I have to take this moment to get up on my soap box and say that I'm tired of being discriminated against because I'm single and not fat.

Now, give me a chance to explain.

First, single people in this country are singled-out (no pun intended) in nearly every facet of life. Because I'm single and don't have kids I have to pay more taxes, I have to assume that "family restaurants" are the ones where people can't smoke and the ones where people do smoke are "single people restaurants". Don't forget every assumption made at the office. If a married guy needs some time off or needs to leave early "because they have a kid" then it's always "Oh sure, take as much time as you need. You've got a kid and all." What if I have something I need to take care of? I can already name two situations at work where I've been asked to do something after or before work hours because somebody assumed I had nothing better to do.

This country makes me support churches and families like they're bread and water. I hate churches because they're just obnoxious looking buildings that give people a place to go and hate other people for a few hours. I hate families because everything has to be "family-oriented" or "family-safe". As if to assume that everything else is just wrong and immoral.

And to bring this all together: single and slim, god forbid. Ever try going to a grocery store and buying something healthy for a single guy? It's not easy and everything has to be stamped with a "Family Pack" or "Family Size" label.

Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with people of girth but when every seat and and every aisle in America has to be widened to accommodate fat people, you've gone too far. Slim everything down. After Uncle Joe gets stuck in the chair at the movie theater a few times he might take the hint and eat a salad every once in a while. Hell, even caskets have to be made larger now. And, as a result, the holes have to be dug larger to fit people in. When you've become to fat to fit into the ground, it's time to stop visiting so many "family restaurants".

The Salem Leader
Educationally Speaking
January 7, 2007
Justin Harter

My Day with a Dog

About three years ago I went to a PetSmart to buy a Beta fish and I walked out with a Beta fish and a cat. I know, a likely combination, right? About six months later I went back into that same PetSmart for fish food and walked out with fish food and another cat. The fish has long died and my female cat, Payton, has since ballooned to the size of a baby lamb. My male cat, Dayton, has since grown up and become scared of absolutely everything.

A few weeks ago a good friend of mine needed to go out of town for a weekend and asked if I could look after his dog, Kodi. First, let me tell you that I consider myself a cat person because both of my cats have been declawed to allow for squishy paws that don’t tear or scratch stuff and they’ve both been fixed so they lack kitty hormones. I often refer them as “cat tards” because of their lack of the very things that make them cat-like. They usually just sit around on various fabricated soft spots like the foot of my bed and the top of my head.

Both of my cats don’t require much interaction: they don’t need to be walked or taken outside (Dayton is scared of the sound of wind so there’s not much use in trying). They poop in a box of sand and only need brushing on occasion. That’s perfect for me as I’m often away from my house hours at a time.

Kodi on the other hand is all-dog. He’s a full-bred golden retriever that constantly needs something in it’s mouth, sniffs everything in sight and has a tail powerful enough to paddle a boat up a small river.

The action started when it was time to take him outside. I’m sure if I had a dog while living near Salem I would have just opened the door and the dog would have used any part of Washington County’s vast countryside as its toilet. In the off chance someone would have stepped in it, I’m sure no would have cared. But today, if you step in dog doo-doo and go to work in the same shoes there’s a stigma. And don’t forget that I’m living in Indianapolis so we can’t forget about the leash law.

When I put the leash on Kodi, I opened the door and with his tail wagging full steam ahead, he darted out and dragged me along. I realized he saw my neighbor, Wayne, and kept heaving and wagging until he dragged me over to Wayne’s driveway. Kodi got petted and I got to listen to Wayne talk about his truck’s transmission.

After all that excitement, there was still the matter of the dog’s business. There’s nothing that sucks the fun out of walking around outside on a relatively warm December afternoon than being dragged around by a large dog while carrying a plastic bag for dog poop. I felt like I was prepared and I knew how this worked. I figured out the spring-action leash and I had my official poop purse ready for anything.

Within a few minutes Kodi was in a squatting position and laid down a few logs. All the while he was glaring back at me with the that look on his face that said, “Do you mind?” I turned away until I felt the leash tug at my arm and I went to pickup his mess. I turned the bag inside out and bent over to pickup the mess. It wasn’t pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, but I neatly tied off the bag and I was ready to throw it away.

That’s when I noticed Kodi wasn’t done and had gone back into full-production. There was a lot of stepping, squatting and moving. He may have been trying to spell something out for planes passing overhead, I’m not sure. I looked at my tidy little bag all nicely sealed and realized I was in the awkward position of not having a bag for the new mess and figuring the neighbors were watching. I couldn’t leave this dooty on the ground without fulfilling my duty.

I decided to see if I could untie the bag and reuse it. Do you know what is not effective for picking up warm piles of dog poop? If you guessed “other warm piles of dog poop”, you’ve obviously felt my pain.

The next day at work I told my co-workers my story. One of my dog-loving co-workers referred to the situation as “being double-bagged”. The only thing worse than living that situation is knowing that people actually have a name for it.

Sunday morning when I got out of bed I sat down on the couch and turned on the tee vee to find nothing but 70 channels of infomercials, exercise commercials and weight loss supplement commercials. I imagine around noon NASCAR and football will take the limelight.

My problem with this is that exercise equipment and weight loss pill commercials should be classified as what they are: porn. Have you ever really watched one of those infomercials? It's just a bunch of butch women and ripply-looking men lifting heavy things with close-up shots on the men's armpits and the women's abs as they scrunch stuff.

Compare that to a porn film and I think you'll find a lot of similarities. They both take your money for little in valuable return and both types of programming air during off-times of the day. Either in the early morning or late at night.

And then there's NASCAR. Did you know that after Dale Earnhardt died, Congress passed a resolution proclaiming him as a "Hero"? While a tragedy because a guy died, I guess, it points out that no one in this country is allowed to die. I imagine the conversation at the funeral to go like this:

Visitor: "Oh my goodness. How could this have happened!? One minute he was flying around a big circle turning left really, really hard at 200+ miles per hour and then the next minute he was just gone."

Shocker.

Now, everyone seems fixated on making everything, including NASCAR, safer. Is that really what we want? The people that watch NASCAR only watch it for purposes of watching stuff blow up and explode. If we made it safer we'd just be watching traffic.

I went to the Fashion Mall at the Crossing the other morning and as I walked by the variety of clothing stores, rap music seemed to be the theme. It was ironic to me that so many stores would play rap music so close to suburbia but I realized it makes perfect sense. Kids can understand what they're saying but white guys can't. So, as a public service to you I'm now going to translate a few popular rap songs into white:

The first item is titled "Good Life" by Mr. Kanye West:

[Verse 1]
Welcome to the good life.
An African American has informed what is good.
An African American has educated me about why I should have a problem when you're driving through the neighborhood.
Welcome to the good life.
You know, I have lived in this neighborhood for a while now.
The only thing I wish an African American would do is welcome me to the good life.
He probably thinks he can, but I really don't think he should.
Welcome to the good life.
My co-worker told me to "Go ahead and switch styles; if they don't like the new style that's a shame."
And if they do like the new style, we'll be wealthy.

The next song is titled, "Low" by a Mr. Flo Rida:

[Verse 1]
I have never seen anything that will make me go.
This is not a smart use of my hard-earned money. We can't spend it all in one night.
I had a good vibe but then alcohol made me do it.
My acquaintance's birthday and birthday cake took all the attention.
The other woman in the room was very attractive and limber.
She was very professional while drinking.
Hang on! Oh! Do my eyes deceive me?
I think I saw her give my brother oral sex.
Does it really look like that? It looks different up close.
She asked if I could make it ejaculate down the pole. I said, "Yes. Yes I could."
She worked my penis and I ejaculated into her mouth.
I asked her to remove her clothes.
I asked because I enjoy seeing naked women. Especially when they're performing oral sex.
But, she had a problem with that.
Then, I offered her money to take over her clothes.
She declined, but that's okay.

If you have a song you'd like translated into White, let me know and I'll be happy to translate.

After seeing this as the headline news story on the Indianapolis Star's website, I immediately checked out indy911calls.com to check if maybe, just maybe, there was a rape going down around the corner. Turns out, not even a domestic disturbance.

The Salem Leader
Educationally Speaking
12/24/07
Justin Harter

New Rules for Christmas

I’ve noticed an interesting thing about Christmas this year and it’s clear to me that far fewer people than last year are celebrating it. As I drive around Indy I notice fewer houses are sporting Christmas lights and wreaths. Some homes are putting up those monstrous inflatable nativity scenes featuring Winnie the Pooh and St. Nick, but not many. I wondered, briefly, if this was a sign of the times. Maybe people are hard pressed for money and can’t afford lights or the electricity to power them. My best theory is that people are becoming much more apathetic about the holidays. That’s why I’ve created this short list of new rules for you to follow regarding the holidays.

New rule: no more Christmas cards. I know I’ll take flack for this one, but seriously, how many people still keep their Christmas cards? I don’t like unnecessary clutter in my file cabinets or drawers and I don’t have room to keep half a dozen cards that all say about the same thing. Last year I made my own Christmas cards because I thought they would show a more personal touch. I realized it was just another piece of paper that people had to put somewhere. I always feel bad when I throw away cards and I shouldn’t feel guilty about something so simple. So this year when you don’t get a card from me, it’s not because I’ve stopped liking you; I’ve just stopped liking cards.

Our next new rule: enough with the gift cards. I just realized that gift cards are incredibly thoughtless and I’m just as guilty of using them as you are. Nothing says you put absolutely no thought or effort into thinking of a gift for someone like a gift card. Believe it or not, some people probably don’t like getting a card that acts sort of like money, but not really; and it loses value over time and comes with penalties and restrictions on where you can spend it. If you can’t think of a gift for someone that has real meaning and value you evidently don’t know them very well or you should just give them cash so they can spend it wherever they want.

New rule: no more lists. If you have kids and one of them walked up to you and handed you a list of demands and things they wanted in say, June, for no reason at all you’d probably laugh at them and tell them to get a job. But when that same kid does it in December you promise to look it over with Santa and answer their demands. Countries have gone to war over less than that. I, nor anyone else, should have to make a list. The people that buy me gifts should buy gifts that serve some utility in my life.

New rule: everyone has to realize Christmas trees are a pagan tradition, not a Christian one. I see no good reason to go out into the wilderness, chop down a perfectly good tree, fill it full of junk and stuff it into the corner of my living room to rot for a month. Plus, I have cats and that spells a disaster. But if I did own a tree I’d at least recognize that Christmas trees are a pagan tradition designed to honor the tree and the earth. When the Christian movement got its footing, the tree was just something cutesy they evidently liked. It has nothing to do with Jesus or any other part of Christmas.

New rule: Everyone has to stop telling me that I’ve leaving the “Christ” out of “Christmas” when I write “Xmas”. The symbol “X” was used to represent the Greek symbol “chi”, which is also the first letter in “Christ”. That usage has been around since Roman times. So when you tell me I’m leaving out the “Christ”, I’m really not.

New rule: I’m asking that everyone stop complaining when someone says “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas”. Here in reality lots of people celebrate lots of different things. I know several people that don’t even celebrate anything around “the holidays” because they’re single, divorced or downright lonely. Cheerful attitudes and the assumption that everyone gets to be happy around this time of year only sadden some people and irritate others. Just say “Happy Indiana Winter” and we’ll all be on the same page.

New rule: people who celebrate Christmas have to stop thinking that’s the mightiest holiday in the history of the universe. Realize that everyone’s a skeptic…about other religions.

And lastly, new rule: Everyone has to volunteer to do something nice for someone they don’t know year-round. Christmas and other major holidays serve a good purpose for reminding us to do good things for people who can’t get their foot in the world’s door. There is no reason why the Salvation Army has to have bell ringers only around Christmas. There is no reason why we only have food drives and clothing drives around Christmas. Everyday should be like Christmas for everyone.

On Monday I went to a Wal-Mart and a guy wearing a turban and of obvious middle-eastern descent looked at me like I'm a terrorist. I know, I know, but let me explain. I needed an air compressor that was small, relatively inexpensive and useful for my needs. Compressors at hardware stores like Lowe's were too powerful, too large and too expensive for my needs. I just needed to air up a bike tire and blow the dust out of my Roomba.

Wal-Mart had an air compressor that was $70 and was the right size and power for my needs. So I caved and after researching it online, I went to Wal-Mart and picked it up.

That's not the funny part.

The funny part is when I walked up to the self-checkout, noticed how trashy all the customers looked and silently bit my lip at all the people incapable of figuring out the U-Scan checkout. Haven't we had those around long enough for people to understand how to scan a barcode!?

After I checked out, I walked out the door only to hear the alarm ding. The store greeter charged with tagging returning items and marking your receipt with a highlighter when the alarm goes off looked at me. With his turban.

I noticed the guy's name tag read "Singh". He was wearing a blue turban and looked at me like I was a terrorist. Me, a pasty white guy carrying a large blue tank, was asked to step forward to have the guy look at my receipt. I only bought one thing and somehow this procedure took several minutes. Evidently the item was too hard to identify on the receipt between the glossy slogans telling me how much I could have saved if I bought more Chinese lead-laden crap.

I hate the holidays. They're pointless anymore, really. Why people need a reason to be giving, caring and see the family is beyond me. The people that generally hate everyone put that hate aside for a day only to be twice as hateful for the rest of the year. The people that are naturally nice and giving give twice as hard on one day of the year to make themselves feel ever good-er.

Don't even get me started on the commercialization of the Christmas holiday. The only things I want this year are an Apple TV, Season 8 of ER, a new camera, and new office furniture from IKEA. I hate asking for things.

It's supposed to snow again this weekend in central Indiana. Indianapolis residents are holding onto their wigs and keys and preparing for back-breaking shoveling of anywhere between a dusting and 27 inches of snow.

Of course, the weathermen on TV are falling all over themselves to cover the developing storm and the producers are likely orgasming in the background while cameramen salivate at where to position their cameras. The ad guys are in the back of the studio right now banging out the next scary commercial. It'll go something like this:

"We've got school closings! We've got kids sledding! We've got guys pushing cars out of a ditch! We've got cameras mounted on the hoods of snow plows in Fishers and we've got footage of old women stuck in the snow! Watch us! Watch us!"

That might seem a little over-the-top to you now but next time your local TV station airs a commercial before a pending snowfall, you'll see at least 4 of the 5 things I just mentioned.

Rumor has it that local Indy stations position their cameramen at certain area hot-spots for "all the best footage" during a storm. I know that most reporters position themselves somewhere around 116th Street and I-69 in Fishers, I-70 and I-465 and Shadeland on the east side and usually somewhere between Franklin and Greenwood along I-65 on the south side. Inquiring minds want to know: "where are the other spots?"

I have an annoucement to make: I no longer shop at Marsh. I know, the horror, right?

Marsh used to be Central Indiana's hometown grocery chain. It competed with Kroger and the other big-box retailers. However, financial problems led to the company's sale over a year ago to a Florida-based retailer. Now, Marsh is undergoing many changes at many of its locations.

The Marsh in Fishers was fantastic with a full-service meat counter and all sorts of baked goods and deli items. In comparison to the Kroger next door, I could actually find argula and Pepsi One at Marsh.

The Marsh at Beech Grove, near where I live now, was rather nice, too. Until a few weeks ago when they changed everything. They've been moving things around every time I walk into that store and they've removed the full-service meat counter. Just when I got used to facing south when I bought ground beef, they make me fact south west, damnit!

So, I've started shopping at the adjacent Kroger in Beech Grove. They seem to have a handle on where things ought to belong.

In my travels to Kroger yesterday I walked around looking for a particular type of bread similar to the bread at Penn Station so I can make my own homemade Chicken Teriyaki sandwiches. In doing so, a middle-aged woman was wandering around with her much-older-looking hubbie. She kept saying "It used to be right here." She went to the counter and asked one woman where the "bread with natural oats" was. The woman at the counter looked puzzled for a moment, not realizing that someone would be so stupid as to think if it's not on the shelf it must not be anywhere.

They came around to the bread rack where I was squeezing some French breads and they indicated, "we must be all out." The woman, upon leaving the area, could be overheard saying, "These people work here. It's like they don't know what's here and what's not."

I've never worked in retail or food service, but even I know the people working there only work there for a couple extra bucks on the weekends. The place is staffed mostly with high school kids and young people who obviously didn't make the leap into an educated career.

As for the woman and her oats: I bet she shops at Marsh now.

The Salem Leader
Educationally Speaking
12/10/07
Justin Harter

The Justin Harter Tax Plan

Avid readers of my column will remember a column I wrote recently about my lack of good timing during my move into my new home. This week, I share with you an elaboration of one point I made in that column regarding income taxes.

I knew my income taxes would be going up as I was moving from Hamilton to Marion County. I just didn’t know how much. A few weeks ago at work when I received my pay stub I turned to a few co-workers and we figured out the rate that we’re all being taxed. I’m being taxed at a rate 13% higher than a married woman with a working husband and 10% higher than a single woman living in an adjacent county. I have two cats. One of them may need to go hungry for a while next year when the new taxes come into play. At that point, my total annual contributions to the City of Indianapolis, State of Indiana, FICA/Social Security and the US Government will total over $4,000 a year. That’s with a deduction applied to my income.

I’m 20 years old. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I likely won’t ever get to use Social Security in my lifetime because a bunch of other people all decided to have babies at the same time. I’m not married and can only live off my single income. I’m going to school and receive bills for thousands of dollars to go to a public university funded in part by my own tax dollars.

I ask the question: “All for what? This utopia will call America?” I’ve officially had it with all things taxable. The government – local, state and federal – tax me for schools, roads, hospitals, police and fire protection. I live in Indianapolis so schools evidently aren’t a priority. IPS has five schools in its ranks with more dropouts than graduates. Our roadways are choked to the shoulder with cars and are full of potholes and faded paint lines. The hospitals cost too much even though they are subsidized to an extent and our police and fire protection are swell to have – just when you need them. It’s not everyday I call the fire department. Frankly, I’d rather pay to have the fire department show up and get a doctor for free. My car insurance is too expensive, gas is pricey (although, it takes a lot to refine gasoline so I can’t complain too much) and college should be dirt cheap or free.

Here now, I present to you a part of the Justin Harter Tax Plan. Governor Daniels has his, House Speak Pat Bauer (D-South Bend) has his and now it’s time for someone to hear mine.

My plan works like this: eliminate the entire budge. Delete it. Pretend it never existed and start from scratch. Now that we’re starting over, figure out how much money it takes to provide acceptable mass transit where useful, decent hospitals and police and fire protection and make that the base amount needed so we can figure out what rate to tax people.

Require all students to finish high school. No one finishes with anything less. I don’t care if you’re 30 and sitting in a senior English classroom. Dropouts cost this state in millions of dollars in lost income taxes.

Eliminate city governments for any “city” less than 10,000 people. Sorry David Bower, but your and your staff’s salary aren’t helping. Making Salem a town means that there would be no full-time staffers like a Mayor. You pay a few guys a few thousand dollars a year for meeting every Tuesday night to make up some laws. In areas like Washington County, Salem is so closely tied to the economy it doesn’t even make sense to have a City and a County Council. Merge the two and leave it staffed with seven members. Take it further and merge the police, too.

Additionally, universities should be paid for out of corporate taxes only. Corporations and firms want to hire talented people with lots of skills. It’s only fair that they should pay for the skills they desire. If they want someone to design a magazine cover then send someone to design school and pay for it. Most people only go to college so they can make a little more money in the long run anyway.

My plan also calls for building real mass transit so people can sell or save on cars, gas and insurance. Then you don’t need as many roads, either. That should save you thousands of dollars.

It’s better if we all pitch in a few bucks to receive something greater. It works very well for some things now, like water works. To pay for better services, each taxing unit has to behave like I do: if you don’t need it, put it back. I wouldn’t at all be surprised to learn that the city pays thousands of dollars for things of no real benefit: like a mural for City Hall.

The Salem Leader
Educationally Speaking
Justin Harter
11.26.2007

I did not actually say that

I’ve had a lousy couple of weeks. They’re so many stories I could tell you about my last couple weeks that I could fill this entire newspaper. Instead, I’ll focus on just one that proves I’m becoming a crotchety old man.

Regular readers will know that I recently purchased a house. I’m becoming increasingly convinced that I’m currently the youngest homeowner in America. I came to that conclusion by going to my university campus and utilizing a procedure known as “walking around and listening to young people saying things”.  Since I’ve owned my home I’ve already put hundreds of dollars into minor improvements – things like knobs, mowers (remember the lawn mower story?), paint and other pieces of hardware.

While I’m a fan of my house, I hate my backyard. My house sits on the only hill in central Indiana. I dare anyone to find a hill north of Columbus. You will not find one because it sits under my house. As a result of being on a hill, the grass has a difficult time taking hold and growing evenly. When I moved in I had several bare spots where grass has been washed away or damaged. I promptly put some grass seed down, sprayed weed killer on the weeds and watered my lawn while it was still warm outside. For a while I thought my backyard was making a comeback – until I learned what was really causing most of the damage to my backyard: kids.

My house sits on a typical semi-suburban cul-de-saq in a typical-looking housing addition. (For those of you familiar with Indianapolis, I live on the far north side of Beech Grove). My addition isn’t that large; maybe 40 houses sit in the neighborhood. However, every Saturday my home is overtaken by about 30 neighborhood kids. I say “kids” because the oldest looks about 13 years old.

I’m not sure what you call a large group of kids that walk around together. It might be called a “pack” or “group” or “gaggle” but I’m not certain. So for reference I’m going to make up a word and call them a “kidaggle”. This “kidaggle” utilizes sneaky, underhanded techniques for annoying people such as “ringing the doorbell and running away” and “using Justin’s deck as a storage closet” and “digging holes in my neighbors’ lawn”. Most of the “kidaggle” members enjoy playing football in mine and my neighbors’ backyards. The corner of my yard acts as the end zone.

I’ve repeatedly warned the kids that use my deck as a closet. I often find coats, video game systems and shoes on my deck. My solution is to pick up the items on my deck and bring them inside. I set their items in front of the kitchen door, which leads onto the porch. It’s a large, sliding glass door so as the kids walk back and forth they soon realize all their belongings are in my kitchen. Eventually, when one comes knocking on my door, I’ll hand the items over and tell them to keep off my deck.

My neighbor two houses down yelled at the “kidaggle” on one Saturday morning for repeatedly ringing doorbells and running away. The leaders of the “kidaggle” claimed “it was probably the teenagers” despite my having seen one of them run up to my front door.

That same Saturday, after having caught them disregarding universal doorbell laws, I was sitting in my home office working and I repeatedly heard a thumping noise on the side of my house. I looked outside and it was the sound of a football hitting the ground – each time taking a piece of my lawn with it. I walked out on to my porch to find a handheld video game system on my deck. The “kidaggle” did not seem fazed by my presence. Thus, I went inside and promptly called the Indianapolis police. A short time later, two police cruisers rolled up in front of my house and two officers met me in my front yard. I explained the situation and the officers quietly walked up to the kids in my backyard and told them to scram. My neighbors were giving me nods of approval as they came out to witness the event. So far, my backyard has been free of kids and I have the Indianapolis Police in my cell phone’s speed dial list.

For the record, I did not personally run out of my house screaming, “Stay off my lawn!” That would make me seem like a really cranky old man. Instead, the police said “stay off people’s lawns”. By default that makes me slightly less cranky.

In August of this year I received a letter in the mail from the IUPUI Office of Student Scholarships telling me that I had received a scholarship for a free parking permit for the Fall 2007 semester. In the letter, I was told to afix a sticker to my car to identify myself as an IUPUI "Road Scholar". I thought it was cool and placed the sticker on the back of my car just above the rear dash taillight. Since the sticker was about the size of a bumper sticker, I stuck it there to keep it out of my view.

In putting the sticker on the back of my car it dawned on me that anyone looking for permits on campus would notice my lack of one hanging in the mirror. So, I made one to stick up there that said "IUPUI Road Scholar. Permit in Back". That system, known as reading the permit, worked well all semester until yesterday evening.

Yesterday evening I parked in a student parking lot at 3:49 PM, like normal, and headed in for my Ethics course. I came back out to the lot to find an empty spot.

So, I called campus police to report that my car was stolen. After a few transfers and talking to people that know nothing about anything, I learned my car had been towed away for reasons unknown to anyone in the greater Indianapolis area.

After about half an hour of wandering around campus yelling "here Toyota, Toyota, Toyota", I learned that my car had been towed because of what Parking Services deemed "a counterfit permit". Evidently, a sticker issued by my own university was from the Chinese IUPUI and not the American IUPUI.

After paying IUPUI $150 to release my citation and after publicly berating the moron at the parking services for not knowing what a Road Scholar was, I was given a ride to the tow lot where I paid another $75 to get my car "out of storage". Nevermind that my car wasn't actually stored anywhere, it was just behind a fence.

After about another 25 minutes I drove on my way, really really really mad. Really. Mad.

So, today, the day after permit-gate, I took a personal day at work so I could track down every living soul that had ever even muttered the words "Road" and "Scholar" in a sentence. Turns out the letter that was sent in 2007 and the one being sent for the 2008 semester differ by one sentence. That sentence reads, "You are still responsible for retrieving your own E permit". See, that's what English types like to call "a very important, specific, command". Commands are things we are commanded to do as in, you know, actually doing something.

I filed my appeal with parking services today. Along with the original letter that didn't say, anywhere, that I had to get one of the standard-issue permits, and along with photos of the sticker firmly adhering to the back of my car's window. Additionally, I enclosed all my receipts and am demanding IUPUI reimburse me for all of my expenses.

Not to mention the really fun part: if they deny my appeal I'll gladly write a letter to every dean, president, chancellor, news outlet, tv station and newspaper in town explaining my situation. I really don't like to argue; except when I know I'm right.

In the meantime, I have to go do a stop-payment on those pesky charges.

The Salem Leader
Educationally Speaking
11.12.07
Justin Harter

A day well spent

Last Tuesday was election day, the day where counted Americans run out to the polls and cast a ballot for someone who they’ll end up hating in two years. When I turned 18 I was excited that I somehow, magically, overnight, earned the right to vote. Then, I moved to Indianapolis. I no longer knew the political landscape in Indianapolis or Salem anymore for that matter; thus I felt I was too uninformed to vote. Then, I moved to Noblesville, and then to Fishers. Each time in the late months of the year and I never knew the political landscape and I never lived in my district long enough to be eligible to vote. Until this year!

Since I moved into my new home in mid September, I’ve lived in my district for the required 30 days. I went to the license branch the Saturday before election day and got my license updated with the BMV and had registered to vote in my new district by the deadline. Then, come election day, I looked up the location of my polling place. It turned out to be just around the block at a Methodist church.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I went up to the front door and I walked in. I quickly glanced around the room and noticed the average age of the people sitting in the room was probably 60 years old. I was the only voter in the room; this is likely because as a State employee I’m granted Election Day off as a holiday and I was voting at 11:30 in the morning.

Two people then greeted me with the Bart Peterson for Mayor (D-Indianapolis, Incumbent) campaign. They handed me a pamphlet urging me to vote for the incumbent mayor and the Democrat candidates for City-County Council (Indianapolis and Marion County operate under a Uni-Gov form of government similar to Louisville and Jefferson County). They stood directly in front of a sign that said, “No campaigning beyond this point”.

The elderly people in the room looked at me and in unison they all seemed to say, “Where’s your coat!? That young man is going catch a cold!” I shrugged this off because I didn’t want to explain that I hate wearing a coat while I drive and I hate putting it on just to jaunt across two parking spaces and a sidewalk.

I walked up to a table where I handed over my driver’s license and had my Voter Registration confirmation in hand just in case of a mix-up at the Clerk’s office. They reviewed my name in the book, confirmed my address and handed me a ballot. Then they proceeded to tell me where I could fill out the ballot and where to insert the ballot after I finished voting.

I stood in a little booth with a pen and the ballot and proceeded to fill out the bubbles for the corresponding candidates as I was quickly recalling which council member voted for specific ordinances that I agreed with.

I felt very informed about my decisions. I read dozens of political weblogs (commonly referred to as “blogs”) and websites daily related to local and federal politics. I read every news story in every local news publication regarding Indianapolis’ political landscape and did my research about who voted for what and how they accomplished what they said they accomplished. In doing so I learned several candidates for City-County Council said they solved jail overcrowding. Turns out, they just made it easier for criminals to get out of jail, thus, not really solving anything.

As a first-time voter, I feel a unique sense of civic pride that comes from casting a ballot. Even though it sounds cliché, I have to say that it’s very important you get out and cast your votes when you have the opportunity. I can even give you an example why. At the time of this writing (on election night), Indianapolis Mayor Bart Peterson is behind in the polls by 7 points to challenger Greg Ballard (R) with 70% of the precincts reporting. Bart Peterson was considered by many to be untouchable with a million dollars of campaign cash in the bank and plenty of political support from the local Democratic Party. Greg Ballard, however, was considered a real underdog with only a few thousand dollars in the bank and little name recognition and little support from the GOP. In the final months before the election, Peterson raised the city’s income tax 65% at the same time property tax bills were arriving in the mail that set off a firestorm around the state regarding taxes. Now, it appears campaign cash and support aren’t enough and that voters aren’t easily swayed by flashy ads and slogans. Now, it seems, American democracy is alive and well. Today, I am proud to be a voter in the democratic process.

Brandon and I carved pumpkins this weekend. It was a lot of fun and they're both sitting on the front step of my house. I find it ironic that I carved a piece of fruit in the front of a vegetable. I'm going to call mine the "iLantern" or "iPunkin". View more photos here.

I have another new cat in the house now. Apple's new Mac OS X "Leopard" has pounced and is now inside a shiny new iMac sitting on my desk. It's a gorgeous piece of work. View more photos here.