Intangible assets

I'm mulling over an assignment in my accounting course concerning intangible assets. As is often the case, any excuse for my mind to wander away from strictly accounting principles is good enough for me.

I was arriving at National Airport in D.C. for a flight the other evening and looking out the cab window, I got a really good look at the old-style original terminal building which still stands there. It's a monument to a time when air travel was special.

It's hard to imagine now that folks used to dress up for airplane flights. They were an event and an adventure. A lot has changed since those days.

I recall going with Mom in the family car to drop Dad off for a flight from Seattle to somewhere unimaginably exotic, like San Francisco. He wore a suit, as did most of the male passengers and everyone was polite and somehow expectant as we waited in the terminal for his flight to be called.

When the flight started boarding, he went out through the double doors with the rest of the passengers and walked over to the stairs leading up to what then seemed  a behemoth of the air. He turned and waved at the top of the stairs and we waited and watched as the plane started its engines and taxied off to the runway.

Air travel is somewhat different these days. No more friendly waves or smiling attendants.

Passing through security for my latest flight home, one of the TSA functionaries grabbed my crotch in search of what turned out to be an errant paper clip.

I've seen children and old ladies patted down and we all go through the turnstiles like a bunch of sheep. The folks who provide us with screening "for our safety" come from all stripes but of course, they all share the conviction that violating their fellow citizens' privacy day in and day out is an honorable profession.

The monsters who flew airplanes into buildings did more than kill people and knock down the Twin Towers. They started us down a path toward a different kind of America. One that is no longer based on trust or mutual respect. Or even civility.

We've taken the third grade bullies and constitutional incompetents (pun intended) and pinned badges on them. We encourage them to interfere in our lives in ways that would have drawn howls of protest even thirty years ago.

In old mystery and spy movies, the hooded glance from passport to face accompanied with "What is the purpose of your visit?" signaled that the protagonist was entering a foreign land where civil liberties were rejected and the right to privacy left at the door. Internal passports and sidewalk interrogations were things that happened in fascist or socialist states. Never here. Not in America.

I was asked the purpose of my trip last week by a badged young man whose future - absent 9/11 - would most likely have involved taking tickets at the local theatre. And this pipsqueak had the power to keep me from my work, to detain me and cause me to be searched for no other reason than my demurral in response to what I consider an impertinent question.

Of course, I didn't demur. Franklin was right about me, anyway.

We've lost something that I don't believe we'll ever get back. It was an intangible asset that we could ill afford to give up.

Susan

I am spending most of this evening writing a nomination citation in favor of a friend of mine. Her name is Susan and I’m nominating her for a state award as a disabilities advocate.  As I write, transferring notes to page and converting ideas to explication, I am realizing more and more what a treasure she is.

Susan has dedicated her life to finding ways to help folks living with disabilities live fulfilled lives. She is a tireless advocate, a fierce competitor and a trusted and dear friend.

I can’t spend any more time on this missive because I have to get the nomination out to the folks who are writing endorsements. I could go on and on about Susan but for this evening, I have to stick to the “official” writing.

My wish for each and all of you this evening is that you have a Susan in your lives.

Buffet

Mary and I ate at a buffet place last night. Shouldn’t have but we both got home late, didn’t feel like cooking and it’s not like you HAVE to eat one of everything. And I didn’t. I steadfastly avoided the broccoli, for example. And the kim chi cabbage. Perhaps one or two other items that happened to be out when I slid by with my bucket and trowel.

Admittedly, I did cut something of a swath through the desserts.  And the fried chicken. The steak and mash were good. Could have done without the tilapia.

The real trouble with eating at a buffet is that it’s way too easy to walk in. But then at some point, you have to walk back out. With your newly re-contoured belly in the lead.

The pain starts when you realize you have to somehow overcome inertia. Didn’t seem like such a big deal all those times I swung the legs out and virtually popped to my feet on the way to the next plate-filling excursion. But now, belly full and tight against the table, geometry is not my friend. I stagger to my feet and slog to and through the exit.

I try not to notice the furtive glances at my distended breadbasket as I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Not that I can vouch for foot placement, what with a heretofore undiscovered planet intervening in my sight line from eyes to feet.

Mary suggests we walk off the meal. I am bemused at the thought. Walk to where? Tunisia? Turns out, she meant to the other end of the mall. This I can do. I think.

As we head into a store where Mary wants to shop (okay, so what I’m doing has more to do with trundling than walking but I’m moving in a more or less intentional direction), I stumble slightly and I’m suddenly seized with a terrible fear of falling.

Well, it's not so much falling that causes the catch in my throat. It’s fear of landing. I’m not at all sure my already tortured abdomen could remain intact against the combined assaults of gravity and gross tonnage. I can visualize the awful scene that the folks around me would behold.

“Geezer burst on aisle six!” I hear over an imaginary loudspeaker as I imagine Mary shrieking and uncounted strangers joining in an unpracticed but nonetheless perfectly coordinated chorus of “E-e-e-ew!!!”

The horror!

As it happens, I was able to remain upright and unsteadily navigate my way to the car for the trip home.  But I paid for that meal all night and through a good part of today.

What was I thinking? I’m pretty sure it was that last breaded shrimp that did it.

Next time, gotta go lighter on the shrimp.

A test tonight

I took a mid-term exam tonight. In a subject I truly do not like.

It’s my mother’s fault.

You see, some years ago she made me promise to finish this degree. And I was dumb enough to make the promise. I mean, we didn’t pinky swear or anything but a promise is a promise, after all.

Then she had the bad grace to pass away.

 So, here I sat in a room by myself with the proctor watching from another room through the camera up high on the front wall. And I sat there and dutifully regurgitated facts and calculated and listed and commented.

I couldn’t help feeling a bit silly. I mean, here I am pushing sixty and I’m just now taking my fourth-from-last-ever college course. And sitting an exam under the eagle eye of a twenty-something minder, lest I sneak a lookup on the Internet using my i-Something, which of course I would never do even if I knew how which I don’t.

I could and should have sailed through college when I was in my twenties and had the GI Bill to support me, instead of trying to cram in these last few credits after work and between teaching trips of my own. I had energy then, and a certain lack of other responsibilities. 

Okay, so maybe this isn’t Mom’s fault. Sometimes I’d like to go back and just thonk the then-me upside the head. What was I thinking?

Olympic volleyball

I’ve always thought of myself as immune to the passions that make for rabid sports fans. Mostly from lack of interest, I guess.  I’ve never watched a professional football, baseball or basketball game all the way through. Even when the girls were singing anthems, I’d leave before the actual game started.

 There are sports I enjoy watching occasionally. I’d always sort of liked volleyball and then Daughter two made me a believer. But for the most part, I just watch a few (insert appropriate basic unit of play for the sport in question) and then go about my business.

I’ve never cared one whit who won. Except of course for Daughter Two’s matches but that has more to do with community than partisanship.  I sort of take a perverse pride in my aloofness from the whole fan thing.

For example, tonight I was watching Olympic women’s volleyball and I noticed that the officiating seemed to be somewhat tilted against the USA team. Notice that I refrain from saying “our” team. I don’t go in for such false associations. Really, if anyone can be trusted to be an impartial, surely I’m the guy. So if I say the judging is off, you can take that to the bank.

Imagine my chagrin when I found that I’d mixed up the teams. USA on the right, other team on the left. Hm. And you know, on second thought, these international-level refs and line judges probably have a bit more officiating experience than I. And the up ref is probably in a better position to judge the net than I can through my TV.

I guess I was wrong after all. The refs are right. And, as it happens, the calls do seem to go largely in favor of the USA. As well they should.

I’m proud to point out that I don’t mind being proven wrong from time to time.

Accounting

I really want to thank the accountants of the world. The good and ethical ones, of course.

I’m taking an accounting course through City U right now and I have to tell you it’s a chore to talk myself into reading the book, doing the problems, studying for the test. I wasn’t interested when I took my 200-level accounting series and this 400-level financial analysis course is no less grinding.

I care not at all for debits, credits, contra accounts, ratios or any of the other concepts that apparently provide unlimited fascination for this poor schlubb who’s teaching the course. Seems like a nice enough guy, to the extent that you can tell in an online course. I just wonder where a nice guy like this could have gone wrong.

I’m really glad there are guys like him to do a job I wouldn’t want for all the money in the world. I don’t disrespect what they do; I just would never want to do it myself.

Accounting has to be the second most boring subject in the world.