Another Niggling Annoyance

My new friend the interventionist (not) seems to be adhering to some sort of detectable pattern as far as when it goes off. I haven't quite sussed it out yet, but the 6 times per day routine is definitely predictable. I'm going to start keeping track of what time it is when it starts beeping at me.

I thought of logging which words I have to say each time as well, and the order in which I have to say each one, but that doesn't seem like it would be worth the effort. For something which is said to cost several thousand dollars, I'm not impressed by the quality of the electronics inside. Maybe that's because it's made in Canada and not Japan, Taiwan, or elsewhere in Asia. The other day - frustrated by the number of times I was repeating words and doing double sessions - I decided to see what happened if I purposely said the wrong thing at each prompt. For example, after the voice recognition test began and I was prompted for "Red," I said "America." I did a whole set like that (about 7 words in total) and the device continued to function normally. After blowing into it to confirm the sober part of the Sobrietor, it merrily processed the results before going off again 10 seconds later. That behavior is not much different from what it does when I follow the directions - about half the time I have to repeat the entire process. Maybe next time I'll try insulting it or slandering the management team at BI.

The really annoying part about this isn't having to repeat some of the tests, which I'm used to, but rather that the damn thing keeps going off when I'm in the middle of cooking dinner. I've burnt garlic bread in the broiler, overcooked salmon steaks, and left the stove on because I was distracted by this thing. Somehow the dinnertime test always seems to be one of the ones that need repeating.

Maybe there's such a thing as a do-not-disturb list for this. You know, sort of like that bogus do-not-call list that purported to keep the telemarketers off your back (but ended up being sold to them or something)? I'd like to think so, but by now I know better. I guess it's time to start eating at 1630 instead of 1800.

Whoops, there it goes again...

Wireless Fetters in the Age of the Leash

From the ungrateful complaint department...

Fetter (FET-uhr), noun:
1. A chain or shackle for the feet, a chain by which an animal is confined by the foot, either made fast or disabled from free and rapid motion; a bond; a shackle.
2. Anything that confines or restrains; a restraint.
See some pictures and more information in the Wikipedia article.

Lately I've been going through my Irish music collection. A lot of it is folk music from the troubles they've had with the English over the years. I'm not going to comment on that one way or another except to say that some of these songs tell very poignant stories. Listen to "Fields of Athenry," for example, and you'll see what I mean. Some of the people that these songs talk about were transported and put in fetters for the duration of their several-month voyage.

I suppose I shouldn't complain too much about this livestock tag I've got on my leg. I can tell you some of the things that I think about it, though.

1. It's uncomfortable. They tried to put it on way too tight at first, but I made them loosen it up. I can still barely get a pinky underneath it.

2. It's rubbing off all the hair on that part of my leg and leaving marks in the skin similar to what I get from wearing socks for too long.

3. It's really bad when I'm on my feet for longer than a few minutes. My lower calves have a good amount of flex in them (that part of the body seems to be mostly muscle) and when I try to use these muscles, they swell up against the rubber strap. I asked the people who are monitoring this device what I should do about exercise and I got this obviously-couldn't-give-a-shit response: "lift weights." Apparently these people need to go back and get some more self-aggrandizing certifications in basic human physiology, because they seem to have no concept of aerobic fitness. In other words, lifting weights, doing pushups, etc. have little if any effect on one's heart and lung function (which is important to me). When I explained this fact to the guy on the other end of the phone, he suggested that I use part of my 2-hour-a-week free time to go jogging. This guy must have been a comedian before he became an idiot, because trying to run with this thing on would probably result in a preventive amputation. I guess I'm going to be doing a whole lot more fitness work when I get this thing off.

4. In some ways this is worse than actually wearing leg irons. Yes, I've had those put on me before. It was an attempt to humiliate the small-time criminals (DUI, not paying child support, missing court dates, etc.) who showed up at the same jail in ___________ I did, reporting to serve our sentences, which ranged from 24 hours to 24 months. A couple of guys (and girls) who only had to do one day ended up being bounced back and forth for 3 days, wearing leg chains and handcuffed into groups of 10 or so the whole time. I can understand the necessity of applying those restraints to someone who's been accused of committing a violent crime or has a propensity to attack judges or something, but this was a group of chumps (myself included, of course) who did something dumb and then showed up to jail voluntarily. My associate who works in the __________ state prison system tells me that it's all a mind game. Fortunately, I like mind games, and I can put up with that kind of nonsense. It just requires one to ignore the other 40 sweaty men locked in the same 8 x 12 foot cell as you for a few hours (NB: if you hear someone tell you that you're about to get put into the holding tank, it won't be nice). Being able to wander around the house at will while wearing this thing is a mind game too, because if I go somewhere I'm not supposed to, I'll be standing tall before the Man explaining why He shouldn't put me in jail for the rest of this 60 day period.

5. When I play with the dogs it tends to slam down onto the outside bony part of my ankle. I offer apologies for the inaccurate medical/anatomical terminology, but I can't name all the pieces of that part of the body accurately yet.

There are more things too, but so far those are the most frequently occurring ones. Let's move on to a more abstract discussion of being on a leash.

I know a lot of people who may as well be tied to their mobile phones/pagers/blackberries/etc.. I've had this experience myself and I did not like it at all. In the end, I think it's the same sort of tether, only more insidious. The modern interaction with phones and blackberries (someone's coined the term "crackberries") follows a progression from learning the quirks of the interface to being useful to being the default communication device to oh-shit-I-left-it-at-home, so I'll turn back around and go through another hour of rush-hour traffic to get it to if I don't answer it at 11pm Friday night I'll be having a chat with the boss when he gets back on Tuesday. I know a couple of people that stopped using their mobiles because it got to be too much and found out that all of a sudden everyone was trying to get in touch with them. Could it become cool to be unreachable immediately?

What about communicating strictly by SMS? My last firm did a lot of business with a character who was all over the place. One day he would drop by the office in a 3-piece suit and a ten thousand dollar watch to talk about the deal we were closing the next week in which he was a large participant, and then a couple of days later he's sending wire transfer instructions to his bankers from the beach in Rio de Janeiro during carnaval. This guy was a real piece of work. He was pretty funny in person - always smoking a cigar and throwing around thousand-__________ bills - but I stopped doing business with him once I saw his name on a couple of lists.

Personally I'm beginning to prefer e-mail. As can be seen in a number of recent investigations/trials/scandals/whatever, it leaves a quasi-written record of what's been said or agreed to. The phone is fine, but unless there's a system that records every conversation (like trading desks and certain other places in the banks and brokerages have), then I'll insist on an e-mail follow up.

I've gone off on somewhat of a tangent, but the bottom line is this: punishment is punishment, whether its manifestations include real leg chains or virtual ones. Don't be fooled.

Patriotic Inculcation

Here are some more details about how this equipment I'm hooked up to works.

At random intervals between 0800 and 2200, 6 times a day, I am issued a summons (that's actually the word they used on the form) by the interventionist. Strangely enough, the summons is in the form of a loud, abrasive, electronic beep which alternates between a higher and lower tone. It's a little like a police car siren and gets your attention pretty quickly. Before this program began, I was a little worried that I wouldn't be able to hear it over the movies or music playing on the surround sound system I have (which can almost blast the paint off the walls), but that has proven not to be a concern.

I then have to pick up the device and hold it up to my mouth. That sets off some type of sensor, which shuts off the siren. The unit then beeps every so often for up to 3 minutes, which is the time to have a quick rinse. It then lets out another single-tone loud beep, which means it's time to begin.

There is a voice recognition system built into the device. This is obviously so that I can't substitute someone else's presence in the house where I am required to remain. This device knows it's me because when I went it to get it, I had to sit there and repeat the same three words over and over again until it learned to recognize my voice print. Those three words are:

1. Red
2. Eagle
3. America

I assume that these 3 words are the same for each device. That would probably make it easier to design and/or program its electronics. But why pick those words? Why not Road, Seagull, and Coniferous, for example? Could it be that they were chosen on purpose to remind me that I'm under the supervision of the government?

Anyway, once the test begins, the device will play a recording of my voice saying one of those three words. It then beeps, at which point I have to repeat the word. If it can't understand me, it will tell me to speak louder or softer. It appears to pick about 7 words at random, and once it's happy that I am in in fact the one speaking to it, it instructs me to inhale. No, this doesn't mean that it's OK to get high, but rather that the breathalyzer test is coming next.

Another purpose of the mouth/face sensor I mentioned earlier is to make sure I don't speak into the device and then have someone else blow into it. Were I to remove the device from my face after the voice recognition portion, it would complain loudly and make me restart the whole process. Presumably if that were to happen more than a few times, it would report me as being in violation.

If you've ever taken a breathalyzer, you may remember how much force is required to get it to register a reading. Then again, you might have been so hammered you don't remember. So far I'm only getting about a 50% success rate on the first go, which means I have to do it again. Once the device successfully registers your breath, it beeps once more, at which point the test is over. I've been told not to use the phone line for about 15 minutes afterwards so that it can call in the results to whatever computer is monitoring me. The people at the agency that works with the court tell me that the device is calling an 800 number, so there won't be any charges to me, but I don't really believe them - especially considering their inability to accomplish simple office tasks. Another tipoff came in the contract I had to sign when I received this equipment, which contained some wording whereby I agreed to hold the agencies and the company that manufactures this device harmless from any claim for call charges on this line that may arise.

I couldn't get out of signing the contract that contained that last provision, but somebody in the agency's office apparently wasn't paying close attention, because I definitely did not sign the part acknowledging receipt of this equipment or the part that said I would be responsible for any damages to it (it's apparently worth close to $5,000 all together). I just might have to drop it down the stairs a few times when it's time to bring it back. Whoops!

To sum it up: I have to answer to a police siren and then repeat those three magic words above 6 times a day for 60 days. Maybe after the 2000th time saying one of those words I'll be overcome with a desire to run out to the local recruiting station and join up! Then again, I already have this (and a couple of his others) hanging on my walls, so 360+ repetitions of "eagle" probably won't have much of an impact.

An Undiscovered Racket

Let me say it now, just to be perfectly clear:

DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE.

Never mind the stuff about the greater societal good (which should be obvious). It's the collateral damage that'll get you. I imagine there are similar non-judicial consequences awaiting those who do even worse things, but what happened to me in this regard was nothing short of amazing. There was a whole laundry list of organizations with their talons firmly planted in my ass and their hands in my wallet. So far I've paid up and rid myself of almost every one, but it took a Herculean effort and the patience of a saint.

Take the last week or so as an example. As I described in the introduction to this story, I now have my own personal livestock tag (the HomeGuard® 200) and interventionist (the Sobrietor®).

Let me go off on a tangent here first, though. The people who make these things (BI Incorporated) have come up with some great copy for showcasing their products. Here's some text from the the livestock tag PDF:

"The transmitter can be quickly and easily installed on the client's ankle"

I wonder if anybody actually reads that crap or bases a purchasing decision on it? From everything I've seen, it's much more likely that instead of the courts/agencies making that decision on the merits, BI negotiated a back-room agreement to receive some portion of the fees I'm paying to wear this thing in exchange for leasing the equipment to them for less. In my case, which admittedly seems to be a little unusual, the money goes from my bank account to my credit card to the agency here in __________, who tell me they only keep $60 of the $1,000 I paid them, to the agency that works with the court that mandated my participation in this program __________. I've been told second-hand that the latter agency keeps most of the money and kicks some back to the city where this offense took place.

Now that we're on this track, the question becomes this: how many entities are making money off my thousand-dollar contribution to this program? More to the point, how many of those entities should not be doing so, ethically speaking? I don't have any complaints about paying a reasonably large amount of money to the "community" as a result of my actions that endangered it and/or its members, but do I really need to be taken advantage of at every possible point along the way? It's worse than getting nickel-and-dimed on the New Jersey Turnpike. I don't know about you, but where I come from it isn't considered polite - or even necessary - to kick someone when he's down. That's why I have a hard time taking BI's vision statement at face value. Sounds like a bunch of sanctimonious bullshit to me. I only wish that they were a public company so I could present the details of their revenue stream.

But I digress; I was complaining about the end-user installation experience. That was the only time I've ever paid that much money for something (product, service, double-ended dildo show, etc.) and been given the shaft that badly. Let's not forget that I am the client here - the firm that manufactures this device says so itself. Not only did I have to get the appropriate people at these two agencies talking to each other - which was clearly not my responsibility - but the people answering the phones at each place did absolutely nothing at all for me. No messages were left, calls which were supposed to be transferred suddenly ended up in a dial tone, I got the runaround, and several times there was no answer at all. This was all after wading through the computerized telephone menus in order to speak with a human being.

After setting an appointment for last week, I found out right before I was supposed to go in to get this thing put on that the person in the local office was out sick. Another delay - and the later this period of time starts, the later it will end. When I finally do get into the right office, I wait in the reception area with the rest of the criminologically diverse crowd for about 45 minutes while the people that work there are all clearly stuffing their faces full of pizza in the back. Whatever happened to customer service?

Aside: At one place I worked, which coincidentally was in this same town, the name of the game was "Positively Outstanding Service." If one wasn't providing one's clients with POS, then one wasn't doing things the right way. It took a little while for me to see the wisdom of that philosophy because I tend to regard all corporate slogans as bullshit feel-good panaceas in general and until proven otherwise, but I came around and saw how it added value in the end. The only thing is, now I expect the same from others - especially when I'm paying for it!

Anyway, finally these people stopped shoveling greasy dough and tomato sauce into their gullets long enough to wander into the reception area and ask why we were there. I thought of several wise-ass retorts, but decided that a little friendly repartée would probably miss the point, or at least prolong the time I was forced to have these people in my presence. I was surprised that it only took them a few minutes to locate my file, although I had called to remind them that I was coming not long before.

After 10 minutes of filling out mind-numbing paperwork - no, I'm not giving you my SSN (try it yourself, it works) - I was led into the back. The person who tagged me and showed me how to use the interventionist was pretty friendly, but since the idiots in the agency that liases directly with the court never called her to explain anything about what the requirements for my case were, she could only tell me how to hook it up when I got back home. It took me about 24 more hours until I could get the right person on the phone before verifying that everything was set up correctly. Guess what I heard from him then: "__________, the person who hooked you up, didn't [insert excuse here; I heard 3 different ones in the space of 5 minutes], so you have to give me everything over the phone again. By this point I wasn't surprised. The only part of that that wasn't fun was trying to read the numbers off the inside of the livestock tag - did I mention that this thing is tight as hell? After spending a few minutes in what must be yoga-master positions trying to find the number, my new friend on the phone tells me he can look it up on his computer. How nice of him to let me twist my knee inside out just to save him a few keystrokes. Again, one of his questions was, "what's your social security number?" Once again, I told him he's not getting it from me. He says he needs it "for the file." I tell him he can go get it from the court case paperwork if it's that important.

Another aside: My SSN is not anywhere in the court case paperwork, the police report, or anything else related to this particular matter. I told the cops, the judge, and anyone else who asked that I wasn't giving it to them. It must not be that important after all - I did end up getting arrested, charged, and convicted, didn't I? I'm no expert, but after all the recent computer hacking and laptop theft, one would think people would learn. If the morons running the databases behind all these agencies can't come up with a unique identifier for each person aside from a SSN (which is probably pretty easy to forge), then I'll be damned if I help them keep track of me. Here's a hint, fellas... try a UUID.

Back to the narrative. He tells me he can't connect to the device through the new phone line I paid to have installed (yet another company making money off this - I had to order an additional analog telephone line from __________ at about $35/month plus taxes). Once again I read him the appropriate numbers, which haven't changed, and somehow the second time through everything works. I am as surprised as I have been by anything yet in this whole process.

My new schedule allows me to leave the house for 2 hours, one day per week. All other days I have to be here ready to answer bells from 0800 to 2200. If I was doing regular work, I would have to disclose this entire situation to the HR department and have them sign something verifying my work hours so I could leave. That may work for those that have McJobs (believe me, there are a lot of people in that category around here), but for people in my profession and/or tax bracket, taking that form to the boss would have about the same impact on one's career as a lethal dose of Polonium-210. For those that don't get it, I'm trying to say that you'd be dead job-wise, it just may take a while. Good thing I can do independent consulting while I'm here.

"You know what capitalism is? Gettin' fucked!"
-Tony Montana, Scarface

I am an American, but I'm also a Capitalist. The events I've described above don't make me bitter or frustrated, but rather they have planted the seed of an idea: getting into the offender management business. If these jagoffs at BI can do it, so can I. Think about it - a captive customer base (pardon the pun) that can be treated like garbage. If important court-imposed dates or milestones are missed, who do you really think the judge is going to believe, the agency whose executives are out on the fairway with him every week, or the latest personification of a criminal dipshit standing tall before the Man?

Fat Kids on Motorized Tricycles

What is it exactly about Americans that allows things like this to enter the marketplace? Or worse yet, remain there?

Over the past couple of days I've seen a fat kid in the local subdivision rolling around on a tricycle frame with some kind of motor powering the back 2 wheels. Yes folks, that's just what this country needs - another lazy brat who will no doubt grow up to be a drag on Medicare (if it's still around in another 50 years, which is a speculative assertion) and society in general.

This is not a good thing!

Introduction

So, here I am with my brand-new ankle bracelet. I feel like a piece of livestock, but when I consider the alternative - 60 more days in the can - I think I came away pretty nicely.

Why, you ask, was this thing strapped to me earlier this afternoon? Because I earned it. How? About 2 years ago I apparently decided to take off in my car while hammered off my ass, and got pinched shortly thereafter (making it 2 for 2 within 9 months... not real smart). I blame nobody except myself for that action and I have no complaints about the punishment I received. Most importantly, nobody got hurt and nothing was destroyed. A very good attorney was enriched to the tune of several thousand dollars, the city of __________ in __________ took another couple grand off of me for "improvement" fees (believe me, they do need it), and on top of that I actually had to pay Sheriff __________ USD 1,440 to go to jail for 60 days. That particular experience was quite unpleasant (I may get into the details of it later) and is what makes me happy that I am here now instead of back there.

Why am I required to spend another 60 days in pseudo-confinement, you ask? It stems from a counseling requirement that they court imposed on me. I somehow got off with an assignment for 65 hours of brainwashing... er, counseling, which is apparently the minimum number of hours necessary for my profile (i.e., being a dumbass twice within a year, each time being above a certain BAC). While that may not sound like a lot, it seems to take close to a year to complete and I wasn't about to pass up a plum job in __________, one of the most awesome cities in the world, when I could take a shot at convincing the judge that I could do those hours over there. Apparently I can be pretty convincing sometimes, because he bought it and let me leave. However, once I found out that the rest of the world (meaning those countries not America) doesn't look at a DUI the same way as the powers that be (and their corporate associates) here do, I realized I was in a bit of a pickle. No hospital, psych ward, psychiatrist, or anyone else in __________ could believe that I had to follow that particular program. It wasn't a matter of cost because I was willing and able to pay for it (all ~two thousand bucks of it), but rather a matter of incredulity on the potential treatment providers' part. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, had heard of anything like it and they weren't willing to go along with some agency's program they had never heard of because they thought it was complete bullshit and would do no good for the patient.

I wasn't about to leave when I was right in the middle of doing large international corporate finance deals at __________ and developing my own client base, so I tried a few tactics. I postponed deadlines, wheedled minor changes in terms, and offered explanations as to why it was troublesome for me to stick to the program as laid down by the court. Some of these motions succeeded; more failed. Flexibility on an individual case-by-case basis is apparently not in the cards in that particular court. After it became clear to both sides that there was no way to follow the letter of the requirements while overseas, the Man put out a piece of paper with my name on it. The title of this document was "Warrant of Arrest".

I only heard about that from __________, an associate of mine who happens to be the Man too (no further indentifying details will be provided). When one calls up the front desk of the court, they don't mention that they want one's ass on a silver platter, even if asked directly. The information I had indicated that I would be clapped in irons the moment they ran my passport through the computer at immigration when I re-entered the country. That particular tidbit made for some interesting excuses on why I couldn't go to New York to work on one of our projects. After a while, I decided enough was enough and that I would come back to face the music. I figure it's better to get it out of the way and move on - after all, does the government ever forget that they have a piece of you? It's been my experience that it's the exact opposite - every year I end up owing any amount on my taxes (one time it was under $20) the IRS is after me on April 16th. One time they screwed up and owed me close to a grand, and how long did that take to see? Almost a year. Surprised? Don't be; it's one reason why I can be a little cynical.

Anyway, I put the world of high finance on hold for a few months and came back. It was quite an interesting 12-hour flight into __________ assuming that I was going to get picked up on the way in. The events that transpired in the 48 hours previous to leaving are a whole other story, but they definitely made things more interesting. To top it off, there was a big line at passport control. Imagine the wait, knowing all the while that your trip is about to be rudely cut short.

As I walked up to the desk, I greeted the officer in the booth with some variety of meaningless pleasantry. He replied in kind, looked at my customs form, ran my passport through the scanner, looked at the computer screen, started to hand it back to me, and then glanced at the screen again. I wasn't surprised - until I was waved through without any problems. Maybe my information was wrong?

When I got off the connecting flight into __________ and called up the airport police to turn myself in, they couldn't find any warrants on me. After realizing that I was now stranded with no place to go, I organized myself a place to sleep and get cleaned up. The next day I took off to consult with family and friends in __________. A month later, I waltzed into court after not having been there for about a year and a half - they were pretty shocked. Apparently somebody screwed up the paperwork at some point during the process (your tax dollars at "work" again), which is why the aforementioned airport cops didn't put the arm on me. To make a long story short, there was in fact a warrant issued for me. They put me in front of a judge who told me to make a decision on the spot - no lawyer - about what to do: take the 65 hours of counseling or go back to jail for 60 days. Since I wasn't psyched to hang out here in __________ any longer than necessary, I opted for the latter. Somehow I convinced the judge to let me do that time at home - I think it had something to do with the fact that I showed up from overseas in his courtroom out of nowhere after having had a clear out. This apparently isn't considered a serious thing, and they never would have extradited from another state for it, and as I saw at the airport, neither the cops within the state nor the federal customs guys wanted me. I was pretty much free to come and go anywhere I wanted.

However, I think coming back was a wise choice. This will bury the whole thing and I'll never have to worry about it again. After all, now I can sit at home (a friend's place, actually) and write this. I also have 2 dogs to play with, a house to watch, a high-speed Internet connection, cable (although I don't really watch much TV), and a comfortable bed. Let me tell you this: one of the worst things about going to the can is the sleeping arrangements. The mattresses are about an inch thick and they're laid on top of a sleel rack. It's a good thing I went to school at __________.

The other benefit is that I can actually still do some contract work in the same field, so I won't be getting totally screwed on the professional side. This may actually be tolerable!

That's about it for the background. In the future I'll (probably) write more about the parameters of this exercise and what I can and can't do while I'm here. I'm already wondering how 60 days of staying in the house is going to change my outlook in the short-term (the previous 60 days had quite an impact).