Who am I? Who the Hell are you? (I AM NOT SUICIDAL)

Here's my proposed tombstone. It will measure slightly less grande than the Arc de Triomphe (below). The little things circling it are cars.

                 JOSEPH RUDOLPH BAUER, III, aka ERNST WOLFGANG
                                       "J.R." thrived, more or less, from
                              15 APRIL 1963  TO  31 DECEMBER 2043

Here lies the dessicated remains of one urbane, humble polymath and renowned philanthropist who donated over 1000¢ per month to various humanitarian causes by which we mean anything remotely anti-LimbaughBeckHannityMcCarthyPalinO'ReillyCoulterRobertsonesque. 

He commanded at least ONE language well enough to be considered a "native speaker" though he claimed allegiance to no particular tribe, and was an honorable, decorated, disabled veteran despite having done nothing of note in combat, kinda like Pat Robertson but with more decorations, greater dignity and fewer STDs.

He is missed by but a few; however, they are the likes anyone should be honored to know. He insists the rest can go fuck themselves silly, redundant though that may be.

He desperately misses his Ell, the kids, English football, the NY Times' crossword puzzles, and his futile pursuit to understand why ANYONE intelligent enough to figure out how to breed could have voted for George W. Bush in 2004. He's hoping the change of venues allows better search capabilities.

Lastly, it is his greatest hope that if there is indeed a Heaven--and his invitation is still valid--it is engineered and designed by Steve Jobs and PIXAR Studios. And that Sen. Mitch McConnell, R-KY, never be allowed in, even if just for a visit.

Actually, I'm a happily married father of 2 sons and step-father of one daughter who served in the Army as a linguist and signals intelligence analyst for nearly 8 years until the lingering effects of a serious ankle injury & surgery along with increasing lower back pain forced my honorable discharge due to disability in December 1991.

Part of the motivation for this blog is the attempt to re-create my identity and self-worth as a person and as a man now that the pain in my spine and radiates down both legs is severe and unremitting. The causes of the pain are also inoperable largely because I'm a diabetic and the risk of infection to the spinal cord or brain is too great, but also because a good deal of the pain is caused by spondylosis, an arthritis particular to spinal mechanisms called "facet joints," which not only creates swelling and muscle spasms but impingement of the nerve roots as they exit the central canal space on their way to connecting the peripheral nervous system of the arms, torso and legs to the spinal cord and ultimately the brain.

Simply stated, chronic, severe pain is a bitch. I had no idea it would change my world in such devastating and crazy ways. The first real symptoms--other than a deep, ineffable, nauseating pain that felt like a Clydesdale was perched on my lumbar spine about 3 inches above the crack in my butt cheeks--included the overwhelming desire to sleep...for days on end. I was working from home at the time and felt so bad I was taking sick leave for the simple reason that I was unable to concentrate long enough to do my job, a job I loved: a disability evaluator for the VA. Next, it was becoming very clear that I was unable to sleep secondary to the pain despite the use of prescription opiates--oxycontin, Vicodin, oxycodone, et al--but they were short-term medications not nearly strong enough to even come close to the level of hegemonic pain that was imposing its unruly will on my life. I seriously considered hiring Jesse Jackson to negotiate with the hijackers to no avail; THEY were in control of S.S. Ernst Wolfgang until their mysterious demands were deciphered and met.

And then it got really bad. It began to affect my relationships with co-workers and, surprise surprise, management.* The frustrated "unrecognized genius" that I was began lashing out and pushing back...well, even worse than before, anyway. I loved and respected the job and what we did for veterans to the point that my logical, focused, and reasonably well-honed intellect started an inexorable loosening of the hinges, untying of knots, and horrendous unraveling that met the morons of management head-fucking-on, like a demolition derby king looking for something to hit.

Unfortunately, I failed to realize, 1) how fucking mean-spirited and petty some of the dark forces were, and 2) how little patience they had for any employee who failed to pull his own weight. Shitty, titty-suck managers dumber than boxes full of hair were allowed felonious yards of rope with which to hang themselves, in fact I never saw one get the boot; employees, on the other hand, who were in the trenches, fighting for veterans, helping fellow workers, fixing the goddam printers 10 fucking times a day, repairing internal errors--many of which were malicious and cruel to the claimants--blah blah blah, meant not a whit to the shits driving the damn boat. It was even worse than that. They were so desperate to fuck claimants in order to preserve their bonuses, some resorted to stealing work off my desk while I was on vacation and then lying about it when I confronted them. I even found the folders of terminally ill, homeless veterans HIDDEN so they couldn't be worked "too fast and wreck our numbers." Thankfully, two people in the management chain were humane enough to realize how ill I had become and to stand up and fight on my behalf though they never told me what they were doing or why.

Here's how management "thinks" the world should work and see nothing contradictory or untoward about it. An employee was caught red-handed throwing away crucial evidence precisely because it supported a veteran's claim because the employee wanted to deny the claim. He was allowed to "retire." An "independent review" of his work found "no pattern" of malfeasance. Right. Shortly thereafter, a mandated review of everyone's work that covered a relatively short period of time--18 months, I believe--resulted in no fewer than 32 clear and unmistakable errors on that one person alone. In other words, for the time period involved in the review of everybody's decisions, roughly 1/4th of that haughty Teuton's determinations were purposely denied despite the presence of incontrovertible evidence to the contrary. No pattern, huh? Chicken-shit liars.

Even though they technically had grounds to fire me, the interference of the two doing "the right thing" resulted in the bittersweet though much preferred option called "retirement due to disability." One of the the esteemed members of the HQ cell called me at home where I was nursing a migraine--HEY! THANKS FOR THE GODDAMN RINGING PHONE! IT REALLY HELPS THOSE SUFFERING FROM A MIGRAINE (DEVISE A PLOT TO KILL OTHERS AND DISMEMBER THEIR CORPSES BEFORE JUDGE JUDY RETURNS FROM A BATHROOM BREAK! JUST KIDDING! SORTA)-- in order to inform me not to come back to work. They were expecting my wife to clean out my desk on her own time.

The SADDEST chapter of all this drama? I'd give my left biceps muscle and a Happy Meal to be able to return to work despite all my complaining. Some of the managers are excellent and genuinely concerned about both veterans and employees. It's just that the bad ones are of such poor quality in people and technical skills, their integrity as a person is often questionable. Their obvious weaknesses usually include the basic understanding of what a good supervisor does FOR the employees to make their job easier. When employees are being pushed to produce, which is fair, but not receiving the support to either complete their tasks or feel that the coach is willing to go to bat for them, the wheels come off. There is no worse feeling as a worker than the sensation that no one gives a shit whether you show up or not. Nevertheless, I would love to feel well enough to try.

XOXO
Ernst W.

* This is not to say every manager is bad. Some are great at their jobs. I'm referring to the big bosses primarily, like the ones who throw away mail addressed to someone else. Without asking. That's a federal crime. Especially if one looks like the monster in Young Frankenstein.