mcgees.org

A child predator has died, and we don’t have to put anyone in prison for killing him.  Rest in oblivion.  This round’s on me.

(He told you he was bad.)

“Supreme Court Ruling a Crock of Shit”.

via The Center for Inquiry’s Twitter feed, found when they started following me.  What the hell?  I know I’m cool and all, but how did I get the CFI to care about my tweets?

Dam furners.  Lettem in and soon theyll be corupting our spellling ‘n uzing punctwation marks insted of wurds:

“The immigration issue has touched every corner of society over the past two decades in some way, and this particular segment features experts’ commentary about immigration’s affect on critical issue facing the country … With our economy struggling, border violence reaching a tipping point & our natural resources beginning to dwindle the immigration issue is too important to our society to be ignored!” — The Federation for American Immigration Reform

No!  No no no!  Fuck cultural relativism.  Asia: you are fucking wrong.  Stop eating our turtles.

Aargh.  These magnificent, gentle, ancient creatures, gobbled up because of bronze-age superstitions that people can’t seem to grow out of.

I just saw a special-interest election ad on television:

After Massachusetts legalized [interracial] marriage, our son came home and told us the school taught him that [white people] can marry [black people].  He’s in second grade!  We tried to stop public schools from teaching children about [interracial] marriage, but the courts said we had no right to object or pull him out of class.

Do note that these warm-hearted followers of Jesus consider it a mortal sin to detach a bundle of 32 cells from a uterine wall but apparently have no qualms about denying rights to Real Actual Adults.

Fine print on the bottom of these pesky California election ads is insufficient.  It needs to have a pathetic, hateful, and ideally terminally ill old man come on and say “I’m James Dobson, and I approve — and funded — this message.”  I am willing to negotiate about whether he should be forced to wear an SS uniform while reciting the sentence.

It’s rather a good thing that I didn’t get to write the No on Prop 8 tagline, because “Don’t be a fucking Nazi, asshole” is probably not the most even-handed approach to this issue.

There’s a great lyric in the Queensrÿche song Bridge, written by Geoff Tate [correction from reader: Chris Degarmo penned the lyrics].  I use it as a rotating quote on this site.  It reads, “And so I sit here through the night, and write myself to sleep — and time keeps ticking.”

In such a position I find myself tonight.  I am outraged to the point of violent nausea by what happened today with Jennifer’s attorney.

As regular readers know, Jennifer has filed for divorce.  She has retained counsel — wholly appropriately.  Jenn scheduled an appointment last week (and just told me about it) to meet in his office.  Alarm bells went off.  Why should I go to his office?  Every experience I’ve ever heard is of divorce attorneys serving one with papers.  Plus, I was annoyed.  So I told Jenn I wasn’t going.

We’re still on last week.  Jenn called me from her mobile, in his office, and handed the attorney her phone.  The attorney told me that I needed to come to his office to get everything notarized.

“Why can’t you serve me with the papers and let me notarize them?” I asked.

“You might not do it right,” he said.

Hm.  I told him I’d think about it, and to call me on Wednesday when I had made up my mind.

Jenn was distressed.  Jenn, through this whole thing, has honestly, honestly been working in what she believed were the best interests of Jenn, Niall, and me.  Awesome.  I wanted to recognize this for her.  But she has been fed a line of malarky by the attorney, with fire and brimstone warnings about what would happen if I didn’t go into his office to fill out the paperwork.  I could completely lose custody!  Jenn would lose all say in the uncontested divorce and a seventy-year old judge would (not could) rule against me, drive me further to the poorhouse, and keep me from seeing my son.  The attorney had fully convinced her that she had no say in this matter.

Yes, absurd, I know.  But stick with me.  I’m not writing this to defame Jenn in any way.  Stick with this.

Jenn called back to get my address for the service of the papers.  I gave it to her, and told her I would be expecting the papers.

Jenn then called my mother to try to convince her of the absolute necessity of following the attorney’s advice.  Jenn was upset.  My mom was upset.  My mom, in the nicest way possible, tried to explain to Jenn that she was being sold a line (my mom and I hadn’t talked about this yet — this is independent.)  My mom then called me to pass on what Jenn had said.

OK, so Jenn thinks she needs it.  She thinks she is acting rationally and in my best interests, and it’s worth recognizing.  I still didn’t want to walk into the lion’s den.

Jenn called to plead that I attend the new meeting, scheduled for Friday (today).  I acquiesced.

I don’t have an operational car right now.  I needed to finagle a ride.  From Woodland Hills.  To Santa Fucking Ana.  I tapped my dad to chauffeur.

“Explain to me again why you need to go to his office?” asked my dad warily.  “This whole thing stinks.”

“I know,” I said.  “I’m doing it for Jenn.”  My dad picked me up in the early morning to drive to Orange County.

When I first got into his office, I was not completely off-put.  He told me he would validate my parking ticket.  He seemed personable.  I sat down.

The first form he set in front of me was a statement of my debts.  I was told to sign it.

“How do you know my debts?” I asked.  He told me that I had filled it out six months ago.

I asked to see it.  “These numbers have changed.”

“So?” he asked.

“You’re asking me to sign this under penalty of perjury that everything is correct.  These are not correct any longer.  We need to correct it,” I said.

He got flustered.  “Well, if you change your numbers, she’ll have to change her numbers!”

“OK,” I said.  “Let’s change them both.”

He changed them, under my guidance.  He didn’t change hers.  He asked me to sign it.

“I’d like to run this by my lawyer,” I said.

Jenn and the lawyer both got upset.  He started to browbeat me.  “You just gave me these numbers.  I put them on the form.  What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “That’s why I want to run it by my lawyer.”

More pressure.  Dunno why, but I signed.

The next form was to attest that my list of assets had been correctly filled out.

“Could I see it, please?” I asked.

“See what?” he said.

“The list of assets that you have.”

He handed me a list.  It listed my bank account balances (all wrong), valued my car at six times its actual value, and for other assets, listed a value of zero.  That’s for all other stuff, like household items and collectibles.

“These aren’t zero,” I said.

More upset lawyer.  Honestly, I had no idea why.

“What happens if I have assets that aren’t listed on the page?” I asked.

“Then we would be — er, she would be — entitled to a hundred percent of them,” came the response.

So we fixed the numbers.  We were about to finalize them.  I said that I had two lawsuits in litigation, and asked if I needed to list them.  I was told that, yes, if I didn’t list them, even as “unknown”, “they” would be entitled to 100% of them.

I asked Jenn if she was planning on making a claim to that money.  I expected the answer to be “no”.  The answer was “yes” — she was making a claim, that she hadn’t disclosed and we hadn’t discussed.  I again said that I would like to run it by my lawyer.  More upset people.  More browbeating.

Actually, at this point, I can’t remember if I was browbeat into signing it or not.  But I was already getting queasy.

Another exchange that can be omitted for brevity followed.  I’m trying to get to the piece de resistance.  As follows.

I was asked to sign a form saying that I agreed with their description of the case.  Which I hadn’t fucking seen.  Let’s be clear.  I hadn’t seen the damn thing.  I requested that, hey, maybe I’d like to read the fucker first.

I started reading it on his monitor.

Here it gets good.

There was a paragraph attesting that both Jenn and I were in good health, able to work and earn our full income.  He was trying to slide past this one.

“Whoa,” I said.  “That’s not true.”

“OK, we’ll take it out,” he said.

“No, actually I’d like it to state that I’m disabled and unable to work.  That’s the truth,” I said.

The lawyer got a wicked smile.  “I’d advise her against that,” he said.

“Then I’m not signing it, at least until I run it by my lawyer,” I said.  After all, this could jeopardize my pending lawsuits, being subpoenable by opposing council.

“I’m not going to put down your disability without proof!” he thundered.

“OK.  That’s fine.  I’ll go to a doctor this week, get the proof, and fax it to you,” I said in honest equanimity.

He leaned forward.  “You know what, I’ve been really patient with you.  But the truth is you’re not a very nice guy.  I’ll see you in court.”

I smiled a wry smile and held up my parking ticket.

“No, I’m not going to validate you!” he near-screamed.

“OK, I said.  Bye!”  I stood up and walked out the door.

I was two steps past, really leaving, and the lawyer said, “Josh Josh Josh!  Come sit down!”

I spun and glared.  “That’s Mr. McGee,” I said.

“Mr. McGee, come and sit down.”

“I’m not going to sit down,” I said.

“Come and sit down!”

“I’m not going to sit down,” I said.

“If you take this to court, it will cost you ten thousand dollars.  You don’t have ten thousand dollars.”

“Let me understand this,” I said.  “Your plan is to insult me, then threaten me?”

“I’m not threatening you.  Come and sit down.  You don’t want this to go to court.”

I stood and equivocated.  I finally said, “I’m stepping out for five minutes to make a phone call.”

I walked (wrong direction, twice, which kinda ruined the moment) to the lobby and called my dad.  I told him what had happened.

“Get the hell out of there!” he said.  “Go back, tell him ‘Fuck you!’, and walk out.”

I hung up.  Actually I pushed the red button, which isn’t quite as dramatic.  I decided I wasn’t even going back.  I went down the elevator, got in the car, and called Jenn from my cell.  I told her I wasn’t coming back.

“Do you really think I’m trying to screw you?” she asked incredulously.

“I trust you,” I told Jenn (mostly true).  “I trust that lawyer about as far as I can throw him.”

We had a surreal conversation, which could be distilled to one statement.  Not hard to choose, because it’s the one I said five times.

“You have three options, Jenn.  You can have this lawyer serve me with papers, I’ll have my attorney review, and I’ll return them.  Or you can fire this lawyer, have a new lawyer serve me with papers, and I’ll run them by my attorney and return them.  Or you can set a court date.  If you don’t want this to go to court, this ball’s in your court.”

Let’s go back a bit.  I’m not a very nice person?  What, is he going to tell on me to the playground monitor?  Not be my best friend any more?  Tell people that I wear Spiderman underwear?  What the fuck?

“Like my reason for being here is to get you to like me,” my dad said later, playing me.

“I wonder how many people that works on,” my mom said later.

What?  The?  Fuck?

An epilogue.  Jenn is not a stupid person.  But she has a dramatically miscalibrated bullshit detector.  She was probably socialized this way, as a female in a religious family.  But she trusts too easily.  Way too easily.  One time, when she had a flat tire, she called me (panicking — she wouldn’t do that now, to her credit) and I talked her through getting someone to call out and change it (she was about eighty minutes away).

“What should I do with the tire?” she asked.  I pictured a shredded tire.

“Put it in your trunk, or have the tow truck driver take the tire away,” I said.

She chose the latter option.  Almost.  She gave the driver her wheel.  He was happy to take it, which is probably connected to the fact that buying a used replacement cost hundreds of dollars.  She was happy to send it away.

So, trusting.  Great, in a friendly, well-monitored twelve-year-old.  Not so great in an adult woman who is making choices to affect peoples’ lives for at least the next thirteen years.

I don’t know if Jenn still reads my blog.  I have no reason to expect her to read it.  I don’t read hers.  But I dearly hope that she will reflect on this.  Or ask her dad.  Or her best friend, who’s a trial attorney.  Get someone to fill her in on why I might distrust her attorney, who is counseling me not to retain counsel.  She is not stupid.  She really, really isn’t.  And I know she’s not trying to screw me.  I just want her to realize her power, fire this scoundrel, and let us get on with this in a reasonable fashion.

I’m not sure if writing this helped.  I think it did.  I’m not as nauseated.  And you’re welcome to post, or (maybe better) send me private email.  If any reflective person thinks I’m unreasonable, with a better bullshit detector, please tell me.

But I’m not wrong.  Shit.  I’m not wrong.  What do you call a thousand lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?  What indeed.

Everybody now!

Some fucking motherfucker stole my bike
Some fucking motherfucker stole my bike
I’ll tell you what he’s like
He’s a fucking parasite
This dickless fucking punk who stole my bike (from my porch!)

Second verse, same as the first!

Some …

I received an email from my former Congressman (who still thinks I’m one of his constituents) today, with a tiny survey (push poll?) attached.  As a devotee of logic, I hate false dichotomies.  I hate them almost as much as I hate non-exhaustive multiple-choice surveys.

OK, the first one: Should Congress allow warrantless wiretaps of terrorism suspects, including American citizens?  Here are the options he gives:

* Yes, these actions are necessary to protect our security.
* No, these actions overstepped the law.
* Undecided.

Although a slightly leading question, there is ton left that wouldn’t be left if the answers were simply “Yes”, “No”, “It’s more complicated than that”, and “Undecided”.  It goes on to give reasons that are, I guess, supposed to be your reasons if you take that position.

What about?:

1.  These actions are necessary to protect our national security, but are illegal and should not be done
2.  These actions are necessary to protect our national security, are illegal, but should be done anyway
3.  Congress should outlaw it, but it should happen anyway and should not be a crime if the President authorizes it (I actually know a dipshit with this position.)
…and on, and on…

Next: Which of the following best describes your view on abortion?

* I strongly believe abortion should be legal for all women.
* There should be some limits on abortion; girls under 18 should need parental consent.
* Abortion should be illegal, except to save the life of the mother.
* Undecided.

What the hell?!?  The first and the second are not incompatible!  You can easily believe that all women should have access to abortion on demand, but that no girl should.  But what if you think there should some limits, but not this limit, or not only this limit?  Then the second and third become indistinguishable, because three suffers from the same problems: if some abortions are legal and some illegal, it’s a meaningless difference whether we consider the baseline to be legal with “some limits” or illegal with “some exceptions”.  What are we supposed to do, count up the cases and see which side wins?  This is ludicrous.  Note that many Christians would fall into the third camp, but might add “or in cases of rape and incest”.  What’s the Christian supposed to answer?  Undecided?  Hardly.

I know I’m preaching mostly to the choir here (my readers, or at least commentators, are, in general, much more astute than the average person), but there’s just one more question, and it’s so ludicrous that I cannot skip it, much as I want to: Which of the following best describes your views on the Middle East conflict?

* We should strongly support Israel.
* We should support Palestinians at least as much as we support Israel.
* We should just stay out of the conflict.
* Undecided.

Again, one and two are not incompatible, unless you’re supposed to read the subtext in the first as “We should strongly support Israel and strongly oppose the Palestinians.”  But if this was implied, where’s the “We should strongly support the Palestinians and strongly oppose Israel”?  Where’s “We should work through an international body, such as the UN, to decide the world’s collective position democratically”?  Where’s “Give everyone a year’s notice to move out, then nuke the fucking area back to a cindery Stone-Age nuclear hot zone so that these fucking morons stop squabbling over a few thousand hectares of barren rock”?  (I know, there are tons more options again, but you can write about them if you wish.  I’m done.)

And — AND — WORST OF ALL — there is no “Other” on any of these questions!  Fucking slimebag.  Is he saying that we have to bin our answers into one of his statements, otherwise it’s not a position worth having?

I’m sending this link to him.  If only he’d have the balls to post on this blog and back up his intentions, or at least instruct a staffer to do so.  Otherwise, he’s just a manipulative, logicless sonofabitch.

Ooh ooh ooh — sneaky!

There is a TV spot running now to “help” consumers.  It’s paid for by the Cable Television industry.  It tells consumers that beginning 17 February 2009, all broadcast stations will stop broadcasting in analog, and only broadcast in digital.  It tells the viewer that all televisions hooked up to cable service will continue to work.  In a slightly-overplayed “reasonable” tone, it tells the viewer that “If you receive your television through an antenna, your television can still work with a converter box.”  It directs you to dtv2009.gov, and tells you you can “apply for a coupon” there.  Then the guy folds his arms, looks smug, and the cable logo comes out.

A bit more background: the man is walking across salt flats as he speaks.  He passes a 1960s furniture-size television with a flickering picture that finally resolves.

Implied:  Broadcast TV is a barren landscape
Implied:  Broadcast TV is antiquated
Implied:  Broadcast TV flickers
Implied:  Satellite won’t work either
Implied:  Applying for the coupons is a government program, and as much of a hassle as going to the DMV
Implied:  You will still have to buy something, it will just be a little cheaper with the coupon

OK, the facts.  Yes, on 17 February 2009, analog TVs will not be able to receive broadcasts without the intercession of a converter box.  But:

Satellite works just as well as Cable during the transition
The coupon application process is simple, and can be accessed online, by phone, or by mail
The coupons are for $40 apiece, and every household is entitled to two for free
Converter boxes are expected to cost no more than $50, and I’d bet anyone that ten dollar difference that Walmart will have one for $39.99 before the switchover date

This is, essentially, a push-poll in television advertising format.  It pretends to be benign or even helpful, while in fact it is intensely devious.  Shame on the cable industry, preying upon one of the least-empowered sections of society: those who generally cannot reasonably afford cable or satellite television.

Glen Stephens is a Sydney-based stamp dealer.  He claims to have the most-visited stamp website in the Southern hemisphere, to be the largest stamp dealer in the Southern hemisphere, to be the largest stamp buyer in Sydney, and, I believe, to have cured polio.

It was he who offered the $500 prize that I described on this page.  It started at $200, but he made a post where he said if the thread reached 10,000 posts, he would up it to $500.

At 5,000 posts, he started a new thread because of “stability” issues.  The second thread met the 10,000 mark.

He is not honoring the $500 prize because “the thread” did not meet 10,000 posts — the thread that he closed.

Glen, as you might have guessed by now, has always had a gruff demeanor, high-pressure sales tactics, and an ego larger than his continent.  I always figured there was a heart of gold underneath.  I have long contended that stamp dealers fall neatly into two bins: those to whom you would entrust your house keys, and those you would cross the street to avoid.  Despite early warnings (such as charging obscene amounts for Machin booklets that were covered with pencil writing, which is inexcusable to not mention) I’ve given him chance after chance.  And it was a waste.

He posted on the site telling me that if I was not satisfied with the $200 prize, he could surely find a runner-up who would be.  Good for him.  Have fun, Glen.  May I suggest Waroff49?  I’m not intimidated by his threats, and I’m not intimidated by his deletion of my posts calling him on it.  I imagine that deletion of my user account will follow.  Such is to be expected from slimeballs.

The site is stampboards.com.  May I strongly recommend you do not visit?

For the search engines: “Glen Stephens sucks”.

Farewell, stamp boarders.  It’s been a pleasure knowing (most) of you.

I needed to borrow a paper drill (hole-punches large amounts of paper.)  So I went over to Craigslist and asked to borrow one.  Someone responded within an hour and told me they had a professional model that was free for the taking.  In the mean time, I had the following delightful email exchange:

> > > On Nov 25, 2007 3:06 PM, why702 < banks2127@gmail.com> wrote:
> > > i  own one but you would have to use it here dont know who would let
> > > you just take it and trust that you would return it.Nonetheless you
> > > can do this over here for 1 million dollars
> > >
> > I could of course have given you my driver’s license or something as
> > collateral … but fortunately there are kinder people in the world than
> > you.  I have an offer from someone who is going to simply give me one.
> >
>  > Regards,
> >
> > Joshua McGee
> >
> On Nov 25, 2007 10:50 PM, why702 wrote:
> ok see if it works out
>

Picked it up tonight.  Have it sitting on my workbench now.  Could go for a little cleaning with some mineral spirits, but it was fucking *free*.  Retails over a grand.  Nice unit.  Nice people.  See how it works?  Welcome to craigslist.  Don’t expect to see you around too much, though.

- Joshua McGee
http://www.mcgees.org

Damn, did I forget to disguise his email address?