The End of my IRS Saga

Those of you who have been reading my blog for at least the past four months know that the IRS sent me a bill for $18,419 in back taxes and penalties acrued on my mother's 2008 return.

As stated in my previous post, I was not disturbed, as I had just received the gift of life--a new kidney. Anything else was unimportant. I was alive, and at least as of this writing, the IRS is not allowed to take taxpayers' organs in payment. This matter would either be resolved or I'd pay the debt little by little for the rest of my days.

A careful review of my records showed that the IRS had made a mistake. I sent a rebuttal to the appropriate authorities. After 10 weeks, the IRS responded with a reduced demand: $363. This didn't seem right either, so I looked harder at the records and asked an accountant for her opinion. Turns out I only owe $6. No sense fighting that, so I sent a check off on Sunday.

To think of the manpower involved in getting this $6 from me. I'm sure that the IRS spent at least 20 hours in this pursuit. At, let's say, $50/hour, when one includes the government worker's benefits and the contribution to her retirement, that brings the government's cost to $1,000.

The IRS's personnel should be rather tasked with going after the big offenders--large corporations that currently pay nothing in taxes and even get enormous tax credits. GE, General Electric, is a prime example. The largest corporation in the U.S., which posted $14.2 billion in profits last year, not only paid no taxes but claimed a $3.2 billion tax credit. Surely, an outfit like that should receive the scrutiny of at least a few IRS auditors. But no. Only the small fry, the common man and woman, are under the gun at the IRS.

To make the situation even more ludicrous, House Republicans would like to cut $600 million from the IRS's budget. This is ironic for a party that is interested in deficit reduction, as every dollar that the IRS spends, it reaps $10 in retrieved tax money. Even the conservative Fox News reports this data.

Of course, like everyone else in this country, and I'm sure everyone else throughout history in every country, I am not fond of the tax man. I truly hate supporting war, violence, and the suppression of democracy throughout the world with my tax dollars.

I wish that each citizen could fill out a form on his or her tax return as to how his or her taxes should be spent. I'd give mine to things like the national parks, the arts, and the care of the less fortunate. I wouldn't give a penny of my money to so-called defense, so-called intelligence, or so-called security. Now other citizens might decide they didn't give a hoot for the national park system or for the arts, but they were gung-ho for the military and the CIA. Those folks could vote their taxes that way. This would be true democracy. A line-item veto of those programs you deemed worthless or immoral, and a line-item endorsement of those programs you deemed worthwhile and life-affirming. That would certainly show the government what the citizens thought of our so-called leaders' priorities.

But if anyone should pay taxes it's the corporations and the super-rich who own the corporations. They have benefitted the most from what the government has provided--public education so that workers are prepared to toil in their businesses, and roads and bridges and the rest of the infrastructure that gets their goods to market, and military operations to keep corporation-friendly dictators in power, to name a few. Why the Average Joe and Average Mary should foot the bill when so many of the wealthy get off scot-free is a question that is surely being asked more and more often these days. A question that if sufficiently inflamed could transform society.

Some Days I Forget I Had a Transplant

I am feeling so good that some days I forget I ever had a kidney transplant--and not that long ago. A week from today it'll be four months.

Sure, I still feel the metal rod in my left leg with every step I take, but usually it is not enough to make me stop walking. And, yes, I still feel chest constriction and a sense of heaviness, but I've lived with that for so long that I rarely take note of it unless it becomes egregious.

But in general, I have energy for what I want to do. And of course my attitude is sunny, which helps a great deal.

Here is a photo of me, beaming to beat the sun, taken about a week ago in my kitchen.

My apartment has but one bedroom, so my son sleeps in the carpeted breakfast nook beside the kitchen. You can see his lamp, end table, and bed. And if your eyes are really sharp, you can see three of many gnomes that pepper the apartment. At one time I knew the German word for "gnome." Perhaps it's Schwarge.

I Should Write in German

Many days I see that more Germans have visited my blog than have Americans. Wow, that's pretty darn interesting. And so, for my German friends, I will write a little in German, just for you.

And to those of you who don't read German, you're not missing anything juicy. I'm merely inquiring as to some finer points of grammar.

Guten Tag, meine deutschen Freunden. Ich habe Fragen fuer Sie.

* Eins, mein Worterbuch hat kein "Spuelbecken," nur "Spuele." Was ist das Wort fuer "sink"--Spuelbecken oder Spuel?

* Zwei, warum haben Nummern keine adjectiven Endungen? Zum Beispiel, Mann sagt, "Ich habe rote Haar," aber er sagt nicht, "Ich habe viere Haare." Warum nicht?

* Drei, wann muss Mann  ß schrieben und wann muss Mann ss schreiben? Ich habe andere Dinge in anderen Buechern gesehen. Zum Beispiel, warum schriebt Mann "weiß" und "Wasser"? Was ist die Regel?

Danke. Bitte, antworten Sie.

Saying "No" to the Beast

On Sunday night, a helicopter was circling overhead, as has happened so often during the past 20 years. When my son was young, I frequently called the police department to complain. I was always told that they were necessary for police business. I never believed this. I would tell the officer that I was looking out my window as we were talking and nothing was going on in the park below, the park they were supposedly buzzing because of "gang activity." The officer would then tell me that this surveillance was for my own safety--words that should be a tip-off for any citizen that this is not for your safety and that there are other nefarious motives at play. I would usually tell the officer that I would prefer to take my chances with the supposed "bad guys" and get a good night's sleep.

(Consider microchips as an example of something that is touted as "for your safety" and is completely antithetical to your safety, your privacy, and your freedom. Microchips were introduced as a way to locate runaway pets. Who wouldn't want to find one's dearly loved Bowser? When I adopted Rasputin from the pound, I wasn't even told until after the fact that he had been chipped. Of course, if the authorities can find your pet when it's lost, they can certainly locate it when it's not lost--and with you by its side. Microchipping a pet is a means of locating its owner.

(Years ago, the alternative press--though of course not the mainstream press--gave coverage to servicemen who refused to be microchipped. The military had said that chipping would be a way of identifying dead soldiers on the battlefield. Some servicepeople were skeptical. Initial reports of the Oklahoma City bombing said that Timothy McVeigh had complained about the microchipping. Of course, you can put a lot of things on a chip that the recipient may not be comfortable with and may be completely unaware of. Does the Manchurian Candidate ring any bells?

(Then the idea was floated that children and the elderly should be chipped, again, for their safety. You know how children, albeit unsupervised, are always running off, and how senile grandma is a wanderer. Don't you want them to be safe?)

I have read enough about the Orwellian-named Department of Homeland Security to know that a great deal of its funding has gone directly to local and state police. Basically, the federalization of law enforcement nationwide. Instead of focusing on protecting Long Beach citizens and businesses, the LBPD, like police forces around the country, diverts manpower and machinery into doing the bidding of the Feds. I strongly object to this and so I voice my objections, as I did recently.

Once the clerk at the department's internal affairs division, which handles complaints, found out I had questions about Homeland Security, she transferred me to her supervisor, Sgt. Klein. To his credit, he was polite and calm.  I told him that I can understand the use of helicopters if there is a shoot-out or a robbery in progress or something major like that, but I am opposed to police overstepping their bounds, buzzing neighborhoods for no reason. I asked him to check the records and see what was occuring between 11:45 p.m. and 12:30 a.m. in my neighborhood. He couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Precisely why there should not have been a helicopter overhead, I said.

I said that the ocean is only six or seven blocks away. Why can't helicopters hover over the ocean between calls? Sgt. Klein claimed that doing so would put them too far away from the action, if they were needed. That is a ridiculous answer, as a helicopter, I'm sure, can travel the distance of six blocks in a few seconds.

I asked about Homeland Security money and if police are surveilling citizens rather than ensuring community safety. I asked him what percentage of the department's operating budget is from Homeland Security. He chuckled and said he couldn't answer that question. Couldn't, wouldn't, or shouldn't? That was unclear.

I again stated that I said I was OK with "legitimate police work" but was opposed to harrassment and surveillance of citizens. I mentioned the incident I had had with two LBPD officers in 2002. They had come to my door to intimidate me because I had a poster in my front window that showed a peace sign and the words "War is not the answer." That sort of harrassment of peace activists has continued under the Obama regime.

Sgt. Klein suggested I bring my concerns to a city council meeting. I wasn't expecting resolution of the matter, only a voicing of my disapproval.

I encourage other citizens to complain to their police departments and other government agencies when their rights and their tax money are abused. The people have power. We the people certainly outnumber the "rulers." Every single citizen can make a difference, can increase people power, by exercising that power. Make a call. Write a letter. Protest. Run for office as an honest and upright candidate. Every such action helps to return power to the citizens, where it belongs.

Those Darn Little People!

Whether you care to admit it or not, most of us have had "little people experiences." You know, the kind that just make no earthly sense. For example, you KNOW you placed the concert tickets in your wallet, but they're not there. You empty out your wallet, you search through your entire apartment, you involve your family or your roommates in your drama. All to no avail. Then you go for a bicycle ride or get a good night's sleep and when you check again, shaazam! there they are in your wallet, just where you left them. These are little people experiences.

One of my most dramatic little people experiences occurred in late 1999 in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysis. I was traveling with Titi, the daughter of my friend Truc. Titi and I had wanted to travel to Vietnam, because she speaks the language, but we could not get a ticket during the Christmas holidays, so we went to Malaysia and Thailand instead. At the time, I had not yet switched over to the insulin pump I now wear but was instead taking up to six insulin injections a day, using one-time-use disposable syringes.

Titi and I were traveling light, and I was carrying only a Jansport knapsack, the size that many junior high and high school boys use as book bags. One main zipped pouch and a small zipped pouch suitable for pens and pencils. In other words, not a lot of space and only two compartments.

My first night in Kuala Lumpur, I went through my gear, arranging things for the next morning. To my horror, I only had a few syringes, whereas I needed about 60 for my entire stay. I emptied the backpack and went through my meager possessions. Sure enough, I only had a few syringes, enough to last me through noon the next day. I paced around a bit, then again looked through my backpack. No luck. I must have repeated this exercise a half dozen times.

Finally, I figured that I was in the capital city of a nation in which many people spoke English. Surely, I would be able to talk a pharmacist into selling me syringes. This was not the end of the world. I laid down for a night of much-needed rest.

In the morning I got ready to tell Titi that sightseeing was out for the day, as we would have to go syringe-hunting. Before I did so, however, I looked in my backpack one last time. The syringes were there, at least 60 of them. Those mischievious little people really had me going! They were probably in the shadows giggling, so pleased with themselves for getting my blood pressure up.

A nextdoor neighbor, a woman who has throat cancer and must speak with the aid of a wand held to her throat, had a little people experience last week. She told me on Friday morning that she had lost her talking device and wondered if I could make a call on her behalf that afternoon. In the morning, I drove her to a longtime friend's memorial service. Around 2:30 she asked me to make the call. I made several calls, ferreting out information on how to secure a replacement device. The company was going to charge her $599 plus tax and shipping, or about $700. That was way too much for her to spend. I found a state agency that would replace it for free, but the office was only open until 6 and was located a 45-minute drive away, plus I had to write a letter describing the situation and print the letter since my neighbor does not have a printer.

During this time, my neighbor, let's call her Aggie, was hyper, distraught, and frantic. She was writing furiously on her slate with magic marker and tapping me insistently on my arm, though I had already attended to what she wanted. After an hour and a half of this frenetic behavior, I calmly told Aggie that I couldn't take any more of it, that she needed to sit down and calm down, that she needn't worry. I would cancel my 5:30 appointment, write and print the letter, get directions, and drive her to and from the state office. She'd have a new device within two hours, but she had to relax. Aggie started crying. I told her everything was going to work out fine. I'd leave and come back when I'd written the letter.

When I returned, Aggie was in much better shape. I drove her to Santa Ana, we were seen almost immediately, she got the device, the clerk helped her adjust the settings, and I drove her home. I let her out in front of her house so she wouldn't have to walk very far, and I drove to the end of the block, where there was a parking space. It's then that I saw her talking device on the passenger seat. I rang her doorbell and handed it to her. Aggie was shocked. She was holding the replacement in her hands. I said the old one must have been in her purse and slipped out on the ride home. Aggie said she'd emptied her purse and it hadn't been there. I said, "Oh, well, now you've got a backup."

But, you see, this is exactly how the little people operate. As soon as Aggie calmed down, the little people thought, "Well, we'll have a little more fun at her expense. Afterall, she was much too upset. We'll keep her device for a little while longer and then return it." The calming down and the returning of the item have never been simultaneous, at least in my experience.

But I always have to smile at these little people experiences. I get as much fun out of laughing at their trickery as they do out of laughing at my undue concern over mere material possessions! The next time you are beset by leprechauns, pixies, gnomes, faeries, or whatever you call them from wherever you're from, remember: Don't take yourself--and your things--so damn seriously!

Surrounded by Beauty

It is too easy to get down about the general affairs of humanity. That's why it's so important to develop an attention to the beauty that surrounds you in every moment.

















Granted, there are no doubt horrendous situations that can befall an individual--unjust imprisonment, the death of loved ones, torture, rape, brutal assault, the threat of violent death, constant pain, insufferable illness.

And yet even then, it is so often reported that those who survived found something within their immediate environs that sustained them. Perhaps a smile, a flowering weed, a bit of broken glass that caught the sunlight, a bird song. Something to lift them from the evil and grief that pervaded their lives, something that spoke of a better, kinder, more beautiful world.

I suggest that all of us engage in this awareness of beauty every day of our lives, whether we are living in the lap of luxury, beloved by many, or whether we are in abject poverty and seemingly friendless. In every moment, I see beauty. At this particular moment I see the shocking pink of my camera case, my sleeping dog, the bright yellow of a box, a houseplant on an end table, the varnished wood of a secondhand cabinet--all beautiful in their own ways.

I guarantee that making a practice of recognizing little pockets of beauty wherever you go will improve your attitude and by so doing send ripples of calmness, contentment, and gratitude to those you encounter and so begin a chain of goodness that touches the entire world.

Shown here are snatches of beauty that I encountered on morning walks with my dog. A good deal of rain has hit Southern California during the last week, and if you're observant, you'll see residual raindrops on leaves and blossoms.


Southern California is quite a place insofar as it often rains at night and is washed clean, bright, and gorgeous by the morning. Like Camelot.

I know that if each person would embrace a life of attending to beauty and giving thanks for it, that the world would dramatically change for the better. The powers that be want us to be afraid, insecure, disappointed, quarrelsome, unhappy. The best way to overcome evil is to live a life that does not feed evil.

As evil is fed by negative emotions--fear, anger, hatred, insecurity, disappointment, sadness, irritability, and hopelessness--the very best thing that you and I can do to create a happier, freer, safer, kinder, more loving, more sustainable world is to be beacons to the world of what we wish it to become.

See the beauty that surrounds you, wherever you may be. It may take the form of a lovely hue, a shadow or a ray of sunshine, a smile, a kind word, a burst of color in a drab environment, a subdued brown or gray, the silver paper that wraps a piece of gum, a flower emerging from a crack in a wall, a penny on a sidewalk, a plump cloud, a soothing breeze, the warmth of a fire on a cold day.

I am sure that if you look about the room in which you now sit, you will begin to see nooks of beauty everywhere. Delight in them, and bring that delight, that sense of wonder, brightness, openness, and awe into your interactions with others. Your improved sense of self and your heightened sense of the worthiness of the world will doubtless inform your every action, thought, and word.

This is how the world is changed for the better: One attentive moment to beauty at a time, one bright-eyed smile or kind word by one individual, one utterance of gratitude by another, one refusal to be sucked into the trap of fear and loathing, one life lived fully, surrounded by beauty in every moment.

Not a Single Mention

I checked the Los Angeles Times website this morning. Not a single mention of the anti-war protest that involved some 2,000 people. But today's paper does have a full-blown article with photos of about a dozen white supremicists who were marching in nearby Claremont and the 200 or so immigrant-rights activists who mounted a counter-protest.

Though we stood in front of the CNN building in Hollywood yesterday, there is not one mention of the march on cnn.com. A search of "anti-war protest Hollywood" yielded an article on the entertainment scene.

Perhaps neither news organization dared cover the event because of a prominent banner:

"The CIA owns everyone of significance in the major media."

--Former CIA Director William Colby

I realize that many Americans have given up on the political process. They feel that no matter what they do or how they feel about matters of importance, the government ignores them and does anything it damn well pleases. The wars are a case in point. More than two-thirds of Americans (can't figure out why it's not more than that) oppose our continued presence in Afghanistan and Iraq. Yet their voices go unheeded. Americans have resigned themselves to living in a democracy-in-name-only.

I, however, have never subscribed to that play book. I have done and said things in my life that have gone against the prevailing winds of public opinion, but I have always felt that I must be true to my own principles. Otherwise, I am a hollow shell.

Certainly the decisions I have made have had consequences--a lower socio-economic level than other persons with my education, experience, and intelligence, and a much more solitary life than most. Of course, it would be wonderful to have the funds to buy a few acres of gorgeous, water-rich land in rural Southern California, build a house, and ensure my self-sufficiency within a community of like-minded individuals. And sure it would be much more than wonderful to share my life with a man who is matched to me. But however much I would love to see either of these dreams come true, it is far more important to me to remain true to myself.

And so if the time comes when I am the only person marching to protest the Empire's never-ending wars, so be it. It is important to voice my non-participation in the Empire's march toward global disaster, even if no one hears me.

A scene from an old Swedish movie frequently enters my mind. I searched for it yesterday, but I couldn't locate it. If anyone who reads this can identify the film, I'd sure appreciate your notifying me. In the film, a man waters a dead tree. Every day he does this. It is his ritual. It is a highly charged spiritual exercise he faithfully performs.

Perhaps someday soon, voicing one's criticism of the government or marching to protest its actions will be like watering a dead tree, the dead tree of democracy. Even so, I will continue to do so. It will be my ritualistic act of defiance, of non-participation in evil, and ultimately of hope for real change, not the faux change that Obama has dished up.

Where Were the Tea Partyers?

Today I attended a peace march in Los Angeles to protest the never-ending wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, as well as the new war in Libya. We've been in Afghanistan a decade, Iraq eight years, and today was our first of many, many days to come in Libya.

For those of you who thought that we're no longer in Iraq because Obama supposedly pulled out combat troops, think again. We still have tens of thousands of troops in Iraq, we've got at least that many contractors (read: contracted killers), and we built scores of bases in the country that we have no intention of ever abandoning. Just as with Japan and Germany, we're never leaving Iraq.

As I marched through Hollywood today, I wondered, "Where are the Tea Partyers?" They are after all, eternally concerned about the size of the federal deficit, and the Afghanistan and Iraq wars have already cost us about $3 trillion. That's a whole lot more than the $60 billion of healthcare, education, and Social Security that some Republicans have suggested cutting from the budget. We would have absolutely no budget crisis if we'd stop killing people in other countries and if we'd stop giving tax breaks to the super-rich. The Tea Partyers' dreams would be realized in one stroke of the pen. But for some strange reason, there were no Tea Partyers at the march.

How do I know? Because Tea Partyers are white, at least 50 years old, and middle class. The people who attend peace marches are of all races, of all ages, and many are definitely not middle class. What is heart-warming to me is to see how many young people show up. People in their late teens or early 20s who were kids when 9/11 occurred. They basically have known no other America than the one we currently have. They grew up with the Patriot Act and the trashing of the Constitution. And yet they are working for a return to something they never knew.

I was also glad to see that the 9/11 truthseekers were out in full force, making the connection between 9/11 being an inside job, the invasion of countries that either have oil (Iraq and Libya) or one that is planned to have an oil pipeline run through it (Afghanistan), the erosion of freedom in the U.S., and the CIA infiltration of the major media. And many of these truthseekers again were young people.

Pictured at right is a Code Pink gal I met in Long Beach a few weeks ago. Isn't this haunting? A digital  morph of the photos of G.W. and Obama. No caption necessary.

(In case you can't read the banner at left, it says, "The CIA owns everyone of any significance in the major media."

Former CIA Director William Colby)

What is disappointing is how few people showed up. I guess about 2,000, enough to fill one city block. Way down from the numbers of six or seven years ago. That's 2,000 out of 20 million people in the greater LA area. What is wrong with Americans? Why are we so passive? That's the subject for another post.

Perhaps one reason for the low turnout is shown at right below: another sign of the encroaching police state and its Orwellian double speak. (LAPD=Los Angeles Police Dept.) So I'm being filmed for my safety, huh? How about if I'd rather not be filmed and take my chances? How about if your filming makes me feel unsafe, Big Brother?

In closing, I would like my European and Middle Eastern friends to know that a few Americans do know how to march for what they believe in. I am always impressed by the number of protesters who turn out in Europe. And, of course, the entire world has been moved by protesters in Egypt, Bahrain, Tunisia, Libya, and Iran. I hope some day that my countrymen and women will do the same, telling truth to power and holding our government accountable.

I've Graduated from UCLA!

I've graduated from UCLA--the UCLA kidney transplant clinic, that is. I no longer have to get up once or twice a week at 4 in the morning and drive to UCLA for 5:30 blood tests and a meeting with a nephrologist to adjust my meds. I passed the three-month mark on March 8, and they set me free.

From now on, I'll get lab work and visit my Kaiser nephrologist only once a month. I'll go to UCLA once every three months for a year, then once a year after that.

Though I wasn't feeling very well for more than a month, I'm feeling much stronger and more vibrant now. I'm back to contemplating an August-through-November road trip. I've done the math: Figuring gas at $5/gallon, living expenses at $40/day (food and camping fees), and not having to pay rent for four months because I'll give up my apartment, my income will cover my expenses. Of course, if gas goes to six or seven dollars a gallon in the next few months, then I'll have to rethink things again.

Summer Dreams, Summer Realities

While I was on dialysis, I envisioned my life post-transplant. I saw romance and relationship coming my way, now that I would be freed of dialysis tubing, tape, gauze, and treatments. I also saw hitting the road as I did big time during the summers of 2005 and 2006 and as I did during shorter trips for decades, camping solo throughout California's deserts, mountains, forests, and coastlands.

In the early weeks following transplant, I felt so fantastic that I planned to leave Southern California in April and perhaps never return. One scenario was to head up the coast, taking my time, visiting friends in the Bay Area, seeing Oregon's Crater Lake for the first time in a quarter century, checking out Portland's intentional communities for a possible move, and spending time with my friend Araia, who lives in the wilds of northeastern Washington state. I'd then meander back south in time to move son Aaron to whichever graduate school he was going to--it now looks like Penn State. From there I'd head up to Nova Scotia to see my sweet, little cabin and my friend Helene, where I'd spend the fall, perhaps traveling to Minneapolis for the annual family reunion during the first weekend in November.

That's where plans get a little fuzzy. If I found a good fit in Portland, I'd head there. If not, I could always return to Long Beach for the winter. A friend said that I could rent a room in his house for $400 plus utilities. It's nice to have a place to land.

During the past few months, however, I have not felt like doing much. Symptoms come and go. Sometimes I'm weak and tired, other times I have respiratory problems. What's of most concern, however, are the cardiac symptoms--water retention, tightness, constriction, a feeling of oppression, sometimes pain and difficulty breathing. And then there's the fact that my meds are adjusted or meds completely dropped or others added practically every week, based on my lab results. Not sure how weekly lab results would be possible if I were on the road. Kaiser is only located in California, Oregon, Hawaii, Ohio, Georgia, and Maryland/Washington, D.C./Virginia.

The only things I can do are do as much as I can to stay as healthy as possible, maintain a fantastic attitude, and wait until the end of May to see how I'm doing. If I'm feeling great, then I'll give one month's notice to my landlord June 1. If not, I hope to be in good enough shape to move Aaron to Pennsylvania and make a foray into Nova Scotia.

Pain and Strain

Yesterday afternoon and evening I was in such severe pain that I went to the ER. My right shoulder, neck, back, and right abdomen were beset with continuous, sometimes barely barable pain. I wondered if either I was having a heart attack or I was rejecting the kidney. This was accompanied by chest tightness and constriction, a fairly usual symptom, so generally I don't pay much attention to it. But coupled with this other pain and with nausea, I wondered if something significant was happening.

I drove one-handed to the ER in Downey. I was given priority, given my multiple health challenges. I begrudgingly submitted to a chest x-ray and an abdominal CT scan, both of which showered me with radiation. Both turned up uneventful. The CT scan increased my pain considerably, as I had to put my arms above my head during the procedure. Not only did this strain my shoulder, but it stretched my abdomen too.

I was moaning and carrying on for at least a half hour before I got two Tylenol. They wouldn't give me anything stronger as I had driven myself to the ER.