Saturday, May 26, 2007
Some short takes on what's been happening down here today...
Donna and I went to " The Transfer Station. " Remember when they used to call these places " Dumps? " I see the people who work there. They seem like nice, hard working folks. And I'm kinda happy for them. They go to a party, or are sitting at a bar. Someone asks:
" So. Whaddya do? "
" I work at the transfer station. " Or " I'm in the transfer industry. "
That's so much better than having to say, " I work out at the dump. "
But you know how language evolves. The English language is a living, breathing thing. Ever changing. You can almost hear some parent in the future, walking into his or her kid's room, strewn with dirty laundry and stuff. And saying:
" This room looks like a transfer station! "
***
There are times when I think my wife wonders: Why me? Why, of all the womens' lives back in the 70s, did this jerk have to walk into mine? I thought that this morning as we pulled into the transfer station. It was warm. The car windows were down. I slid my Eminem CD into the CD player. The first track started playing. As we waited in line to get into the area where we were going to dump, er, transfer our trash...
I turned up the volume. Eminem was doing his thing, making his rhymes. You might think: Cole Porter he's not. You might be asking yourself: How much talent do you need to come up with a word that rhymes with motherf---er.
All I ask is that you listen to Eminem's stuff. I do think he's talented. Very talented. And I think an argument could be made that he is, indeed, as good at songwriting as Cole Porter was.
But try telling that to the guy who gave me that look just after I cranked up the volume. It was a classic double take. Joe E. Brown couldn't have done it better. He expected, I think, to see some dumbass street smart wannabee sitting there in his car. Instead he saw a middle aged guy in a Hyundai. A woman sitting next to him, giving the middle aged guy behind the wheel a look twice as dirty as the one he's giving me.
Donna and I went to " The Transfer Station. " Remember when they used to call these places " Dumps? " I see the people who work there. They seem like nice, hard working folks. And I'm kinda happy for them. They go to a party, or are sitting at a bar. Someone asks:
" So. Whaddya do? "
" I work at the transfer station. " Or " I'm in the transfer industry. "
That's so much better than having to say, " I work out at the dump. "
But you know how language evolves. The English language is a living, breathing thing. Ever changing. You can almost hear some parent in the future, walking into his or her kid's room, strewn with dirty laundry and stuff. And saying:
" This room looks like a transfer station! "
***
There are times when I think my wife wonders: Why me? Why, of all the womens' lives back in the 70s, did this jerk have to walk into mine? I thought that this morning as we pulled into the transfer station. It was warm. The car windows were down. I slid my Eminem CD into the CD player. The first track started playing. As we waited in line to get into the area where we were going to dump, er, transfer our trash...
I turned up the volume. Eminem was doing his thing, making his rhymes. You might think: Cole Porter he's not. You might be asking yourself: How much talent do you need to come up with a word that rhymes with motherf---er.
All I ask is that you listen to Eminem's stuff. I do think he's talented. Very talented. And I think an argument could be made that he is, indeed, as good at songwriting as Cole Porter was.
But try telling that to the guy who gave me that look just after I cranked up the volume. It was a classic double take. Joe E. Brown couldn't have done it better. He expected, I think, to see some dumbass street smart wannabee sitting there in his car. Instead he saw a middle aged guy in a Hyundai. A woman sitting next to him, giving the middle aged guy behind the wheel a look twice as dirty as the one he's giving me.
Cape Wind, the subject of the recently published Cape Wind ( Co-Authored by the Providence Journal's Robert Whitcomb ) is scheduled to complete the permitting phase of the project in the summer of 2008. If all goes according to ( Cape Wind's ) plan, 130 windmills will be up and running in Nantucket Sound in 2010.
There is much opposition to the Cape Wind project. A very Un-Don Quixote like crowd, reportedly led in a low key manner by Senator Edward M. Kennedy D-Massachusetts, has been tilting at these planned windmills for years.
This project is all about saving energy. In average winds, the 130 turbines will produce three quarters of the electricity used by Cape Cod, Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard. The project will create nearly 1,000 jobs, , offset the need for fossil fuels and make for cleaner air in the region, according to Cape Wind officials.
Those who are for the project claim that many of those who are against it are well to do folks, many of whom have summer homes on The Cape and The Islands. This camp also claims that many such opponents to the project are liberals who, for years, have been advocating alternative energy sources.
In other words, they're NIMBYs. People who say, " Sure, I'm for that, but Not In My Back Yard. "
I live pretty near where the Cape Wind project's 130 windmills might be contructed. On the south coast of Rhode Island. We're close - as the seagull flies, of course. If I had a boat, or a small plane, I could be there in no time flat.
I'm pretty liberal. I've been mouthing off for years about the need for alternative energy sources. What would my position be if I lived in the area that would benefit - or not, depending on your point of view - from Cape Wind? It might just be as follows:
My wife and I have four TVs, three stereo systems, seven radios, two computers, two refrigerators, two stoves, a washing machine, a dryer, a dishwasher, two microwave ovens, a garbage disposal, two ceiling fans, ten lamps, an electric toothbrush and an electric can opener.
Where exactly does this electricity come from? Out of the wall is the only answer I can give you. I don't really know, but I do know that it doesn't come from windmills. But given the number of appliances and conveniences we have in our house, I think it's only fair that I should be tilting TOWARDS and for windmills, not against them.
Where should these windmills go? I'll take one. Yes, they can construct one right here:
In my back yard.
Why? Because I have reached a point on life's nautical chart where the line representing what I have consumed and am consuming meets the line of personal responsibility. I have listened to both sides of this debate. Here's where I stand:
Smack dab in the middle of the acre on which my home sits. Let the groundbreaking begin. This is where the windmill or windmills should be planted.
How many of them should be in my back yard? Base the number on the amount of electricity my wife and I use. Take that figure and factor in the amount of yard space we have. Then start building the windmill or mills.
Right here.
Yes! In my back yard.
There is much opposition to the Cape Wind project. A very Un-Don Quixote like crowd, reportedly led in a low key manner by Senator Edward M. Kennedy D-Massachusetts, has been tilting at these planned windmills for years.
This project is all about saving energy. In average winds, the 130 turbines will produce three quarters of the electricity used by Cape Cod, Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard. The project will create nearly 1,000 jobs, , offset the need for fossil fuels and make for cleaner air in the region, according to Cape Wind officials.
Those who are for the project claim that many of those who are against it are well to do folks, many of whom have summer homes on The Cape and The Islands. This camp also claims that many such opponents to the project are liberals who, for years, have been advocating alternative energy sources.
In other words, they're NIMBYs. People who say, " Sure, I'm for that, but Not In My Back Yard. "
I live pretty near where the Cape Wind project's 130 windmills might be contructed. On the south coast of Rhode Island. We're close - as the seagull flies, of course. If I had a boat, or a small plane, I could be there in no time flat.
I'm pretty liberal. I've been mouthing off for years about the need for alternative energy sources. What would my position be if I lived in the area that would benefit - or not, depending on your point of view - from Cape Wind? It might just be as follows:
My wife and I have four TVs, three stereo systems, seven radios, two computers, two refrigerators, two stoves, a washing machine, a dryer, a dishwasher, two microwave ovens, a garbage disposal, two ceiling fans, ten lamps, an electric toothbrush and an electric can opener.
Where exactly does this electricity come from? Out of the wall is the only answer I can give you. I don't really know, but I do know that it doesn't come from windmills. But given the number of appliances and conveniences we have in our house, I think it's only fair that I should be tilting TOWARDS and for windmills, not against them.
Where should these windmills go? I'll take one. Yes, they can construct one right here:
In my back yard.
Why? Because I have reached a point on life's nautical chart where the line representing what I have consumed and am consuming meets the line of personal responsibility. I have listened to both sides of this debate. Here's where I stand:
Smack dab in the middle of the acre on which my home sits. Let the groundbreaking begin. This is where the windmill or windmills should be planted.
How many of them should be in my back yard? Base the number on the amount of electricity my wife and I use. Take that figure and factor in the amount of yard space we have. Then start building the windmill or mills.
Right here.
Yes! In my back yard.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Cape Wind - Wendy Williams and Robert Whitcomb -Book - Review - New York Times
Cape Wind is co-authored by Providence Journal Editorial Page Editor Robert Whitcomb. We're going to be spending some time in North Truro and Provincetown this summer. I'm planning on reading this one while we're there...
Cape Wind - Wendy Williams and Robert Whitcomb -Book - Review - New York Times
Cape Wind - Wendy Williams and Robert Whitcomb -Book - Review - New York Times
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Here's a rework of a previous post. It's what I just shipped off to the Providence Journal's editorial page editor. Congressman. Op-ed piece in a major newspaper. Couple of straws to stir this drink.
If You Are Frustrated and Confused by This ( Filing for unemployment benefits ) Process – Press Seven
By Terrence McCarthy
When I was a kid my mother worked in a mill: United Elastic Products. She was one of the last ones hired, so she was among the first to be laid off when work slowed down.
I can remember going with her to the unemployment office in Northampton, which is the town just north of where she worked and we lived. That was Easthampton, Massachusetts, also known as " Web Town. " The web being the product, the elastic material produced in the red brick mills that lined the Manhan River.
" Signing up. " That’s what my mother called filing for unemployment benefits. Lining up was more like it. I remember the lines were long. I recall seeing young mothers with crying babies in their arms. This was in the 1950s, an era in which nearly everyone smoked. The room was thick with second hand haze. It was a line in which we waited, but my recollection of the experience I shared with my mother conjures another image: A circle. Drawn by a guy named Dante.
Waiting in line was bad, but “ signing up “ was worse. Once my mother got to talk to one of the unemployment office clerks, she was asked to name five places where she had tried to get a job during the past week. I was talking to her the other day about this. I asked her what it was like back then to apply for benefits. She said she recalled one time when she gave the clerk the names of only four places, she was told to leave, walk around Northampton and find a fifth place at which she should ask for a job. She did this. Then walked back to the unemployment office, went to the end of the line, and started the process all over again.
Signing up then was a dehumanizing process, to say the least. These days, the process is far removed from the way it was back in the 1950s. But it's still dehumanizing. Take it from someone who knows.
Back in January, on the last day of my vacation, I got a call from the supervisor of the psychiatric group home where I’d worked part-time since 2004. She told me that my position was going to be eliminated. Just about everyone I talked to, including people whose job it is to help Rhode Islanders who have just lost their jobs, told me that I should have no problem getting benefits.
As I write this, it has been three months since I last worked at the group home in North Kingstown. I now find myself in the midst of a Kafaesque process, much of it involving me( Trying ) to communicate with the Rhode Island Department of Labor and Training. I’ve tried to communicate on line and by phone. Yes, I've spoken to a few human beings in the past two and a half months, but that is not the rule; it's the exception. And the " conversations " have been curt and unfriendly.
At first things went well. I started receiving benefits. I got them for a few weeks, then I got a letter telling me that “ We have received information “ that might disqualify you. The letter did not indicate what that information was, nor from whom it came. I spoke with an “ adjudacator. She determined that I was not “ able and available “ to work. I appealed her decision. A hearing was scheduled in Providence. And oh, by the way. I was informed that I must pay back the more than $800 I'd received in benefits.
I went to the hearing. I expected someone representing my former employer would be there. I’d heard from someone, I can’t remember who ( I’ve spoken to what seems like scores of people) that if “ they “ don’t show up, you win by default.
For decades I’ve believed that Woody Allen was right when he said, “ Ninety percent of life is showing up. “
I showed up. They didn’t. I lost the appeal.
I take whatever Woody Allen is saying these days a lot less seriously.
A few days after I got the letter notifying me that I’d lost, I called my former employer, the company that eliminated my position. I spoke with the Human Resources Director. Told her about how surprised I was that no one from the company was there at the hearing on Westminster Street in Providence. I also asked her for a copy of some paperwork I needed.
“ Who would have been there? “ I asked. “ Who goes to these things? “
“ Oh, “ she said. “ That would be me. “
I asked her why she wasn’t there. She said she was never informed that a hearing had been scheduled. And she hasn't gotten back to me concerning the paperwork I requested.
The latest in a series of maddening experiences happened a few days ago. The referee, at the end of the appeal hearing, said I should refile for benefits. I did that. Was placed on hold for an hour. I finally got to speak with someone. Then I was disconnected. I called NetWORK Ri, an organization that is supposed to help Rhode Islanders cut their way through the thick, bureaucratic underbrush in which I have become tangled. The person with whom I spoke said I shouldn’t be calling anyone to refile.
“You have to do that in person, “ he said. “ Drive up to Cranston. “
I drove up to Cranston. Walked into the DLT office. Mosied on up to the information desk. Said, “ I’m here to refile for unemployment benefits. “
The guy looked up at me and said, “ Ya can’t do that here. We don’t take walk-ins. Ya have to do that by phone. “
I've been working since I was 18. I spent four years in the Air Force. I've had three careers. Journalism, Advertising and Mental Health. Never abused sick time. Worked hard for the money. Now I’m asking for benefits, and being denied for reasons I can’t understand.
Am I whining? Nope. Am I saying it isn’t fair, but life isn’t fair? Yeah. But at the end of the day, as far as my relationship with the Rhode Island Department of Labor and Training is concerned - I have to say this:
I’m feeling like I’m at the end of a very long line. There’s a human being on one end. Who or what’s on the other end? Your guess is as good as mine.
Terrence McCarthy is a writer who lives in South Kingstown
If You Are Frustrated and Confused by This ( Filing for unemployment benefits ) Process – Press Seven
By Terrence McCarthy
When I was a kid my mother worked in a mill: United Elastic Products. She was one of the last ones hired, so she was among the first to be laid off when work slowed down.
I can remember going with her to the unemployment office in Northampton, which is the town just north of where she worked and we lived. That was Easthampton, Massachusetts, also known as " Web Town. " The web being the product, the elastic material produced in the red brick mills that lined the Manhan River.
" Signing up. " That’s what my mother called filing for unemployment benefits. Lining up was more like it. I remember the lines were long. I recall seeing young mothers with crying babies in their arms. This was in the 1950s, an era in which nearly everyone smoked. The room was thick with second hand haze. It was a line in which we waited, but my recollection of the experience I shared with my mother conjures another image: A circle. Drawn by a guy named Dante.
Waiting in line was bad, but “ signing up “ was worse. Once my mother got to talk to one of the unemployment office clerks, she was asked to name five places where she had tried to get a job during the past week. I was talking to her the other day about this. I asked her what it was like back then to apply for benefits. She said she recalled one time when she gave the clerk the names of only four places, she was told to leave, walk around Northampton and find a fifth place at which she should ask for a job. She did this. Then walked back to the unemployment office, went to the end of the line, and started the process all over again.
Signing up then was a dehumanizing process, to say the least. These days, the process is far removed from the way it was back in the 1950s. But it's still dehumanizing. Take it from someone who knows.
Back in January, on the last day of my vacation, I got a call from the supervisor of the psychiatric group home where I’d worked part-time since 2004. She told me that my position was going to be eliminated. Just about everyone I talked to, including people whose job it is to help Rhode Islanders who have just lost their jobs, told me that I should have no problem getting benefits.
As I write this, it has been three months since I last worked at the group home in North Kingstown. I now find myself in the midst of a Kafaesque process, much of it involving me( Trying ) to communicate with the Rhode Island Department of Labor and Training. I’ve tried to communicate on line and by phone. Yes, I've spoken to a few human beings in the past two and a half months, but that is not the rule; it's the exception. And the " conversations " have been curt and unfriendly.
At first things went well. I started receiving benefits. I got them for a few weeks, then I got a letter telling me that “ We have received information “ that might disqualify you. The letter did not indicate what that information was, nor from whom it came. I spoke with an “ adjudacator. She determined that I was not “ able and available “ to work. I appealed her decision. A hearing was scheduled in Providence. And oh, by the way. I was informed that I must pay back the more than $800 I'd received in benefits.
I went to the hearing. I expected someone representing my former employer would be there. I’d heard from someone, I can’t remember who ( I’ve spoken to what seems like scores of people) that if “ they “ don’t show up, you win by default.
For decades I’ve believed that Woody Allen was right when he said, “ Ninety percent of life is showing up. “
I showed up. They didn’t. I lost the appeal.
I take whatever Woody Allen is saying these days a lot less seriously.
A few days after I got the letter notifying me that I’d lost, I called my former employer, the company that eliminated my position. I spoke with the Human Resources Director. Told her about how surprised I was that no one from the company was there at the hearing on Westminster Street in Providence. I also asked her for a copy of some paperwork I needed.
“ Who would have been there? “ I asked. “ Who goes to these things? “
“ Oh, “ she said. “ That would be me. “
I asked her why she wasn’t there. She said she was never informed that a hearing had been scheduled. And she hasn't gotten back to me concerning the paperwork I requested.
The latest in a series of maddening experiences happened a few days ago. The referee, at the end of the appeal hearing, said I should refile for benefits. I did that. Was placed on hold for an hour. I finally got to speak with someone. Then I was disconnected. I called NetWORK Ri, an organization that is supposed to help Rhode Islanders cut their way through the thick, bureaucratic underbrush in which I have become tangled. The person with whom I spoke said I shouldn’t be calling anyone to refile.
“You have to do that in person, “ he said. “ Drive up to Cranston. “
I drove up to Cranston. Walked into the DLT office. Mosied on up to the information desk. Said, “ I’m here to refile for unemployment benefits. “
The guy looked up at me and said, “ Ya can’t do that here. We don’t take walk-ins. Ya have to do that by phone. “
I've been working since I was 18. I spent four years in the Air Force. I've had three careers. Journalism, Advertising and Mental Health. Never abused sick time. Worked hard for the money. Now I’m asking for benefits, and being denied for reasons I can’t understand.
Am I whining? Nope. Am I saying it isn’t fair, but life isn’t fair? Yeah. But at the end of the day, as far as my relationship with the Rhode Island Department of Labor and Training is concerned - I have to say this:
I’m feeling like I’m at the end of a very long line. There’s a human being on one end. Who or what’s on the other end? Your guess is as good as mine.
Terrence McCarthy is a writer who lives in South Kingstown
I won't bore you with the details, but I said I'd keep y'all ( Fence ) posted.
I called Congressman Kennedy's office today. Got right through. Talked to a human being. He was nice, but said as I lived in southern Rhode Island, the proper thing to do would be to talk with someone in Congressman James Langevin's office. Langevin represents us down here in South County.
I'm a tennis player. I've played some doubles matches and I know what it is to " poach " on your partner's territory. Go after a ball hit into his patch of the hard court. I thanked the guy and closed the phone.
I called Langevin's office. Got right through to a human being. Explained briefly the bureaucratic maze I'd been meandering through for the past few months. The woman said she would connect me with the Director of Constituent Services. She was out. I left a message and hoped she'd get back to me soon.
An hour later the phone chirped. It was her. I explained. She listened. She said she was going to make some calls and would get back to me.
" It's a long weekend, " I said. " Talk to me next week. "
I closed the phone. Ok, I said to myself. I've got the freakin' U.S. Congress working on this now.
I called Congressman Kennedy's office today. Got right through. Talked to a human being. He was nice, but said as I lived in southern Rhode Island, the proper thing to do would be to talk with someone in Congressman James Langevin's office. Langevin represents us down here in South County.
I'm a tennis player. I've played some doubles matches and I know what it is to " poach " on your partner's territory. Go after a ball hit into his patch of the hard court. I thanked the guy and closed the phone.
I called Langevin's office. Got right through to a human being. Explained briefly the bureaucratic maze I'd been meandering through for the past few months. The woman said she would connect me with the Director of Constituent Services. She was out. I left a message and hoped she'd get back to me soon.
An hour later the phone chirped. It was her. I explained. She listened. She said she was going to make some calls and would get back to me.
" It's a long weekend, " I said. " Talk to me next week. "
I closed the phone. Ok, I said to myself. I've got the freakin' U.S. Congress working on this now.
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