I'm Venusian

The other day I had the distinguished privilege of receiving the “American Community Survey,” which is the politically correct term for the long form of the census. It is the most obscene invasion of privacy that I’ve ever seen. It has 456 questions (more if you have over 6 people living in your home). I’d have already shredded this tripe if it weren’t for the “Your Response is Required By Law” emblazoned on the envelope.

I’m pondering my response. I considered writing the US Department of Commerce, US Census Bureau saying, “Dear Neo-Fascist Swine...” But I figured that might get me on the domestic terrorist list. I crossed that off my list of possibilities. But seriously, doesn’t anyone remember that it’s this kind of thing that allowed the Nazis to round up the Jews in the Netherlands? This is why my grandparents’ best friends disappeared one night never to be seen again.

I considered filling out part of the form—the “name, rank, and serial number” approach. After all, I did fill out the short form, which the Constitution requires me to do. But wouldn’t that be redundant? I could honestly tell the Census worker who will soon be coming to my door, “I filled out the census form and mailed it.”

Of course, there’s always the identity theft issue. But I’m “assured” by their paperwork that any census bureau employee could be fined or jailed for releasing my information.  That, of course, assumes that they could actually pinpoint who stole my information. And that doesn’t take into account the 200 census bureau laptops that were stolen. Yeah, my information is safe, really safe.

Why does the government need to know if I “have an emotional condition?” As a matter of fact, I do have an emotional condition. I’m really, really angry that they’re going to try and force me to tell them if I “have difficulty climbing stairs” or if I can “bathe myself.”

I’ve also considered treating the form with creative dissent. What is our ethnicity? Venusian. What do we live in? A pod left by the mother ship. When was it built? 2111—we toured the universe at light speed before we arrived here so with the whole relativity thing, we arrived before we left. Kind cool if you think about it.

Apparently, the Census Bureau believes lying is an acceptable alternative. I read about one man who refused to fill out the ACS and the census worker asked him to fill out just one question, any question he liked, and he could even make up an answer.

What have I decided to do? Nothing. In the words of Frederick the Wise, “There are two ways to say no to someone more powerful than yourself. You can say nothing and go on doing what you were doing before and pretend that you never heard, and make time and inertia your allies. Or you can say no in such a kind and thoughtful way that it befuddles them.” I guess “kind and thoughtful” rules out the “neofascist swine” approach. Now I’m relying on time and inertia, which probably means that a phone call or a census worker visit may soon follow. I do have an ace up my sleeve. No where on the form is there a due date. It only says that I need to fill it out “as soon as possible.” I’m thinking I can find some time in 2111. What can I say, I’m really busy.

(Dear Readers, Sorry this post is late. Blogger was having some problems. Plus, it appears that comments have been "eaten." I'll remedy what I can.  Thanks. cmk)

Sinister Forces

Solar flares, rogue magnetic monopoles, or imps must be prowling. I can’t think of any other reason that my dishwasher, my washing machine, Ariel’s computer, my van’s brakes, and my treadmill should all fail within weeks of each other. Sinister forces are at work.

The van’s brakes didn’t even bother to squeak first. We were driving to my parents’ house with the stereo blaring when we heard a heinous noise. Cal and I looked at each other. I turned the stereo off. The van was filled with a noise that sounded like shredding steel. I said, “That’s the brakes grinding.” After the initial thoughts of we’re-all-going-to-die-driving-down-the-ridge were allayed by getting down the ridge without dying, we cringed every time Cal touched the brakes. But after our visit, we got home safely.

The next day we took the van in. Of course, one of the rotors was damaged. No duh. It wouldn’t have been damaged if the stupid brakes had squeaked beforehand like they’re supposed to. Because then we’d have taken it in to be fixed before the grinding damaged the rotors.

Cal talked to the repair guy about the rotors. It turns out that they don’t make rotors (or brakes) the way they used to.  They’re now very thin. Apparently, this is done to make cars more fuel efficient (thank you so much imposed government standards). I’d like to see a fuel efficiency vs. rotor use cost-benefit analysis.  But I won’t get started on that...especially since I recently got the US Department of Commerce long version of the census, which I’d shred except that there’s a boldface warning that states “Your response is required by law.” Which is—never mind, that will be its own blog post once my blood no longer boils looking at it. Why is it the government’s business if I often feel confused? (Seriously, that’s one of the questions.)

Back to the brakes. They are repaired. I can drive without wondering if we’ll plunge off a precipice or plow into a semi. But here’s the thing, with the dishwasher and washing machine, I got new ones that are functionally on a different plain than the ones I had before. The new things are fun. I can delight in clean dishes and clothes that spin and smell like new mown hay. With brakes, all you get is new brakes. Of course, that not going over a precipice is a big deal. I can be happy with that. 

When Quirinius was Governing Syria

The other day I got a notice telling me that I’d be getting a census form in the mail. It sternly warned me that not filling it out was a violation of the law. Whatever. I shredded the notification letter.

The census finally arrived today. Not that I was waiting for it. It’s just one more thing on my to-do list. Now I get the whole distribution of the House of Representatives thing—I know this is important. And I can almost buy the whole write down your age thing if they’re hoping the eventual Social Security debacle might be avoided (hint: nope). But the census has nothing to do with my race, ethnic background or whether I own my home, and if so, does it have a mortgage. Hello? Is the Congress thinking of taxing me more based on these factors. And if I were Hispanic, why does the Census Bureau need to know if I’m from Mexican, Puerto Rican, Salvadoran, Cuban, or other Latino background? Are they going to base their international diplomatic policies on that? I’m sorely tempted to write in Salvacublatarican. But, you know, that would be breaking the law.

They also have a note informing the filler-outer of the form that all information is confidential. I’m sure it is, until someone hacks it. Cal’s had his identity stolen before. And I had an employee of the Social Security agency tell me that identity theft is pretty much a crap shoot. If someone wants your number, they can get it. Why? Because everything is so very secure.

I did like one thing. On the back, in fine print, is an address where you can send your comments on the burden of this paperwork. Hmm. I’m not sure I feel “burdened.” In fact they did give me a blog topic. But I do prefer the government mind their own business...like balancing the budget or dealing with the deficit.