  We work together to get things done every damn day!

The only place we don’t is here or on cable TV.  But Americans don’t live here or on cable TV.  Where we live our values and principles form the foundations that sustains us while we get things done, not the barriers that prevent us from getting things done.  Most Americans don’t live their lives solely as Democrats, Republicans, liberals or conservatives.  Americans live their lives more as people that are just a little bit late for something they have to do—often something that they do not want to do—but they do it–impossible things every day that are only made possible by the little reasonable compromises that we all make.

Look on the screen. This is where we are. This is who we are.  (points to the Jumbotron screen which show traffic merging into a tunnel).  These cars—that’s a schoolteacher who probably thinks his taxes are too high.  He’s going to work.  There’s another car-a woman with two small kids who can’t really think about anything else right now.  There’s another car, swinging, I don’t even know if you can see it—the lady’s in the NRA and she loves Oprah.  There’s another car—an investment banker, gay, also likes Oprah.  Another car’s a Latino carpenter.  Another car a fundamentalist vacuum salesman.  Atheist obstetrician.  Mormon Jay-Z fan.  But this is us.  Every one of the cars that you see is filled with individuals of strong belief and principles they hold dear—often principles and beliefs in direct opposition to their fellow travelers.

And yet these millions of cars must somehow find a way to squeeze one by one into a mile long 30 foot wide tunnel carved underneath a mighty river.  Carved, by the way, by people who I’m sure had their differences.  And they do it.  Concession by conscession.  You go.  Then I’ll go.  You go. Then I’ll go.  You go then I’ll go. Oh my God, is that an NRA sticker on your car?  Is that an Obama sticker on your car? Well, that’s okay—you go and then I’ll go.

And sure, at some point there will be a selfish jerk who zips up the shoulder and cuts in at the last minute, but that individual is rare and he is scorned and not hired as an analyst.

Because we know instinctively as a people that if we are to get through the darkness and back into the light we have to work together. And the truth is, there will always be darkness.  And sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t the promised land. Sometimes it’s just New Jersey.  But we do it anyway, together.

If you want to know why I’m here and want I want from you, I can only assure you this: you have already given it to me.  Your presence was what I wanted.

Sanity will always be and has always been in the eye of the beholder.  To see you here today and the kind of people that you are has restored mine.  Thank you.

I<3 Jon Stewart.

Posted in Current Events

My Stupid Foot

Oct25
2010
Kristi Written by Kristi

About two weeks ago, we hired a gardener.  Well, she sort of hired us, which is a different entry that I’ll let Rob write.  She is a neighbor who is trying to start a lawn service business and we’re her second client.  She’s been working like a dog in our jungle of a backyard nearly every day since we hired her.  While I was walking outside to check on her progress, I stepped on a rose thorn.  Hard.  I tried to dig it out but it was in  there pretty well.

So I did what most people do. I posted it on Facebook and Googled “thorn removal”.  Is this normal?  Doesn’t matter.  I soaked my foot multiple times, per websites specializing in this sort of thing.  I begged my husband to get the thorn out.  He tried. I cried. It really, really hurt.

The next day, I called the doctor’s office.  I couldn’t really put weight on my foot and I was afraid of getting an infection.  They got me in at 3:30 that afternoon.  Our GP took one look at it and said, “Yeah, I’m not touching that.  You’re going over to see a podiatry surgeon at the hospital.  Let me see if he’s in.”  And we were on our way to the hospital for a visit to the podiatrist.

We waited for about 45 minutes to get in and finally got into an exam room.  The dr. jacked me up on the table, like a I was an Oldsmobile in for a tune up, and started digging.  Much screaming ensued and I begged him to stop.  A nice shot of lidocaine in the bottom of the foot and he started digging deeper.  He wasn’t sure he got it all but thought he probably had.  A few stitches later, I was sent upstairs for a tetanus shot and then back downstairs for an x-ray.  Oh, and I was given the shoe of shame.  A lovely surgical shoe.

Like this.

The weekend passed and my foot felt better.  It was bandaged up so I was off of it as much as I could.  And on Monday, the doctor called and said the x-ray was negative.  But he wanted me to have an ultrasound to see if there was anything left in my foot.  Lovely.

I had to call radiology 8 times before I got a human being on the phone to make an appointment.  I was supposed to see the doctor on Wednesday morning so Tuesday afternoon, we headed back to the hospital for the ultrasound.  I peeled the bandage off my foot and the ultrasound tech started her magic.  It was more like torture because holy crap it hurt.  And on the screen, she showed Rob a very clearly defined rose thorn.  Damn!

We went back to the doctor the next morning and he walked in and said, “Sorry, it’s still in there.  Did you eat yet?”  Uh. Yes.

“Darn.  You need surgery to have it out.”  What? Now?

Thursday afternoon at 2:30. Be at the hospital at 12:30.  No food, drink, gum or candy for 24 hours.  Bleergh. At least there would be good drugs.

We arrived at the hospital on Thursday afternoon and waited.  My mom came to sit with Rob and when he got up to wander around, they came to take me back.

Change clothes. Pee in a cup.  Put on these booties and cap.  Lay down on this bed.  Start the IV. Take BP.  Clean leg.  See the doctor and finally they brought Rob back.  He was afraid they’d taken me in without saying good-bye to him.  Answer a million questions from the nurse and finally, the good stuff comes.  Versed.  Ahhhh.. the nurse called it tequila in a small vial.  Indeed.

I woke up in the recovery room with a huge bandage on my foot and a nasty migraine.  When they asked me how I was, I complained about my head.  More good drugs.  This time, Dilaudid.  Oooooh.  A few crackers and some juice.  More Dilaudid for the headache.  Sleeping.  Lots of sleeping.  Vicodin for the ride home and the sweating kicked in.

They got Rob and told him I was ready to go home but I was feeling awful.  The wheelchair ride was terrible and the nurse gave me 2 bags for the ride home. I drifted off with the window down and finally, we pulled up in front of the house.  Rob got out to turn on the lights and I threw up everything in my stomach.  Nice.

Crutches. Loopy. Nauseous.  Need the bed.  Get the cat off of me.  Sleep.  Headache.  Hungry.  Thirsty.  Caffeine? Please?

Rob ate dinner about 9pm.   I had saltines.  We both drifted off and I woke up in tears about 2am.  Still had a headache but eventually, I went back to sleep.

The recovery has not been that bad.  I’m not taking pain meds any longer and other than the crutches and the boot of shame (I graduated to a boot!), it’s been ok.

Rob’s tired of waiting on me. I’ve got cabin fever like never before and we’re ready for this to be over.  I couldn’t have done it without him though.

In sickness and in health.

Progress

Jul15
2010
Rob Written by Rob

So I can drive legally again. You’ll love this story.

In 2006 – long before I met Kristi – I was living in an apartment in Winter Park, Florida. Once upon a time, Winter Park was considered a fairly well-to-do, upper middle class neighborhood. That changed for the most part during the housing boom of the last decade; as someone I knew once told me, the rich people sold their homes to very heavily mortgaged people. End result was more people, more noise, more crime.

At the time, I was a bad insomniac. I’d work until about 3am, go to bed, sleep until 11am, rinse and repeat. It worked okay because at the time, most of my clients were on the West Coast, so I just joked about living on West Coast time. I’d be out walking around the apartment complex at 2am, trying to unwind. Occasionally I’d jump in my little Toyota Camry and drive up to the UPS Store and check my mailbox at midnight. Traffic in Orlando is horrendous, bumper to bumper everywhere, at all times except late at night.

So one night I’m driving back from the mailbox through Winter Park, around midnight, and cop lights come on behind me. I had a taillight out. He gave me a fix-it ticket and sent me on my way.

Ten minutes later, was pulled over again by a different Winter Park cop, this time (allegedly) because my license plate light was out.

Two blocks later, pulled a third time, this time for the tail light again. That cop let me go after I explained that I was just trying to drive two miles through Winter Park to get home, and had already been pulled over twice in fifteen minutes. Irritated, I showed him ticket #1. He explained that they were getting a lot of pressure to crack down on crime late at night, so basically they were pulling over anyone who looked suspicious. In other words, I was being ticketed for driving an old Toyota through Winter Park at night.

So. Fixed the car, got my fix-it tickets stamped, was told that no points would be assessed on my Florida license. This was at the very start of 2007.

Fast forward two years. Since that night, I’d met the love of my life, moved to California, gotten married, every single aspect of my life had dramatically changed. Nothing I could have foreseen that night in late 2006. One day we get a notice from the car insurance people that our premium was going to shortly triple. At the time, we were broke and Kristi’s job was in jeopardy and my clients were drying up and now these guys wanted us to pay a fortune for car insurance. In a panic, we called our agent and were told that the state of California had assessed three points on my drivers license. The agent announced this in a tone that suggested that I was a DUI who recently ran over a class of handicapped children.

So, we contacted the California DMV to find out what’s what, assuming there was a clerical error of some kind. We were told that the records had transferred from Florida, and the state of Florida had me listed with several moving violations from late 2006. We told California that those were fix-it tickets, and they’d been fixed, and there were no points on my Florida license. California told us that it would have to be sorted on the Florida end.

Florida insisted that I had no points on my license and that it would have to be sorted on the California end.

It was a nightmare. We worked our way through one obscure bureaucratic cubbyhole after another, each one insisting that it was someone else’s problem. No progress made at all. If we couldn’t get this worked out, I would have to come off the insurance and I wouldn’t be able to drive legally in California until early 2010, when the points rolled off.

Eventually what we learned was this. In both California and Florida, fix-it tickets don’t turn into points unless you don’t get the car fixed. In California, fixing the car results in the ticket being expunged from your record. In Florida, however, they leave the ticket on the record, flag it as “adjudicated” (which meant, legally, that I pled guilty) and simply not assess points. So, when my files transferred from Florida to California, they included three “adjudicated” tickets, which California promptly assessed points for. We were told by California that the only way to fix the problem was to have Florida change their computer systems and how they flagged such ticket situations.

So here’s how it was. I had fixed fix-it tickets. No Florida points. Had the exact same thing, under the exact same circumstances, happened in any California jurisdiction, I would have had no California points. But since it happened in Florida, even though Florida considered it a nonissue, California was going to treat me like a three-time DUI. EVEN THOUGH IT WOULD HAVE BEEN A NONISSUE HAD IT HAPPENED HERE.

We had no choice. Off I came from the insurance, banished from legal driving for at least another year.

All basically because I once got pulled over several times, in a single trip, by overeager cops, for driving a Toyota through Winter Park late at night.

I’m saying this now because today I’m finally back on the insurance. Points gone. Lately we’ve been paying off credit cards, catching up, building business, and at the moment we’re the most financially solvent we’ve been in over two years. It’s a really good feeling. And to top it all off, I can drive again.

Moral of the story: if you happen to find yourself driving through Winter Park, Florida late at night, in a car worth less than fifty grand, just pull over somewhere quiet and wait for dawn. You never know where life will take you in a few short years. Your legal indiscretions, innocent as they may seem at the time, can have consequences that follow you longer than they should.

Or just drive a Mercedes. No one’s ever suspicious driving a Mercedes.

Pensacola

Jun24
2010
Rob Written by Rob

You might have heard this in the news this morning. Oil from the BP Deepwater Horizon spill washed up on Pensacola’s beach overnight, and the results are both devastating and heartbreaking.

What angers me most is that this isn’t all BP’s fault.

READ MORE »

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