Iowa Tax Makes Return of Great Pumpkin Unlikely

A recent decision by the state of Iowa to tax pumpkins may spell the end for the fabled Great Pumpkin.

The Great Pumpkin, often characterized as a third-tier holiday figure, has long struggled for legitimacy in an arena dominated by perennial heavyweights Santa Claus and Easter Bunny. His critics say his orange-skinned persona and lack of identifiable facial features prevents him from connecting to his target audience. And, the pundits add, the Great Pumpkin may never be able to overcome the "vegetable stigma" on a holiday celebrated for candy goodness.



Despite these setbacks, the popularity of the Great Pumpkin (known as G.P. by his close circle of friends) continues to increase, baffling even the most dedicated pumpkin enthusiast. So what is driving this jolly gourd?

Sources close to G.P. say that, despite his tendency to rot and attract flies the second week of November, the ability to, quite literally, start "from the ground up" every year allows him to keep a positive outlook.


Says supporter Linus van Pelt, "Every year, it is a new Great Pumpkin. The suspense adds a level of excitement to the holiday. You can just feel it in the air each Halloween."


Van Pelt can be found every year in a local pumpkin patch, waiting for the Great Pumpkin to appear. Asked if he had ever seen the Great Pumpkin, the prematurely balding youth became agitated and asked if this blogger had ever scene a million dollars. After responding in the negative, Van Pelt replied, "You don't have to see something to know that it exists."

When asked if he was aware he just plagiarized a scene from The Santa Clause, a popular movie featuring the Great Pumpkin's chief rival, Van Pelt made a disparaging comment about this blogger's mother and curled into the fetal position, clutching a grungy blue blanket.


For those who have seen the Great Pumpkin the experience has clearly enriched their lives, an astonishing feat considering that no one is quite sure what the Great Pumpkin actually does or how he does it. But could this be the last year for the gourd that could?


It took two hundred years, but the good folks in Iowa's tax department have caught on that no one actually eats pumpkins, instead using the durable rind to carve out hideous visages that nominally look like political figures. It is widely believed that the winner of the Iowa Republican primary is always the candidate with the most carvable pumpkin face. Beginning in September Iowa will revoke the pumpkin's tax-exempt status as a food item when the implied usage is decoration in nature. If residents actually want to eat their pumpkins, they can fill out a form to get a tax refund.

However, this could spell disaster for the Great Pumpkin, who bases his operations just outside of Des Moines. In this year of drought, the market is paying premium prices for pumpkin poundage, and the addition of a sales tax will only inflate the amount the Great Pumpkin will end up paying for himself. The overhead woes do not stop there--the Great Pumpkin relies heavily on merchandising to fund his charities, and his bestselling mini Great Pumpkin action figures (which, conveniently, are remarkably similar to normal pumpkins) will see dramatic reductions in profit margins as a result of this new tax.

It has been a hard year, even for the major players--Mr. Claus, faced with the very real possibility that there won't be a North Pole in a couple years, has been in negotiations with the Russians for land in Siberia. In such a crowded market, will the Great Pumpkin ever again have room to grow?

The Great Pumpkin has junk in his trunk.

The Mosul Dam - Why Iraq Needs a Noah

Someone had better build an ark in Iraq—and fast. An earthen damn in Iraq, often been described as “ginormous” in Congressional PowerPoint presentations, is in danger of collapsing. And, like most everything else that is wrong with Iraq, no one is close to even thinking about maybe fixing it.

The vast majority of what I know about dams comes from my youthful experiences with streams and storm drains, which, for whatever reason, are absolute kid magnets. My first thought whenever I saw flowing water was, “I have to pee!” But my second thought, after taking care of Number 1 (ha ha!), was, “I have to put a rock in there!” And I did. There is some kind of power involved in diverting the natural flow of water, and when you are eight years old you take whatever power you can get. But the most important lesson I learned was if you want to stop water, you gotta put something heavy in front of it.

Now, as a licensed honest-to-God civil engineer, I do paperwork all day. But, theoretically, I could be hired by a company that does dams. And while I have never been included in the design of a dam, I know enough about them that I am absolutely certain that, of all the places on God’s green earth the last place that you will ever find me is standing under that dam.

Here is a short list of bad things about the Mosul Dam:

1. The dam is in Iraq.
2. The dam is built on gypsum, the main ingredient in drywall. If you want to know how gypsum performs in water, ask Katrina.
3. The dam depends on 24 pumps operating continuously to fill the dissolving gypsum with grout.
4. The dam is surrounded by people who believe God wants them to blow stuff up.
5. The first province to flood would be Nineveh, which is like God’s punching bag.

If I were one of the 500,000 residents of Mosul and Baghdad soon to be under 65 feet of water, I would seriously consider investing in a canoe.

A Small Town Called Dave

In my many experiences with bronchitis, upper respiratory infection and sinusitis, I have found there is nary a slumber more peaceful than one induced by half a bottle of cough medicine. However, in my recent illness over the past week, my pervasive and annoying cough was mighty enough to wrench my body from its sleep and force my mind into a state of wakefulness that it clearly had no intention of going.

Though I can never be quite sure, I believe I was dreaming in a conscious state. Though most of the details are lost forever, I think I experienced a state of mind akin to what all the great authors must of went through when hopped up on whatever hallucinogens they were partial to.

But I was on cough medicine, and generic cough medicine at that, so instead of a fanciful, opiate-laced tale like Lewis Carrol’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland I got A Small Town Called Dave.

Now I can’t tell you much about this small town called Dave, except that it was a quaint rural 1950s village located somewhere in my bedroom. Granted, my addled mind didn’t have much to go on, but I think it was honestly trying to spin a good yarn. Unfortunately, the conscious part of my brain was super-busy debunking any good story my inebriated half could come up with. Kind of like that friend who watches sci-fi movies with you and discredits with an air of arrogance every scientifically inaccurate gizmo in the show. That’s right—my brain is that asshole.

So when I was elected mayor of this small town called Dave, my brain was quick to point out, “You know, I doubt you’ve been here long enough to meet the residency requirement.”

Damn.

Our small town called Dave hosted a strawberry festival.
Brain: “With all the mountains in the distance, this probably isn’t the ideal place to grow strawberries. And the small population of the town probably cannot support the quality of talent you have performing. Carrie Underwood? She was born thirty years after your little story, and even it she were around, I think she would have better things to do.”

This hurt a little.

Brain: “Oh, what kind of a name is Dave for a town, and why do you keep referring to it as a ‘small town called Dave?’ Everyone can see it is a small town.”

Jerk.

By the time I was fully awake, my conscious was getting very agitated. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. The town was in your bedroom? I know you’re taking some literary license, but really? Is that the best you could do?” I think it was embarrassed to be seen with me.

So there I was, at 2 a.m., pissed off at myself and nursing a Robitussin headache, thinking that boy, I bet I could get some sleep in (a small town called) Dave.

How Government Jobs Encourage Mediocrity

In the private sector, a job well done earns you bonuses, promotions, and perhaps even a better parking spot.

In the world of government employment, a job well done gets you more work. This is generally because middle management does very little original work, and their job performance is entirely dependent on the performance of their employees. I have spreadsheets that do more work than some managers. Bad employees are a liability to these middle managers, but good employees are championed as a symbol of the superior managerial skills.

Example: Like many military folk, I have a better-than-average work ethic and a dollop of common sense. In the federal workplace, where I mix with scores of civilian employees, this earns me the title of "hard-charger" or "overachiever." But I get things done, and this makes me a valuable resource. Every workday I become a target for unenviable tasks from senior management, and I try vainly to deflect the added responsibility.

The most recent task that I was targeted for was the Combined Federal Campaign, a huge fundraising effort that had to be coordinate for the 255 civilian members of our department and our 5 military members. Naturally, they decided to give it to a military member, because you just can't ask civilians to do more work than what they are paid to do. I turned down the job three times, in a manner as clearly as possible:

Not-My-Boss-But-Can-Still-Tell-Me-What-To-Do: Are you our CFC volunteer?
Me: Not a chance.

Assistant Big Boss: Hey Bryan, did you volunteer for the CFC?
Me: No. Maybe a civilian could do it.

Big Boss: Hey, do you want to spearhead the CFC drive?
Me: No!
Big Boss: You must have been asked about this before.

As you might have guessed, I ended up being the coordinator anyway. Because, as self-sufficient as I am, I still need the bosses to sign forms, and my Little Big Boss used a travel request to get me.

Little Big Boss (as he is reading the travel request): So how do you feel about volunteering for the CFC?
Me (knowing defeat was at hand): I would rather not, but if you absolutely need someone.
Little Big Boss: Consider yourself volunteered.

I've spent about seven hours over the course of three days on this cursed campaign so far, despised by everyone because I am essentially hitting them all up for money. And my normal workload hasn't decreased at all. So because I work well, I do more work.

But hey, I think if I collect enough money a get a t-shirt or a mug or something.

The Smartest Person I Hate

Sometimes I find it difficult not to despise sheer brilliance. The latest object of my shameful hatred is Frank Warren, the author of PostSecret. He seems like one of those guys who will Google his own name, so Frank, just to be clear, I don't hate you. I just hate the fact that you discovered an innocuous way to get other people to write bestselling books for you.

Mr. Warren's latest PostSecret book, A Lifetime of Secrets, is currently climbing the Amazon Bestseller List. Last time I checked he was #49.

If you are unfamiliar with the business plan at work here, let me run through the genius that is Frank Warren's PostSecret. In exchange for letting you anonymously post secrets on his website (which you do by sending him a regular, snail-mail post card), Frank acquires all the rights to your secrets. His website is completely advertisement-free, and his hit count is over 100,000,000. (My hit count, currently, is at 7). Frank publishes your secrets periodically in bestselling books. Frank is quite wealthy because instead of talking to your pets like most normal people, you went and mailed him a post card with your personal thoughts. Amazing. This is why I hate Frank, although I admire the heck out of him.

Oh, and regarding my hit count, I am fully aware that I get about ten hits a month, and eight of them are me trying to inflate my hit count. But I was always told to write to your intended audience, and I intend that one day people might read this. That is why I ask rhetorical questions in these posts, even though I realize that, for eighty percent of my hits, I am asking myself.

Blackwater

Why do people seem to be surprised by the Blackwater reports? Of course they fired first. Of course they used over-the-top tactics. It is as if people think there could be other reasons why the most powerful army in the force would supplement its own highly trained numbers with paramilitary forces.

Blackwater USA offers what it calls Global Stability Solutions, a service that provides "superior advisory support to government agencies and private organizations" and offers "solutions that are practical, economical, timely, and effective." Their motto: "When failure is not an option and hope is not enough." The US Government has doled out nearly $1 billion for these "volume security teams," a polite term for mercenaries.

Each Blackwater "consultant" is paid nearly half a million dollars per year for their services in Iraq, which, even by government standards is excessive. When your average U.S. Army soldier can be had for less than 1/10th of that sum, why use Blackwater at all?

U.S. soldiers are beholden to their rules of engagement, the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and the various laws of armed conflict that attempt to civilize the politically sanctioned act of killing. Blackwater does not technically fall under these guidelines.

Before an American soldier can raise his weapon, there must (or should) be a clear and immediate threat of deadly force. Blackwater can shoot first without consequence. They are not under our laws, and Order 17 passed early on in the war (thanks Paul Bremer) ensured Blackwater is also insulated from Iraqi law.

I cannot pretend to understand the decision to put Blackwater in Iraq, but then again, there are many things about our conflict in Iraq I don't understand.

Scariest Stadium

When asked to describe LSU, I firmly believe that any graduate, regardless of age or affiliation, could accurately respond, without hesitation, "Saturday nights in Tiger Stadium."

Anticipate Incompetence

A long time ago, way back in 1991 when I was in the first grade, a motivational speaker came to the school. I remember him well because he told us to call him Dan, and when you're six you love to call grown ups by their first name. Anyway, at an assembly Dan told us to "Expect Excellence." I was totally into alliteration back then, so I latched on to this neat phrase. Then in the second grade, our principal came to our class and wrote this same phrase on the chalkboard.

"Huh," my little naive mind thought. "Maybe he knows Dan."

But of course "Expect Excellence" is one of those catch phrases popular with managers and educators everywhere. Because, apparently, you can't get excellence unless you expect it. This is why you never hear "Accept Mediocrity," even though it is just as catchy and probably more accurate in our lives. If everyone was excellent then we would all be mediocre.

But this won't stop people from expecting excellence. A Google search for "expect excellence" turns up over 90,000 results. But let's face it, if you are expecting excellence from coworkers there is a good chance you're unemployed or about to be. Excellence is the bright blue light that draws you in before reality zaps the crap out of you and leaves your dried carcass clinging to a metal cage. I'm not saying you are dumber than a moth if you expect excellence from the people you work with--just more gullible.

I prefer the contrapuntal theme, "Expect Incompetence." A Google search for this phrase yields slightly more than 500 entries. Most of them refer to the Bush administration. However, if you go around the office espousing this decidedly negative phrase, you'll be labeled as a loner, a demotivational antagonist who saps energy from the workplace. You'll be fired faster than your chipper "Expect Excellence" coworkers.

What's the workaround? Anticipate incompetence. Know exactly when your coworkers will screw you and beat them to it. You are still expecting incompetence, but now you are proactive about it.

For instance, I work at a base that has a Pass Office staffed mostly by people who decided to work for the government because they lacked the attention span to complete an application at Wendy's. They will only accept pass requests via fax. I had a contractor who called me on Friday saying he needed to get on base on Monday. Okay. I filled out all the necessary paperwork and faxed it (twice to the pass office). I printed out confirmation reports and called the pass office to verify they received the fax. I told the contractor to write down my cell phone number, get to the pass office early, and call me if anything went wrong (you see the anticipation). I brought all the paperwork home with me and left it in the car.

Sure enough, as soon as I was done with PT on Monday morning, the contractor called me and said the pass office didn't have any of the paperwork. I stopped by the pass office on the way into work, gave them the paperwork and the fax confirmation reports, and after establishing my identity twice (I was also in uniform) they gave the contractor a pass.

You may notice that my anticipation shielded the pass office from their own incompetence. This is an unwanted consequence; however, it is unavoidable. If incompetence is the black hole that sucks in everything it touches, then excellence is like an umbrella that protects the incompetent when the Feces o' Failure (yeah, I still like alliteration) hit the fan. You can rarely get away with pointing out the incompetent without seeming petty, but at least you can make the choice not to depend on them.

The goal is that eventually your customers/clients will be so impressed by your work that they fill out a comment card or send an email to your boss that praises you while viciously attacking everyone else. The Mother of All Praise would be something like this: "I was so frustrated by the ineptitude of (your organization) that if it wasn't for (your name)'s help I would have set fire to the building."

This post has gone on long enough. The moral to this post, folks, is that the incompetent expect excellence from coworkers to succeed, and those who succeed anticipate incompetence from coworkers.