The Dog Daze of Summer

There’s a lot to talk about this week, from the president’s hallucinogenic speech to the nation about the 2020 election being stolen, to his fumbling about on the World Cup stage, to the condescending theater of the Acting AG “meeting” with Epstein survivors wherein he told them there was nothing actionable in the Epstein files, to the Iran War starting up again after they were already “defeated” several times, and so on. There’s so much, in fact, that it’s overwhelming, which I agree is the very strategy this Administration uses to protect themselves. There are literally too many atrocities going on at one time to effectively weaponize any of them. So instead I’m going to talk about dogs.

We’re usually a one-dog household. When I met Sweetpea, she had a 4-year-old yellow lab, who was in his prime. He is now a senior dog at the ripe old age of 13 and a half. We realize, given the traditional 9-12 year lifespan of labs, that we’re on “gravy time.” He’s slowed way down from his young adult activities to the point where he won’t walk much farther than a couple of blocks anymore. He mostly sleeps and asks for food. (His “feed me now” obsession continues unabated by time or creakiness.)

He still remains wildly photogenic.

This week, we’ve added a couple of beagles to the mix. We’re on a reciprocal dog-watching system with Sweetpea’s sister. When we go on vacation, she takes our lab. When she goes, we take her two beagles, Arthur and Minty. We’ve been doing this for as long as Sweetpea and I have been together.

Meet the Beagles: Arthur (front) and Minty (rear).

I never understood why Arthur was so unusually named. My first impulse was always to call him “Eddie.” But then I was told he is so named because he resembles Ron Weasley’s father in the Harry Potter movies. That made perfect sense to me, so now I get his name right on the first try a little more often.

His “sister” beagle (housemate, not litter mate) is named after Harriet Tubman, whose real name was “Araminta” or “Minty” for short.

Arthur is mostly reddish-brown, with more of a “hound dog” nose. Minty is the more traditional look with a black back-saddle, white chest, and tan all over, with a thinner nose. Both have long, velvety ears that dip into the water bowl every time they drink.

These two arriving in the house is like the circus coming to town. Once they hit the door, they fly into action, sniffing the perimeter of every room and hoovering up any stray bits of kibble leftover from The Lab’s food-dispensing rolly ball. (With his old age and failing eyesight, he sometimes misses them.) But the beagles find every last molecule of kibble, whether it’s behind the TV or under the sofa. The beagle nose is something amazing to behold. (More on that later.)

The dogs love attention, especially Arthur. Both will let you pet them until your arm falls off. But if you pet Minty first, Arthur, who is always more desperate for attention, will immediately jam himself in between you and his sister.

Minty is the diva of the two. She often holds herself aloof, and when she comes to you for a scritch, it’s not really a request. Back when I was working from home during Beagle Week, she’d stroll into the office and tap my leg with her paw. I’d lean over and give her pets and scritches, to which she would sink lower and lower before rolling on her back to present her tummy for rubs. Once I stopped, she’d stroll back out of the room, for at least three minutes before coming back to repeat the procedure for the next hour. Eventually she’d tire of it or amuse herself elsewhere.

I call her the Diva because once I was done for the day, dinner eaten, and took my place on the couch for the night, ready to pet her into a coma, she wouldn’t come near me. She’d stay on the other end of the couch. She only wanted my attention when it was going someplace else. She wants what she wants, on her terms, always.

“Like I have time for you peasants.”

Arthur, on the other hand, loves to jump up and snuggle in with you, and lick your face or whatever he can reach, until his tongue falls out. I don’t really want him licking on me, though, because he has a distinct predilection for eating his own doots, or any others, whenever he can. That leaves his dog-breath smelling like you would imagine. Eww. It’s nothing you want being applied to your face, trust me. But he’s such a charming little devil, so desperate for affection, that you can’t help love the little shit.

Feeding time is another story… It’s like a three-ring circus in the kitchen. When there is food in the air, the lab is always there underfoot, taking up a lot of space. Now when you add in two more slurping mouths dancing around on the tiles, you have to watch every step or else you’re going down hard.

Sweetpea already makes homemade food for our dog; our guests come with a laundry list of preparations… raw hamburger, veggies, vitamins, meds, it’s a whole ordeal. But then when it’s time to drop the food, it’s like when you see those tame carp at amusement parks, who all crowd the surface with their mouths opening and closing like machines. Minty tracks the bowl like a hawk, while Arthur spins around like the Tasmanian Devil, until the bowls are set down. You have to step on Arthur’s bowl because he noses in there so hard he pushes it around the room, often right into the other dogs. Ten seconds later, it’s gone; all gone. Nary a molecule left over.

The other thing about the beagles is the noise. The Lab is relatively quiet, especially in his old age. Even his barks, that used to rattle my brain as they echoed throughout the house, are more like raspy woofs now. The other two, however, sound like jet airliners landing. Any sound picked up from outside, from the mailman to the garbage truck to a plastic bag blowing by, warrants a full-throated howl that can be heard on Venus. Loud, shrill, non-stopping… Oh god, kill me now. Even when we’re asleep and something stirs outside, Arthur sends up the alarm, jolting me six inches out of bed. It takes some getting used to. I’ll let you know if that ever happens.

The other thing is when we let them outside. Sometimes, there’s a bunny in the yard. We have those around. If the beagles see one, it’s like their life depends on hunting it down. Both will run about the yard, nose to the grass, snuffling and baying, retracing everywhere the bun has been. Arthur is especially aggressive, snorting up the yard as if each blade of grass is covered with cocaine and he’s the dog-reincarnation of Charlie Sheen. It’s a trip.

They’re used to having a dog door at home, so they can go in and out at will. But they’re also trained to ring a bell hanging from the door, to signal their intentions.

This is a good thing, for the most part. It’s a clear signal for when they want out. It’s much less good when they ring it five minutes after coming back in, over and over. And you don’t want to refuse to open the door for them because you never know if it’s a potty request or just to go out and sniff things. You don’t want to risk an indoor accident.

Sweetpea had to deal with the other “outside” problem, wherein she let them out in the middle of the night and then had to wait around until they felt like coming back in. The Lab spoils us. When he wants out at night, he goes out, does his business, and trots right back in. He may sniff the air for a second or five, which I call “checking his email,” but he doesn’t prolong it. The beagles are not so inclined; being used to having their own late-night adventures.

So, we’re one night down, five more to go. As I tell them every day, “It’s a damned good thing you’re cute.”

Fixing Social Security 4 Dummies

I’d like to thank House Speaker and Trump Flunky Rep. Mike Johnson for handing Democratic candidates another perfect line of attack and ad fodder:

If ever there’s an issue to galvanize Baby Boomers and Gen X, it’s a threat to Social Security and Medicare, and Speaker Johnson just put it on the radar, front and center.

Know that by saying, “They have to be adjusted and fixed,” he does NOT mean endowed with more funding; he means cutting payments to us and raising/delaying the qualifying age.

Without intervention, given the next expected Cost of Living Adjustment, Social Security is calculated to be solvent for only seven more years. That should get the attention of everyone in their 50s, 60s, and up, or in other words, a ton of highly likely voters.

Republicans cannot be counted on to help with this in any fashion other than cutting payouts. They and the donors to whom they are obligated are against any more money coming from the wealthy. Their only solution is to cut the payments back to the public.

And this is coming at a time when inflation is soaring, and the cost of living is higher than ever, along with jobs being lost to AI and a general downturn in domestic production. Millions of Americans count on Social Security to keep their noses above water, even though they always say not to rely solely on Social Security. But many never had the opportunity to work for jobs offering pensions or 401 (k) participation. Many had health problems that sucked up their money, or kids going to college, ongoing disabilities or long-term under-employment.
The glaringly obvious solution is to raise the “cap” over which Social Security taxes are no longer paid, which for 2026 is $184,500. That means that the country’s million, billion, and trillionaires pay zero into Social Security after that first $184.5k. That’s a lot of dough to leave on the table.

Add to this that there’s no valid reason the cap exists, other than rich people want it that way so they can keep more money. Therefore, the rest of us end up paying a much higher percentage of our income than these rich bastards do. So they’ve done a good job of buying off one party completely, and enough of the other party to keep the status quo.

No, I don’t have any proof of the latter, but keep in mind that even when the Democrats had control of both Houses and the Presidency, there was never a real attempt to fix Social Security by raising revenue via any means. That tells me it hasn‘t been a Democratic priority for anyone but Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, and maybe a few others.

Depending on how much the cap changed, raising it on Elon Musk alone could set up Social Security for decades or longer, and he would still have billions left over to buy into and destroy the next tech company he fancies.

One action fixes the entire problem, benefits hundreds of millions, and slightly inconveniences a couple of gazillionaires. It should be a slam dunk.

The question is, will anyone in Congress seriously get on board, in numbers enough to get it done? I think that should be a question put to every single Congressional candidate from now until it happens.

In every Q&A session, every town hall, every campaign stop, every interview, someone needs to ask, “Why is it more important for the cap to stay in place, benefiting millionaires, rather than changing it to benefit millions of average citizens?” Make them explain why they’re not taking aggressive action to raise the cap. Have them explain it like we’re five, and be ready to debunk the inevitable but fallacious claims that the cap provides capital to create jobs and pay increases. It doesn’t, or else we’d be flush with well-paying jobs right now. No, they have to explain why the rich are getting the special treatment at the expense of the rest of us, many of whom are barely clinging to keeping a roof overhead and food in the fridge. Get their answers on the record and use them to bombard the candidates with attack ads.

This needs to be made into a disqualifying position in the next and every subsequent election, for everyone running, regardless of party affiliation. No support for a cap raise, no vote for you.

We don’t have time left to screw around here. We can see the disaster coming, and the longer we wait, the harder and less effective any fix will be.

 

Let There Be Light

A lot went on last week. The Iran War dragged on, with various accounts of whether there was a win, talks were going on, talks were never going on, the “decimated” Iran air defenses were active enough to shoot down two of our jets, we successfully retrieved the pilots, the Attorney General was fired, and the president sent out a profane Easter message to all, with a shout out to Allah. Just another week in the life. But what’s really important is that I fixed something around the house. Now that I’m retired, I’m going to have to do a lot more of that.

My dad wasn’t much of a “fix-it” guy. He could do some basic stuff, but was never one of those toolbox and workshop types. So I never inherited the home repair gene. Granted, I’ve spent most of my adult life as an apartment dweller, so there wasn’t much I ever needed to do, aside from changing bulbs, hanging a few pictures, or hooking up TV cable and stereo equipment. I can also build the occasional piece of furniture from a kit, like end tables or dressers. I assembled our giant entertainment center some 30-odd years ago, which took me two days. But for stuff like plumbing, painting, or electrical, I always stand aside and let the professionals take over.

My oldest buddies are most definitely certified DIYers, but they live a couple of states away. They’re not much practical use, but I do get to regale them with my tales of Bluz the Incompetent Handyman. I should have probably kept my yap shut about it over the years, but I trade the teasing for the priceless look on their faces when I tell them of the latest thing I fucked up.

Like the time I was trying to hang curtain rods in a new apartment. I had just moved out after separating from my first wife, back in the late 90s. I borrowed her electric screwdriver and was desperately trying to sink a couple of screws into a window frame. The frame was soft pine, but no matter how hard I grunted and pressed, the screw would not bite. After about 20 minutes or so, I examined the electric screwdriver a little more closely and noticed it was set to retract, so no matter how hard I pressed, it wouldn’t sink because it was turning the wrong way. (D’oh!)

I didn’t set it that way, but my mistake was assuming that it was set correctly when the Ex gave it to me. Once I flipped the switch, I was done with the curtains in about ten minutes. I had to call my buddies that night to tell them the story; it was just too good to keep to myself.

Now, to the most recent endeavor, the on/off switch to the bathroom light broke Saturday night. We figured it should be a simple matter of buying a new switch and swapping it out. I was also keen to replace the electrical outlet beside it, which was still the original piece from when the house was built in 1959. It looked like this:

The problem was that it’s not wired for modern 3-prong plugs. And unfortunately, three-prong outlets are all we could find at the local hardware store. I was pretty sure I could handle swapping out the on/off switch, but I didn’t want to start messing around with more in-depth wiring issues, so we decided to table that part and just ride with the plugs as is, because they at least still work.

Now, I haven’t worked with electrical wiring since I was a junior high student, and built a hot dog cooker by banging two nails through a piece of wood, splitting a cord from an old iron, and wiring one side to each nail. (Put the hot dog on the nails, and the part between the nails will cook in a matter of seconds. Try that at your kid’s science fair!) So the fact that I was even attempting something like this was daunting. But I figured, I’d open up the panel, take a look around, and if it was any more than taking wires off one thing and putting them on another identical thing, I’d bail and call the experts. Otherwise, I’d take a shot.

So, the first order of business was to find the circuit breaker to shut off the power to the bathroom. That took a little trial and error because while our fuse box had labels for each breaker, none of them said “bathroom.” But we found it.

I swear, even though I KNEW there was no juice, it was still nerve-wracking poking around in there. I knew that any minute, I'd get a big shock and Sweetpea would be able to see my entire skeletal system. (OK, maybe I should have watched more YouTube tutorials and fewer cartoons.)

Ultimately, it looked like something I could handle. I only needed to disconnect the two black wires from the screws (on each side) and reattach them to a new switch capsule, then screw the whole unit back into the wall and replace the cover plate.

And that’s what I did. It took about 15 minutes in full. Sweetpea ran downstairs to turn the breaker back on, and when tested, both switches worked as they should.

Then it was time for celebration. We threw our hands up, and she said, “You have created light!”

I said, “Now bring me your finest meats and cheeses!”

With that, I reviewed my mental checklist for the event:

Replace the switch capsule          ☑

Don’t black out the house         ☑

Don’t start a fire                       ☑

Don’t electrocute yourself        ☑

Don’t fuck it up                         ☑

Meats and cheeses                         ☑

 

Tariffs and Gold

It was kind of surprising to see the Supreme Court rule against the current Administration when it struck down the president’s unilateral tariffs. They haven’t voted against him very often and are seen to be in his pocket. But there’s subtlety at play here. The six conservative Supremes aren’t necessarily as loyal to the president as they are to the rich and Republican (with a sub-loyalty to religious wingnuts). When their interests align, they’re happy to overturn precedent and upset the apple cart.

But with the tariffs, the big-money crowd values a predictable and reliable economic atmosphere, and having a toddler throwing tariff tantrums when the mood hits him is unsettling. It shakes the stability that they need to milk the Market to the degree to which they’re accustomed.

Decision aside, we’re still in the same place because the Emperor is now pushing a 15% global tariff, as revenge for having been told “no.”

Talk immediately jumped to the prospect of refunding the tariffs paid, which is problematic. The payments should really go to the US citizens, not the vendors. The vendors who first paid the tariffs have already been reimbursed by us through raised prices. The Government paying them back would be double-dipping, unless the vendors were required to then reimburse those who bought their goods and services at the tariff-heightened prices.

Do you really think that’s going to happen? In fact, how would it even be possible? How would they know who to reimburse and for how much?

I imagine people who used a grocery store loyalty card might have left usable tracks. And there may be some help from credit card records. But those who paid cash or didn’t participate in store points programs would be SOL.

So, the alternative would be for the government to refund us directly. And because they would be just as limited in tracking individual purchases as retailers, the only fair way to do it is a universal check distribution. And that will never happen. This government will never part with cash money to be sent back to the unwashed masses.

And who knows where that money even is? It wouldn’t surprise me if all the tariff money was funneled to another offshore bank in Qatar, controlled by You Know Who. Maybe that’s why he’s so dead-set on imposing tariffs, despite presumably being told by everyone, from cabinet members to donors, that tariffs are direct taxes on US citizens and not a fund received from foreign countries. It’s another grift for his personal benefit. And that’s all we are to him: a source of revenue to be harvested upwards.

So I’m not holding my breath on the chance of seeing some money falling back down to the common citizens. If anything, the vendors will get a refund, which will then be used for bonuses and stock buy-backs, just like the tax windfalls of the past. Once again, the wealthy benefit, and the rest of us get screwed.

Going for the Gold

I enjoyed watching the Olympics again this year. As a retiree with my afternoons open, I was able to watch a lot of the live coverage during the day. Then I could pick and choose what to watch during the evening recaps.

 My newest T-shirt.

Watching yesterday’s gold medal hockey game between the US and Canada was thrilling. Just from a purely hockey perspective, the game was tremendous; everything a hockey fan would want out of a game. It was a fast-paced, hard-hitting, and hard-skating game that went down to the wire in overtime.

I was rooting for Team USA, but not as rabidly as I might have in the past. Part of me wants to express dissatisfaction with the state of things in the US, but the other part of me knows that it’s not the athletes who are to blame. I mainly root for the players who play for my favored NHL team, the Pittsburgh Penguins. If the Penguins’ Sidney Crosby had been playing for Canada (rather than having given up his spot due to injury), I might have drifted over to their side.

Who ended up in the US locker-room celebrating but FBI chief, Kash Patel, who apparently had nothing pressing to do this week? 

Waste of Kash.

Maybe he was looking for his girlfriend in there. That certainly justifies commandeering a government plane to fly to Italy on the taxpayer’s dime. I suppose he’s just emulating his boss, who also loves crashing sports teams’ celebrations that have nothing to do with him. It’s no wonder they need to bask in other people’s glory; they create so little of their own.

The women’s hockey finals were just as captivating, as they also went into overtime. The Canadians tied up a 1-0 game late, then the US won it in OT on a great inside dangle and a point-blank shot from the crease. (Sorry, that’s a lot of hockey lingo!) Although sadly without the name recognition, I found the women’s game just as captivating and well-played as the men’s final. It was a great week for hockey. The men should have supported them better when the president made light of them on his call to the team.

I’m always fascinated by the high-flying and high-speed sports like the ski-jumping and half-pipe acrobatics. It amazes me how people can learn how to do that without maiming themselves.

The skating was enjoyable as well. I felt terrible for our big men’s singles threat, Ilia Malinin, the “Quad God,” who, after all the hype, totally ate it on his long-routine performance. But I loved that our women’s contestant, Alysa Liu, won gold on a tremendous performance. She had such a positive attitude that it made it easy to root for her.

Short Track Speed Skating, singles or relays, is like a combination of skating fast and human bowling. It’s just chaos in motion, and every so often, there’s a huge crash, and people go flying.

I’ve always thought I’d like to take a ride on a bobsled because it looks like so much fun. Then I saw accounts from famous fans who tried, Jason Kelce and SNL’s Colin Jost. Both made clear how utterly terrifying and physically jarring their ride was. So maybe I’ll just leave it at watching from the sofa. I don’t need to start chiropractor treatments anytime soon.

I have to really hand it to those brave souls who do the luge (going feet-first down the bobsled track on an open sled), or skeleton (same thing, only head-first). I think “skeleton” is an apt name for that event. I bet there are dozens of them buried near the practice track.

I watched a little curling early on, but it seemed like the coverage never ended. CNBC was practically locked onto curling coverage, to the point that their “C” might as well have stood for “Curling.” Bocce on ice… got it.

I was watching the gorgeous Mikaela Shiffrin win a slalom event and noticed how much she looks like Kylie Kelce (podcasting wife of aforementioned Jason). A couple of days later, I see the two of them talking about that very thing on Kylie’s podcast. They may not be identical, but they sure look like sisters to me.

Hotness either way you go.

So, now that we’re done playing international games to demonstrate peace, cooperation, and sportsmanship, it’s time to start a war with Iran. Stay tuned.

Dipping My Toes Into Retirement

I’ve been retired for a week and a half now. What’s it been like? It’s played out in two different scenarios so far: before our kitchen and bathroom remodel started, and after. The work started last Wednesday, one week after the day I got let go.

For that first week, it was just strange, bumping around at home, alone, without any particular thing to anchor me. Because I’m such a creature of habit and routine, I realized that I’d have to create some new ones; I just don’t know yet what they should be.

For example, weekday routine used to be easy… wake up at 7:00, listen to the radio to get news and weather until 7:30, get up and shower, pour my iced tea, get my peanut butter crackers, and log onto my work website. Then work until 11:30 (unless some dipshit schedules another lunchtime meeting because they’re on Central time), eat lunch, read the newspaper, do my crossword puzzles, and go back to work for the rest of the day.

Upon retirement, I can get up when I like (but have still been close to my usual time, between 7 and 8). But then, do I shower right away? Should I have my tea and crackers first over the newspaper? If I do the crosswords then, what will I do at lunch? (I’ve been doing crossword puzzles at lunch every day since 2005.)

I’ve given myself at least one job to do each day, so I’d have at least some sense of purpose and usefulness. In fact, when Sweetpea left a note asking me to go get her some gas in the gas can, I was like, “A quest! The Fair Maiden needs my help!  I shall go forth and return with a tankard of liquid fire!”

So I’ve had some things to do, I just haven’t worked out the order in which I should do them. I guess the shower time can float; if my Job of the Day involves yard work, it’s better to shower later. But I think it’s best if I start the day clean, lest I start to forget about it and degenerate into an unshaven, slovenly mess.

It’s also been very nice to reacquaint myself with the 3:00 nap! That’s always when the head bobs and mental fuzziness would kick in when I was working, so I’d have to fight off the temptation to sneak one in. And with Sweetpea coming home each day between 4:00 and 4:30, I’m guaranteed not to oversleep.

Once the work started on the renovation, it’s been a different kind of strange. I have to ensure I’m up and ready by the time the workers arrive, usually between 8:00 and 8:30. Then the rest of my day is mostly answering their occasional questions and staying out of their way. It’s always stressful when they want a decision on something, and I can’t collaborate with Sweetpea. As a schoolteacher, she never even looks at her phone at work, other than occasionally at lunch, so I know she’s out of reach. So I’ve had to make some decisions on the fly and then hope I guessed right.

The biggest problem is that with the sink and counters gone, there’s nowhere to prepare food or clean up afterward, other than the bathroom sink, which is woefully inadequate. So we’ve been relying on takeout, grilling, and microwaveable dishes. Eventually, they put the counters in, but without the countertop, which is a separate operation. So the space is blocked in, but still of no practical use.

As long as my brother remains retired, I hope we can start meeting up regularly for lunch. It’s good to be able to pick his brain about financial matters. He’s the CPA and MBA. I’m the one with the Bachelor of Arts in Communications.

My old friend “Sitcom” Kelly asked if I was interested in seeing the Orioles/Pirates game here in town next week, and I’m like, “Hell yeah! Got nothing but time on my hands!” Of course, it’s an evening game so I could have gone anyway. And I may still go to the Thursday game, which is at 1:30. I always like to go to one day game a year, or as I call them, “Ferris Bueller” games. Last time I went to one, I even caught a foul ball. Danke Shoen!

So I have to wait until all the work on the house is done and things settle down before I can feel like a retiree. Oh, and speaking of, if you’re 50+, have you joined AARP? They’ve been chasing me for almost 14 years now, and I’ve never joined. I’m just not sure I see the benefit. Yes, they offer discounts, but many places also offer senior discounts. And they lobby for seniors, but I’ll reap the benefit of that whether I join or not. So for $50 a year, I’ve been putting it off. How about you?

I also won’t be able to rest easy until my severance is in the bank and I have new medical coverage. Sweetpea should be able to put me on her plan, which is through Kaiser Permanente. It’s a good plan, but it means that I’ll have to give up all my current doctors, because they’re a self-contained unit with their own staff and facilities. That means a new PCP, cardiologist, and eye doctor for me. And lots of introductory appointments where they want tests I’ve already done and draw conclusions I already know. And don’t even get me started on Medicare, which I’ll have to engage next year around this time. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

But that’s life, I suppose. No one promised us an easy path. Life is more like a zig-a-zag.*

 

 

*That’s a reference to an old story my mom tells about my dad’s Italian grandfather, who was a tiny little man and already ancient back when I was a child. He was telling Mom about how he can’t go out anymore because all the ladies are after him.

Mom: How do you get away from them, Grandpa?

Grandpa: I run away.

Mom: But you can’t run very fast.

Grandpa: I zig-a-zag.

You Can't Quit, You're Fired

 Welp, it looks like I get to start enjoying retired life a little earlier than I expected.

If you’ll recall a post from three weeks ago, I informed my company that I’d retire rather than be forced back into the office, as their firm-wide commandment just commanded. I gave them 9/2 at the effective date, which was the first day we were supposed to return to the office.

Since then, I’ve been spending an hour a day training my replacement, which is woefully inadequate. There were some things I was able to cover once before moving on, but in a better world, that should be followed up with them performing the same task with me watching, and then totally solo. That takes time, though. All we had time for was one and done.

So, last Wednesday, when I logged into my weekly one-on-one with the boss, she had an HR person with her, which is never a good sign. Without fanfare, she let me know there was a departmental reorganization afoot and my position had been eliminated. Eight days before I was to retire. Then she said I’d get a severance package equal to 29 weeks’ pay. (Two weeks plus one week for every year I’ve been there.) THAT got my attention. At that point, I missed pretty much everything the HR lady was saying because I was trying to wrap my head around why they would give me a package when I was about to walk away voluntarily, with nothing. I didn’t believe that shit about a reorg at all. It sounded like they were afraid I was going to send my remaining days sabotaging the company from within, which was totally untrue. I’d been doing my best to train my replacement, keep up with my responsibilities, and clean out the electronic detritus amassed over 27 years… old saved emails, cartoons, awards, etc.

I had a couple of Goodbye emails already written, which were meant for various groups of people, but they warned me that following this conversation, I was to log off company systems immediately and never log on again. Not wanting to mess with the severance, I did just that, but was unhappy about it. I had some nice stuff I wanted to say. It wasn’t going to be a flaming farewell at all.

So, with that, I logged off, wondering WTF I was going to do with the rest of my day. I texted Sweetpea, of course, who I know wouldn’t see the email until later in the day, and then my brother, who had recently been “unwillfully retired” about a month earlier. I notified a couple of people within the company I was friendly with and whose contact info I had, then had lunch and a nap. (Retired life: so far, so good.)

Later that evening, I heard from one of those friends, who told me there actually was a reorg going on in my former silo. They cut loose a whole department of people, with plans to outsource their responsibilities. She said they probably had my name on their list for at least a month. She said they probably figured that if they laid off a bunch of people and gave severance, but let me walk away with nothing, it was grounds for a possible lawsuit. I don’t know about that, but I guess it’s possible.

But NOW it all made a lot more sense. All this time I thought I had them over a barrel, they were thinking, “Dude, don’t be a dumbass, just stay put for a few more days, and we’ll send you off with a chunk of cash!” I also figure that they’re getting rid of my whole area of responsibility, which is why they didn’t care how trained the next guy was. They must have determined they could live with short-term pain and shed the whole operation.

I thought back to my termination call and realized that my firing must have been the easiest and most pleasant one of the day. Once I realized I was getting severance, I practically tap-danced out the proverbial door. If this had happened at a time when I wasn’t ready and able to retire, I would have been devastated and pissed beyond belief. I’m guessing some of their other calls were more like that.

So, now I have to figure out how to be retired. I’m going to need some kind of new routine, lest I wander about all day wondering what to do next. I plan on expanding on that with future posts, probably starting next week.

I can foresee right now, though, that it will be a noisy couple of weeks. We had just signed a contract to remodel our kitchen and bath the night before I learned about the Great Office Repopulation, and work is starting this Wednesday. We could have canceled it within the period of rescission, but there really wasn’t an upside to doing so. We need the job done regardless, and delaying it wasn’t going to change anything, other than it would likely be more expensive. So, onward ho!

So Much for Easing Off Into the Sunset

Early last month, I wrote a post about my hopes and dreams for retirement, which is that I can finally take it easy and do things that I want to do. Of course, my time frame was about two years down the road. Looks like that’s not happening.

Remember when I wrote about telling my boss my feelings about a prospective forced return to work? It’s not prospective anymore. They want us back in three days per week, starting right after Labor Day. Months ago, I heard it would happen when my company moves to a new building in January. But last week, my boss said the directive would be early September instead. I hoped there would be some kind of appeal process or other wiggle room to negotiate because I have no intention of complying.

Well, the memo came out yesterday and there was zero wiggle room. It’s happening to everyone, even those who don’t live near our offices. (I have no idea how that’s going to work.) It came from our CEO and contained lots of happy talk about enhanced collaboration and teamwork. They’re offering us two more personal days too, and two weeks in the summer when we can work from anywhere (just like I can right now).

As I mentioned before, I’m the only one who does what I do. If I were to disappear, they would be truly fucked. There are complicated processes and details surrounding my world. I have some self-written procedures, which I may or may not share. Without my guidance, no one would have the slightest idea what to do.

My first instinct was to nuke the whole thing from orbit, but after conferring with my brother, he convinced me I should offer the 90 days the company wants before retiring, on the condition that I do that time at home. He said I’d regret going out in a bad way. And if they don’t go along, I can retire effective the day after Labor Day, the first day we’d have to go in.

So I spoke to my boss this morning, and as I suspected, this is a universal edict. Even knowing the barrel I have them over, they would not let me run out my time training my replacement at home. So, I told her I’d be retiring on September 2^nd. I didn’t yell, didn’t get pissed, and just remained calm and resolute. I could see the panic set in as she realized that I couldn’t possibly train anyone fully in only 18 days, without devoting eight hours a day to it. And if I did that, all my real-time duties would remain undone. It’s not like I’m going to kill myself accommodating them, not after robbing me of two years’ work.

Yes, I know I could just go in, but I don’t see it that way. I feel like they changed the deal. They gave me 100% work-from-home status for the last five years, and my life is fully adapted to that. Going into the office again, with the 90-minute round-trip commute, lack of lunch options, and having to work in the middle of an open-walled circus, is not my idea of fun.

My dad always said he’d work as long as he enjoyed it and his boss didn’t bug him. I’ve been using that as my guide all along. I’m lucky that I have the option to retire. In fact, I told the boss this morning that if this had happened 10 years ago, “yes, I’d go into the office, but I’d be resentful and probably do a half-assed job.” All positive feelings about my work and the place would be gone; just as gone as the likelihood I’d ever take a call or answer an email after hours, like I do now.

She wanted me to talk to an HR guy and gave me his name, so I could “ask questions and learn about the process,” and I emailed him immediately. He never responded, which was not a surprise. I do want to hear what they have to say before I do anything irreversible, which is the only reason I didn’t submit my plans today. I wonder how many people are doing the same. Maybe I’m an outlier, maybe I’m part of an open rebellion. And maybe cooler heads will prevail, and accommodations will be made.

However, until then, my next task is to determine the maximum pressure my printer/scanner can withstand when I sit on the glass, to create my resignation letter.

Retirement Dreams and Reality

I’ve been thinking a lot about retirement. My goal is to wait about two more years and then retire roughly when my wife does. But it’s been on my mind because I’m so looking forward to it.

Of course, the recently passed Big Ugly Trump Tax Shift Act makes me wonder if I should act now.

With all the backroom finagling over Social Security, I don’t know if it’s more advantageous to get into the system now or wait until the dust settles. I understand that they’re unlikely to disturb the soon-to-be retirees, and instead put the screws to those who have to wait awhile. Maybe I should just get my claim in while they still have some money.

You’d like to think that they’ll figure something out once the insolvency date becomes a real threat. But somehow, I just don’t see this group of politicians doing anything to help average Americans. With these guys, I’m thinking the cure will be worse than the ailment. Because it’s the easiest fix in the world: just raise or eliminate the cap on taxable income for Social Security.  But that would negatively affect the rich, so Republicans will never go for it. Any my guess is that if the Democrats ever come into enough power to get it done, the Rich will buy off just enough Democratic votes to shit-can the whole thing. They want Social Security gone, not fixed. Or at least changed into a system they can skim. I’d love to be proven wrong here.

I’ve worked continuously since I was 16, save for a couple of 3-month periods when I was unwillingly unemployed, back in the 90s. So I am ready to chill.  When I retire, I intend to do NOTHING productive. No part-time jobs, no consulting, no nothing. If I do any volunteer work, it would be something like becoming an election official, like those old fucks you always seen checking names when you go to vote.

I want to take care of the house. I’ll finally have time to exercise.  I want to see more movies and ball games. I want to binge on all the TV shows I’ve missed.

I want to take a cruise; though I’m told I’ll probably hate it because they tend to be very “peopley,” I at least want to try one. I want to go to the beach in September or October, which Sweetpea has always wanted to do, but has been barred from doing because that’s when school starts.

I may write a book based on my own and my family’s stories. I definitely want to start writing crabby Letters to the Editor of our local Baltimore Sun, staking my claim as Local Liberal Crank. I want to ramble around the country and visit whatever friends and family I’ve got left.

 I’ve always been easily amused, so I don’t have to seek out big entertainment events. The simple stuff is fine for me.

I know that not everyone can have such dreams. I’ve been fortunate to have found job stability late in life, to the point that after fumbling around in retail during my 20s and 30s, my last chunk of years have been the best-paying. And Sweetpea is situated similarly, so we’ll both have solid Social Security income (assuming original plans stay intact). I’ve been saving like a madman for the last 15 years, so with that, my 401k, and Sweetpea’s teacher’s pension, we should be OK. (Pending debilitating illness, economic or atmospheric collapse, of course.)

So, as I look dreamy-eyed into my retirement future, I see that the Powers That Be just won’t let me enjoy it. There were two stories in my news feed last week that tried to make me feel guilty about my unproductive plans. The first one started by mentioning how 71% of retirees have no plans to take part-time jobs. And that much is fine, but they go on to treat this as some kind of abnormality that needs to be explained.

They also mention how only 11% of “future retirees,” aka younger people, say they would do the same. Now, that’s really an apples-to-oranges comparison. Younger people have started out in a vastly different economic system from that of my generation. They know they may not be able to rely on Social Security. They can’t count on long, well-paying careers, especially with the onset of AI threatening to take over so many office jobs.

My thought on it, if all things were equal, would be that once they actually get to the finish line, they may think completely differently. They don’t know about getting ground down by life yet. They’re still young and their joint don’t ache.

Another article runs with the young person angle, with a story about a young person who was able to retire in her 30s, but went back to work out of boredom.

I don’t think articles like these appear in a vacuum. I think the Powers behind the scenes, the Rich moguls who guide what the media shows us, don’t want us seniors to just sit on our retirement laurels. They want us back out in the workforce. They still want us to retire so they can stop paying the full salaries we’ve earned over our many years, but they want us to come back again and work for a discount, without having to kick in for health care. They like that we’re experienced, hard-working, and reliable; they just don’t want to pay the going rate.

Then, once we accept their proposition that we should continue working, we would be less reliant on Social Security, pensions, and the like; employers can pocket even more of it.

Yes, I may be cynical, but it adds up.

Late Update 7/17/25

More proof that Republicans want to take our retirement away:

And note, it's totally NOT reasonable, even if you do sit behind a desk or a mic for a living. At some point, everyone should be allowed to enjoy life, rather than working for The Man every night and day. These pricks see no problem with working us right into the grave.

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Move In or Move On?

 I saw this story last week, which made me want to call “Shananigans!”

They also say that remote workers rank highest in “job engagement,” but they’d rather focus the headline to align with the corporate desire for butts in seats.

I think this poll was constructed to reach this conclusion. The people I know who work from home, like me, can’t be happier about it.

In fact, I just had a conversation with my boss about it last week. Our company is moving from our current office building into another one, after our lease expires in January. She said they’re looking for a full Return to Work for those assigned to the building. I responded that it’s good that I’m not assigned to the building, because I’d fight that with every fiber of my being.

She seemed surprised, not only that I don’t want to return, but that I’m not assigned to the building. She hasn’t been my boss for a year yet, so there are some things she doesn’t know. For example, in 2020, when COVID flipped the world upside down, my company rolled out a plan to let people work 100% from home if they met certain guidelines, which I did. So I jumped on that with both feet and was granted permanent WFH status. I said I’ve been happier here than during any other part of my professional career. That was only a slight exaggeration. There was a short time, back in the early 2000s, that I was part of a nice, young, fun crowd who would do things together off hours, all the time. But those days, as well as almost all of those people, are long gone.

She wondered if I’d gotten the email about the new building, which apparently went out last week. I said I hadn’t, probably because of what I had said earlier, that I’m not tied to the building. I told her I didn’t even get an invite to the last two Christmas parties we had there.

“So what don’t you like about the office?” she asked.

I gave her the full, unfiltered rundown: I am home alone all day long. That means no conversations or phone calls are going on around me, so I can concentrate much more easily. There are practically zero interruptions. I don’t have to get lunch out of a machine (which is our main choice at the office, if you don’t want to pay $25 for lunch at a nearby restaurant). I don’t have to maintain an office wardrobe. I don’t have a 90-minute round-trip commute, so once I log off, I’m at home with my wife, talking about our days. And with our “open-office” design since 2015, I’ve never been so uncomfortable at work throughout my entire office-dwelling career.

And before she could bring up missing out on the “collaboration” that management loves to promote, I said, since I’m the only one who does what I do, there is no need for me to collaborate with anyone. I have more than enough opportunities to talk with her about anything I may need during our scheduled calls. I ended by saying that the last five years have been a wildly successful proof of concept test because my areas of responsibility have never been in better shape.

So, will that get me out of moving back to the office next year? Maybe. Or maybe they’ll use that as a way to can my ass, to get out of paying me unemployment or a severance package. Because if they try to force me to go in, I’ll have to seriously consider immediate retirement. And do you remember how I’m the only one who does what I do? That would come back to take an expensive bite out of their corporate asses if I were to disappear.

The only thing that keeps me from making my retirement an absolute guarantee is the insurance aspect. I’d either have to pay through the nose for COBRA coverage or join my wife’s medical plan and lose all my doctors.

Sure, they can put the screws to me, but I can screw them right back. I’m hopeful that we can back away from the abyss and they can just let me do my job. In another year or two, I’ll be happy to train my replacement and skip on down the road to begin my Golden Years. (Assuming we critics of the current Administration haven’t been rounded up to a detention camp, of course.)

And to that end, I noticed this story in the local Baltimore (Sinclair) Sun:

Of course, the new Administration is removing any trace of Affirmative Action from military forces. The last thing they’re going to want is when they unleash the army on an urban location where US Citizens are protesting, having soldiers think twice about rounding up or mowing down people who look like them. They’re whitening the military for more reasons than just to provide more jobs for fair-to-middling crackers.

I also have to point out the further deterioration of our local rag. It’s bad enough they’re taking news copy from local Fox News broadcasts, now they’re adopting clickbait tactics. Behold this headline:

“Citations issued for 1 offense are skyrocketing.” Oh boy, what can it be? [click] Expired tags. Ho hum.

Before we know it, they’ll be running headlines promoting “that one weird trick…” that fixes overbites, bad posture, and night blindness. 

The shittification of print media continues…