My brother, Scott, voted for Obama; he admits it!  Thus far, he is the only member of my family to admit to such...except for my sister-in-law.  I  don't suppose she has really "admitted," it I guess but she does have one of these pictures framed in her house:

 


I know what you are thinking.  "Seth, didn't you say you were not going to blog about anything political for fear of offending potential employers?"  I did say that, but I'm thinking my assertion that my views would hurt me might be wrong.  Especially since I'm wrong almost 100% of the time on this blog. 

I was wrong on short people.

For example, I blogged that , short people hate me and are out to get me, but a short person offered me a pretty good job today.  Now, he had no reason to be intimidated by or jealous of my height.  Regardless of his stature, he was a former Marine and probably could have used the pen with which he used to make notes on my resume in several different ways to kill me or make me admit where the other insurgents hid the IEDs.

I was wrong about the damnation of Los Angeles

I recently blogged that everyone from Los Angeles was going to hell.  My friend from Los Angles then proceeded to post pictures of three separate Baptist churches (my denomination) in that city to my Facebook wall.  I assume they have at least three Methodist and Presbyterian (plus many other Christian denominations) churches as well.  Now, it's not like it is here in Cartersville where my church is building a new Baptist church on a piece of property next door to another Baptist church and across the street from a third Baptist church that is down the street from a fourth Baptist church. They might not have a church on every corner in California like they do here in Georgia, but I guess the WHOLE city of L.A. isn't hell bound.

I didn't blog about it, but I was wrong about figure skater Evan Lysacheck.

Whether it was figure skating or real sport, the guy won a gold medal.  GO USA!

Since I feel free to be political; I can tell this story.

This morning, I eventually rolled out of bed around 10:30 AM.  A couple of hours later, my brother called and interrupted what I was doing.  He didn't interrupt anything productive.  Even though there many productive things that I need to do (paint my house, fix the sheet rock in my garage, finish up some schoolwork, work out, etc..), I was sprawled on the couch watching on the best TV shows of our time.

              

Scott joked about the humorous image of me he had in his head.  He pictured me unshaven, wearing sweatpants, and sprawled out on my couch watching Tom and Jerry on a Wednesday afternoon.  His picture was a little off; I was wearing pajama pants and I have shaved on the past two mornings.  It was also not just Wednesday; it was "Welfare Wednesday," so named because it is the day my wife gets her unemployment check.  It has become my favorite day.

As our conversation progressed, I informed my brother that I was clean shaven because I had interviewed for jobs on Monday and Tuesday...3 to be exact.   One of those jobs was offered to me.  I told Scott that I didn't feel pressed to take it because I thought I might be able to get more somewhere else if I waited and wasn't worried too much about money because the federal government was paying 65% of my COBRA insurance premium and I had a big tax return check on the way.  Additionally, thanks to my layoff, I could be cashing in on my own "Welfare Wednesday" soon.

Scott lamented that he owed the IRS.  You see, my sister-in-law is a successful small business owner.  She is a determined little ball of energy with a great work ethic. She opened her own photography business in 2009 and the government is going to get its cut of the fruits of her labor.  If you follow that link to her website you'll be able to see that she is extremely talented.  Her photograph's can also be seen at her travel blog.  Even as we speak, she and my brother are out on the road schlepping camera equipment trying across the barren desert trying to grab their piece of the American dream. 

Aside from being extremely talented, my sister-in-law is extremely liberal.  My brother is liberal, too, but she makes him look like Zell Miller or Scott Brown.  Something about the government taking their money while her man Obama tries to push a bill through the Congress that will extend my unemployment and COBRA benefits just makes me laugh.  Justice, it seems, has been served.  So to all of you out there in cyberspace who follow my blog (both of you), remember that if you vote for in the redistribution of wealth from the hardworking and successful to the guy watching Tom and Jerry on Wednesday afternoon, it just might be your wealth and hard work that gets redistributed.  This may be out of context, but Jesus said, "For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again" (Matthew 7:2).  If you want big earners to pay big, you are going to pay big if you are ever a big earner.

That being said, here is another thing that Jesus said that is never out of context, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."  (Matthew 25:40).  Regardless of how you feel about the redistribution of wealth by our government, we should never fault our liberal brother and sisters for their concern for the less fortunate.  They might not have any economic sense, but their bleeding heart is in the right place.  I, for one, believe that it is the individual who is responsible to look out for the poor, not the government.   But this is America, and until our liberals government disbands our armed forces to free up funds to research green energy causing us to be be overrun by Sharia law fanatics, we are all free to disagree.

Until then, I might just kick back with some Cran-Grape juice and watch Tom and Jerry while I enjoy a relaxing welfare Wednesday.  It's more likely that I'll take that job I was offered.  You see, there is a wealth management company out there who needs me to help them do rich people's taxes and plan ways for them to avoid tax liability.  Maybe, one day, my sister-in-law will be a client.

"As far as I'm Concerned, I'm in Hell."  This is the ironic tag from Dylan Kussman's new web series "The Steps."

http://www.followthesteps.net/media/

Who the heck is Dylan Kussman?

Dylan is, most notably, the bad kid from the movie Dead Poets Society. He's in some other stuff that you may have seen as well.  For example,he's in X-2: X-Men United for like 2 seconds before he is killed by Mystique.  He's not John Stamos, Jerry O'Connel, or anybody, but he has seen Rebecca Romijn naked.  He's not exactly famous, but he is a for real actor and he is good at what he does.

In "The Steps" (which he wrote, starred in, and directed) Dylan plays, Charlie Madison, a former Hollywood private eye who flees the west coast after taking part in some less than legal surveillance work.  Much too his chagrin, Charlie's problems follow him east to Chattanooga.  As far as Charlie is concerned, Chattanooga is Hell.  While I think that my hometown of Chattanooga is a wonderful place, it is not hard to imagine someone leaving Hollywood and ending up in Hell.  I just returned from a trip to Hollywood, and I only saw one church there (not counting the Scientology building and the strange reincarnation cult whose name I can't recall).  There were at least seven lingerie shops (not counting Frederick's of Hollywood) So, I'd wager that Hell is in fact the final destination for many Hollywood natives.

Hopefully, this will not be the case for Dylan.  He's a nice guy, almost nothing like the seedy character he plays on the steps.  Dylan graciously allowed my brother, my sister-in-law, and me to stay in his Los Angeles bungalow during our trip to see the Crimson Tide play in the Rose Bowl in Pasadena.  (Pasadena has a Baptist church so I have high hopes for the souls of that town).  Hopefully, Dylan will allow us to stay there again if we ever go back.  I'm not sure if his wife will allow it since we dressed up her stuffed Auburn mascot in a Bear Bryant-style houndstooth hat and an Alabama football jersey.  Recently, I got a chance to thank Dylan in person for his hospitality when I attended the premiere party marking the debut of The Steps series to the general public.  The party was thrown in Dylan's current city of residence, Chattanooga.  Before I went, I made sure to follow my own steps...steps to surviving a Hollywood-style premiere party.

Make sure you know somebody normal is going to be there.

I'm a pretty worldly guy.  I'm well traveled.  I'm not well read or well informed, but I am somewhat well read and well informed.  (This is kind of like my being tall thing, I'm not really tall but I'm probably taller than you.  I'm not well read or well informed but I'm probably better read and better informed than you,,,after all, you are using your time to read some obscure blog.  You could be watching PBS or the news.  You could be reading a book.)  I can hold my own with any crowd of liberal intellectual communists (which, in my mind are the kind of people that attende premiere parties) but I can only take so much of some guy in skinny jeans telling me about the evils of factory farming, capitalism, and Ronald Reagan before I loose my cool.  Thus, I made sure my old pal Joe McNutt was going to be there.  Joey is an entrepreneurial carpet hook salesman who teaches Sunday school at a church near where I grew up.  Not only is he normal, but he is full of stories and can entertain anyone for hours.  Knowing Joey was going to be there, assured me that I'd have someone to hang out with the whole time.

Make sure you know some of the stars.

I wanted to rub elbows with celebrities.  Joey has a part in the show and I know the star so I was basically a VIP at this thing.

Eat Before You Get There.

These parties often have free food and drinks.  This party was no exception, but this was Hollywood style catering.  There was plenty of good stuff to drink, but the food was all vegetarian.  They had Tofu fried rice and Soy Buffalo wings.  Thank God my dad treated me to a rack of dry rub ribs at Scott's Walk Up BBQ before I left. 

Take a Hot Date.

Premiere parties and the red carpet go hand and hand.  Photographers and the media swarm these parties to take lots of pictures beautiful, famous people and their limousines.  I didn't want to be caught on film driving a jalopy with a dog of date on my arm.  So, I parked really far away and took my beautiful wife who is a former model.  (For real, she was paid to model at the apparel mart...that one time.)  Since this was a Chattanooga party and not a Hollywood premier, there was just a local news crew there.  They did film me, though!  I wouldn't want a bunch of Chattanoogans whom I haven't seen since 9th grade to think I ended up with anything less than a hot wife when they saw a 2 second clip of me on the 11 o'clock news.   There were no limos there either, but there was a very large city bus parked out front.

Make sure the party is in Chattanooga, not Hollywood.

There's no place like home.

Make sure the movie or show being screened isn't terrible.

If you're in the show, sometimes you can't help this.  Dylan was in Leatherheads so I can't imagine the suffering he had to endure at that premiere.  I had actually already seen the first three episodes of "The Steps" so I knew it wasn't terrible.  Gritty crime noir is a genre I appreciate and "The Steps" doesn't disappoint.  It's a pretty entertaining web show.  It's not for everybody, my mom didn't like it.  It's full of F-bombs, but from what I understand, that's just how people from California talk. 

If you've got some time, you should check out the show.  Whether you like the plot or not, it's nice to see cinematic art created by a real professional produced locally.  Who knows, if Dylan does really well, Chattanooga's streets could one day be lined with stars and lingerie shops.  Chattanooga could be Hollywood Southeast, and then Charlie Madison wouldn't have to be in hell any longer.

It didn't take long for me to come up with my first blog subject.  My brother suggested sibling mimicry, but that's a topic for another time.  Instead I will focus on how the resentment of short people and the entitlement mentality of the younger generation have led me to be labeled a bad tipper.

Short People Hate Me

I am by no means exceptionally tall.  I can't dunk a basketball and I have to stand on my tip toes to place the star on the most modest of Christmas Trees.  However, if you are reading this, I am probably taller than you.  I am 6'2".  The average American height, according to various websites that I googled, is around 5'9".  So I'm taller than average, but not really tall enough to be exceptional.  What this means is that I'm basically that Saleri, of recreational basketball leagues.  I can out rebound everyone there, but so what?  It's just rec basketball league.  If Mozart were there, he'd dunk all over me. Still, I think that really short people resent me.  Think of it like this.  The bums in downtown Atlanta who ask me for money might think that I'm rich.  I'm certainly not, but I've got a lot more money than them.  So perhaps they resent me when I tell them that, "I don't have any money."   By this same logic, I am certain that short people resent me.  They're maybe even out to get me!  Now, there's two sides to every coin.  I have considered that maybe it is I who resent them.  Unlike me, they never have to admit that they are too scared to ride a roller coaster, they can just say that they are too little to be allowed on the ride.  Unlike me, they can always find clothes at the after Christmas sales; mid-January is the only time of year that I consistently see entire racks full of XS sized shirts.  Perhaps I'm just jealously that I can't comfortably sit into a sub-compact vehicle.  All these things considered, I'm pretty sure that short people are out to get me.

The Entitlement Generation

My peers and I are supposedly a part of the Entitlement Generation, a generation of workers who feel that they just deserve all the perks, French benefits, and prestige of a good job without having to do the grunt work to earn them.  To me, this personally insulting.  I'm not Notre Dame, I don't feel that belong in the top of the rankings just because of my label.  Sadly, there are some among my generation who do feel this way.

The Slander of the Entitled Short Man.

It came about one day that a group of co-workers and I set out to eat lunch.  This was no ordinary group of co-workers and this was no ordinary lunch.  This was a lunch of accountants...auditors...and we were auditing our firm's largest client.  In CPA culture, lunchtime is the most important part of the day; don't just take my word for it.  The 2nd most important part of the day is charging hours; don't just take my word for it.  Lunchtime is the one bright spot of the auditor's day.  That day, we decided that we would go to the only BBQ restaurant in the area.  As BBQ is my favorite meal, I was ecstatic.  My hopes were dashed, however, when my debit card was turned away at the BBQ place's order counter.  I was, instead, directed to the ATM on the wall.  One thing that is true about the entitlement generation is that we don't carry cash money.  We use debit cards.  We use credit cards.  We do not use cash.  We are entitled to pay with plastic.  The lady at the counter wanted me to use the ATM, pay a $2 service fee, and pay her in cash.  My principals demanded that my party leave this place for the kind of business that would except my generation's form of payment!  It offended that the owner of this restaurant refused to pay debit card merchant fees but expected his customers to pay him ATM fees (I assumed he owned the ATM) so we could eat at his restaurant.  It was my steadfast belief that this businessman was no doubt using an all cash business model so that he could evade his taxes.  We had to leave.  My principled stand confounded some amongst our group.  The audit manger had some cash and even offered to loan us some, but that have just enabled this crook of a BBQ man.  We had to leave.

So then, without wasting to much of our lunch "hour", we ended up at a Tex-Mex restaurant where the waitress proceeded to mess up our food orders (causing further delay) and then incorrectly calculate our bills.  She then proceeded to blame the kitchen!  The Gospel of Scott (an unpublished work of my older brother's beliefs that became ingrained as indisputable truth in my young mind over the years) says that waitresses should never blame the kitchen.  This waitress's tip was doomed.  Don't get me wrong, she had done enough to quash it herself but the previous events of the week didn't help.  All week long I had been performing extensive and expensive audits of our client's federal grant programs.  Without going into too much detail, these grant programs are basically giveaways of taxpayer money to people who don't pay much tax at all; the administration costs of these types of programs are exorbitant.  This type of work did not exactly put me in a generous mindset and having barely avoided the BBQ man's ripoff attempt, I was not about to tip this horrible waitress undeservingly.  

Tips are not an entitlement.  If they were, they would be a part of the bill.  In our culture I believe that a 15% tip is to be expected for service that is deemed purely adequate.  If the service was inadequate, a tip is undeserved.  This is my belief, at least. This did not sit well with one of my colleagues, a diminutive member of the entitlement generation.  This person proceeded to slander me as cheap and rude to all of our peers, and does so until this very day.  No one likes to be called cheap or ungenerous but this is an especially reprehensible affront at accounting firm where, as my mother has pointed out many times, college kids with zero work experience are hired at salaries over and above those of teachers who have been plying their trade for 30 years.  To be cheap and poor is one thing, to be well paid and stingy is worthy of visits from ghosts in a Dickens novel.  I am by now means cheap or a stingy tipper.  On occasion, I've tipped well over 25% and I tip  20% almost without fail.  However, my generous tipping past did nothing to save me from the ire of a short member of the entitlement generation who, no doubt, hates me because I'm tall.

What is Sethaganda? 

In the simplest terms, Sethaganda is just a terrible name for a blog that no one reads, not even the author's friends and family. 

In more more complex terms, Portmanteau of Seth an Propaganda.

If you'd like to hear edgy commentaries on hot button issues, this blog is your place...or at least it would be if my situation were different.  I'm looking for a job right now in an economy with 10% unemployment.  I don't have the luxury of an opinion that could be deemed controversial.  This is not a big deal, however.  I'm not one of those bloggers who deludes himself into thinking the whole internet cares about what he thinks.  But if you do care about what I think, feel free to leave a topic for me to blog on in the comment section.  I always enjoy telling other people what I think about things in great detail.