Turning the Screw on State Employees

 The media, Tea Partiers, and Republicans have been on a crusade against state workers, denouncing high level bureaucrats with disproportionately high salaries and pension fund double-dippers. They argue it's only fair to bring state worker benefits more in line with what's offered in the private sector. Meanwhile, the average State of Florida public worker has been vilified in the rhetoric, turned into a scapegoat for all of Florida's budget troubles. 

The public sector IS NOT the private sector.

When times are flush, private sector employees are rewarded with raises, exorbitant bonuses and solid benefit packages. They are compensated for exceeding quotas and getting their job done. I have never heard of a DCF employee receiving an all-expense paid trip to Hawaii for meeting his quota. Public employees are lucky if a co-worker organizes a potluck holiday party in the break room during lunch.

Here is a sample of current State of Florida job openings with annual salaries:

Psychiatric Aid (Night Shift) $18,259

Gaurdian Ad Litem Case Coordinator $15,762

Juvenile Probation Officer $21,642

Wildland Firefighter $24,579

Correctional Officer $28,093

Child Protective Investigator $28,093

High School Math Teacher for the Deaf and Blind $33,250

Unlike the private sector, there is not much hope of these salaries increasing when the economy improves. State employees have not had a raise in  five to seven years and Scott wants to permanently eliminate any annual cost of living increases.  Now Scott also wants employees to pay a mandatory 5% of these paltry salaries into a retirement fund. If employees had any chance of a raise they might be much more open to this option. Currently, after 30 years of low pay serving the people of Florida, most employees accrue less than half their annual salary. State workers who have any hopes of actually retiring already pay into supplemental 401k accounts.  Scott is changing the rules on many workers midway to late in their careers to suit his own needs.  Many employees believe they have been contributing already, a trade-off of non-competitive, poor wages for benefits.  The rug has been yanked from under their feet.

And Czar Governor Scott's absurd new budget proposal would also raise an employee's family medical insurance premium to $9920 per year, thereby cutting employee's pay by $7760. For many employees, that $643 per month would be over half their paycheck--gone. If that passes, many full-time state workers will be living in virtual poverty. 

Let's use an example. A Child Protective Investigator is called out day or night, often into dangerous neighborhoods and extremely volatile family situations, to save children who are being physically and/or sexually abused. The investigator's judgment and experience (or lack of) can literally mean a child's life or untimely death. If these proposals are passed, that college educated full-time public employee will bring home $322/week before taxes. After taxes, he would do better receiving unemployment. 

The Juvenile Probation Officer would be raking in just over $200 per week before taxes.  That is not a living wage.

Going against his own campaign slogan, "Let's get to work!" Scott has plans to eliminate 7% of state government jobs, resulting in nearly 7,000 layoffs, with more cuts to come in the following year.  So those left with a job would be doing twice as much work for considerably less pay.

Supporters say if state workers don't like it, they can find another job. Perhaps they can, but someone must do these jobs, and many of these positions are hard to fill under the best of circumstances.  Cutting wages and benefits will lead to a mass exodus of qualified, dedicated, and honest employees and increase corruption, complacency, and crimes against the citizens of Florida.  With his sketchy history Gov. Scott will feel right at home.

And although Florida is in such dire straits,  Scott is nearly doubling the budget of his own office to $635 million. This would go into  his own private slush fund so he can dole out our cash to his big business buddies, money he claims is designated to entices business to our sad state.  

Too bad no one is going to have any paycheck to spend.   State workers will join ranks of the million others out of work and on the unemployment line...if there is anyone left to work it.

Just DO it.

A quick welcome to all the SHE WRITES BLOG HOPPERS who may be stopping by for a quick read.  I cannot wait to discover all of your blogs about books and writing, my greatest passions.  Thanks for dropping by and feel free to sit down, relax, and stay for a little while....
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I've been on a bender.  A writing bender, that is.  (Well, there was some wine involved, but regular consumption doesn't count and is good for you.)

I've convinced myself that I have no hopes of ever finding a real paying job due to the crappy economy, hiring freezes at all my previous places of employment, and my complete absence from the job market for the last seven or so years.  I can imagine the human resources director, her face screwed up as if she has just been squirt with Tabasco sauce, as she reads that I have "wasted" nearly the last decade at home raising my kid.   SHE manage to work and raise kids.  What have I been doing all that time besides eating chocolate covered Oreos, taking tennis lessons, and catching up on all the fine daytime television programs on Lifetime and WE? 

I'm not even going to begin to defend myself for being a SAHM and raising a fabulous kid. Or mention that I basically remodeled my house with my own two hands.   Or that I wrote a book.

Oh wait, I haven't finished that yet.  But I'm working damn hard on it.   I work on my manuscript as if it is a real job.  If I win the writing lottery, it's something which might actually earn me a pittance someday so I can deduct my lovely home office on my tax return.  It's something that brings me overwhelming joy and a sense of accomplishment some days, while others I want to chuck my laptop into the pool--kind of like a real job.

As of today's count I am at 65,000 words.  That's a whopping 260 pages of words, my words, flowing across the pages...err...screen...and maybe they don't all quite flow...yet...  Okay, so I may have 260 pages of absolute crap that would embarrass a 5th grade teacher--I just don't know yet.  Some days I am exuberantly proud of what I created, others not so much.  I hit my goal of 5,000 words per week for the last two weeks.  I am inching closer to the end of my first draft, the plots are coming together in a somewhat tidy little bow and  the end is in sight.  I can get there, I CAN.

And then the rewriting will begin.  The merciless editing.  Can I  rip sentences and entire scenes I agonized over for hours or even days to shreds?   Will I be able to banish them from the manuscript completely into the black hole of the delete button?  Can I do it?  Am I that strong?   I think I need an editing boot camp class.

I am desperate to find some critique groups, others writers or editors who can read whatever crap I may be spewing out and tell me how utterly screwed up it is (and how to fix it).  I need to reread all the grammar and structural guides I poured over during school.  I want my killer Northwestern journalism professor to attack my printed pages with his omnipotent purple pen, slashing away at my misplaced modifiers and dangling participles.

But first I must just do it. Writing is something I love, something I need...even if some days I am terrified of my own keyboard.

How Vintage Nike Ads Kept Me Off Prozac

This page is yellowed with age, wrinkled from at least a dozen moves, and stained with mysterious drops which could be anything from tears to beer.  It has been taped to dorm room walls, lost in precious memory boxes, emblazoned across my fridge with kitsch magnets, and currently graces my office bulletin board where I can read it every day.

These pages were a part of a phenomenal print ad campaign which ran during some the most formative and tumultuous times of my life, those last years of high school and early college.  Angst filled years when I didn't fit in with any crowd.  Insecure years when I doubted not only my external beauty but the depth of what was hidden inside.   Experimental years when I vacillated between the girl I was and the woman I wanted to become.   Years when I made terrible mistakes and lifelong friends as I lost both my innocence and my mind at  times. 





These ads spoke to me, were written for me, they were modern day mantras that boosted my spirits and kept me from drowning myself in vodka or Prozac.  I actually changed my major from journalism to advertising as these ads flooded the pages of my Vogue, Cosmopolitan, and Rolling Stone magazines.  I too wanted to create edicts of empowerment for the women of the world.

But the power of persuasion can work for both good and evil.  Most advertisements, whether print, television or online, tell women we are never thin enough, not attractive or sexy enough,  and we have horrible hair.  We drive a car our kid's hate and our husbands must not love us since they don't give us expensive jewelry in front of a roaring fire.   Their message is clear: we are not good enough.

Nike told us we were.

And 20 years later, we still are.  

Thanks, Nike.

Chicks Dig Vino: Fab & Funny Wines for Any Girl Gathering

Yes, I admit it, I am a label whore. I will buy a wine simply because the label intrigues me or makes me laugh so hard I snort wine out my nose. Sometimes it's just not the points that make a wine pourable. Sometimes the wine's personality is so just much more intriguing. A bottle or two of these hip vinos is sure to get more than just gossip flowing at your next gathering of girlfriends. Cheers!





Mad Housewife
At the end of a absurdly long day don't we deserve to leap off the carousel of household catastrophes to savor a much deserved glass of Chardonnay...or two...or three...? For red vino aficionados, a Cabernet and a Merlot are also available from the vineyard that was supposedly inspired by the film "Diaries of a Mad Housewife." I am going to have to splurge on one of their "Don't be silly darling, it's just a wine..." t-shirts immediately. Tons of neat stuff to check out on their website Mad Housewife Cellars.






Bitch and Sassy Bitch
When the party turns into an all-out Bitchfest it's time to pull out these cute little numbers. All the way from South Austraila, the Bitch Grenache is rapidly becoming available in local markets. The newly discovered Sassy Bitch simply screams for a night out with girlfriends, gossip, and a bit of glamour. Every girl should be entitled to revel in her bitchiness every now and then.




Mommy's Time Out
Heaven would be a quiet corner where a perfectly chilled Pino Grigio is waiting for me while my child is left to figure out that temper tantrums, baby powdering the bedroom, and flushing frogs down toilet does NOT make Mommy happy. All by himself. While I get some much deserved chill-out time. Wouldn't it be lovely if life actually worked that way? I have a bottle of this tempting Italian White I am saving for the moment I JUST CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.




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Working Girl Wines
We all know that every woman is a working woman no matter what her official title may be. These labels from Olympic Cellars Winery, "Created by women, in support of women," include Go Girl Red, Working Girl White, Rose the Riveter, and the token hot guy Handyman Red. And you can gulp your glass guilt free, for portions of the profit support various women's charities. WorkingGirlWines.com








Old Tart
We all have one of these in our circle of friends...or family. This blend of Sauvignon Blanc and Terret is supposedly flying of the shelves across the pond. Made for adult consumers who with voluptuous bodies, who are fresh, fruity, and a bit up-front. OLD Fart Grenache is also available, but personally, I'd prefer this dame at my party. As the bottle says, "Be smart, enjoy the tart!"












Cat's Pee on a Gooseberry Bush
Sometimes we need an escape from our furry babies as well. Having been the mom of five fab felines, and I have cleaned more than my share of ill placed puddles and piddles some memorable days. So, I simply couldn't resist including this New Zeland Sauvignon Blanc, self described as "Extremely playful, with aromas inclined to leap out of the glass at you and a long and racy body." I'm assuming those aromas are much more pleasing to the palate than than the name suggests.








White Trash White
It's a scenario that is all too familiar. After a few glasses of wine someone inevitably breaks out the country tunes, and often a sing-along ensues. Next time anyone attempts to subject me to such a situation I'm going to insist this wine is served. Perhaps not for the Manolo and martini set, but guaranteed to give the rest of us a good chuckle. The back lable reads: Nestled in the scenic foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in the quaint community of Oildale. Strategically planted btween pumping oil wells and oil sumps are rows of grapevines. This blend of oil and tar-tainted soils leds itself to a wine grape flavor seldom duplicated throughout the world of viticulture. At your next trailer park potluck, surprise your neighbors with this teasingly trashy white. No catfish should be served without it.
'Nuff said.





Tiny Bubbles
Yeah, she looks like she would be the life of any party or its obnoxious downfall. This cheap bubbly should be good for more than a few giggles once her cork is popped. And she kind of reminds me of my 4th grade teacher. Another amusing addition from the Harper Hill Oildale Winery.











UTTER bastard
No night of female bonding is complete without a little man bashing. This lively little Syrah would be the perfect accompaniment to trashing any bastard in your life (whether he deserves it or not). If you prefer a Chardonnay or your man can stand to lose a few pounds, the FAT BASTARD is also readily available.









SinZin
Who can resist this lusty little Bacchus? Perhaps we should save the sinning for a weekend in Vegas, but this Greek God of wine and intoxication is sure to get any party started. My husband wanted to have this label tiled on the bottom of our swimming pool. Seriously. Damn tasty Zinfandel though.









Rude Boy
No need to hire a stripper, Ladies. The back label "warns," When this bottle of wine is chilled Rude Boy will reveal all. This hunk's pants disappear when this South African Chardonnay hits the right degree. Never has reaching the proper temperate been so climatic. I will be on the hunt for this hunk for my next soiree...be waiting for it ladies...