BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Commercials… You just never know what kind of havoc they will cause. For instance, you have that whole Filet-O-Fish thing going on. There’s even a ring tone for your cell, just like in the commercial itself.

As a matter of fact, E K was at a bank just the other day, stomping a printer into submission – what with her being Queen of the Printer Technicians and all – when a cell phone nearby began ringing. It was, of course, the Filet-O-Fish ring tone.

That’s when the havoc ensued.

As I understand it, E K went over and stabbed the guy in the head with a screwdriver, then stomped his cell phone until it was quiet. Oddly enough, she wasn’t charged with assault or even destruction of property. Apparently she received a standing ovation from everyone else in the bank. You may have read about it in the papers.

Now, me, I actually like the Filet-O-Fish jingle. But, don’t tell E K. She carries a screwdriver in her purse and I’m not big on being stabbed.

Of course, as usual, I am chasing a chicken of different plumage – by that I mean, I’m actually here to talk about a different commercial. Not the Filet-O-Fish song.

So… Anyway… Yeah… Guess I’d better get on with it then…

You see, the other day the O-spring and I were heading out to run some errands. While I generally listen to the local NPR station whenever I’m in the Merp Mobile, on this particular occasion I was in the mood for some tunes, so we were dialed in to the local classic rock station. Fortunately, the O-spring has very diverse musical tastes. She does get into some J-Pop and other stuff that really drives me insane, but she can also be equally entertained by ZZ Top, Black Sabbath, or Billy Joel (ad infinitum). Way cool, eh?

Yeah, I know, I’m getting off track again…

Back to the story… Since we were listening to a commercial station, obviously there were commercial breaks. Since this was shortly before Valentine’s Day, one of them happened to be for a Boudoir / Lingerie Chain that was advertising “Designer Underwear.”

Again, havoc ensues. The following is a best recollection accounting of the conversation that came in the wake of said commercial…

After a thoughtful pause, the O-spring, with an overabundance of confusion in her voice said, “Designer Underwear?! Who would want that?!”

“Well, honey,” I said. “Some people are all about the labels and things like that.”

“Oh, okay,” she replied.

I could tell by the way she said it that we weren’t finished. The traffic signal ahead of us winked so I made my left hand turn and proceeded down the road. The kid stewed silently for another minute or two. You could almost hear the cogs and gears clattering against one another as she concentrated.

Finally she announced, “I guess you just have to be old enough to want designer underwear.”

I was intrigued, so I asked,  “How old is that?”

“Old enough to have a boyfriend,” she replied with a matter-of-fact air about her.

I “schnerked” and tried to avoid spitting a mouthful of coffee all over the inside of my windshield. Gathering my composure I followed up with, “Well, how old do you think that is?”

Once again, gears and ratchets began grinding, clanking, and whirring. A moment later she replied, “I don’t know.”

Like any father with a daughter, I saw a perfect opportunity before me. “Well,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that you aren’t old enough to have a boyfriend until you’re 40.”

“Okay,” the O-spring said, not even flinching. “Sounds good.”

“So, we’re agreed then. You aren’t going to have a boyfriend until you turn 40, right?”

“Right.”

As good a memory as the kid has, I’m fairly certain that in a few years she won’t remember this conversation at all. I’ll definitely remind her, but I don’t think it will do any good.

All I can say is when “teenhood” rolls around and she decides to break the pact, I know there’s nothing I can do. However, if she asks for money to go buy designer underwear, we’re going to have a problem…

More to come…

Murv

The stretch of the “Information Superhighway” that runs through Missouri is riddled with potholes, and I managed to find a really big one. I wasn’t looking for it… Well, not on purpose. I was simply trying to merge into the center lane. Not even the fast lane mind you, just the center lane, and whomp, there it was. I big ol’ information pothole with Missouri State Government written all over it. I don’t know why, but I didn’t even try to put on the brakes. I just kept on going and fell right into the gaping abyss with countless other poor bastards (and bastardettes) who make the Show-Me state their home.

Now, in defense of the “Big MO,” I have to admit that it lived up to its motto. By that I mean it showed me – in spades – why people in other parts of the country think we are a bunch of barefoot cousin marryin’, nose-pickin’, backward idiots who can’t keep up. You see, it seems our very own government is the model upon which this assumption is based, and I hate to say it, but if I was on the outside looking in I would surmise the very same thing.

Allow me to explain…

Those of you who follow my exploits on Facebook are probably already aware that I have been lamenting some issues with renewing my license plates. This should be a relatively easy task, right? Well, sort of. If you’ve read some of my previous blogs you might remember my story about renewing my Driver’s License. In a nutshell, the majority of the licensing offices in our state are actually commodities. By that, I mean they are privately owned and the permit to own and run one of these establishments was obtained by back-scratching a political candidate. Fair enough. Corruption runs rampant everywhere, why not here? The thing is, these privately owned offices tend to employ some of the rudest people on the planet. (For more detailed accounting of what I mean see It Ain’t Rocket Science…)

For that very reason, and those outlined in the referenced blog entry, I make it a point to avoid going to the licensing office unless my hair is on fire and no one else is around to help me put it out. But, let’s get back to the latest gargantuan pothole…

Missouri, like many – if not all – other states offers the ability to renew your license plates online. Please make note, I said offers. As I discovered, offering this service and actually providing it are two different things. My journey toward said enlightenment, and the resulting plummet toward the bottom of the abyss, began innocently enough. I received my notice, procured my inspections and personal property tax receipts, then surfed over to the site and attempted to renew my plates. Everything was fine right up until I hit continue. It seems the system was unable to verify the fact that I had paid my 2009 Saint Louis County Personal Property Taxes on my vehicle. (For those of you unfamiliar with such, in Missouri we are taxed on EVERYTHING. Think I’m kidding? Live here for a year and find out.)

I tried again. Then again. I waited a day and tried again. For a week I tried daily to renew my plates, but to no avail as I always received the very same error message.

This is when I discovered, and ultimately fell into, the gaping maw of the pothole from hell. What follows here are the email exchanges I had with both the Sate of Missouri and the Assessor’s Office for Saint Louis County. Per the notices on the bottom of their emails I am technically violating some obscure law by making these transcripts public. I guess we’ll see if SWAT surrounds my house and starts tossing teargas through the windows.

(Rather than retype the messages here I am simply providing the images – click on each to enlarge…)

My Email To The County Assessor

The Assessor’s Reply

Me Email To The State

The State’s Reply

My Reply To The State

The State’s Reply To My Reply

My Query To The Assessor Complete With Forwarded Email From The State Attached.

The Final Reply

And there you have it. A pothole the size of Rhode Island, right here in the middle of Missouri’s stretch of the information superhighway. Let’s completely ignore the fact that it is obvious that neither the State nor the County have any clue whatsoever how their own system works. That’s not at all surprising. Instead, simply look at the disparity in the technology.

Using the account number and license plate number – something that you type into the online renewal site – I can pull up my paid personal property tax receipt on the screen. 2 seconds, all done. HOWEVER, it appears that the State is incapable of doing so. Apparently they have to have a CD-ROM sent to them monthly, which then must be copied into their database.

I have to wonder exactly how much all that is costing taxpayers…

Just in case the State – or County, for that matter – happens across this blog, I’d like to let them in on a secret. As it happens, I know at least a half dozen kids at my daughter’s elementary school who can write them a few lines of code and redirect the necessary ports on their routers to make this all seamless, instantaneous, and probably even more secure than it is at present. No CD’s necessary. No extra work. Fewer annoyed and frustrated Missourians.

What’s more, they’d probably do it for a pizza and a juice box. Just think of all the money you could save.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to pack a lunch so I can go stand in line all day at the license office. I’d probably better take a handful of Valium too. That way I might be able to refrain from bitch slapping any of the idiots behind the counter…

More to come…

Murv