BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Those of you who have read the “Mahwage” mini-series of blogs here at Brainpan Leakage already know that I was dopamine wonky, tongue-tied, tripping over myself in love with E K the moment I laid eyes on her. What followed, of course, was a study in silliness across a dozen blog entries which chronicled our courtship and wedding. (Click the link if you need to be filled in… Rumor has it they are a good read, in an amusing and sappy sort of way.)

Of course, in order to contain the aforementioned series within a dozen relatively long articles, I had to hit only the really high points. This meant that many other high points that weren’t actually the absolute peaks were left out. Unfortunate, yes, but hey, just think of what would have happened if I let E K do the editing. It would have been: We met. We got married. End of story. She’s very concise, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Frugal too. And that’s what the picture of the dead roses above is all about.

You see, one of the things I left out of the Mahwage blogs was a dozen roses I bought for her Supreme Evilness. As it happens, she likes roses. But, this particular dozen came at a time when we were first flirting with one another and not yet fully involved in the “ripped clothing, lip-locked, knocking everything off the desk to make room” passion that accompanies the initial throes of dating. But, I digress as usual…

The thing is, I purchased for The Evil Redhead a dozen red roses. I know, not exactly subtle, but hey, just one of those things. Problem is,  over half the damn things wilted themselves into corpsification within 36 hours. I’d never seen anything like it. While E K had no problem with this happening – other than the fact that she felt bad because she knew how much roses cost – I did. So, I went to the florist. Unfortunately, this particular florist was not of the stellar quality as the one I now use (true story), so what ended up happening was that I purchased 6 replacement roses and hand delivered them to her evilness.

She was happy, but at the same time not so much. You see, being frugal and such she wasn’t happy that I had apparently spent money on more roses. So, I lied. I told her they were warranty replacement roses.

All was good… Until our relationship truly got underway and she took over my finances. It was then she found out I had actually paid for them. As you would expect, knowing her evilness, scoldings and severe beatings then ensued. I was summarily banned from buying her roses for a number of years, lest I waste money on something that was simply going to die in a few days anyway.

Seriously.

That ban has been since been lifted, of course, but she still prefers that I keep the rose giving to a minimum. So, in keeping with her wishes, Valentine’s Day will take the form of Whisky Glazed Filet Mignon, Alaskan King Crab, and Chocolate Covered Strawberries – straight from Murv’s kitchen.

It’s much safer for me that way…

Happy Martyred Saints Day everyone…

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