BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

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

When you have geriatric felines you are going to have problems. That is just how it is.

I’m sure you’ve read some of my other blogs where I’ve gone on about having to give insulin to diabetic cats, or running sub-cutaneous fluids into a fleabag with chronic constipation. You’ve likely even read the blog about – and laughed at the picture of – the hemorrhoid cat. So, I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that I am now lamenting the selective incontinence of one such “kitteh”.

Jasper, or as I like to call him, “the stupid one” – mostly because he’s as dense as a brick – has taken to relieving himself in one corner of our dining room. We stay on top of it, of course. Our house is lived in, not filthy. But, I have to admit, it is a bit of a battle. And, no matter how many chemicals you use to destroy the human detectable odor, the cat can still smell it and returns to that place over and over.

Since I am sequestered away in the office all day, we lock “TSO” and “TFO” (The Fat One) in the basement where the litter boxes are located. Granted, the basement is unfinished so it isn’t exactly plush – which is how E K prefers her dungeon – but, for the kitteh’s sake we do make sure they have their “cat pyramids” and “cat beds” down there. And, since that is where their food dishes are as well, they are all good.

Now, before I get a ration of comments telling me how I need to handle this, or that I am a bad person because I need to take the cat to the vet because he’s trying to tell me he is ill, just put a governor on it and step away from the keyboard. E K and I have been rescuing cats for better than 20 years. We have more than just a little experience in this arena. PLUS, we have, in fact, taken him to the vet. He’s fine. Nothing wrong. No urinary infections, no diabetes, etc. He’s just old and suffering from “I don’t care anymore syndrome.”

So anyway, on with the story. “TSO” will do the same thing in the basement on occasion, meaning he’ll leave a puddle on the concrete floor 10 steps from the litter boxes, just because he can. Fortunately, that is much easier to clean up than the hardwood in the dining room, but I digress.

Just the other day it was raining. Since we live in an old house at the bottom of a hill, in a dip in the road, with all of the property around us sitting higher than us, drainage occurs. See where I’m going with this? When such drainage occurs and the ground is saturated, some seepage also occurs. We don’t get “major flooding” down there, but we get a few puddles and minor streams running toward the floor drain.

On this particular day, the O-spring, fresh off finishing her homework, headed downstairs to take care of the afternoon feline feeding – something that has been added to her list of chores in recent weeks. No more had she gone down into the basement than I heard “Ewwwww! Jasper! That’s disgusting!” Given that I was sitting in the office upstairs doing some work, you know she had to be pretty loud.

The “Ewwws” and scoldings continued for a minute or two, and finally I heard her clomping back up the stairs. The basement door opened, the slammed, and I was greeted with my daughter yelling at me from the bottom of the first floor staircase.

“DADDY! Jasper peed ALL OVER the basement!”

“What do you mean, all over?” I asked.

“He peed EVERYWHERE! There’s only only little places to stand where it’s dry. It’s GROSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”

When I finally stopped laughing I called back to her, “Honey, it’s raining. That’s just water from the basement leaking.”

It was quiet for a moment, then I heard a very calm and perfunctory, “Oh.”

Crisis averted. I wonder what she’s going to do the first time she has to change a diaper?

More to come…

Murv