Life on the Farm

Recently I’ve had cause to wax nostalgic about those little virtual pets from the 1990’s. Do you remember them? They were about the size of one of those rubber squeeze coin purses, with a couple of microscopic buttons and a key ring: the ubiquitous companion to 8-year old girls everywhere. They were created in Japan where living space is too limited for anything more than a pet octopus. I never understood why they caught on here in America where I can’t get my kids to feed our real dog on what could be considered a humanely frequent basis. For that matter, I can’t figure out what an 8-year old needs with a keychain, either.

Some of you may be wondering what stimulus could cause me to flash back to those now obscure Happy Meal treats. Others of you will know exactly why they popped into my head. Farm Town. I’m watching my wife play it right now while talking to her eldest on the phone. Yes, a grown woman torn between the emotional needs of that which sprang forth from her own womb and a plot of digital grapes. Allow me to fill any non-Facebookers in on Farm Town.

Facebook, the online community phenom, offers numerous activities you can join your friends in, from racing games to mafia hits to Farm Town. To be honest, I haven’t played any of them. Not because they’re inane wastes of time, but because I’m a very anti-social curmudgeon… I mean, because they’re too complicated for me. But of these none has permeated my world like Farm Town. Everyone in the house is abuzz about it. The wife is talking about “checking the farm,” the boys are glued to the computer screen 25-hours a day… even the dog is playing, although I suspect she just likes looking at the pictures.

Apparently, what you do is accept an invitation from a friend to start your own farm, get plants given to you by these friends, grow the plants on your virtual farm, harvest the crops, sell them, buy more plants and land, accumulate digital farmhouses that will be the envy of all of your virtual friends, and… well, think about it all the time. And that’s the hook that makes it different from other games. If you plant, for instance, grapes, you have to come back online in four hours and harvest them or they die. Plant a fruit tree and it may take a couple of days. I don’t know if you have to feed the goats, but I would if I had crops nearby. My wife has actually given her password to a friend so that said friend can harvest her crops while she is at work! (I’m sure 5 or 6 friends will now be mad that they weren’t chosen as the surrogate harvester.) Does all of this sound familiar? Tamagotchi pets.

To point out the insanity I turned to my wife the other night (we were in our office: I, trying to think of something to fill my next blog; she, harvesting virtual pomegranates) and said, “Honey, do you remember those stupid little virtual pets the girls used to play with back in the 90’s?” Her response, and I quote:

They were very stupid, but look… I can buy fences!

Now, please note that my wife is an exceedingly intelligent woman. Her job is complex and turbulent, yet she wades through it like a neap tide. She is conversant on any number of subjects. She is a very talented photographer. She reads books that have no pictures in them whatsoever. But she is addicted to Farm Town. She says she’s not (“I can quit any time I want”), but I know denial when I hear it (“You think I’m addicted? Look at this girl’s farm. That’s a grain silo, for crying out loud!”).

But hey, what’s a little fun now and then? She did point out that I like to waste time and money hunting animals when there’s plenty of meat at the grocery store. And do I really need to waste time writing a blog when everyone else in the world already has one (http://ultimatetoiletblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/marcos-way-of-rating-toilets.html)? And what about the garden out back with all the weeds in it? The real garden. The one that produces real food. The one with real weeds. I turn to suggest to her that we spend some quality time together by going outside and weeding our garden, but thought better of it as I heard her shout:

I’ve got to get control of these chickens!

"Read My Lips..."

People have been asking why I haven’t added a blog in a while. As if to emphasize the fact that there has been a lull, I didn’t answer. But now I will: I just resigned.

Yep, even in an economy like this I found a way to resign my job. Taking the place of that income is going to be the revenue from people clicking on those little ads over to the right, so, if you don’t want to see Sally Struthers crying over my kids (and an empty package of Oreos) in some infomercial, get to clicking.

What this resignation means is that I will have more time to write on this blog. (I did give them a two weeks notice, so it will be a bit patchy for now.) It also means that I will get a tax break. Here where I live (Jefferson County, AL) one is taxed for working. You read that correctly: if you work in Jefferson County 0.5% of your income goes to the county commission to help pay for things like the sewer bonds they mismanaged. This is in addition to the income tax that the State of Alabama already charges. And if you work in the city of Birmingham, like I did through the next two paychecks, 1.0% of your income goes to help you celebrate your civil right of being treated as an equal to everyone else… except doctors and lawyers, who are exempt from the Occupational Tax.

Before you look at Alabamians as people who are complacent about unjust taxation, to be sure there were many people who felt the Occupational Tax wasn’t right. One of them was a judge, who ruled back in January that the tax was illegal because it had been repealed by the state legislature... nearly ten years earlier! So, he ordered that all Occupational Tax revenues be refunded to the citizens who earned them and that the county commission cease and desist the collection of said tax immediately. Ahhh, had you going there, didn't I? What he actually said is that all of the money they collect from January on be put into a special escrow account until all appeals are exhausted or until such time as the legislature can meet and find a way to make it legal, whichever comes first. In a huge upset it looks as though the State Legislature will win the race: the bill is in the Senate as we speak. And Alabamians are up in arms about it!

This is an excerpt from an actual email I received: “The Senate delegation has REVISED the House bill, excluding professionals. The full Senate will vote on the revised bill... Passing this bill AS IS means NO GUARANTEE for arts funding. Call your reps and let them know how important it is to INCLUDE professionals in the Jefferson County Occupational Tax Bill.”

Yes, by God, if we’re gonna be taxed for being hard working members of the economy, we’re all gonna be taxed - so that we can support “artists” that can’t manage to produce anything with enough merit for someone to buy it. Location may be only one of many reasons it wasn’t “The Mobile Bay Tea Party.” And this kills me, because Bostonians have continued to help re-elect Ted Kennedy to office for something like two centuries, and panicked their city into lockdown over the antics of the Cartoon Network. “The animators are coming, the animators are coming!” Boston is without argument the dumbest city in the country, yet Bostonians were brave enough to stand up in the face of unjust taxation.

Well, no matter. In a matter of weeks I won’t be working in Birmingham or Jefferson County; therefore, I won’t be paying those taxes any more. And it’s a good thing, because I’m going to need all the extra cash I can scrounge to help pay back Obama’s “Making Work Pay” tax credit.
http://finance.yahoo.com/news/INSIDE-WASHINGTON-Rude-apf-15091434.html?.v=1