Author Archive

The Thinker

For women to actually get equal pay, the sun must shine in

The stay at home mom is now almost legend. Women are at the cusp of being a majority of the workforce. One reason may be that women earn on average 77 cents on the dollar that men earn. All things being equal, that’s a considerable discount if you are an employer. Why wouldn’t you want to hire more women if you could pay them less?

Few believe that the wage gap is entirely due to sex discrimination. Women after all have babies, and this can inconveniently take them out of the workforce for a while. When they rejoin the workforce, often it is in a new position that comes with an entry-level salary. This is unfortunate but is not illegal. Many conservatives will argue that this alone explains the wage gap.

Traditionally fewer women have had college degrees than men. Now women form the majority of college students, so that suggests this will change in time. Some professions such as in science and engineering have traditionally been unrepresented by women, and these jobs often pay more than jobs on average, which might skew the average salaries higher for men. Still, hardly anyone who has studied the issue will dispute the assertion that some of the pay gap is due to sex discrimination. The discrimination may not be overt. It may simply be women setting their salary requirements too low and employers discreetly pocketing the savings. It’s also hard to ask for a fair salary when you don’t know what a fair salary is.

A lot of people resent sharing their salary information. It’s not hard to see why, as one of two things are likely. First, others will discover you are paid a lot more than they are for roughly the same work, which might engender feelings of hostility and resentment toward you. Second, you will realize others are paid considerably more than you while doing the same work, and that’s embarrassing. Regardless, employers can and do use the confidentiality aspects of salaries to their advantage. To truly get equal pay for equal work, this has to change.

But how? Who is going to want to disclose their salary when it engenders feelings of shame or anxiety? On the other hand, how can women have confidence that they are getting paid equivalent to a man without some disclosure?

The tools to find out how much your market wage should be are rudimentary at best. The Department of Labor keeps statistics on wage rates for a variety of professions, but of course wage rates will vary substantially depending on where you live and the local cost of living. The statistics are also highly bracketed. What you really need to know is what does someone in my profession, hopefully at the same company and at the same location, with similar time at the company and similar responsibilities earn? Companies are under no obligation to provide this information.

One way of course is to demand what you consider a fair salary and if your employer does not agree to it to quit. It helps enormously of course to have another job offer waiting before trying this. But it doesn’t necessarily tell you if your other offer is fair either.

I have a potential solution to the pay gap issue. What are needed are independent third-party labor assessors that would collect and verify pay data. Here’s how it could work.

Each community would have one person designated as an occupational salary and benefits assessor. I’m not sure how many would be needed, but let’s say it’s one person for every 10,000 employed people. Ideally the person would be funded by non-profit agencies, but it would also be reasonable for the person to be someone guaranteed to be impartial, such as a government employee, perhaps an employee of the Department of Labor, either for the federal government or for the state and county government. Their task is to make sure that there are no major pay discrepancies in various local companies based on categories that are clearly illegal, such as by sex. Employees could schedule meetings with their labor assessor to input their salary information, or send them documentation electronically on a periodic basis.

These labor assessors would need credentials of course and they would be sworn to maintain the confidentiality of information provided by an employee. The employee would provide the assessor with pay stubs and other related information so the information could not be faked. This might include employer 401-K contributions, employer pension plans, a resume of their work history, evidence of their certificates, diplomas, SAT scores and GPAs. Of course it would also be important to know key information like age of the person, time in job, their gender, their race, the position title, a description of their duties, etc.

The assessor would take the information, verify it, and put it into a database that would anonomize the employee’s information. The assessor may even have the duty to audit a particular company, particularly one suspected of practicing pay discrimination. Interviews would be done off site and perhaps in the privacy of someone’s home if needed. Periodically, perhaps annually, the employee would be asked to update information regarding salary, position and current job duties. It might even require compelling the employee to provide the information. I realize labor assessors could also demand the information from the company, but there is the possibility that an employer might lie or inflate benefits. It is better to get the information directly from an employee.

Eventually this would allow an understanding of how employees in similar skills and positions are paid within the same company. Perhaps the information could remain confidential and the employer could be given some time to rectify pay inequalities that are discovered. If that does not occur the bulk information could be publicly disclosed and if not corrected legal action initiated. This would move the feelings of shame from the employee, where they do not belong, to the employer, where they do belong. It would likely reveal other pay disparities that are illegal: perhaps disparities based on race, age or handicaps.

Lacking any of this, it is hard to see how the situation will change. This is because pay disparities will be purely anecdotal in almost all cases, given the lack of information. Given the undeniable fact that women in general tend to make much less than men, such a system could fundamentally transform pay fairness in the workplace, as well as increase the standard of living for tens of millions of women across the country.

If someone has a better idea, I’d like to hear it.

 
The Thinker

Gaithersburg thirty years later

Some places where you live will haunt you. Some you will cherish nostalgically. Some places will leave only vague memories. Some places you will live in for a long time and still never feel attached to it. Gaithersburg, a city on the outer suburbs of Washington, D.C., in Maryland’s Montgomery County was a place I called home for six years (1978-1984), five in the same apartment shared principally with a guy called Randy who kept his distance.

Gaithersburg was my transition place. It is where I transitioned from college graduate to someone with a career. It was a place where I pondered my single status and eventually left to live with the woman who would become my wife. It was a place that felt sort of comfortable because it was suburban and up north. It was also uncomfortable, because for a few years at least I was among the working poor there.

I had visited Gaithersburg briefly about ten years ago with my friend Tim. Tim and I had shared a year or so as retail drones at the local Montgomery Ward. Last Friday, I visited it again. As I toured the city and my old neighborhood, I had the not terribly upsetting feeling that I was visiting this “home” for the last time.

Maybe that’s the way it goes with places you live while in transition. By definition transition is transient, even if you stay there six years. Transition by its nature is also uncomfortable, and I was uncomfortable in Gaithersburg. It was a largely lonely and friendless time. It would not last forever. My brother Mike moved in and out of the area as he tried to complete school without quite the resources to do so. DC’s strong job market allowed him to accumulate some cash to buy more semesters in Blacksburg, Virginia. Once I had moved to Reston, Virginia across the Potomac my sister Mary and her husband came to the area. Much later my parents would also arrive too. None of them chose to live anywhere near Gaithersburg.

It’s good not to get too attached to place, because the apartment I lived in is gone. Apartments are ephemeral housing. It got the wrecking ball to put in upscale apartments and condos along East Diamond Avenue instead. The new apartments look terrific, and something I would not have been able to afford back then. They are also mostly not rented yet, but doubtless will be rented in time. Across the street is a MARC commuter train station. Likely there are convenient buses that will take residents to the Shady Grove metro station a couple of miles away too. It’s thus gotten easier to live carless in Gaithersburg, but most residents will still want one. The Sam’s Club, next to what was my old Montgomery Ward store, is a couple of miles away. The nearest Giant is probably too far to walk to.

Downtown Gaithersburg is trying to blend the tired with the new urban chic. Historic building includes many of the storefronts along Diamond Avenue that I remember, including the Diamond Drugs at the corner of East Diamond and Summit Avenues. New urban chic includes many three or four story apartments/condos with brick facades, and small businesses like Subway on the street level that now are prominent in this “downtown”. It’s not quite like Paris, but it is something of a third-rate imitation. Missing for now are some of the other urban amenities typically found in these places: a theater and upscale dining. Perhaps they will come in time.

Patches of this new urban chic don’t really blend in well with the tired and fading suburban houses just blocks away. It’s probably a step in the right direction for keeping the city’s coffers full. It was not needed to color up the town. Thirty years ago of course it was principally white. Since then, Asians have discovered Montgomery County in large numbers, and they are much in evidence in Gaithersburg. It’s not just the well-educated Asians that also have discovered the city, but the less educated ones as well. I found them inside my old Montgomery Ward store at the corner of Perry Parkway and North Frederick Avenue, looking like they were probably mostly from Pakistan.

Returning to my old store, where I survived at just above the minimum wage, was not in the least bit nostalgic, just sad. Tim and I were newly minted college-educated men without better prospects at the time. We were appalled by the low pay, high turnover and bad working conditions. We surreptitiously sounded out fellow disgruntled employees about unionizing the place. We never got too far. Management kept an eye on us. Tim went for other opportunities and I eventually followed him. I’m not sure I would be a federal employee without Tim’s help. He figured out how to do it.

In any event the same haunted and basically impoverished faces were still there, just with no Montgomery Ward logo facing North Frederick Avenue and the faces of its employees were almost all colored now. The store is now mostly split between a Toys ‘R Us and a Burlington Coat Factory. A Ford Dealership is renting the old auto bay. At least that still retains its original use. And you can rent trucks there now too. The lot of retail workers looked as shoddy and ephemeral as they were thirty years earlier, if not worse. In real dollars, the minimum wage buys even less today.

I wandered both stores, remembering what was, not really mourning it (Wards had its demise coming) but sad that these new retailers were no better than the Montgomery Ward that preceded it. In one sense they were better: they had more customers on a Friday afternoon than I remembered. The interior of my old store was mostly unrecognizable. The snack bar windows had been bricked up. Only two things inside looked familiar: the creaky escalators and the dropped ceiling tiles, many absent, laid some forty years earlier and that the owners couldn’t bother to replace.

You would think some stores would have survived thirty years. Except for the Diamond Drugs, not much remained. Retail comes and goes. You would think that McDonald’s might still be across the street, but it was now a Boston Market. The McDonald’s relocated across the street. The People’s Drug Store had long ago been converted into the ubiquitous CVS. Suburban Bank, where I had an account, is now a Bank of America. Only at Lakeforest Mall to the east did I find two retailers that had survived thirty years largely intact: a JC Penny and Sears. Sears though isn’t doing too well. It may not be there in a couple more years.

The Sam’s Club just to the north of my old store was new to me, but simply made me feel more depressed. The chain is Walmart’s answer to Costco; it doubtless had most of its employees surviving on second or third jobs, plus likely food stamps too. Fortunately, Costco has also come to Gaithersburg, and could be found a bit past Montgomery Village Avenue to the north. Doubtless the dour faced employees in the Burlington Coat Factory I noted were hoping Costco would hire them. Costco pays employees a living wage.

But the cost of housing certainly had to be more in real dollars in Gaithersburg than I remembered. I could rent a cheap apartment for $380 a month in 1979, and shared with two people it was sort of affordable, even though it still took nearly two paychecks just to pay my half of the rent. I had no idea where these workers lived now. It was probably best not to know.

Gaithersburg still felt transient. I chose to live in Reston because it at least felt like a destination. There were bike paths, ponds, lakes and woods. Gaithersburg was just more unevenly dense, a city by charter, but a place lacking a soul. The city appears to be hoping it can build one downtown. Perhaps it will spread up and down North Frederick Avenue, but it seems unlikely. Route 355 seems destined to remain forever a forty-mile long strip mall.

Feeling melancholy, I decided not to dwell there too long. Soon I was high tailing it down the interstate and across the Potomac toward home.

 
The Thinker

The real value of streaming music

I’ve been watching my mad money grow to four figures. My mad money comes from a small online consulting business. The business is sporadic, which is fine because I don’t have much time for it anyhow. I use the money to buy stuff I would normally be too cheap to buy. At least that’s the theory. In practice I don’t buy much with it except the occasional meal or some show tickets. Most of it eventually goes into a bank account. I am paid via PayPal so for a while it stays in a PayPal account. If I want I can buy stuff on impulse with my PayPal debit card.

The truth is I don’t want much that I don’t already have. So I’ve been searching hard for stuff I might want. What I am wanting is not so much physical stuff but virtual stuff. That explains my propensity to buy theater tickets with this money. Most recently, I used the money to buy a streaming music service, mostly to see what that’s all about.

Streaming content is hardly new. The main purpose of the Internet these days apparently is to watch Netflix online. This kind of ticks off the ISPs, who would much rather we use their online movie services. This is causing a few ISPs to give preference to their traffic as opposed to Netflix, Amazon or the other services out there. Apparently they aren’t brave enough to compete on price. Movies of course are gigabytes of content, all streaming over high-speed networks. Music, on the other hand, is relatively small in size. It’s small enough that so far at least my employer hasn’t noticed that I’m listening to online music much of the day. This is a technical violation of the rules but, hey, I’m only sipping content because it’s music. I doubt the network police even notice.

It’s not that I listen to music at work to avoid work. Music actually makes me more productive. My office tends to be quiet, but when it is not it also helps tune out the noise in my vicinity. I avoid listening to music with words in it, as that can be distracting. Instead, I concentrate on classical music. Without voices to distract me, listening to music becomes a mostly subliminal experience. It helps me focus, so I actually get a lot more work done.

I also listen to streaming music at home when I expect to be in front of my computer for a while. At home of course I feel freer to experiment in non-classical genres. Any type of music at home helps me be more productive. That’s because I am usually not alone. Both my wife and my daughter tend to broadcast their lives somewhat. While I love them, I don’t need a constant stream of what’s on their minds. So streaming the music lets me tune them out.

So this is a service that is actually useful to me. Google charges $10 a month for its Google Music service. (There is a free service that is more limited.) I haven’t actually paid my first bill yet, as the first thirty days are free. This is good because even though it reputedly has ten million titles to listen to, I’m new to this streaming thing, and there are a few things I don’t like about Google Play Music. On my desktop it plays inside a browser, which is not the ideal way to play music. At least on my iMac, when I ask the computer to do something else the music will often stop for a few seconds because the CPU is busy doing something else. It’s like coming across a scratch in a record, for those old enough to remember playing vinyl records. That’s distracting. So far I haven’t found a separate media-streaming player, although there are apps for mobile devices that I haven’t tested. These should provide a more seamless experience. So I might well migrate to one of the dozens of other services out there. Google at least is unlikely to go belly up, which is why I started with it.

So I am finding real value to paying for a music streaming service. It makes me more productive and it allows me to multitask. My consciousness is focused on my task at hand in front of the computer. Subliminally though I am also appreciating the music. I add both joy and productivity simultaneously. Classical music is also great when I need to write creatively. It certainly helps when I blog, but when I write fiction it is especially useful. It unleashes parts of my mind that would probably not unlock, resulting I believe in better writing.

The real value of this service though is the virtually infinite variety of music that I now have access to. Like most people, I’ve tended to listen to a lot of music that I’ve heard before. Increasingly though I am just going with random music in a genre, particularly classical music, and let it subliminally affect my brain. This is revolutionary. It used to be that we tended to buy whatever the DJ decided to put on the air. Often if we had access to a good record store we could listen to CDs using headphones the store provided. Neither are good ways to expose yourself to divergent music. We can of course go on the recommendations of friends, attend concerts and listen to performers in jazz clubs.

We know that music affects the brain, usually in a good way. It seems to make new neural connections inside our brain. Listening to new music may help us live longer. It stimulates creativity and can certainly affect how you feel. And of course a lot of music is really interesting to listen to. Some of it is brilliant. Sampling a lot of diverse music allows me to decide for myself what new music is of interest to me. It allows me to appreciate artists I would have never heard before. In short, at $10 a month, it’s quite a bargain. Add in the power of Google’s music search engine, and its recommendation engine, and I am likelier to find music that I will really like. The more I play, the more I rate content, the better the experience should become.

I’m into musicals, so it is especially valuable here. I can hear virtually every version of Les Miserables ever produced, including the original French version. I can hear obscure musicals that are rarely staged. I can compare the 1939 version of Oklahoma with the most recently staged Broadway cast recording. What’s not to like?

Even with ten million recordings, Google Music is missing some content. There are a handful of Beatles songs, but that’s it. I understand I can get the Beatles through iTunes. It’s not a deal breaker for me. I am more interested in variety right now. I want to be taken places that I have never been to before. Google Music is essentially a vast record store with aisles extending so far away they fade into the distance. Moreover, I don’t have to go anywhere; I just have to plug in.

It looks like I found a good use for my mad money after all.

 
The Thinker

Review: Noah

I was going to say this is a whale of a tale, but that would be a movie about Jonah. You may say to yourself after thirty minutes, water I doing here. You might also ask yourself what planet this Bible story takes place on because it doesn’t much resemble the Earth as we know it. Bible purists probably aren’t going to like it. The Muslims are being told not to see it. Atheists and skeptics will have a good chuckle wondering how any sane person could honestly believe this cockamamie story. And if the story of Noah, his ark and getting two of every animal species on it was not unbelievable enough, director Darren Aronofsky throws in some alien fallen angels that look like a cross between transformers and those rock critters from Galaxy Quest. At least they have cool glowing eyes.

Noah is some weird mixture of science fiction and fantasy, on some parallel Earth perhaps. This presentation should be enough to keep both devout and skeptic away. It is all done with such ponderous seriousness that you feel kind of guilty if you think the whole thing is really quite goofy. After a while you might react like I did which was, What the heck, I paid $10 to see this movie, so I might as well get my money’s worth and Just how did they convince Russell Crowe to play Noah? (Likely they waved a lot of money under his nose.)

Skeptics like me believe most Bible stories are myths anyhow, which makes it all the more puzzling that so many Christians believe the Bible is the inerrant word of God. There are a lot of myths to choose from in the Bible, including the preposterous story of Jonah, but the Noah myth also refuses to die too. Christians though are likely to have a hard time with this interpretation. It goes far afield from anything in the Bible and leaves you with so many questions. For example, at the start of the movie the earth is pretty much a barren place: no water, no plant life to speak of, the descendants of Cain pretty much rule the known world, and yet the scrappy Noah, his wife Naameh (Jennifer Connelly) and his various offspring and adopted offspring (including Emma Watson as Ila and Logan Lerman as Ham) somehow get by, wear clothing, find food to eat in a barren world (what are they eating, the lichen?) and somehow drink tea too.

The earth sure is an ugly place, but since it is occupied mostly by Cain’s descendants, it sort of fits, because they are a wicked lot, so wicked they’ve developed some decent technology, not bad for 10,000 B.C. or so. Noah and his small family are pretty much what’s left of the good side of Adam and Eve’s extended family. It’s amazing they survived with all the marauding brigands running around. No wonder with all the stress that Noah is getting visions: the Creator is warning of catastrophic floods and wants him to build an ark to keep the animals safe until the evil can literally be washed away. It’s time for Man, Version 2 and that’s Noah and his family, except Noah seems to get his signals crossed. At least this is true once his ark is afloat. Noah gets it in his head that they are not supposed to procreate either: Earth must be left to the innocent and sinless animals. And then his adopted daughter Ila, supposedly infertile due to belly wounds, gets pregnant. (And it must have been a fast pregnancy, because didn’t the voyage last just forty days and forty nights?) Noah becomes convinced that God is telling him to commit some infanticide once she delivers. It must have been PTSD from building that ark or something, because Noah is really at loose ends.

At least some things make a little sense. Those fallen angels sure are convenient, as is the seed given to him by his grandfather Methuselah (Anthony Hopkins) from the Garden of Eden. The seed starts a convenient forest, which provides plenty of lumber to build his ark and the fallen angels provide a lot of grunt labor and help protect Noah and his family from the encroaching hordes of Cain, overseen by a “king”, Tubal-Cain played by Ray Winstone. Tubal-Cain sure adds some excitement because he becomes a stowaway on the ark somehow. Yeah, I know it’s not in the Bible, but artistic license is allowed, even with Bible stories. Noah’s direction by God to kill his grandchildren was left out too.

The result is that Noah is a WTF sort of cinematic experience, all so deadly serious but still sort of cartoonish and easy to lampoon. Most puzzling of all is how the producers sold investors on this preposterous interpretation. It must be doing well enough since it’s taken in $178M worldwide so far at a cost of $125M to produce. The question is: why? The acting is decent if not a bit over the top sometimes, the special effects are great but the story is, well, quite a head scratcher. At least we get an Old Testament God. This was the angry God before God Version 2 arrived in the New Testament, in new garments, and all universal and lovey dovey. I must say I like God Version 2 better.

Noah thus is best viewed for what it is: entertainment. The less you know about the Bible and his story the more you are likely to enjoy it. But your audience may be like ours: a handful of people who when the credits finally arrived were scratching their heads and wondering why we went to see this movie in the first place.

However, if you like mindless entertainment with lots of gaping plot holes and you take your Bible with a bit of science fiction (after all, Ezekiel saw the wheel, a UFO?) it might be worth your time. I suspect most of you will be like our audience: sheepishly walking out of the theater and hoping that no one we know saw us.

In short, Noah is a bit of a turkey of a movie, but a tasty one. 2.8 on my four-point scale.

Rating: ★★¾☆ 

 
The Thinker

Craigslist casual encounter weirdness: April 2014 edition

Spring has arrived in Northern Virginia, after one last snow event (not quite a snowstorm) on March 30. Flowers are coming out at last, and trees should belatedly start blooming any moment, along with probably toxic amounts of pollen. It seemed that all the snow and extremely cold weather had put a damper on my neighbors’ libidos, at least as judged by reading the Craigslist Northern Virginia casual encounter ads. For the most part there were lots of run of the mill ads, but little in the desperately strange and unusual category, which is my motivation for going there once a month. The other motivation is to get traffic to this site. There were at least 280 page views for my Craigslist posts in March, so it amounts to almost exactly ten percent of my traffic.

To get a sense of who’s posting for whom, I look at the first page and then count by various categories. There are 34 men looking for women, 43 men looking for men, 2 women looking for men, 3 women looking for women, 1 couple looking for a woman and 1 couple looking for a man. There are also 9 men looking for transvestites and 2 transvestites looking for fellow transvestites. So as usual it’s mostly a lot of horny guys, which means I’ll look past the first page to get a better sense of what “women” are looking for.

Anyhow, time to put on the dark glasses, tighten my chastity belt and head into that infamous Craigslist Twilight Zone. Warning: some links will take you to explicit pictures.

  • It’s not often you get senior citizens posting, particularly gay senior citizens. Today we have a 75-year-old man with three naked pictures of himself in Hybla Valley looking for, well, any guy for pretty much anything. Beggars can’t be choosers. At least he looks reasonably fit.
  • A 28-year-old woman from Fairfax is looking for her own gender. You don’t have to wait to see her naked in the spa, as she is open for business from the nose down in her selfie. She’s very clear she is looking for a woman, not some man pretending to be a woman, and she’s not willing to wait long. She also says: no pimps, no prostitutes and no perverts. This is obviously her first post on Craigslist and most likely her last as well if she’s going to have standards. Ladies, if you like women with broad hips and massive thighs, you’ll probably go for her.
  • A 27-year-old Asian guy is looking for a transsexual or cross dresser. His erection is only at half-mast, which makes me wonder if that prescription on the counter next to him is for Viagra.
  • Will curiosity kill the cat? A 40-year-old guy from the south side of Reston gets plenty of head from his wife and now wants to try giving it himself. He’s close to the Reston National Golf Course so perhaps you could swing by before your tee time. He doesn’t want a relationship but he does want to swallow whatever you have to give him. Somehow I’m betting this is not his first male-to-male encounter. White guys 35-55 only.
  • A 34-year-old man from Ashburn wants an older couple. You have to pick him up so I’m guessing he doesn’t have a car. What he does have is a full body shot and amazingly he’s in clothes and you can see his face. Nice goatee, dude.
  • Now this is different. Lots of guys are looking for guys, but this 44-year-old man from Centreville wants to find a guy into nylons. Sheer nude, grey or white stockings are his favorites. Guys with high arches are preferred.
  • Craigslist ads tend to be short, so if nothing else this 42-year-old guy gets some sort of award for a long and very specific ad. He’s looking for a “good girl” who wants to get in touch with her inner slut. In short, he wants to abuse you (with your consent) so when he is done you won’t know which way is up. It looks like he may tie you up as well, based on the photo with the ad. While he wants to do this to you, it’s important to know that he is otherwise normal. He’s basically just your normal guy with abusive fantasies running through his head looking for a consensual relationship. Kudos for laying it all out, but I doubt he will get any nibbles. Try fetfile.com or Washington’s Black Rose society if you are serious.
  • Couples, do you need a dominant “bull” of a man to take your wife to places she has never been before between the sheets? Lots of couples on Craigslist are looking for a BBC, and here’s a guy who qualifies and must work out in a gym twice a day because he seems to have nothing but rippling muscles. I assume those X-rated pictures are of him hard at work in previous encounters. No wonder he is particular. If I were the woman, I’d still insist he wear a condom. Make that two.
  • Here’s a married woman who wants to “play” but I think her idea of playing is to play with your wallet, since she says she likes “shopping”. An intimate picture of your nether region is required, but I think she’d prefer a picture of your credit card instead.
  • Here’s a woman who is obviously a Craigslist first timer. She wants a Salsa dancing partner. Boy is she in the wrong place!
  • So women actually do have casual encounters with men on Craigslist. Here’s proof because this 28-year-old woman from Woodbridge lost contact with her “breakfast club” buddy and wants him back! I am betting her mailbox is overwhelmed with false positives.
  • Here’s an unusual married woman whose husband is turning 40 and she wants his birthday to be memorable. She wants another woman to come on over, get in the hot tub and give him a full body massage. Don’t worry; she’s not the jealous type. I don’t know why but should any woman actually show up, I’m betting the wife is mysteriously absent.

So the guy into guys wearing nylons wins the award this month, but only by default. This month is not nearly as crazy as some postings in past months. Maybe next month the kinky hormones will be in more evidence.

 
The Thinker

Review: Groundhog Day (1993)

The recent passing of director Harold Ramis finally nudged me to watch his perhaps most famous movie, Groundhog Day. I’m not sure what took me so long. My daughter was four when it was released and at her most adorable age. It was a year devoted to reading her stories snuggled on the couch, not to seeing movies in theaters, which required babysitters. Since then, it just hadn’t been on my radar.

I’m guessing most of you have seen the classic movie. If so you can certainly skip this review! Having finally seen it, I sort of want to kick myself for having waited so long. Groundhog Day is definitely something of a minor classic and ranks in the Internet Movie Database’s top 250 films. It’s not quite Wizard of Oz or It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s not quite a perfect movie either. But it is strangely fun and satisfying, sort of science fiction and sort of religious too. It left me with a pleasurable buzz, similar to what I got from watching The Adjustment Bureau. For those of us who are writers, or pretend to be writers, this movie makes us jealous. We wish we had written this script, mostly written by Danny Rubin and Harold Ramis.

Most Buddhist and Hindus believe in reincarnation. They believe that we reincarnate to resolve issues that we did not resolve in previous lives. At least Buddhists believe that it is possible to end this cycle of reincarnation and move on to a better state by achieving enlightenment. Phil Conners (Bill Murray) looks like he will be reincarnating forever. As a snippy TV weatherman in Pittsburgh, he manages to offend pretty much everyone, and is clearly hurting. He feels he has much more talent than he is given credit for. He hints to his management that he’s a short timer soon to be hired by stations with more money and mojo. He’s short with his cameraman Larry (Chris Elliot) and condescending to his new producer Rita (Andie MacDowell). The last thing this weatherman wants to do is go to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania to “cover” groundhog Punxsutawney Phil’s highly staged prediction of more winter or an early spring. He’s done this many times and he simply loathes it and feels it is beneath him. It also requires him to travel the night before with Larry and Rita so they can be there in time for the big event. Phil wants to be left alone. Rita wisely puts him in a B&B while they stay at the local hotel.

You probably know the basic plot: poor Phil gets to relive Groundhog Day over and over again. A blizzard keeps him in Punxsutawney and downed communications lines makes phoning home impossible. He hates the city and would prefer a root canal to enduring another day there. The same events keep recurring at exactly the same time no matter what he does. A distant classmate he cannot recall finds him on the street and tries to sell him life insurance. A weathered homeless man petitions him for money on a street corner. A tray of dishes falls to the floor at the same time at the local diner. Perhaps worst of all is every morning he wakes up at 6 AM to the sound of Sonny & Cher’s song “I’ve got you babe.” If that’s not hell, what could be worse? Nothing he does can change the pattern of events. And he can’t get out of Punxsutawney. In short, Phil is in one of the upper levels of hell. Phil can, and literally does, kill himself many times and it makes no difference. Mean or nice, apathetic or angry, loud or mousey, he cannot escape reliving the same day over and over again.

That’s the science fiction part of the movie, albeit without a trip into outer space. He is stuck in some sort of perpetual time warp that no one else shares. The religious part is more subtle but if you believe in reincarnation, this story about reliving the same day over and over again until you fully address whatever your issue is, is an interesting variant on reincarnation. It’s unclear from the movie how many Groundhog Days that Phil actually experiences, but it seems that he tries pretty much every possible variation, so it must be in the hundreds or thousands. Like dying, he goes through stages of denial, grief and finally a grudging acceptance. Like it or not he is the seeming eternal witness to this day in Punxsutawney. Out of boredom more than anything else, he has nothing better to do than to minutely examine every aspect of this town. He spends a lot of his time trying and largely failing to seduce women. The good part is that with every failure he learns one more clue that helps him refine his pitch. And yet despite having the opportunity to refine his advances, it’s hard to get beyond first base. Eventually he concentrates on trying to seduce his new producer Rita. At least she doesn’t have much of an opinion formed about him. Yet he encounters similar roadblocks with her too.

In some ways Phil resembles Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life except ever so slowly his crusty behavior changes. He gains some empathy for the people around him, since he seems doomed to share the same day with them for eternity. Over time his hurt and anger morphs into gentleness and kindness. You know the movie can’t last forever or leave this plot eternally hanging. Phil will find his escape, in time. The result may leave you a bit teary eyed.

Not bad for a director known for in-your-face films like Animal House, Caddyshack and Ghostbusters. If you had been following his work and were expecting more of the same, you should at least not see this film coming. It’s amusing, heartfelt, annoying, grating, sincere and insightful all at the same time.

I’m glad I didn’t wait another twenty one years before seeing Groundhog Day.

3.4 out of four-points.

Rating: ★★★½ 

 
The Thinker

Sex, the aging man and the journey toward being fully human

Men will notice some changes to their libido as they age. With rare exceptions, your libido is going to go down. This is primarily because the level of testosterone in your blood is going down. It decreases with age.

This is generally greatly disturbing to the middle aged man. That’s because they envision themselves as 20-something for life. Their hair may be receding and their gut may be expanding — all typical signs of aging in men — but somehow they figure their penis is exempt. All of this is entirely natural, but sadly a lot of this information is simply not discussed.

Physicians will usually write men a prescription for Viagra or Cialis easily enough. Rarely will physicians clue you in on what’s really likely to happen to your sex drive as you age. What it amounts to is that if you want a sex life after forty or fifty, you need to reduce your expectations. You need to stop chasing the illusion that you are 20-something. You need to communicate really well with your partner. And you need to change how you make love. That’s quite an agenda! No wonder so many men simply withdraw from sex. It’s too much pressure!

It’s also more than a little embarrassing. It used to be that erections just happened. In many cases, they arrived unwelcome and for no reason at all. Perhaps it was a fleeting memory of a previously great sexual encounter that caused you to shift legs on the subway to avoid embarrassment. When you are 40-something or older, the memory is still there, but it’s unlikely to kick off an erection. You may find that given the choice between making love to a willing and decently attractive woman and watching football, you’ll choose the football.

It’s easy for you to feel horny with relatively high levels of testosterone surging through your blood. Most men who use anti-impotence drugs soon realize that while once aroused these drugs help them maintain an erection, there is also now the issue of getting aroused. It usually helps to have a surplus of testosterone in the bloodstream to feel arousal. To the extent men have it, it comes from longer intervals between orgasms. And that’s when it becomes embarrassing. If you are used to shagging with the missus every night or every other night, maybe it’s now once a week, then biweekly, then once a month, and then maybe only on Valentine’s Day. It’s hard to tell your significant other that you just aren’t a stud anymore. Even if she is drop dead gorgeous, that’s sometimes not enough for your body to keep up with your mind.

Not that long ago this wasn’t much of a problem. This was because nature took care of the embarrassment problem, by tipping the scales that you would be dead before it mattered. Men went off to fight in wars and died nastily in the heat of a battle. Or they simply wore out chasing after sheep or hunting a saber tooth tiger. Or they were culled by the many diseases that are now easily prevented. Actually, a lot of men (and women) died from abscessed teeth. There were no schools of dentistry until recently. Now of course fewer of us serve in wars so we get to live to our doddering years. So now we are getting a close encounter with our declining sex drives, and it is often disturbing. It is made more disturbing by the simple lack of quality information on what is normal. You can find it if you look but you have to look real hard. I came across such a site, well actually just a web page, recently. Here it is.

By all means reach for the Cialis or Viagra, assuming you can afford these overpriced anti-impotence drugs. Men often use them to great effect, but soon discover that while it makes sex possible it doesn’t increase the frequency of sex or give you the chronic urge to have sex like you had as an adolescent. That usually just keeps declining with age. Some men figure out the real issue, which is why testosterone supplements are all the rage online. It doesn’t take much Googling to discover these supplements are of dubious value, and likely dangerous, probably much like estrogen supplements are dangerous for women during and after menopause.

The bottom line for men is that nature intends you to slow down. It wants you to smell the flowers instead of the scent of women. This is actually fine for most women your age. Many still want to have sex, but a lot less frequently. A frequent issue with menopause is vaginal dryness during sex, which means there will be a tube of lube in your future, as well as the Cialis, when you do have sex. Moreover, since your sex drive is declining and her sex drive is likely declining as well, you are both more likely to just cuddle instead. The exception may be when you are in your forties. Women tend to peak sexually in their forties while men start to noticeably decline sexually in their forties. That’s when it gets embarrassing for men. She wants it but you don’t necessarily want it, and you can’t always keep up with demand. And that makes you feel, well, less of a man, because real men with a hot woman can keep it up.

So what you might want to do is print out that web page and pass it on to your wife or significant other. First thing you want to do is to remove the shame factor, because shame will contribute to sexual dysfunction when what you are going through is completely normal. Second, if you do value having sex, albeit less frequently than before, you need to educate your S.O. on what she can do to increase the probability of success. You need to educate them that losing an erection during sex is normal for older men but with a decent amount of pressure it is likely to come back and if applied continuously your erection may not fade. All this takes intimate communications, usually a challenge for men who are trained to behave as if they are invulnerable and eternally youthful. If your partner loves you, then it’s not unrealistic to expect them to work with you and your aging body.

It’s also okay to now have sex and not necessarily have an orgasm. If she is horny and you are not, you can use a vibrator on her or better yet your mouth. You may get aroused to the point where you want to have sex, in which case you’ll be raring to go, or not. But most likely next time you will be in the mood. It’s okay. This is what nature intended.

Is there an upside to all this? Actually, there are many upsides for personal growth. First, sex can take on a deeper and richer meaning than it did when you were younger. It becomes more about intimacy and connection that it does about anxiously depositing semen. When you do have sex, it might well be longer and more enjoyable than when you were younger. It becomes more about making love, connecting and enjoying your partner in many dimensions. You can also become more aware that the tactile parts of lovemaking are very pleasurable too: simply touching, or caressing, looking in her eyes, nibbling her ears or kissing her can be very enjoyable.

Perhaps the biggest reason to enjoy your sexual decline is the one so rarely stated: you have the opportunity to see yourself, and your partner, as a human being with many dimensions, of which sex is but one aspect. Having spent most of your life defining yourself as a man, you may discover yourself as a human being instead. Things like sex still matter, but should matter less. You may find yourself being able to see someone as multi-dimensional, rather than as a role or an object. You may have a deeper appreciation for the experience of simply being a human.

These are some of the gifts of age, but they often require giving up some of the fallacious notions of youth and assumptions on how you should be because you are a male. This stuff is a graduate school for human relations. If you live long enough, and are brave enough to try it, you may find that this stage of life can be a great learning experience about what it means to be fully human. These are aspects of yourself that were always there, but which you ignored or deprecated. They too are precious in their own way.

Be brave and take that journey into being fully human.

 
The Thinker

Running scared

What would you do if you knew that your life, as you have known it, was going to change fundamentally? Great traumatic events happen to us in our lives, but none of us welcome them. When they happen, we tend to seek out the comfort of the known rather than confront the discomfort of the unknown.

Many Japanese warriors at the end of World War II preferred what they saw as suicide with dignity – crashing their aircraft into enemy aircraft carriers or self-immolation – to defeat and living in a world that was ordered fundamentally differently than the way they were raised. Others will instead find ways to resist. They think that change can be stopped somehow, and they will simply resist it to the last fiber of their being. And so they turn their houses into fortresses, buy arsenals of guns and create a fallout shelter stocked with years of food, water, medicines and other perishables.

Something like this is happening right now across much of Red America. They smell the winds of change. For years they have ignored it by expressing the opinion that while things may be changing out there it won’t happen here. At some point though the smell becomes too pervasive. Up go defenses and the barricades. For many in power though it means that they feel compelled to use it to their utmost advantage. It means highly gerrymandered districts allowing ever more extreme people to get elected to Congress. It also means creating laws that are clearly unconstitutional (like Missouri granting its citizens exemption from certain federal gun laws) to intrusive for people you don’t like (unnecessary vaginal ultrasounds for women prior to an abortion). It means that their values must be promoted with no exceptions. So out go textbooks that say evolution is established science and in come textbooks that promote creationism instead. You tighten the screws even more on the poor by reducing food stamps and making it harder to get on Medicaid. You sign laws that do away with early voting on weekends because you don’t want that kind to vote anyhow. You are running scared.

It’s quite an ordeal. In fact, the late Eric Hoffer wrote a book about it, The Ordeal of Change, which is an interesting read if you have the time. If you looked at our changing demographics and have read Hoffer’s book, what’s happening today should not be a surprise. In fact, it is entirely predictable. What’s going on in Red America has happened lots of times before and will keep happening in the future. We are now in the “no compromises to encroaching reality” phase of this ordeal of change.

Civilized people of course recognize that change can mean that long established social systems can be reordered. When it appears inevitable, we will seek to make change as easy as possible, to minimize anger and hurt. It’s not always possible, however. The denial phase seems to be in Red America’s rear view mirror, but the anger phase certainly isn’t. They feel terribly hurt because their society is fundamentally changing, and fear it will leave them in a less privileged place when complete.

So the anger gets expressed in laws that even ten years ago they would not have considered, such as transvaginal ultrasounds for pregnant women who want an abortion. They feel they must dish out in pain at least as much as they perceive they are receiving in pain. Why do they do this? Part of it is reflexive meanness toward those not like them, but part of it is also because when anger is served out, its recipients tend to hurt too. Most people give wide berth to bullies. By acting like bullies, they are ultimately hoping we will leave them alone.

In this context, a lot of what is going on in Red America and by Republicans in Congress begins to make sense. If you accept that the Affordable Care Act is the institutionalized law of the land then you realize that you can really only amend it, not repeal it. However, if your lines are drawn and your barricades are in place then you are left with a no surrender mentality. At least so far, there is no sign of surrendering to the rule of law. Republicans will accept nothing less than the repeal of the Affordable Care Act. They cannot even come up with a coherent replacement for it, in part because they reject the premise that our old system was not perfect. If they reject what was, then in some way they must also agree that their values were either incorrect or unworkable in the modern context. That creates cognitive dissonance, so it is repressed through the mechanism that tells them, like it told Commander Taggert, to “Never give up, never surrender.”

It is increasingly clear that marriage will soon be available to anyone regardless of their sexual orientation. The Supreme Court has pretty much declared at the federal level that doing otherwise is unconstitutional, because it gives privileges to one sort of citizen unavailable to another. Moreover, because of the Supremacy Clause in the constitution, federal law trumps state law when the two conflict. Consequently, entirely reasonable federal judges are invalidating state marriage laws across the country, even in deeply red states like Oklahoma and Utah. While good for gays and lesbians, it is not so good for those whose values are invalidated through the process of law. To some extent, their anger is counterproductive, because it stokes more anger, and adds to feelings of oppression and righteousness.

It’s unclear how this will all end. Change driven by demographics and social trends can be temporarily stymied but is rarely thwarted. It would help if Red America could look at the larger picture and take comfort from it. Our worship of capitalism will likely keep a large and poor working class for them to look down on. Also, anti-abortion laws will ensure a large population of poor people. Their churches will still be around when this is over, but the demographics will probably mean fewer of us will be in church. The people around us will be more multihued, but they already are: Red America simply isn’t looking close enough. For the most part, people will continue to cloister by combinations of race and class, as they have always done. In short, a lot of the angst from Red America, while predictable, is perhaps too much ado about much less change than they thought.

This should be a source of some comfort. Ultimately though few will understand what all the fuss was about. Only cranks complain about mixed race marriages today. In twenty years the same will be true with those complaining about gay marriage. Getting to the tranquil future from the enraged present though is likely to continue to be trying.

 
The Thinker

R.I.P. Arthur Belvedere Dent, 2003-2014

He’s like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.

Valjean
“Bring them home”
From the musical Les Miserables

Eight years to the day after we put our cat Sprite to sleep, today our cat Arthur also went to that great big clover patch in the sky as well. It’s like the gods are trying to tell us something.

Arthur

Arthur

Like most of these feline-human relationships, the end, when it came, came rather abruptly, although not unexpectedly. Arthur Belvedere Dent (usually it was just “Arthur”) had been a kitty in decline for more than a year. Like most cats with a terminal condition, he soldiered on with life, likely in discomfort and pain but mostly without obvious complaint. It’s hard to know exactly what his condition was, but lots of cats die from tumors or inflammation of their digestive tracks, and it was likely he had at least one of those. The only surprise with Arthur was that he was taken from us while relatively young. We were told he was three years old when we got him in 2006, but likely that was just a wild estimate, as stray cats don’t come with birth certificates. Our cat Squeaky made it to seventeen; her brother Sprite nearly hit 20 before he passed on. Shorter lifespans is part of the problem with many strays, not to mention purebred cats. That seems to have been true with Arthur.

Sprite, as I expressed in a moving eulogy after he passed away (and which still usually gets a couple of hits a day) was an angel. I will never be as bonded to a cat as I was to Sprite. I don’t dance, but somehow Sprite and I could dance together. We understood each other intuitively and bonded in a perfect symbiotic relationship. Arthur, on the other hand, was my son.

It’s true that I called Sprite my son too, but Arthur earned the title. I don’t have a son in real life, so I look for substitutes. The only substitutes close at hand are male felines in the house. While I have never had a son, I understand what a father-son relationship should feel like. Sons generally respect their father, but they are still very much apart from their father. That’s the way it was with Arthur. We loved each other and enjoyed each other’s company, but we could not dance together. However, we could enjoy our time together and we did.

Strays are hard to socialize so unsurprisingly Arthur was too. It took a year, but he settled down. It finally occurred to him that this was his home, and we weren’t going to get rid of him so he could stop peeing in the vents and running away from strangers. One of our most memorable times with Arthur was when we brought him home after his first visit to the vet. He was totally floored. He was back to the same place and he told us all about it. He was not a particularly vocal cat, but that day he certainly was. If a cat could show joy, Arthur showed joy that day. Trips to the vet were never fun, but they got easier as he aged. He knew he would always come home. Well, at least until today.

Those of us who have cats love them because they are like fingerprints. They often look alike, particularly the ubiquitous tabbies like Arthur, but none are alike and each will project personalities that are distinct. If you find people interesting, it’s hard not to find cats interesting as well. While they cannot speak a word of English, somehow you know pretty well what they are feeling and what they are saying. Purrs usually give away how they are feeling.

As cats go though, Arthur was a simple kitty. He liked his humans (us), could warm to the occasional stranger but mostly kept his distance from them. He didn’t expect that much out of life except some amusement from his humans, a place to sit in the sun and when the weather was warmer, access to our screened in deck. There in safety he could bliss out in the sun, let the wind waft through his fur, or let the local birds and squirrels keep his attention. There was something about the tall tree next to our house that held his attention when he was on the deck.

He had to be taught to sit on laps but enjoyed it once he got the hang of it. Once the inflammation started in his tummy though, lap sits were too uncomfortable. Life became simpler: endless days on the top of the cushy chair behind the ottoman in our TV room, with a prime view of the outside including our comings and goings. It meant daily shots from my wife, which he hated and consequently meant that he grew to distrust her. It meant us finding ever more creative foods that he might actually eat; otherwise he was doomed to waste away. Toward the end we went through many variants of Fancy Feast, verboten to most cats whose owners listen to their vets, but for cats with a limited lifespan, why not? He mostly ate the Fancy Feast mixed with baby food (with meat) in it. He seemed to like the baby food part the best. It was gentler on his stomach. Still there was lots of diarrhea, an inability to sit comfortably due to the inflammation, and awkwardly stumbling up and down stairs to his kitty boxes with his legs abnormally splayed. Since he wasn’t absorbing much food, more food became very important. He would let us know about it when we came near the kitchen, and would wait patiently in the kitchen until someone fed him. The telltale sign of his health, his unusual tail that curved up behind him, disappeared some eighteen months ago and never returned. That was our first clue we had a sick kitty.

With the help of our vet we gave him a pretty good quality of life in spite of these issues. We probably got a year more of his company thanks to special foods and medicines. We knew it could not last forever. Today his life abruptly came to an end. After I went to work our daughter found him on the floor unable to move his front left leg, and howling in pain. This brought me home from work to assess the situation. It was clear that this was the end. He tried awkwardly to move with one good paw and two ineffectual back legs. It didn’t work. He twisted himself up like a pretzel. The time had come. All we could do is minimize his pain.

A quick assessment by the vet confirmed our diagnosis: there was no good quality of life left. It was time. They gave him a tranquilizer while we petted him. It definitely calmed him down to the point where he seemed dead. His eyes lost focus and the edges looked black. We said we loved him, stroked him continuously, made sure to watch him and then let them take him from us. It was not the ideal way for him to go, but it didn’t last that long. He went we believe knowing that he was loved.

Particularly during his decline I made a point of going by his spot behind the ottoman several times a day and spending time petting him and talking to him and assuring him that we loved him. And he always purred. My message was consistent and loving. All you can really do is love your pet to the extent you can. And then on one heartbreaking day, you have to let them go.

It’s the yin and yang of owning a pet. There is the joy of having a pet, and the sorrow of putting them down. It has to be this way, it’s not fair but it is what it is. I can’t read my son’s mind, but I do believe he knows he was loved, and he was, very dearly. This father sure has had his share of heartache today, putting down his adopted son.

Rest in peace, Arthur. And thank you for seven and a half years of gentle love and heartfelt genuineness. I told you a million times that I love you and will always hold you in my heart. I still do and I always will.

Love,

“Dad”

 
The Thinker

Dear deer

Dear deer,

It looks like I’ve spent a lot of money trying to make our lawn look nice so you can enjoy a nice salad bar at my expense. Chomp away, guys. That’s expensive grass that you are nibbling at, as evidenced by the hundreds of dollars I spent on lawn services last year. At the rate you are eating it, my expensive lawn is quickly moving from beautiful to looking like hell.

Oh, don’t deny it! The evidence is overwhelming. Remember that time when we unexpectedly arrived home around midnight after seeing a show? There were five of you on our front lawn, and not one of you was the least bit intimidated by our presence. It was our flowerbed, or what’s left of it, that you seem to have been concentrating on. You just looked at us with those Bambi eyes and seemed wholly unafraid. The only thing I picked up was, “Would you turn off the garage light? We can see fine without it. Thanks.” Eventually after many loud words you ambled across the drive to the pasture across the street.

Silly me, I was figuring the neighborhood dogs were to blame. The grass all along the sidewalks in particular look largely denuded. I figured it was due to too many dogs doing their business where they shouldn’t. The official dog walking area is across the street. But then I started to notice all sorts of places in our front yard far from the sidewalks were dirt, and the prints in the dirt were unmistakable. Those were not dog prints, but deer prints.

I hadn’t noticed you before because I am normally asleep when you are out. Oh sure, I take regular walks along Horsepen Run and occasionally I will see you guys among the trees. Mostly you hide real well, although on occasion I will see a family of you pass through the trees, sometimes oblivious to the human presence around you. I’m amazed that with all the development, that any of you can survive around here. The evidence though is that you are not only surviving, but you are flourishing. Exhibit Number One: my lawn. Those hoof prints are dead give away.

My wife saw you one the morning in our backyard, chomping away at the grass back there, grass that has been dormant since last fall. A split rail fence largely encloses our backyard. No matter. I can’t get over it without ripping my jeans, but it’s no problem for you. The whole lot of you simply bounded right over it into the next yard.

I don’t get into the backyard much, but I did today for my spring clean up. And clean up you did, with new bare spots back there that I cannot wholly attribute to growing trees along the property line. And then there are the hoof prints, more evidence that you guys love my backyard as much as my front yard.

I finally have a reason to own a gun. I certainly don’t need one to protect myself from thieves or other miscreants. But you deer, on the other hand, clearly are getting out of control. It’s just curious that in the twenty years I have occupied my house, you haven’t been a problem before. Now you are making a serious mess of my yard. It’s not just me. I take regular walks through the neighborhoods around here and I can see evidence on the other lawns as well. Seriously, if you think humans have a population control problem, if left to your own devices you guys will overrun the area!

In the past there were natural predators to keep you in check, but there are no coyotes or bears around here, so you just keep breeding and breeding. A gun though would provide plenty of free venison and considering how many of you there are, I doubt you’d miss Uncle Fred too much. There is, of course, the other minor problem in that I have never hunted in my life. Moreover, while I am sure many of my neighbors own guns, none of us are stupid enough to use them in the neighborhood. I mean, we have kids playing dodge ball in the streets around here.

I live in Fairfax County, Virginia. The county government is well aware of the deer problem, and the local papers have articles about the problem. In some forested areas, licensed hunters are allowed to hunt deer, but it’s a very limited sort of culling. Being that we’re all so educated, humane and stuff, to the extent we try to control the deer population, it is to shoot them not with bullets but with tranquilizers. Mostly it’s the female deer that are shot, and they get a quick little operation, and then are allowed to rejoin the herd where presumably they do not procreate anymore. It does sound humane, but I get the sense that our deer population is simply too large for such a program to have much effect on your population growth.

Perhaps there is stuff I can spray on the grass and gardens to deter you. I have heard that bear urine works pretty well. I may have to find a local bear and ask him to express some for me, but it looks like I need a lot of it. And call me suspicious, but I don’t think it will stop you from munching on my property. It apparently is just too tasty. Your eating habits plus the harsh winter has left a lot of soil erosion, so the grass is disappearing along the slope to our backyard. I figure I need to work on replacing the grass, but what’s the point if you guys are just going to nibble at it again? I am planning to move in a year or so, and I want a lush looking lawn. Who’s going to want to buy my house the way you guys are noshing at it?

So this is just a warning. I’ve checked regulations and apparently while I can own a gun or guns, I can’t actually discharge one in a residential area. (I am surprised the NRA does not call this gun control.) Archery, however, is allowed as a method for controlling deer in residential areas. I could get into that. What I need is a good crossbow. I’ll try not to scare the children however, and wait to do this until it is very dark. I’ll slip onto my porch around midnight on the pretext of stargazing or something. I’ll wait until you arrive around midnight and then cull your herd a bit. Maybe that will learn you.

I’m not into venison but I’m sure there are homeless people in the area not as particular. I don’t care how cute you look, there are way too many of you. You know it and I know it and our lawns prove it. If you value your lives, I suggest you do your dining elsewhere, hopefully deep in the woods.

You have been warned.

Mark, the pissed off human

 

Switch to our mobile site