Forty Two: Life and Other Important Things

The action is hot and heavy on store shelves this week as a truckload of new releases are becoming available for the couch bound movie watcher. "The Last Stand" is a gonzo action flick that marks the return of one of the biggest action icons of the 20th century to the big screen.

As sheriff of a sleepy little town, Ray Owens (Arnold Schwarzenegger) who is now semi-retired after years in the LAPD narcotics division has never had a lot of action in his new post and that's just the way he likes it. However that is all about to change when drug lord Gabriel Cortez (Eduardo Noriega) busts out of FBI custody and makes a beeline for the border at 200 mph in a supercharged corvette and makes the mistake of running into Ray and his inexperienced deputies who will defend their small town at any cost.

Debuting to North American audiences for the first time, director Kim Jee-Woon brought a frenetic sense of energy and fun back to the R rated action movie that people just didn't seem to connect with. That being said they really should have as this film kept the action going at a fantastic pace as we jump into this universe that while admittedly is filled with a little bit of corny dialogue, knows exactly what it is doing. Jee-Woon doesn't mess around with exposition anymore then he absolutely has to and brings a lean and mean sensibility back to the action genre that we haven't seen since the 1980's. All the while with a script that has its tongue firmly planted in its cheek, only asking us to strap in and go along for the ride. Rather than try to be taken dead seriously, this modern day western just wants us to have a little fun with it, and this ensemble cast knows exactly what kind of film that they are trying to deliver on and they do not disappoint.

In his first leading role since 2003 due to his term as governor of California, an older and wiser Arnold Schwarzenegger brings a certain sense of self-deprecation to the role of Ray Owens and it works to perfection. It's no secret that he is a 66 year old man, so the occasional old joke while kicking ass and blowing people away fits the tone of the film like a glove and even years away from the leading man roles, with the right material Arnold still proves that he can carry a picture. Eduardo Noriega chews the scenery as well as anyone as our renegade drug lord and the likes of Luis Guzman, Forest Whittaker, Rodrigo Santoro, Johnny Knoxville, Genesis Rodriguez and Peter Stormare populate this story with a wide array of scenery chewing characters making for a frenetic R rated action romp that we can still get a good laugh out of and there isn't a damn thing wrong with that.

The picture and sound quality on the Blu-Ray are absolutely first rate and the special features on the Blu-Ray include deleted and extended scenes, a making of "The Last Stand", behind the scenes looks with actors Johnny Knoxville and Jaimie Alexander and much more.

At the end of the day, I am the first person to acknowledge that "The Last Stand" just might not be for everyone. However, if you miss the lean and mean violent action thrillers of the 1970's and 80's that still had a little bit of gleeful wit to them, then you owe it to yourself to pick up a copy of this piece of action gold that will inspire you to pop the popcorn, and revel in the ride that the film takes you on.

"The Last Stand" is now available to rent on DVD, Blu-Ray and via On Demand from all major providers, you can also find it available for purchase from all major retailers.

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Being a Scottie Mom has plenty of advantages. Think: unlimited snuggles, undivided attention (once the toys have been destroyed and all the squirrels chased out of the yard), and someone to look after us just as much as we look after him or her. But for first-time Scottie Moms, there can be a bit of a learning curve. Take it from one who had the honor of learning from the mischievous Mr. K. So, for the new Scottie Moms or those considering becoming one, here are some things you might expect:

10. Scotties aim to please. Nothing makes Mr. K happier than to see me happy. Conversely, nothing saddens him more than when he thinks he has let his hoomans down. Go easy on the little one if he or she upsets you and keep your attitude in check. Scotties are sensitive creatures. 

9. Your possessions become your Scottie’s possessions. No further explanation needed. May I suggest, however, to pay special attention to the clothes in your laundry bin before they start disappearing.

8. Scottie-tude comes with the territory. As much as your Scottie loves you, he or she may not love other dogs and especially not cats. Socialize your pup as appropriate with other dogs…and as for the cats, few Scotties I’ve known have taken nicely to them so tread carefully.

7. There are no rules. Sure, you might say no dogs are allowed on the couch. You may even stack up the pillows on the couch to prevent them from climbing atop the sofa. Just don’t be surprised when you come home to find paw prints on the pillows.

6. Anything within a Scottie’s reach (and sometimes even those items that are not) is at risk. Leave a Scottie home alone without Scottie-proofing the house and you’ll undoubtedly come home to a few surprises. Topping Mr. K’s list are: an organic shampoo bar, a chewed up, nearly unrecognizable blue highlighter and a bag of cookies…and that was just one occasion.

5. Accidents happen. It’s important to get your Scottie on a schedule to prevent accidents but sometimes, life happens and it gets thrown off. It may get frustrating, especially if your Scottie is like Mr. K and becomes acquainted with peeing in the house randomly and just minutes after you’ve walked him because he’s “getting even” for being left alone. Lucky for this Scottie Mom, introducing Heather – the alpha (fe)male – was all that was needed to get rid of this nasty habit.

4. Scottie Security is legit. While your Scottie may not like everyone that walks through your front door, take special note of those that he or she does like. Scotties are incredible judges of character so if your Scottie doesn’t approve of a date, perhaps it is time to reconsider.

3. Sometimes, Scotties stink. What did you expect? They’re dogs! But, in addition to that fact that baths are a necessity in a Scottie’s life, know that Scotties are notorious for clearing a room after passing gas. Beware the bottom!

2. Strength isn’t measured by size. Scotties are a lot stronger than you might think. I’ve been told their jaws are the same size as that of a German Shepherd and I know they’ve got the fight of a big dog inside that tiny little body of theirs. My first weekend with Mr. K, he decided to challenge a Rottweiler. NO fun.

1. Expect the unexpected and enjoy every moment. Life with Scotties is never dull and there’s no way to predict what tricks they have up their sleeve next. Whether it is spontaneously waking from a nap to zoomie around the house or stealing a shoe and shaking it until you chase after him or her, Scotties love to have a little fun and get a kick out of entertaining their hoomans. So sit back, relax and enjoy the Scottie show!

Embargoed until the delivery the State of the Union address, US President Obama signed the expected and highly anticipated cybersecurity executive order.

In Africa there is a type of hawk that dives straight down to catch it’s prey. When Busch Gardens decided to make a diving coaster they wanted a name of something that dives straight down, so why not? The cars of this ride are 8 across and floorless. The only other coasters like this type were in England and Japan, so they know they would have something unique.

Once buckled up, the floors underneath the cars drop out so you can start. The lift hill is very suspenseful, because you can see the drop sitting there waiting for you all the way up. Once at the top we make a quick turn to the right and we creep to the edge… and stop. A reverse chain lift at the top of the hill holds us for four seconds before we finally plunge down at ninety degrees. The drop has an abundance of airtime during the whole drop, until you reach the bottom. Then you start climbing up into the Immelmann inversion, if you sit on the edges of the cars their is even more airtime and this time it is upside-down. Around a curve and onto the trim brakes before another drop into a cave that sometimes has mist sprayed through it. Out of the tunnel and around a curve to the lake where tubes on the sides of the trains spray water into the air. Around a helix and this falcon’s flight is finished.

I liked SheiKra but it was too short, even then it perfects the straight down drop and i am giving it a 9 out of 10.

Are you READY for one of America's quirkiest holidays, Groundhog Day?Groundhog? Do you mean woodchuck, whistle-pig, or land-beaver? No? You say a groundhog forecast the weather? What kind of folklore is that? Um-m-m-m-m? Let's look a little deeper into this weather hound. 

The groundhog phenomenon traverses centuries of time shrouded in myths and legends centered around cultures and animals. This predictable tradition stems from European beliefs associated with Candlemas Day and the days of early Christmas. The Roman legions supposedly brought it to the Teutons, or Germans. They concluded that if the sun made an appearance on Candlemas Day, an animal, the hedgehog, would cast a shadow, thus predicting six more weeks of bad weather. Some would say this was interpolated as the length of the "Second Winter."

The corrosive impact of the Self-Esteem Movement on public-education is well-known. At least by those of us at Despair. Teachers have been encouraged, in the interest of the children’s “precious self-esteem”, to avoid using the F-word when students FAIL. To praise effort, regardless of results. To protect delicate, developing egos from the dreadful stigma and potential shame that comes from being told, “Whoa- you really screwed that up!”

And now, this well-intentioned but pernicious affirmation cult has taken hold on my Scrabble Teacher. And it’s ticking me off.

I’m old enough to remember a time when teachers could call an unruly student to the front of the classroom. Mr. Carver, my fifth grade home teacher, had a big paddle with an STP motor oil sticker on it.  Kids who mouthed off learned pretty fast not to, because the shame of being publicly spanked with his “Stops the Problem” paddle was even greater than the sting of his practiced swing.  (And seriously, old dude could SWING.)

But he didn’t just practice corporal punishment for kids with discipline problems.  He was willing- very willing- to tell you point-blank when you’d FAILED. It was never mocking, never cruel- just a statement of fact, delivered with a wry, crinkled grin. Got a D on a spelling test? “Well son, hope you like diggin’ ditches.” 

It was embarrassing, but effective. Nobody wanted to let him down. Everyone wanted to earnhis compliments, because he gave them as generously as his rebukes. Nothing was higher praise than to be told, “Honey, you just might be runnin’ GM one day.”

Don’t laugh. At the time, it was a compliment. And when it came from a teacher who had proven himself even-handed and trustworthy, it meant a great deal to our “precious self-esteem”. He was, in microcosm, the Fair Arbiter we believed at the time governed the whole of American society. The politician, the “big boss” (we didn’t know what CEO meant yet), the Man. Disrespect would be punished, failure would be acknowledged, but success would be complimented and rewarded. It’s the American way, right?

So it bothers me- probably more than it should- to have watched my Scrabble app, to which I am hopeless addicted, as successive upgrades have “improved” it by turning it from a Fair Arbiter into an Esteem-Protector.

Earlier editions of the Scrabble App featured a hard to please teacher, one who was more than willing to express abject shock at a poorly chosen word.

The app seemed to score on a reasonable grade. If you truly bungled a turn, the teacher was more than willing to let you know it, with a look of such complete and total horror that it truly could, in its tiny way, sting.  You could practically hear it gasping, and without words the message was obvious. “I can’t BELIEVE how bad you failed!”

Average word choices prompted an ambivalent response, and rightly so.  A well-chosen one could earn you a genuinely pleased response. And a brilliant word, when played, prompted a gigantic smile.

Version 2 of the app changed the teacher expressions, and the emotions conveyed, and some argued, not for the better.  Despite the seemingly sterner personality, the teacher still seemed to grade on the same basic curve of BAD, ADEQUATE, GOOD, EXCELLENT.

Though I preferred the personality of the earlier version, I remained a fan. It was still a Fair Arbiter, doling out praise and rebukes in equal measure, and commensurate with the quality of my choices.

Yet another version of the app was recently unveiled.  Now, the teacher, apparently fresh from a graduation ceremony, has been reduced to three expressions.

Yet the bigger change to the app was apparently to the actual underlying grading curve.  Unlike earlier versions that were genuinely sparing with their praise, this new and supposedly improved version has abdicated its role as Fair Arbiter, and is now in the Esteem Protectorbusiness.

Consider this screencap below, in which I made the foolish choice of using my letters to spell the word “DIM”. After playing the hand, my Scrabble teacher informed me that I’d done a GOOD job!

“Good job! You got 24 points! That’s double-digit! Wow! Pat yourself on the back! You were only 54 points short of the optimal play! YOU’RE A WINNER IN MY BOOK!”

Then, the nearly impossible to displease teacher gently allowed that I could’ve scored more points, if I’d chosen the slightly better word, “MUDDIER”, which would’ve used all my tiles and earned me the 50 point bonus.

It was an IDIOTIC move, and the right response should’ve been horror.  Or at least ambivalence.  Not encouragement.  Shame at my own stupidity is a better instructor than patronizing praise for stupid moves.

Presumably, the next version of the App will feature one expression only, transcendent ecstasy- whether my moves are brilliant or idiotic.

Is this the cutest dog you've ever seen or what?

It seems like a dream after almost 23 years. Even while we were there, driving the twisting country roads -- inevitably lost -- Ireland had a dreamlike quality that made it perfect for a honeymoon.

Friends were surprised at our plans to honeymoon in Ireland. “But you aren’t Irish,” they said, foreheads wrinkled with puzzlement. Why do people assume the only reason to go to Ireland is to look for roots? In Ireland, everyone asked if we were Irish. When we said we weren’t, they would say “Are you sure?” We said we were sure. It turned out one of us was wrong.

Ireland was wonderful. From Dublin to Sligo, through Shannon, Galway, Cashel and all the lovely cities and villages in between, everyone we met was friendly and welcoming. When folks learned we were honeymooners, we were treated to free rounds of drinks, desserts, and upgraded accommodations — at no charge. Even on the airplane, we were moved up to first class. Way to go.

We stayed in bed and breakfasts. Using the National Tourist Board guidebookand a road map, we’d zero in on a destination and phone ahead. Every place we stayed was spotlessly clean and comfortable, although often tiny by American standards.

Mr. Koch, a showman of City Hall, was a three-term mayor who steered New York City through the fiscal austerity of the late 1970s and the racial conflicts of the 1980s. He was 88.

It was a complicated decision, one of many realities I’ve had to face. Not as hard as most life decisions, but tricky in its own small way.

For the last dozen years, much of life has involved recognizing and accepting limits, then figuring out how to work around them. There are physical limits, financial limits. I can’t afford things I don’t really need, though I sometimes splurge on something I want very much, like a lens for the camera or a bigger external hard drive. There are always choices to make and priorities to set.

Now, it’s facing one more fact of life: no more wall space. No room for anything, not for my  photographs or anything else. The walls are full of things I love. My photos are on display, but there are also paintings, some by friends, others bought at galleries in days when we had spare dollars to spend on non-necessities. Photos of Garry taken during his working years … with politicians and presidents.

He has awards and plaques and I have shadow-boxes filled with antique Chinese porcelain, Navajo pots, fetishes and figurines and Murano glass. Together we have a lifetime of vacation mementos and one small carved black peat cat bought inIreland on our honeymoon. All the paintings, photos and things we bought on the Vineyard during a decade or more of summers. They need space. There’s no room, so I won’t be making lots of prints. I have dozens of paintings and photographs that were gifts from artist friends that I can’t afford to frame and if I could, I’d have no place to hang them.

I dumped hundreds of gigabytes of  RAW and TIFF files. While I was organizing, I consolidated files of similar things. I have dozens of New England autumns, thousands of pictures of dogs, kids, dogs and kids, friends and their kids and dogs.

This task sounds a lot more interesting than it actually is. In fact, it makes watching paint dry seem thrilling, but it needed to be done. And while I was sorting, reformatting and organizing, back on Serendipity, I quietly slipped over the 44,000 hit mark. I’ll celebrate at 45,000 I guess, or maybe I’ll wait for 50,000. The numbers have been moving so quickly.

Awards … another Liebster, more followers  – and I realize I have posted every day for more than six months. 868 posts as of tonight. Time has flown by. From thinking I’d put up an occasional post about something or other, maybe show some photographs … to recognizing that this blog has become important to me. It’s no longer a little hobby; it has become a focus.

I stopped bringing home a regular salary more than ten years ago when I became ill. I tried, intermittently, to work, but I couldn’t. Eventually, it became clear my career was over. My pride took a hit, but I don’t really miss work. I miss the paycheck, but work? Nope.

I settled down to not working and it required a bit of adjustment.  I’ve never been bored. For a while I was too sick to be bored, but I’ve always filled time by reading. It’s my fallback position. Somewhere in there I wrote a book. That consumed a couple of years and after that, for a few years I ran an online antique and collectibles business, which is where many of my antiques and other stuff originated. It was surprisingly successful, but the economy fell apart. The type of stuff I sold was based on people having spare money for things that are just beautiful, not necessarily useful. With the handwriting bright on the wall, I closed up shop.

If you aren’t going to school or working at a job, time tends to lose its shape. Blogging has given it a bit more form. It’s writing, which is as much who I am as what I do. As I move through my world, I look at the things I do and whatever is happening around me as stuff I can write about. When I hold a camera, I see the world in frames and perspective, I see colors and angles, light and shadow. When I think about it as a writer, I hear everything described in my mind, narrated.

Often, by the time I sit down to write, it’s almost written. It’s not always that easy, but sometimes it is. Sometimes words fall out of my fingers and it’s all just there, complete, waiting to put together.

Life has a rhythm, a pulse, a flow. From morning coffee to afternoon chores, to the evening when I write, watch a movie or some television, then write some more. Often, as now, I do both at the same time, something my husband finds baffling. If I think about it I suppose I’d find it baffling too, but I can do two things at a time. Usually. Depending on what the two things are.

If you’re waiting for me to get to the point, you’re out of luck. No point. Just a long ramble … rather like life.

In books, nothing happens without a reason. In literature, there are no coincidences, no accidental meetings. But life is full of things happening for no discernible reason. We can attribute meaning … religious meaning, omens, portents, whatever. But really, things just are what they are. We go from infancy to childhood then on into adulthood. We create goals and we push to achieve them, but the goals are not “real thing.” They are what we put in place to give our lives form, shape and direction, to make us feel purposeful.

It’s harder when you are older and in what I like to think of as your post-career because the kinds of aims and goals we had before don’t work and we have to find new directions. Most of us do. The classic image that young people have of old people sitting around doing nothing and just fading into the twilight is based on misconception and stereotyping. They are in a hurry to grow up, to get on to whatever it is they perceive as the next stage of life. They can’t understand what life is like when your primary goal is to enjoy your time, not dash through everything as fast as possible.

They’ll find out.

We at The Pessimist might seem cynical, but it’s not like we’re opposed to happiness. We just recognize that it isbasically impossible! It is a slight distinction, but an important one.

So it was with an open mind that we read this Business Insider article promising to teach you “10 Easy Ways to Improve Your Life.” After all, we’re always up for a little self-improvement (emphasis on little), and we like things that are easy! Unfortunately, the suggestions are…well, just read for yourself:

Exercise

 
Get enough sleep
 
Laugh
 
Be optimistic

 
Who knew it could be so easy? It had never occurred to us to “get enough sleep” or “laugh”! If we’d realized that’s all it took, we never would have to had to start Despair, Inc. in the first place. If only someone had given us these painfully obvious suggestions before!

But as insultingly facile as this article is, we can be insultingly faciler. (You might not think that’s a word, but it is now.) So here are 5 even easier ways to improve your life! Don’t thank us now. Thank us next week. By sending us a thank-you card. With a cashier’s check.

1. Breathe.
We’re all busy these days, what with work and family and errands and…uh…well, that’s about it. But don’t forget to breathe. We don’t mean this metaphorically. Literally do not forget to inhale air into your lungs, and then expel it. After you’ve been “breathing” for a few days, you’ll find that you feel much better! Also, you won’t be dead. Which, depending on your particular circumstances, might be a good thing.

2. Eat food.
A lot of people think that all you need to do to maintain a healthy, stress-free lifestyle is drink water. Wrong! Scientists have proved, after a series of intensive studies that you are not smart enough to understand, that food is actually essential to life. If, like us, you haven’t eaten food in years, treat yourself to some! You’ll be glad you did.

3. Avoid drinking household cleaning solutions.
We all know what it’s like — you’re thirsty, but the sink is all the way over there! Who has time for that, when there’s a bottle of Pinesolright here- and it smells so good? Not so fast — doctors have found that not drinking cleaning products can increase your life expectancy by as much as 50 years. It sounds crazy, but not ingesting poison is a simple way to improve your life.

4. If you are bleeding heavily, seek medical attention.
You’ve just settled in for the night with a glass of whiskey and a good book, and — wouldn’t you know it? — you notice you’re bleeding severely from your ears, losing pints of blood by the second. We’ve all been there, and while it’s tempting to just ignore it, studies have demonstrated that going to a hospital can dramatically improve your life. Again, it’s a simple tip — but a good one!

5. Don’t listen to well-meaning, but obvious, advice.
Have you ever been stressed out to an insane degree, and had a relative tell you “Maybe you should just relax”? Have you ever been depressed beyond belief, only to have a friend suggest that you “just cheer up”? If so, then you realize how unspeakably irritating it is to be on the receiving end of cliched platitudes. If someone tries to subject you to that, just don’t listen. You’ll be glad you didn’t.

Britain has long had a reputation for bureaucracy and red tape. There is a fanatical fastidiousness about British organisations and the public sector that keeps armies of admin and clerical workers documenting, verifying, copying and countersigning in duplicate and triplicate, all manner of data and detail for… I don’t know. I suppose it gives people who have a remarkable capacity for retaining a pulse whilst enduring chronically mundane tasks for 35+ hours a week a calling in life. However, despite this commitment to the finicky detail of detailing the details of data in order to ensure documentation is valid and secure, things still go tits up, failings are still made and fuck-ups do ensue. When this happens, there’s an ‘enquiry’, followed by a ‘report’, which is usually followed by a resignation, a tasty pay off, and the application of a new set of rules demanding another layer of bureaucratic documentation.

In 2002 the Criminal Records Bureau (CRB) was introduced in England and Wales to protect children, young people and vulnerable adults from the vile beasts that would manipulate themselves into positions where they would pray on them. In principle it is a good idea, as it provides some resource for schools and relevant organisations to vet people who have a criminal past, before hiring them to take up a position that they may exploit for illicit purposes. There was already the Department for Education and Skills’ List 99, which is a confidential register of all people convicted or suspected of child abuse, violent crimes or drug offences. However, the standard CRB system of checks also covers cautions and warnings, and even convictions that may have expired.

An ‘Enhanced Disclosure’ goes further and includes any other information held on file that may be relevant, such as investigations that have not led to a criminal record, like nine charges of rape and underage sex in the space of four years for instance (read on).

Naturally there were teething troubles when the CRB was first introduced and tragically, whilst these teething troubles were being ironed out, school caretaker Ian Huntley murdered two school children, Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman.

It’s probably impossible to have an airtight vetting system without grossly abusing individual’s privacy and human rights, but over the space of four years, Ian Huntley had nine charges of rape and underage sex against his name before he was employed by a school as a caretaker. This information was documented and recorded by social workers and police forces, but despite happening at a time when computer databases and ICT were becoming commonplace, none of these organisations thought that it might be useful to share this information with each other for safeguarding purposes. Incidentally, it’s interesting that it’s noted that one of the main reasons the CRB was introduced was to protect organisations from litigation, which makes you question the moral focus of our lawmakers – but that’s another posting.

There’s a naively simplistic level of thinking amongst certain people in our society; those ‘normal’, law abiding, taxpaying, un-questioning, rule-following members of society, civil service and the public sector. These types of people are often guilty of placing people in boxes and using those boxes as building blocks of rationality. These people can’t think outside of the box and follow blindly according to instructions. These people wouldn’t have sat in the CRB meeting and raised their hand to say ‘There’s tons of literature proving that many dangerous and pathological criminals – particular sex offenders – are intelligent and manipulative and may very well have a history of charges and allegations that have not as yet led to convictions. Do you think we should have something in place to check for that type of thing?’ These people see things in black and white and think that it’s only people who have been proved to have broken the law – no matter what that law was – are wrongdoers and are dirty and tainted forever, unable to ever hold any significant position in society. These people can’t see the wood for the pile of trees that have been chopped down to make the paper by which they are instructed, informed and subsequently base the blueprint of their thinking and rationale on. These people have no capacity for abstract reasoning. They’re like automated drones who blindly follow their programmed procedure without employing common sense or initiative.

I have nothing against the CRB, that’s not what this posting is about. I think CRB checks are a good idea and very necessary, but sadly, shit happens that you are never going to be able to prevent. A CRB check isn’t going to tell you a great deal about a person who is evading the law. A CRB check is not going to provide any protection against creepy, celebrity, paedophiles like Jimmy Savile getting away with it, because a CRB check can’t highlight people of low, moral character working in showbiz who are prepared to turn a blind eye to child abuse rather than jeopardise their careers. What a CRB check does is cast a wide net over anybody who has any criminal record and judge them based off that record. What a CRB check does is provide a cursory snapshot of that criminal record without going into any character detail.

The problem is, when you apply for a CRB check, what comes back is an indiscriminate private record of your past that doesn’t take into account whether the information is really necessary for disclosure. Any crime that you have committed, no matter how venal or embarrassing, is now revealed to some clerical worker in your office. So if you got caught shoplifting some knickers from Woolworths when you were 18, then 23 year old Garry, the admin support worker from HR, probably knows about it and had a good laugh at your expense with his friends at the weekend when they were sniffing lines of coke off his new IKEA table during the house warming party he had to celebrate the new mortgage he’s just anchored himself with on an overpriced plasterboard apartment in the city centre that he bought for a snip at £149k. You’re not a pederast or an armed robber or a drug smuggler or a DJ from the 70’s, but since you sign kids in at the reception at the community centre that Garry also works at, it is imperative that your private life of 20 years ago becomes the public property of Garry’s anecdotal work whinges at the weekend. You may have thought that Garry smiled at you in that way because he fancied you, and maybe you even had the odd fantasy of having an affair with the young man from HR; but really he’s smirking at the idea that you once stuffed a 3-pack of knickers down your blouse and tried to do a runner from Woolly’s back in 1983, and he’s wondering whether they were the Bridget Jones type that reach up above the navel – and if you still wear them.

I work with young people and vulnerable adults and it is necessary for me to have an enhanced disclosure. CRB checks are at the discretion of your employer, so whilst some say they need to be updated every 3 years and some say 5, my employer has decided that he wants it updated every year. I understand this to a certain degree, as it would be very easy for me to commit GBH at the weekend, go through the whole procedure of court, conviction and suspended sentence over the course of the subsequent year without my employer being any the wiser. But the bizarre thing is the verification of who I am, that really only needs to be done the once, surely? It’s not so much me having to re-verify who I am that is the strange thing, the office manager has to verify who our boss is. So that means that the employee of our employer has to officially verify that the person that employed her and pays her wages – the person for whom she has to go and see to have cheques countersigned and authorised and verify any payment of goods – now has to have him bring in documentation to prove that he really is who he is for the purposes of this CRB check. This is surely an unnecessary detail!?

Our office manager is one of these people who lives life by instructions and does nothing outside of the conventional rules. She is nice, inoffensive, but very dull. She would never do anything to harm you or anyone else, but I couldn’t see her ever doing anything extraordinary in your defence either. I’ve been sat alone in the office with our office manager for whole days at a time and forgotten she was even there. I often forget she exists. Sometimes I walk into work and when I see her it startles me because I am reminded that she does actually exist. When I received an email off her requesting the relevant documentation required to prove my identity in order to corroborate my CRB application, I asked her if she really needed me to dig out my passport [again] and a recent utility bill [again] and council tax bill [again] to confirm that I was indeed the same work colleague that had been sat across the room from her in the office we have worked in together over the last year, and that I wasn’t someone who had raped and molested children whilst on the run from drug smuggling and multiple murder charges, who had kidnapped the real me and locked him in a room whilst I had corrective surgery on my face and vocal chords like Nicholas Cage in ‘Face Off’ during a period that the real me was off sick or on holiday, in order for me to imitate the real me so that I could sneak into the workplace of the real me and gain access to children so that I could continue my evil paedophile ways?

She said; “Yes”.

She said if she didn’t she could get arrested (I’m really not joking about this bit). So I asked her – “Do you really think the Judge would be able to keep the jury from laughing long enough to actually continue with the resulting court proceedings from your heinous deception?” – but she didn’t want to play my hypothetical game anymore.

The ridiculous thing about verification of identity is that the very people whom you are giving your personal details to aren’t exactly carefully vetted Secret Service Operatives themselves. I was on holiday in Portugal one summer and I had a massive fallout with my then girlfriend, so I decided to go missing for a few hours to get drunk. Whilst I was out drinking I met this character who said he was in the fraud business. He told he ran a team of thieves who stole credit cards off holiday makers and used them to buy goods, which they then sold on to locals who lived and worked in resorts around the Mediterranean islands. He was a generous guy who paid for my drinks all night, and every half hour or so would send me to the toilet with a bag of white powder to snort up my nose.

As the night wore on, this Costa Del Criminal told me funny story after funny story and I found him to be quite a decent bloke. He told me that he didn’t really feel any moral qualms about what he did (he never use the word ‘qualms’ of course, he was a crook) because he was only robbing off the banks, who were robbing bastards anyway (he had a good point there). He said that on the last night of using a card, he would take his team to a brothel and splash out on a night of filth and debauchery. This made sure the banks had to pay out to the family who had their card stolen. I mean, there’s no way any court in the land would believe that Valerie and Allan Stannage took their three kids on holiday to Alcudia and orchestrated the fraud themselves, before indulging in the pleasures of prostitution at ‘El Jefe’s’. He also left me with this little trade secret before I disappeared into drunken unconsciousness and he disappeared into the night; he told me a common way for fraudsters to get private information, was to employ people to get jobs in call centres taking personal data from customers; “Always get the name of the little fucker taking your details mate. Make sure they know that you know who it was who took that call. They get dozens of calls everyday and loads of info, so the ones that are risky they’re not gonna use.” I told you he was a nice bloke.

I know this posting has somewhat rambled on and in some way lost its thematic through-line. However, I hope I’ve managed to impart some wit and wisdom. As much as it’s important for valid identification and safeguarding measures in certain professions, there should also be some safety measures for us. There should also be the application of some common sense. Am I a real person or merely the sum of my documents? And who are these people collecting all my personal information? And why is it that despite me only giving my landline number to close friends and family members, a man named Keith with a strong Indian dialect can call me at home from a call centre in Mumbai to offer me free representation to claim damages back for a car accident I never had in the last three years – and call me by my first and last name!? We all to easily give too much of our personal data to random strangers every day, it’s no surprise that identity theft and fraud is so prolific. It’s only a matter of time before a defence team gets someone off because the prosecution are unable to locate a recent bank or utility bill and relevant picture ID from List B to confirm he was actually the person whom the killers DNA belonged to. Stranger things have happened!