Oddly Enough Blog
News, but not the serious kind
Alert readers of this blog will recall my complaints about the U.S. Census last year.
I wrote about their heavy-handed approach, their fixation that my single-family dwelling was actually housing countless lodgers, and their surprise visits looking for an Apartment 2 and Apartment 3 somewhere in my home.
Also, I wasn’t too crazy about the census question asking whether I spend some of my time living in prison instead of here. Shouldn’t the government already KNOW who lives in prison?
But let’s not dwell on that again until 2020. Instead, let’s look at how another country handles it. Hungary, for instance.
I’m sorry, I just can’t stop laughing at this one. We have this series of photos showing census-takers conducting a general census of the population of a male prison camp in Siberia.
Excuse me? Shouldn’t the authorities already KNOW how many people they have in a prison, and who they are and everything?
Back in March, I wrote “Five annoying things about the Census.” It’s one of my most popular posts for the year so far. Apparently others share my annoyance.
One of my complaints was that they sent THREE forms, in THREE envelopes, marked Apartment 1, 2 and 3, to my single-family residence. Neighbors tell me there may have been apartments here long ago, but shouldn’t that have been sorted out by now? I wondered if I would be in trouble if I only returned one of the forms.
I’m not a trouble-maker. I do what I’m told. But a few days ago I made fun of the U.S. Census people for spending a fortune to send letters telling us our Census forms would arrive soon. I figure I’m alert enough to spot the form when it lands.
I guess the Census is a good thing. They had one in the Bible, which is how Mary and Joseph ended up in Bethlehem. There’s a census every 10 years, so that’s why they went in the year 0000.
Blog Guy, I bet you get a lot of stupid stuff in the mail…
Do I! Just today. I got a stupid personal letter from Robert Groves, Director of the U.S. Census Bureau. He’s the dude waving in the dogsled here.
A personal letter?
Well, he called me “Dear Resident,” which is what my friends call me, so I consider it personal.