Showing posts with label government. Show all posts
Showing posts with label government. Show all posts
Monday, May 16, 2011
Disconnect
The above video is of Mike Rowe from Discovery's Dirty Jobs speaking before the Commerce, Science, and Transportation Committee on the importance of trade skills/jobs. He makes excellent points about how, in general, this type of knowledge and job is looked down upon by American society, and how important it is that people understand and realize the value of it.
He also make a fantastic point about the disconnect many people have about where the conveniences of their lives come from. They don't think about where food comes from, how electricity is generated, or who makes their clothing. This, in turn, leads to a devaluing of the people and processes that bring them into existence--even though everyone wants/needs them.
Another point touched upon is how there are actually many jobs currently available in skilled labor (~450,00 jobs), but there is a lack of qualified workers. One thing he mentioned that especially rang true to me is how the average age of a third of the skilled labor workforce in Alabama is over the age of 55 and looking to retire, with no one to replace them. This did not surprise me at all, as one of the things my Papa talked about for years before he retired was how Boeing would soon be in a world of hurt because their maintenance people were all aging out of the work force, and there were no noticeable upcoming replacements.
Really I'm not doing the video or Mr. Rowe justice; just click play and watch it.
Monday, May 2, 2011
This too, shall pass
"Do you mind if I step out to smoke while you set up the next board?" Hip Gamer asked as Never Too Old started pulling out a new map and arranging mini-figs on it.
"No, go ahead. It'll be a moment," Never Too Old replied.
Hip Gamer and Something Catchy went outside while Sam and Curly milled around getting drinks and chatting with Never Too Old. Walking Hyperbole had left earlier that evening to rescue Adorable Nurse from a flat tire, so Curly was filling in for him.
I stayed in my chair, feet tucked under me to try and keep them warm. The weather had turned suddenly cold and wet that day, and the house was protesting the abuse. Pulling out my iPhone-turned-iTouch, I first checked in on Facebook and then scanned over Twitter to see what was what. As I idly made my way up the series of tweets an announcement that President Obama would soon be addressing the nation caught my eye.
That's strange, I thought to myself. Why would he be having a press conference this late on a Sunday night?
About that time, Hip Gamer and Something Catchy returned and took their places at the table, and the quest to rid the temple of invading Gnolls resumed.
My character (Moira, not Annie) had just buried an arrow in the shoulder of a Gnoll when the sound of Mario catching a mushroom filled the air. All eyes turned to Hip Gamer as he pulled out his phone to check the text message.
"Holy crap," Hip Gamer said, surprise plain upon his face. "I'm glad Rapier Wit keeps an eye on the news. Osama bin Laden's dead!"
"I had wondered why the President was holding a press conference..." I mumbled to myself, pulling my phone back out and accessing my list of political blogs.
Everyone babbled atop one another as more details of the raid emerged. Poor Never Too Old kept trying to push us through the encounter so we could wrap up for the night, but I at least was distracted from the game.
It was difficult to wrap my brain around the idea that bin Laden was dead. 9/11 occurred my senior year of high school, and in many ways was the defining moment when I entered into the adult world. That day marked the first time when I could truly understand the implications of a major event. Nearly ten years later, the man responsible was finally taken down.
The euphoria of the moment startled me.
It is a bizarre moment to realize that you are celebrating the death of another human being. But I also recognized that I would have felt that same euphoria had I heard that we had captured bin Laden, as opposed to having killed him. It wasn't that he was dead--it was that that particular chapter of our history was now, hopefully, closed.
An end of an era, if you will.
"No, go ahead. It'll be a moment," Never Too Old replied.
Hip Gamer and Something Catchy went outside while Sam and Curly milled around getting drinks and chatting with Never Too Old. Walking Hyperbole had left earlier that evening to rescue Adorable Nurse from a flat tire, so Curly was filling in for him.
I stayed in my chair, feet tucked under me to try and keep them warm. The weather had turned suddenly cold and wet that day, and the house was protesting the abuse. Pulling out my iPhone-turned-iTouch, I first checked in on Facebook and then scanned over Twitter to see what was what. As I idly made my way up the series of tweets an announcement that President Obama would soon be addressing the nation caught my eye.
That's strange, I thought to myself. Why would he be having a press conference this late on a Sunday night?
About that time, Hip Gamer and Something Catchy returned and took their places at the table, and the quest to rid the temple of invading Gnolls resumed.
My character (Moira, not Annie) had just buried an arrow in the shoulder of a Gnoll when the sound of Mario catching a mushroom filled the air. All eyes turned to Hip Gamer as he pulled out his phone to check the text message.
"Holy crap," Hip Gamer said, surprise plain upon his face. "I'm glad Rapier Wit keeps an eye on the news. Osama bin Laden's dead!"
"I had wondered why the President was holding a press conference..." I mumbled to myself, pulling my phone back out and accessing my list of political blogs.
Everyone babbled atop one another as more details of the raid emerged. Poor Never Too Old kept trying to push us through the encounter so we could wrap up for the night, but I at least was distracted from the game.
It was difficult to wrap my brain around the idea that bin Laden was dead. 9/11 occurred my senior year of high school, and in many ways was the defining moment when I entered into the adult world. That day marked the first time when I could truly understand the implications of a major event. Nearly ten years later, the man responsible was finally taken down.
The euphoria of the moment startled me.
It is a bizarre moment to realize that you are celebrating the death of another human being. But I also recognized that I would have felt that same euphoria had I heard that we had captured bin Laden, as opposed to having killed him. It wasn't that he was dead--it was that that particular chapter of our history was now, hopefully, closed.
An end of an era, if you will.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Hard sacrifices
I grew up in a union house.
My mother, once upon a time, was a union steward at Ma Bell (yes, back before they broke up into the Baby Bells we all know today). My father has been a proud member of the IAM union for well over 30 years, and even though he's now retired, he still pays his dues to the union.
Papa went on strike five times during his time at "the flying-B ranch," if I remember correctly. As a child, I didn't really understand the significance of it. It just meant that every four years my Daddy would vote on a contract, and sometimes that contract was bad and my father would be home a lot more than usual.
As I grew older, going on strike in my head meant financial worries and stress for my parents--would we be able to pay our bills, have food, etc. The food, of course, was supplemented by the union. Cereal, beans, rice, peanut butter, flour, sugar, canned corn, canned green beans--anything that had a shelf life and was cheap. But the rest of it... I knew families that lost houses, or cars, or got way behind on bills because they were on strike.
My parents lost their first house due to a strike. It's why I grew up in my home town.
But, for all of that, I never remember either of my parents expressing regret for "going on strike." They also instilled in me the idea that it was The Right Thing To Do when necessary.
I remember how angry my parents would get when the local media would try to present the strike as an argument over wages. My father told me more than once that it wasn't about wage increases, but what was happening with the benefits. In the sixties, seventies, and eighties, the company (in exchange for not raising wages at the time) agreed to pay for their employees' insurance, to provide pensions, and to ensure that a worker could not be arbitrarily laid off because they were making too much money in comparison to younger workers. Later on, as health costs started rising and pensions became rarer and rarer in industry at large, they would try to take those away from the workers. And the union, because they could negotiate their contract for the group as a whole, could go on strike and force the company to honor previous agreements and ideas.
Because these people were willing to put their homes and families' well being on the line, they would walk away with a better contract than what they started off with (or, at least, one that wasn't worse than the previous). And because the big manufacturers in the city would provide benefits or increase wages for their workers, the smaller industries in the are would follow suit to a certain extent, and everyone benefited.
Too often, people who go on strike are presented in the media as these lazy, greedy people who are trying to screw businesses out of profits. In reality, these are often people who work in dirty, dangerous, and/or tedious jobs, and oftentimes would work more than 40 hours a week at it. And they'd put everything on the line to help their fellow workers out.
I started thinking about all of this, because I've been keeping an eye on the situation in Wisconsin, where the governor there is trying to push a bill through the legislature to remove the right for public employees to do collective bargaining, a.k.a. have unions. I've also been reading about the thousands of protesters who've been storming the capitol, even to the extent where the governor has been forced to do government business at a nearby corporation because he could not get into the capitol building.
I confess, I did a bit of cheering in my living room this afternoon when I read about various members of the state senate who have gone out of state to prevent there being a quorum so that the legislation does not pass.
Basically, I wanted to let my little part of the world know that I support the workers in Wisconsin. Because I do understand what it's about, and I'm proud of them for making hard choices.
After all, I grew up in a union house.
My mother, once upon a time, was a union steward at Ma Bell (yes, back before they broke up into the Baby Bells we all know today). My father has been a proud member of the IAM union for well over 30 years, and even though he's now retired, he still pays his dues to the union.
Papa went on strike five times during his time at "the flying-B ranch," if I remember correctly. As a child, I didn't really understand the significance of it. It just meant that every four years my Daddy would vote on a contract, and sometimes that contract was bad and my father would be home a lot more than usual.
As I grew older, going on strike in my head meant financial worries and stress for my parents--would we be able to pay our bills, have food, etc. The food, of course, was supplemented by the union. Cereal, beans, rice, peanut butter, flour, sugar, canned corn, canned green beans--anything that had a shelf life and was cheap. But the rest of it... I knew families that lost houses, or cars, or got way behind on bills because they were on strike.
My parents lost their first house due to a strike. It's why I grew up in my home town.
But, for all of that, I never remember either of my parents expressing regret for "going on strike." They also instilled in me the idea that it was The Right Thing To Do when necessary.
I remember how angry my parents would get when the local media would try to present the strike as an argument over wages. My father told me more than once that it wasn't about wage increases, but what was happening with the benefits. In the sixties, seventies, and eighties, the company (in exchange for not raising wages at the time) agreed to pay for their employees' insurance, to provide pensions, and to ensure that a worker could not be arbitrarily laid off because they were making too much money in comparison to younger workers. Later on, as health costs started rising and pensions became rarer and rarer in industry at large, they would try to take those away from the workers. And the union, because they could negotiate their contract for the group as a whole, could go on strike and force the company to honor previous agreements and ideas.
Because these people were willing to put their homes and families' well being on the line, they would walk away with a better contract than what they started off with (or, at least, one that wasn't worse than the previous). And because the big manufacturers in the city would provide benefits or increase wages for their workers, the smaller industries in the are would follow suit to a certain extent, and everyone benefited.
Too often, people who go on strike are presented in the media as these lazy, greedy people who are trying to screw businesses out of profits. In reality, these are often people who work in dirty, dangerous, and/or tedious jobs, and oftentimes would work more than 40 hours a week at it. And they'd put everything on the line to help their fellow workers out.
I started thinking about all of this, because I've been keeping an eye on the situation in Wisconsin, where the governor there is trying to push a bill through the legislature to remove the right for public employees to do collective bargaining, a.k.a. have unions. I've also been reading about the thousands of protesters who've been storming the capitol, even to the extent where the governor has been forced to do government business at a nearby corporation because he could not get into the capitol building.
I confess, I did a bit of cheering in my living room this afternoon when I read about various members of the state senate who have gone out of state to prevent there being a quorum so that the legislation does not pass.
Basically, I wanted to let my little part of the world know that I support the workers in Wisconsin. Because I do understand what it's about, and I'm proud of them for making hard choices.
After all, I grew up in a union house.
Monday, January 10, 2011
My Brother's Keeper
By this point, I'm sure most of you have heard about the attempted assassination of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords in Arizona on Saturday which resulted in six dead and many more wounded. It's a horrific event, which is something I feel every person, no matter their creed, can agree on.
In the wake of the tragedy, there's been an instant, visceral response from both of the main ideologies in America. The left wing immediately started coming out decrying the violent political rhetoric which the right has been increasingly using over the past three years. The right wing's instant reaction was to reply that this man is obviously unhinged and how dare they presume that the right had anything to do with it. If anything his history suggests that he's a left-wing nutjob.
Watching it unfold, all I could think of was Cain's line to God in Genesis 4:9, when God is wondering where Abel is: "I do not know. Am I my brother's keeper?"
To me, that question goes to the heart of the differences between the right and the left. In any incident, no matter how great or how horrible, the ideology of the right says that they are not responsible for their brother, but only themselves. The ideology of the left would say that they are responsible not only for themselves, but for the life and conditions of their brother as well, and everyone should help whether they want to or not. For example, look at their views on things like market regulations, food stamps, climate control, gun control, unemployment, affirmative action... the list goes on and on.
With market regulations, the right insists that because everyone is looking out for themselves, people will act in their self-interest and won't do anything too detrimental, as in the end other self-interested people will react and make the instigator's business fail. The left replies that the other self-interested people wouldn't have enough power to truly affect the instigator, and so to prevent market failures regulations need to be in place to prevent people breaking the system. And back and forth and back and forth...
With food stamps/welfare, the right insists that by helping out those less fortunate, they're just encouraging those using welfare not to go back to work or improve their lives, and why should they have to pay for someone else's mistakes. The left replies that sometimes Bad Things Happen, and not having a safety net there to catch their brother when they fall will result in further Bad Things such as increased crime and poverty, and so You Should Help Them No Matter What. And back and forth and back and forth...
With climate control... well, you get the picture. Obviously, their views on these subjects have been simplified a bit to fit within the context (and length) of this post. Still, the underlying theme of their arguments, regardless of the topic, seems to run thusly:
And we can see it playing out in the discussion of rhetoric in the wake of the shooting.
The most obvious example that will get play again and again is Sarah Palin's website that had posted a map with gun crosshairs over various districts that Democratic representatives, including Rep. Giffords. Honestly, I doubt Ms. Palin ever intended or dreamed that someone may take that to mean that a person should go out and actually shoot one of the people listed on the map. And, to be honest, I doubt that her map had anything to do with why Jared Loughner attempted to assassinate Rep. Giffords.
However.
It very easily could have been. As Rep. Steve Driehaus stated last March (after then-Minority Leader Boehner suggested Driehaus would be a "dead man" for his vote on health care), "It doesn't really matter the way you meant it, nor the way I accept. It's how the least sane person in my district accepts it."
It saddens me greatly that there are so many people who are unwilling to acknowledge that their words and actions, however indirectly, have consequences. If you tell people that a portion of the country (progressives) is a cancer that's trying to kill us all, that environmentalists are the same as jihadists, that having a revolution every now and then is a good thing, and to not retreat but instead, reload, sooner or later the odds are someone is going to take you seriously.
I don't hold with the idea that we should restrict people's ability to express their frustrations, even if it uses violent imagery. I do, however, believe that if you use it, you need to be prepared to take responsibility for your words.
I don't blame Sarah Palin or Glenn Beck for what happened. I don't blame Barrack Obama, or Keith Olbermann either. But I would exhort everybody, no matter their faith, creed, or ideology, to truly think about the power of their words.
Because I do believe I am my brother's keeper.
In the wake of the tragedy, there's been an instant, visceral response from both of the main ideologies in America. The left wing immediately started coming out decrying the violent political rhetoric which the right has been increasingly using over the past three years. The right wing's instant reaction was to reply that this man is obviously unhinged and how dare they presume that the right had anything to do with it. If anything his history suggests that he's a left-wing nutjob.
Watching it unfold, all I could think of was Cain's line to God in Genesis 4:9, when God is wondering where Abel is: "I do not know. Am I my brother's keeper?"
To me, that question goes to the heart of the differences between the right and the left. In any incident, no matter how great or how horrible, the ideology of the right says that they are not responsible for their brother, but only themselves. The ideology of the left would say that they are responsible not only for themselves, but for the life and conditions of their brother as well, and everyone should help whether they want to or not. For example, look at their views on things like market regulations, food stamps, climate control, gun control, unemployment, affirmative action... the list goes on and on.
With market regulations, the right insists that because everyone is looking out for themselves, people will act in their self-interest and won't do anything too detrimental, as in the end other self-interested people will react and make the instigator's business fail. The left replies that the other self-interested people wouldn't have enough power to truly affect the instigator, and so to prevent market failures regulations need to be in place to prevent people breaking the system. And back and forth and back and forth...
With food stamps/welfare, the right insists that by helping out those less fortunate, they're just encouraging those using welfare not to go back to work or improve their lives, and why should they have to pay for someone else's mistakes. The left replies that sometimes Bad Things Happen, and not having a safety net there to catch their brother when they fall will result in further Bad Things such as increased crime and poverty, and so You Should Help Them No Matter What. And back and forth and back and forth...
With climate control... well, you get the picture. Obviously, their views on these subjects have been simplified a bit to fit within the context (and length) of this post. Still, the underlying theme of their arguments, regardless of the topic, seems to run thusly:
Right: No matter what is going on, I am responsible only for myself. I do not want or need interference from anyone around me, especially the government, and I do not wish to involve myself in anyone else's problem, unless it affects me personally.
Left: Not only am I responsible for myself, but as a person I am also responsible for the common welfare of my fellow humans. As such, I need to make sacrifices and involve myself in the lives of those around me, regardless of their effect on me personally.Of course, in real life people aren't generally this black and white, with people crossing over to one side or the other on various issues. But, again, we're talking about the underlying ideas.
And we can see it playing out in the discussion of rhetoric in the wake of the shooting.
The most obvious example that will get play again and again is Sarah Palin's website that had posted a map with gun crosshairs over various districts that Democratic representatives, including Rep. Giffords. Honestly, I doubt Ms. Palin ever intended or dreamed that someone may take that to mean that a person should go out and actually shoot one of the people listed on the map. And, to be honest, I doubt that her map had anything to do with why Jared Loughner attempted to assassinate Rep. Giffords.
However.
It very easily could have been. As Rep. Steve Driehaus stated last March (after then-Minority Leader Boehner suggested Driehaus would be a "dead man" for his vote on health care), "It doesn't really matter the way you meant it, nor the way I accept. It's how the least sane person in my district accepts it."
It saddens me greatly that there are so many people who are unwilling to acknowledge that their words and actions, however indirectly, have consequences. If you tell people that a portion of the country (progressives) is a cancer that's trying to kill us all, that environmentalists are the same as jihadists, that having a revolution every now and then is a good thing, and to not retreat but instead, reload, sooner or later the odds are someone is going to take you seriously.
I don't hold with the idea that we should restrict people's ability to express their frustrations, even if it uses violent imagery. I do, however, believe that if you use it, you need to be prepared to take responsibility for your words.
I don't blame Sarah Palin or Glenn Beck for what happened. I don't blame Barrack Obama, or Keith Olbermann either. But I would exhort everybody, no matter their faith, creed, or ideology, to truly think about the power of their words.
Because I do believe I am my brother's keeper.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Day Two -- I Am Not A Man or Why Holly Hates the Social Security Administration
Today's rant is brought to you courtesy of the U.S. Government.
Ever since I tried to get a job with Radio Shack in the summer of 2005, I have had an ongoing argument with the Social Security Office as to my identity. When "the Shack" (whose horrible idea was that catch-phrase, by the way?) ran a credit check on my Social Security number, it came back that I was a man. You can imagine my surprise when I heard the news, as everything I'd been taught in the 9 consecutive years of sex-ed I had in the Wellington School System told me that I was definitely female. Of course, we are talking about public education, so there was a chance I'd been misinformed, but I was pretty sure I fell under the definition of "female."
Radio Shack decided to go ahead and hire me despite the discrepancy in the paperwork. I submitted a few forms to the Social Security Administration (from here out referred to as the SSA) and thought it was all resolved.
In the summer of 2006 I moved to Dallas and decided to open up a bank account there. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there was already an account opened under my number. Further research determined that a man back in 1993 had opened an account with that particular bank, and they'd transposed two digits on his Social. They'd opened a new account with the correct Social for this gentleman, but they'd never actually closed the incorrect account under my Social Security number. They closed it out while I sat there and I thought to myself, Well, at least we know where that particular confusion originated.
In April of 2007 I submitted my tax returns. Rather, I tried desperately to submit my tax returns, but they wouldn't actually process them because it said my birth date was wrong. Down I traipsed to my local SSA building with my passport to have the birthday corrected--apparently they thought I was born on the 18th instead of the 17th. They said they had everything updated for me, and once I again I thought I had the issue taken care of.
In April of 2008 I once again submitted my tax returns.... and once again they told me they couldn't actually file it for me because my birth date was wrong. This time, however, I was in a panic trying to figure out where my next job was going to be, so I didn't actually go to an SSA building until in the summer to get it straightened out. This time when I went to the SSA they told me that my passport didn't count--I'd have to present them a birth certificate. I also found out that they had the right day; now the month was wrong.
Whatever.
Later in the fall, after I'd obtained my birth certificate from my mother, I went downtown in OKC to present my birth certificate and get everything fixed. They looked at my birth certificate, told me everything was hunky dorey, and sent me on my merry way thinking everything was fixed. And when I filed my taxes and everything went through, I believed them.
Fast forward to July. Sam and I had been married for a month, and we'd finally received our marriage certificate from the wonderful state of Nevada. Hurrah! Holly can now go to the SSA and get her name officially changed! Being a paranoid person, I decide to take my birth certificate with me, because that's the way my luck runs.
Sherri and I had decided to spend the day together, so we went to the SSA in Shawnee to submit the paperwork to get my name changed. I sit down, tell them my Social, tell them my birthday, and have the gentleman tell me that that's not the birth date they have on file.
You. Have. To. Be. Bloody. Kidding. Me.
I present the gentleman with my birth certificate, proving once again that I was born when and where I was born. The nice guy behind the desk says we'll get that updated at the same time we update my name. We move further along in the process, and finally determine that the birth certificate I have was issued by the hospital and not the state, and therefore does not actually count.
Apparently, when I was at the previous SSA, they had thought that once they saw the certificate they could just file the form and it would be done, but they actually needed a number that's only found on the state-issued certificate. And instead of trying to contact me to inform me of this, they just let it go. I am currently awaiting my birth certificate from the state of Kansas to arrive so that I can put this to rest for once and for all.
Until April comes and we find out that my name was never actually changed, even though I have my new SSN card.
"The information encoded in your DNA determines your unique biological characteristics, such as sex, eye color, age and Social Security number."
--Dave Barry
Ever since I tried to get a job with Radio Shack in the summer of 2005, I have had an ongoing argument with the Social Security Office as to my identity. When "the Shack" (whose horrible idea was that catch-phrase, by the way?) ran a credit check on my Social Security number, it came back that I was a man. You can imagine my surprise when I heard the news, as everything I'd been taught in the 9 consecutive years of sex-ed I had in the Wellington School System told me that I was definitely female. Of course, we are talking about public education, so there was a chance I'd been misinformed, but I was pretty sure I fell under the definition of "female."
Radio Shack decided to go ahead and hire me despite the discrepancy in the paperwork. I submitted a few forms to the Social Security Administration (from here out referred to as the SSA) and thought it was all resolved.
In the summer of 2006 I moved to Dallas and decided to open up a bank account there. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there was already an account opened under my number. Further research determined that a man back in 1993 had opened an account with that particular bank, and they'd transposed two digits on his Social. They'd opened a new account with the correct Social for this gentleman, but they'd never actually closed the incorrect account under my Social Security number. They closed it out while I sat there and I thought to myself, Well, at least we know where that particular confusion originated.
In April of 2007 I submitted my tax returns. Rather, I tried desperately to submit my tax returns, but they wouldn't actually process them because it said my birth date was wrong. Down I traipsed to my local SSA building with my passport to have the birthday corrected--apparently they thought I was born on the 18th instead of the 17th. They said they had everything updated for me, and once I again I thought I had the issue taken care of.
In April of 2008 I once again submitted my tax returns.... and once again they told me they couldn't actually file it for me because my birth date was wrong. This time, however, I was in a panic trying to figure out where my next job was going to be, so I didn't actually go to an SSA building until in the summer to get it straightened out. This time when I went to the SSA they told me that my passport didn't count--I'd have to present them a birth certificate. I also found out that they had the right day; now the month was wrong.
Whatever.
Later in the fall, after I'd obtained my birth certificate from my mother, I went downtown in OKC to present my birth certificate and get everything fixed. They looked at my birth certificate, told me everything was hunky dorey, and sent me on my merry way thinking everything was fixed. And when I filed my taxes and everything went through, I believed them.
Fast forward to July. Sam and I had been married for a month, and we'd finally received our marriage certificate from the wonderful state of Nevada. Hurrah! Holly can now go to the SSA and get her name officially changed! Being a paranoid person, I decide to take my birth certificate with me, because that's the way my luck runs.
Sherri and I had decided to spend the day together, so we went to the SSA in Shawnee to submit the paperwork to get my name changed. I sit down, tell them my Social, tell them my birthday, and have the gentleman tell me that that's not the birth date they have on file.
You. Have. To. Be. Bloody. Kidding. Me.
I present the gentleman with my birth certificate, proving once again that I was born when and where I was born. The nice guy behind the desk says we'll get that updated at the same time we update my name. We move further along in the process, and finally determine that the birth certificate I have was issued by the hospital and not the state, and therefore does not actually count.
Apparently, when I was at the previous SSA, they had thought that once they saw the certificate they could just file the form and it would be done, but they actually needed a number that's only found on the state-issued certificate. And instead of trying to contact me to inform me of this, they just let it go. I am currently awaiting my birth certificate from the state of Kansas to arrive so that I can put this to rest for once and for all.
Until April comes and we find out that my name was never actually changed, even though I have my new SSN card.
"The information encoded in your DNA determines your unique biological characteristics, such as sex, eye color, age and Social Security number."
--Dave Barry
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