Times Is Hard ... Right?

NOTE:  I'm going to be incommunicado for a few days, y'all.  Here's my post ... please read and do not hesitate to leave comments both pithy and insightful, but realize I will be unable to approve or respond to them until Sunday night.

That said, we return to our regularly scheduled blogging.

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^ Famous Economist

^ Not An Economist, Famous Or Otherwise ...

... however.

Last night TG and I were out and about, tooling along in our American-made automobile, when a courteous bell tone combined with a polite digital message informed us that we needed to refuel.

The hour it was late-ish and from home we were far-ish. Potentially not good!

We turned in at three gas stations before finding one without blanks where prices ought to be on their signs, or plastic bags where free-flowing nozzles ought to be on their pumps.

I will whine about address a few issues, though. You knew I would.

Disconcerting, to say the least. As if the gas prices aren't high enough, where I live it's difficult to find a station that has it to sell at any price. How's that for reverse psychology?

(At some stations the pump islands are swathed in yellow crime-scene tape, as though it is now a federal offense to even want to buy gasoline.)

In due time we found a station in business and cozied up to a working pump. TG cadged a twenty-dollar bill off me (Yes! I keep him.) and loped into the C-store to pay. He was gone several minutes, then reemerged and trotted towards our car with the twenty still flapping from his long, elegant fingers. He got back behind the wheel of our still-parched chariot.

Turns out that, after driving to four different gas stations before finding one with actual petroleum products to sell, my darling was unwilling to wait in line behind at least a half-dozen other folks who impatiently waited in line ... all of whom were stalled behind an individual who couldn't seem to decide upon the type and number of lottery tickets he wanted to purchase.

We found another station. (TG often claims to "run out of gas" when we're driving around at night, but he knows I'm onto his thinly-veiled ploy to get me to turn down a dark road, park, and talk politics.)

Call me crazy (I'll wear it as a badge of honor) but all the yowling about our "terrible" economy rings false when folks are still driving (which they certainly are in my neck of the woods ... traffic seems to be worse every time I get on the road), buying stuff like beer, smokes, and lottery tickets (which they are, in abundance), and frequenting restaurants where food costs five times what it's worth (which they are if the stuffed-to-the-gills parking lots of said establishments are any indication).

I refuse to whine about the economy. I have a good job and so does my husband. We are able-bodied and industrious, as were our parents before us. We consider ourselves fortunate to be fiscal and social conservatives**. We are patriotic Americans and that doesn't make us blind, deaf, addlepated or behind the times.  Quite the contrary.

Stuff costs a bit more of late, but a certain amount of inflation is to be expected. I don't even mind paying through the nose for postage as long as I am given the full range of price choices without having to guess or beg.

I will whine about address a few issues, though. You knew I would.

For the record, I am against an eight-hundred-billion-dollar government bailout of gargantuan companies that -- just for starters -- have made millions of ill-advised loans, and in some cases cooked the books into the bargain.

In my opinion the "leaders" of these companies ought to go to jail. Let AIG, Fannie, Freddie, and Lehman Brothers fail royally and bear the consequences of their malfeasance.

Like, maybe some rich folks who got rich in a wrong way, ought to go broke.

When is the last time the likes of Dick Fuld, Bob Willumstad, Frank Raines, or their wives (and ex-wives) shopped at Wal-Mart?

Wally World is fun! Starting with the vivacious greeters, continuing as you wend your way through the aisles stuffed with ... stuff ... and ending with a fifteen-minute wait on line to settle up with the ebullient cashiers! Watch out you don't get run over by a pickup in the hundred-acre parking lot!

Might not want to wear Armani or Chanel Couture for this particular retail experience ... and you may want to arrive at the venue by other means than a chauffeured limo ... but as human problems go, I'd say those are relatively small ones.

Carol ... Wendy ... Kathy ... c'mere and I'll show you where all the good deals are. If y'all stay within your grocery budget we'll swing by the magazine rack and pick up the latest Town & Country ... but you gals have to share, 'k?

In a country on the brink of economic disaster, the least we can save is a tree.

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**GLENN BECK'S CONSERVATIVE CREED

A conservative believes that our inalienable rights do not include housing, healthcare or Hummers.

A conservative believes that our inalienable rights DO include the pursuit of happiness. That means it is guaranteed to no one.

A conservative believes that those who pursue happiness and find it have a right to not be penalized for that success.

A conservative believes that there are no protections against the hardship and heartache of failure. We believe that the right to fail is just as important as the chance to succeed and that those who do fail learn essential lessons that will help them the next time around.

A conservative believes in personal responsibility and accepts the consequences for his or her words and actions.

A conservative believes that real compassion can't be found in any government program.

A conservative believes that each of us has a duty to take care of our neighbors. It was private individuals, companies and congregations that sent water, blankets and supplies to New Orleans far before the government ever set foot there.

A conservative believes that family is the cornerstone of our society and that people have a right to manage their family any way they see fit, so long as it's not criminal. We are far more attuned to our family's needs than some faceless, soulless government program.

A conservative believes that people have a right to worship the God of their understanding. We also believe that people do not have the right to jam their version of God (or no God) down anybody else's throat.

A conservative believes that people go to the movies to be entertained and to church to be preached to, not the other way around.

A conservative believes that debt creates unhealthy relationships. Everyone, from the government on down, should live within their means and strive for financial independence.

A conservative believes that a child's education is the responsibility of the parents, not the government.

A conservative believes that every human being has a right to life, from conception to death.

A conservative believes in the smallest government you can get without anarchy. We know our history: The larger a government gets, the harder it will fall.

Oh, I Forgot ...

 ... to tell you that my house is full of elephants.

For some years I have had a substantial fondness for elephants.

There's something about these animals ... a mystique, I guess, or a riddle ... that makes them irresistible to me. When I go to the zoo, I can easily stand for an hour watching the elephants. They're huge, which lends them considerable gravitas, sure ... but they also have grace, as well as humor and pathos and personality and brains, in abundance.

And it's true that they never forget. Have you ever seen a documentary or read an article about elephant behavior? It's fascinating.

That's how you become a collector.

Years ago I went to the Toledo Zoo and saw Baby Louie. He's big now I'm sure, and very impressive, but when he was little he was so sweet and cute. We stood in line for a long time just to enjoy five minutes crowded around the boundary of his zoo habitat, watching Louie interact with his mother. Then the zoo employees hustled us away, but we got right back in line and did it again.

Louie was growing so fast, they had to make sure lots of folks got to witness his babyhood.

As is often the case when friends and family members know you like something, and they see an example of that thing as they are out and about -- maybe or maybe not searching for the perfect gift to give you -- they buy it for you.

And then you see it everywhere too, and sometimes you can't leave it where you saw it, and so you buy it.

That's how you become a collector.

So now I have elephants in large quantities. In addition to elephant figurines varying in size from one inch high to twelve inches high, I have elephant jewelry, elephant lamps, an elephant pillow, elephant purses, an elephant box, an elephant floormat, an elephant footstool, an elephant candlestick, an elephant teapot, stuffed elephants, a musical elephant, and more.

Look ... here are some pictures!  (If instead of pictures you see a black screen with a lot of writing on it, click on the "x" in the upper right-hand corner and that screen will go away.  Voila!  Jenny's elephant collection ...)

Oh, I forgot ... two of these things are not like the others.

Did you spot them?

Post Time

Some of you may have read my "guest rant" entitled Let's Play Post Office on one of my favorite blogs, Special Kind of Stupid (the world is full of stupid ... we're just here to document it), back during the summer. Well mah li'l peeps, here we go again.

Once more the United States Postal Service provides inspiration far beyond the realm of anything yours truly could devise or imagine, even on a good day.

On Saturday morning I dispatched Erica on a simple, all-American type of errand: go to the post office and mail two gifts. I gave her the packages and eight dollars cash.

Apparently I should have given her fifty dollars. And brass knuckles liberally coated with spoofle dust.

At that precise juncture I would have trotted out my best imitation of Attila the Hun.

One package, bound for California, was approximately twelve inches by ten inches in size and just thick enough to contain a neatly-folded necktie (wrapped in tissue paper) and a small card. It would be a stretch to say it weighed four ounces; a slight breeze would blow this piece of mail down the street. A stiff wind would carry it clear to the Gulf of Mexico.

For free.

The second package, destined for Ohio, was somewhat larger and heavier, but still a mailing envelope. It may have weighed twelve ounces with your thumb on the edge.

Erica drove to the PO, waited her turn, and in due time came face-to-face with a feral archetype of the prodigiously and perennially surly postal worker.

(What are these people so bitter about? A conundrum for the ages.)

The mysteriously disgruntled bureaucrat accepted the first (nearly weightless) package from Erica's hand. She tossed it onto the cold steel of the scale and throttled a couple of buttons.

"That'll be $19.80 express or $4.80 priority," she spat Erica-ward.

(The tie only cost $9.99 plus tax. You get the max for the minimum at TJ Maxx.)

Erica can be a trifle ... shall we say, timid at such times. Whereas at that precise juncture I would have trotted out my best imitation of Attila the Hun, sweet Erica simply stared, then stammered: "F-f-f-four eighty, I guess."

All the while wondering: Do I have enough money to cover this? Mom only gave me eight dollars. She produced her wallet and began feverishly searching for additional liquid assets in the form of stray change, folding currency, bank checks, credit cards, property deeds, gold bouillon, and blue chip stock certificates.

Then, in the nick of time, her fierce-puppy gene bobbed to the surface.

Erica squared her little shoulders and looked Brunhilde in the eye. "Wait a minute. I find it hard to believe that piece can't be mailed any more cheaply than that," she hazarded.

That's my kid.

Cruella DeVil squinted her beady eyes. "It CAN be mailed more cheaply than that," she snapped.

"But you only gave me two choices: $19.80 or $4.80!" Erica argued.

"I'm only required to give you two choices," responded this female who probably milks rattlesnakes in her spare time.

Wow. Uhm ... so, there are multiple ways to skin the cat but they only have to tell you about the top two? If one wants a reasonable postal rate, one must conduct a concerted probe to unearth that highly classified information? Pry it from the postal employees' cold, lifeless brains?

So it would seem.

In the end, it cost $1.68 to mail the four-ounce necktie. Erica opted to send the other package, her aunt's birthday present, via priority mail for $4.80.

Total: $6.48. I can live with that, I guess.

The excessive courtesies lavished by representatives of the United States Postal Service upon ordinary taxpayer citizens as they transact business are, as always, free of charge. It's all about being a public servant.

Time to privatize this thing, y'all. Take the federal government out of the equation and bring the glory back. Shoot ... bring the Pony Express back. A bag of oats, a sugar cube, a slurp of water, and that bad boy will run like the wind. California, here we come.

Go Cubs Go ...

... go Cubs go!  Hey Chicago whaddaya say?  The Cubs are gonna win today ...

The Chicago Cubs clinched the division at Wrigley today, 5-4 against the St. Louis Cardinals.

TG -- a die-hard Cub fan -- is, to put it mildly, ecstatic.

"Cubbies!  Cubbbbbbies," he keeps crooning.

Whatever floats your boat, darling.

The Cubs last won the World Series one century ago. 

I love all things Chicago and I think that's long enough for anybody to wait.

Good luck in the playoffs, Cubbies.

Just to be safe, let's give the billy goat a seat of honor this time.

 

Make Mine Al Dente

This fraternal YouTube has been watched in excess of fifty-one million times (at least a dozen of those by me) and as such you've likely already seen it too ... but as it never fails to crack me up, I offer it as a momentary diversion.

If you can say nothing else about Charlie, he certainly is toothful.

I'm over here writing so you'll have something to read come Monday.  It won't hurt a bit.

Happy weekend, everyone!