Taxes

It's interesting to how people make a distinction between 'income tax' and 'payroll tax' when its convenient. Tea Baggers like to say that so many people don't pay 'income tax' but many of those people are taxed on their income and it's called a payroll tax. They may get a relatively small mortgage deduction on their income tax, but a big percentage of their pay has already been taken out, deducted from their paychecks.

Miscellaneous

Voyager: Year of Hell

One of the most fascinating aspects of this 2-parter (which was awesome and horrific in other ways) was the whole concept of time flows and how if you go back in time and change one little thing, it could cause all kinds of repercussions you would never expect. Say I hung out more with some guys in dorm First year, I would never meet Anne, never meet Pete and never join the game, never get involved with ICE... where would I be?

notes

I need to start writing down stuff for my book, like back in the 80's Dan Savage said he would date me if I bought him a plane ticket to C'ville (yes he knows who I am, bitches! I know one actual celebrity). and my 3-way in the 90's that I was totally seduced into. I could talk for hours about hungover Saturdays painting tiny little cities but that's kind of boring. There is of course going way back to my bizarre first year involving green puppets with an attitude who for some reason earned the respect of everyone in my dorm, in an indulgent 'omg T is messed up, let's just humor him' kinda way.

OMG, Eric, Beaux Arts Balls, wow there is stuff.

Auto-something

At lunch a few weeks ago, a former co-worker told me I should write a book about my life (after I related some recent traumatic experiences). My immediate reaction was, what, my life hasn't been that interesting. But then I started thinking about some of the things I've done, people I've met, situations I've found myself in. Hey if Chelsea Handler can do it. And mostly, it's about the presentation.

Naps are evil

I just woke up remembering a high school church weekend retreat. Looked through the old posts and can't believe that I never blogged about this, how traumatic it probably was, and how much I hate my mother for making me go. I still don;t remember a lot of the details. I just remember it was something related to our Presbyterian church (though I remember absolutely no actual religious stuff actually happening like prayers or such). I am not even sure how old I was but I suspect right at the bad age, 12-13, just before high school. For some reason I think John M. was there, but my memory may be confused.

Anyway, I remember a school bus, being shipped off to an actually really cool old mansion somewhere out in the PA wilderness where I refused to participate in just about everything just to be a contrary little angry bitch boy. But I did find a hardcopy of a book containing the Asimov story 'Nightfall' which may have been one of the things that changed my life (along with my mother tossing the seemingly randomly-chosen library YA book 'Zero Stone' on my bed when I was sick with strep one time and I needed something to read--this maybe even more influentual, little did she know).

Anyway I managed to avoid the rest of the kids most of the time except for bed, which is just a blur of underwear and matressess (and probably my poor hormones freaking out). But we played some games at the end where I had to participate, but they were arranged where I was never the butt of the joke. I only figured this out later. I guess by then the asst minister by then figured out I could not talk any kind of teasing.

And there was a hayride. I still remember no praying or anything. Actually later when I was more comfortable and in bell choir, we never prayed either that I remember. Presbys were pretty minimalists as far as religion.