If You Live In A Big Leftist City – Why Haven’t You Moved?

“I don’t know what you do in New York, but around here we don’t give a man a funeral unless we’re pretty sure he needs one.” – Green Acres

RIGHTMEOW

I think I ran over Schrödinger’s cat. Not sure if I feel guilty or not.

Growing up, Green Acres was one of my favorite television shows. I was far too young to have seen it in the first run, but the local television station showed reruns that were on after the school bus made it all the way to the top of Wilder Mountain. The bus rides were long, but I learned a lot about kindness – one time I saw someone give up their seat for a blind student. In retrospect, the bus driver probably showed poor judgement in letting that blind girl drive.

For those of you that haven’t seen it, Green Acres was about a New York attorney (Oliver Wendell Douglas) that decided he was through with city life. Mr. Douglas quit his big city life and moved to the rural town of Hooterville. The show never discusses exactly where Hooterville is, but the best theory is that Hooterville is in the Ozark Mountains in Missouri.

The show was funny in a way that television isn’t now. Oliver always tried to fit in, but never could quite adjust from his city ways. A lot of the humor was making fun of that disconnect between Oliver and the humorous cast of townspeople, though the relationship between Oliver and his wife was loving, strong, and funny. Here’s a scene when there were looking for clothes to donate:

Oliver Douglas: Why don’t we give away this one?
Lisa Douglas: No that’s the dress I graduated from high school in.
Oliver Douglas: How about this one?
Lisa Douglas: That’s the dress I wore the first day of college.
Oliver Douglas: [holding a black, low-cut dress] What about this one?
Lisa Douglas: That’s the one I got expelled in.

Why do I bring this up?

GREENACRES

If I ever get a barn I’ll make sure I have an Internet router in there, so I can have stable wifi.

This weekend, The Mrs. and I were snoozing and were listening to the Watchdog on Wall Street, a radio show about investment. In the latest episode/podcast (Expedition New York – LINK), the host advocated what he called the Sam Kinison solution. Give good people U-Hauls® so they can leave the cities that are turning into scenes from Mad Max. “The reality of many urban areas is . . . it’s going to take a long, long time to come back.”

“Move.”

I was slipping in and out of sleep, but discussed the show later with The Mrs.

“He’s right you know. The era of law in those big cities is over. The District Attorneys in those large metropolitan areas have been bought and paid for by the far Left (LINK, LINK, LINK and I could go on forever with links). The DAs are no longer concerned with Justice,” I said. “These DAs are concerned with Social Justice. Try to defend yourself in a lot of these large urban monstrosities, and you’ll find out what the inside of a jail cell looks like pretty quickly. And that scares me because my brother got stabbed in jail. We took Monopoly® just a bit too seriously when I grew up.”

“Well, they can’t move here. We’re full.” That’s not exactly what The Mrs. said, but I can’t repeat it exactly since this is a family-friendly blog.

Although The Mrs. isn’t a social butterfly, she doesn’t exactly hate people. And it’s not new people moving to Modern Mayberry that was bothering her. It’s Leftist ideas.

CONAN

I donated $50 to a Leftist group the other day. I hope they find a cure.

“They residents of those cities are the reason the cities are in the condition that they’re in. Then they’ll move here, and want to turn Modern Mayberry into what they left.”

The Mrs. is not wrong. Here’s an example.

My brother, John Wilder had this problem in his midsized town. (Yes, his first name really is John as well. Our parents were caught in a soap opera episode and got amnesia and forgot they had him and named me the same thing by mistake.) He was at the neighborhood homeowners’ association meeting when they were selecting a trash company. They recently had an influx of people from the United Soviet Republic of California who had gotten approval to leave the state from the Supreme Soviet.

“Well,” one transplant said, “we certainly must be environmentally friendly. We should pick the trash company that offers the mandatory recycling. They only cost $35 more a month.”

After about an hour, my brother talked the homeowners’ association into picking the cheaper trash company. Is recycling bad? Not at all. Junkyards have been recycling cars for decades. Aluminum recycling makes beer cans cheaper. But in my brother’s town, the only thing that was really recycled was aluminum – the rest of the trash went into the dump whether or not it was neatly sorted.

That’s what scared The Mrs.

ALUM

I always get sad after crushing aluminum cans – it’s soda pressing.

Modern Mayberry is nice because it doesn’t have those things the big cities have, including all of their problems.

And the economy appears to be in a pretty bad state. The dollar bubble appears to be in the first phase of ending. The gold bubble may be inflating, and inflation will follow a deflation of the dollar, which is exactly as I predicted, but it’s about six months earlier than I had expected.

The median price (right now) for a house in San Francisco is $1,108 per square foot. In Modern Mayberry, I couldn’t find a single house that cost more than $100 per square foot. Sadly, you have to do without all of those San Francisco amenities like people pooping in the streets, riots and the San Francisco 49ers™. On the plus side, the Oakland Raiders® have moved, and if San Franciscans are lucky, what goes to Vegas stays in Vegas.

RAIDERS

This is a true statement.

If I were in Seattle or Portland or New York or any of a dozen other large cities I would be moving if I had children. The best time to move is ten years ago. This gives you time to build the relationships and integrate into the community. In Modern Mayberry, I’m still one of the New Guys, even after a decade.

The second best time is now. The worst time to move is after the bottom drops out and escaping from New York looks like something that even Kurt Russell couldn’t do on his best day.

And, if you decide to move, here’s hoping that you find a place as nice as Hooterville. I hear they have good hotscakes there.

Remember that the worst time to move is one day too late.

NEWYORK

A Modest Proposal: Defund D.C.

“In an emotional address at the state capitol, Nebraska Governor Paul Burmaster made a public apology for his state being so flat.” – Hot Shots! Part Deux

KAREN

If I could have a steak dinner with any historical figure, it would be Gandhi.  More steak for me.

The Family Wilder was having dinner out a few weeks ago.  We generally do that every Friday.  Pugsley has OCD so he insists that we give the waitress what we want starting with the highest priced item first.  It’s an extremely rare dish order.  Of course, I kid.

As is our custom, before we go out for dinner we toss all of our cell phones on the table.  We literally party like it’s 1999.  Discussion takes place without the constraint of Internet-enabled fact checking.  Rather than argue the facts, we agree to table that discussion until later, and can talk instead about pure ideas, like when The Boy decided that giving up spreadsheets forty days before Easter was an Excel® Lent idea.

Our conversation often travels into weird subjects, like it did that night.  This is actually the combination of several conversations we’ve had over time.  Being married for years means that a lot of what’s included in this conversation was said weeks or even years earlier, so it’s not exactly our dinnertime discussion.

John Wilder:  “You know, part of the problem is Washington, D.C. is just in the wrong place.  Sure, when the nation was founded it was smack in the middle of the 13 states.  Now?  It’s stuck on a seaboard, three thousand miles away from California, and 1,500 miles away from anything that could plausibly be called the center of the country.”

CHEESE

I want to ban the sale of pre-shredded cheese.  Together, we can make America grate again! 

The Mrs.:  “Yes, plus all the lobbyists flock there.  They spend huge amounts of money wining and dining Congress.  Gotta get that bacon-wrapped shrimp.”

JW:  “Yes!  Plus the population there has just grown to love government.  Heck, in 2016, 90.9% of the folks in Washington, D.C. voted for Hillary.  Donald Trump got 4.1%.  This doesn’t have remotely resemble the nation as a whole.  It also explains why the Left was so surprised when he won.  They probably don’t even know someone who voted for Trump.  Though you could have made a fortune mining the salt from their tears.”

The Mrs.:  “Perhaps there’s a better place for the capitol?”

JW:  “Perhaps.  How about Sioux Falls, South Dakota?  I think it gets hot there in the summer, but also cold in the winter.  If we just made sure the new capitol building had substandard heating and air conditioning . . . .”

The Mrs.:  “And made sure that no hotel better than a Holiday Inn Express® could be built . . . .”

JW:  “And made sure that all fancy parties had to be catered by Sonic®?”

CHILI

It would be so nice if Sonic added an “e” to its name.

It was a fun thought – fancy lobbyists forced to eat chili-cheese tater tots instead of the previously mentioned bacon-wrapped shrimp.  Perhaps the reason is that I, as an American citizen in the southern part of Northern Midwestia, have no real connection to the level of luxury and power that our Congresscritters experience on a daily basis.

It’s not just that.  The power in Washington, D.C. has proven to be as attractive to Leftists as Jeffrey Epstein’s plane was to Bill Clinton.

I recall back in 2000 when some sort of group on the Right was thinking of marching on Washington, D.C.  In the comments, one person asked, “Why would you want to go there?  There is no one from the Right there.  You’re travelling into enemy territory.  If you want to protest, try Wyoming.”

Make no mistake about it, Washington, D.C. is enemy territory.  Although everyone there isn’t a Leftist, it’s Leftist enough that wearing a Gadsden Flag t-shirt in a public location is probably not conducive to long term oxygen use here on Planet Earth.  There’s a reason that Trump “inspected” the bunker as fires and riots were raging outside of the White House.  I mean, riot season so early?  I still have my COVID decorations up.

CURE

There were riots in Detroit, too.  They caused $7 million in improvements.

Would that riot have happened in Sioux Falls?  Or Hastings, Nebraska?  Or Missoula, Montana?  Or Bismarck, North Dakota?  I think not.

Since the conversation that night, I had the idea that there’s no real reason that the United States needs to have a fixed capitol at all.  Put the thing into a group of double-wide trailers and move it around from state to state – each state gets a shot to have the capitol for six months or so.

To make it even spicier, make sure that the cities the capitol lands in have populations of less than 300,000 or so and are more than two hours from a really big airport.  Heck one month they could skip telling the New York delegation where they were going, just for giggles.

COLLAR

I tried to think of a social-distancing joke, but this was as close as I could get.

It wasn’t long after this conversation that I got an email from a reader suggesting exactly this same idea.  “Defund D.C.” was the suggestion.  I’d name them, but I didn’t have permission, but here’s a direct quote (with minor changes – style only):

“On January 21, 2021, start moving all Federal offices out of D.C. and Northern Virginia.  Leave only small legislative liaison staffs, and establish new offices in currently red states.  All national monuments in the area will continue to operate, if they charge admission and become self-sustaining without National Park Service funds.”

I’d add that we don’t want to burden Red States with a batch of imported Leftists, so the offices would be moved, and we could pick up new staff at the new locations.  We could house most of them in empty big box retail stores and malls.  Plenty of locals would like the jobs, but I worry that they’d be more efficient than the Leftists they replace and we might actually get the government we pay for.

All in all, I like the idea.  Heck, anything we could do to reduce the power of the Federal government at this point, I’m for.

BAYOU

I once pushed a female mathematician into a swamp.  She ended up with algae bra.

But I worry it’s too late.

When I look at the way that both sides have been spending money over the last twenty years, I am fairly certain that all of them go to parties where “deficits don’t matter” is written out on the buffet table in prosciutto ham wrapped asparagus.  Beyond the financial stress, the political stress has been built up.  To be clear, this political stress was built up when things were relatively good in the country.  When things go bad financially?

Look out below, it’s a long way to drop.

Given that, it might be too late.  But I will admit that it does make me smile when I think about Congresscritters bathed in rivers of sweat in July and having to give speeches in overcoats and mittens in November in double wide trailers on the Great American Prairie.

It might not solve anything.

But it sure would be amusing.

Free Speech: Endangered Species – WRSA is Down

“Uncomfortable silences.” – Pulp Fiction

COMPETE

Censor for the children!  They shouldn’t think for themselves, right?

I originally was going to write a lighthearted post tonight about the economics of deflation, banking, and the Fed that shows that deflation is the thing that scares the Powers That Be the most right now.  Who knows, there might even have been bikini economic graphs.  I mean, the world loves humor about banking and economics, right?   I hear it’s right up there with dentistry jokes.

But deflation is not what scares the Powers That Be.  It’s information that scares them more than anything.  What information?  Anything counter to the Narrative.

Western Rifle Shooters Association (WRSA) was taken down on Tuesday, June 2, 2020.  Here’s the message from Concerned American, the proprietor of the site:

POST #1 WRSA REBOOT CYCLE
1955E 2JUN2020

That Would Be Called An “Indicator”

One of the early goals of all Red revolutions is the seizure or destruction of all information distribution outlets.

There is only one truth to the Communist: that day’s party line.

Woe unto those who do not adhere.

The second iteration of the Western Rifle Shooters Association (WRSA) blog, hosted by WordPress, was nuked today.

While it is a loss, it was a deliberate sacrifice of a player to increase situational awareness.

The Reds are on the move.

The prize is the former United States of America.

The Red cares not about race, except to the extent it can and is used to befog the naive about the Party’s real goals.

WRSA was, first and always, a freedom advocacy site.

It was shot out of the saddle today by an arm of the Communist enemy propaganda machine.

Their attack did not kill WRSA.

Nor did it kill a single one of its followers.

The totalitarian bastards really can’t stop the signal.

Take heart, not just in this tiny skirmish but in the overall struggle to save the West, from WRSA’s final masthead:

“This is only the beginning of the reckoning. This is only the first sip, the first foretaste of a bitter cup which will be proffered to us year by year unless by a supreme recovery of moral health and martial vigour, we arise again and take our stand for freedom as in the olden time.”

― Winston Churchill

Forward.

NEO

I think he might need some Chapstick®.

His older blogsite is here (LINK).  I don’t know if he’ll be posting again there, but I can certainly bet he’s not done.  He built the 127,000th most popular website in the United States, before WordPress® nuked his paying subscription from orbit without explanation.

This is an example of the desire on the Left to make the First Amendment irrelevant.  You can say anything you want, but if they won’t let you say it where people will hear you, does it matter?  Another way to say that is, “If a blogger memes in the forest, will anyone LOL?”

The libertarian take on censorship by corporation is a fairly solid version of “if it’s a private company, they can do what they want.”  Frankly, it’s a view that I subscribed to a while back.  But a while back, Twitter® also tried to humorously advertise itself as the “free-speech wing of the free-speech party.”  And they still are big fans of free speech.  Well, they’re fans of free speech, as long as you are on the Left.  James Woods popped out the following tweet last year:

WOODS

Woods was banned until some flunky at Twitter™ removed the offending Tweet® for him. 

I started out on Twitter™ to try to build an audience for this blog.  It worked, sort of.  I’m not sure that I caught many long term readers there, but it gave me enough hits to keep me writing and not giving up until a real audience built.  Concentrating on writing more better might have been part of building an audience as well.  And maybe adding bikini graphs didn’t hurt.

BIKINI

Okay, here’s one.

But I noticed over time that my voice was “turned down” on Twitter©.  Tweets® that got tons of impressions (78,000 for one!) dropped off to just a few as my voice was progressively (word choice not an accident) muted.  By then, I didn’t have to trick people to come to the blog with free candy.  I did know, however, that something that Twitter™ had done lowered the number of people who got to share in my nuggets of wisdom.

Twitter© isn’t just a fun thing anymore.  Yes, it’s a private company.  But it has developed into a public square.  Do I advocate government control of Twitter™?  Not really.  But censoring people based on political viewpoint is wrong, especially when James Woods gets banned but the Islamic Council of Iranian Chowderheads makes threats about sinking the Navy of United States.  Iran is being responsible, but James Woods is the terrorist?

TRUST

An early version of the Trust and Safety Council. 

To ban someone is no longer a private affair – it effectively removes their opinion (and a lot of uncomfortable facts) from the public stage.

And that’s wrong.  Freedom of speech isn’t about supporting popular opinions, like all of the “brave” companies like Apple™ that have tossed up a pride flag or Sony® black square as their profile picture.  That’s not brave.

Apple© and Sony® protesting the child and slave labor that manufactures their games and gizmos in an unending series of 12 hour days, 28 days a month?  Now that would be brave, especially since they hired those companies.

Facebook™ is a similar beast.  I use Facebook© only very sporadically, say, four times a year.  But the rest of the world seems to use it.  To ban Alex Jones?  It’s like banning the World Wrestling Federation Entertainment™ because people might think the wrestling matches are real.

ZUCK

But at least I hear the benefits are good.   

I cannot hold WordPress® to the same standard as platforms like Twitter™ and Facebook©.  There are other places that provide hosting.  I do, however, find fault with WordPress®.  If bakers have to bake a wedding cake for gay people, yes, WordPress™ should have to host a blog of someone who is an advocate for freedom.

Where do I find a nice profile icon for that?

Well, there it is.  I really wanted to write that post on fractional reserve banking.  Next Wednesday, I promise.  I know you can’t wait.  You say you come here for the bikinis, but I know it’s really all about the economic analysis.

American Factory and Thoughts on the Future American Economy

“China is here, Mr. Burton. The Chang Sing, the Wing Kong?  They’ve been fighting for centuries.” – Big Trouble in Little China

CAMO

I mean, the camo looks so good, maybe they wanted to show it off?

I watched the documentary American Factory this weekend, and it seemed like a good jumping off point to discuss several topics – globalization, employment, and Jenga®.  In 2008, the General Motors® plant in Dayton, Ohio was closed during GM’s© bankruptcy.  According to American Factory (now streaming on Netflix®), 10,000 people in the Dayton area lost their jobs when the factory closed.  In this current climate, I’m trying to come up with more unemployment jokes, but they all need work.

Fast forward to 2016, and a Chinese company, Fuyao Glass America®, started a new business making windshields for cars in the old GM© plant.  Fuyao bought the empty factory and spent on the order of $500 million dollars setting up the glass factory.  Then Fuyao brought hundreds of Chinese supervisors over to start the facility and train the American workers.  This makes sense – you don’t want to come across an ocean and have an employee like me when I sold used cars.  One customer, looking at a minivan, asked me, “Cargo space?”

I answered, “Car no fly.  Car go road.”  Obviously that didn’t go very well.

One of these Chinese supervisors mentioned that he was committed to stay for two years.  This was a father of two, and he’d receive no extra pay for being away from his family.  The Chinese supervisors were sleeping four to an apartment with furniture from the offices supplies aisle at Wal-Mart™.  Living with a roommate is tough.  One roommate suggested I had schizophrenia.  The joke was on him – I didn’t even have a roommate.

POSTER

Poster from the documentary.  That’s it.  No joke.  Move along.

Clips from workers talking as they were just starting their work at Fuyao made it clear that the Fuyao jobs were nowhere near the pay of the GM© jobs:  At GM™, one worker made about $29 an hour in quality control until the plant closed.  In the new Fuyao plant, she made less than $13 an hour.  I talked to a local dog breeder about a summer job for Pugsley.  She said that she only paid in expensive pure-bred puppies.  Pugsley thought about it, and decided it was income-petable.

And the work is tougher than the GM® work was.  The temperature in some parts of the production area was 200°F, or about 63 kilograms.  One worker spent over an hour a shift in ten minute increments in that heat in the furnace room, and the plant safety guy was trying to figure out how to keep him from overheating.  But that level of heat had a plus side:  during the filming I saw two hobbits throw a ring in the furnace room.

What surprised me was that the Chinese gave such access to the people making the documentary.  They caught candid moments with the Fuyao founder, Cao Dewang, (called simply “Chairman Cao”) throughout the documentary.  There were moments where he was clearly doubtful, arrogant, or out of touch.  We all have those moments, but most of the time billionaires try to avoid looking stupid in public.  I mean, except Elon Musk.

ELON

I kid.  I actually admire Mr. Musk, who seems to be able to do what NASA forgot.  Fly people into space.

On starting the plant, production levels were described as “low” so Fuyao took the step of sending several of its plant supervisors to China.  The clash of cultures was obvious at the start of the documentary, but it was during the sequence in China that really showed the difference in the way Americans and Chinese do business.

The conflict started at the first meeting.  All of the Chinese business people were in suits.  Most of the Americans were in jeans and t-shirts – one of them was wearing a Jaws® movie t-shirt.  In what was probably pretty embarrassing for the Americans, in the next scene you see them wearing Fuyao company logo polo shirts.  How did that conversation go?  “Excuse me, perhaps you would be more comfortable in a new company polo shirt and not your mustard-covered t-shirt advertising a forty year old movie?”

But it was far, far beyond just the informal dress that’s common with line supervisors in a factory.  One sequence showed all of the employees singing the corporate anthem.  Another showed line production employees in a line, yelling out productivity slogans and propaganda like Marines responding to R. Lee Ermey when he was a drill instructor.

LUNCH

They were all out of bat.

One of the American supervisors (who had learned Chinese) was bad-mouthing his employees to a Chinese supervisor.  To me, the American supervisor came across as someone who would do anything to make the Chinese like him – he was a suck-up.  After one negative comment about his own team, the Chinese supervisor said, “You should all be united and concentrate your efforts.”  It was a subtle but nuclear insult – the Chinese supervisor was slamming the American for not being united with his own workers.  And the Chinese supervisor was right.

KIM

So, refresh the page.  Am I still dead?

And working in China sounds as bad as I’d expected.  Workers typically only get one or two days off a month – a five day work week hasn’t made it to China yet.  The workers also work 12 hour shifts.  The Chinese want their workers engaged in the company.

In fact, the American supervisors were there for the company annual Chinese New Year party, where the show was put on entirely by the employees.  And as for engaged?  There were several marriages performed at the company party.  One of the Americans was so overcome with the sense of belonging around him that he was as emotional as a teenage girl watching Titanic.  Me?  I like my emotions like I like my beer.  Bottled.

A quick trip through the Fuyao workers union (which is also the company’s communist party headquarters) showed that the division between company, country, party, and worker is non-existent.  The Chinese are certain that they are superior to Americans – several times in the film this is stated by Chinese people on camera.  But they are also very proud of being Chinese – when Chairman Cao was talking to his Chinese employees in America, he told that that no matter where they go, or where they are buried, that first and foremost they will always be Chinese.

China is nationalist, (mostly) ethnically homogeneous, and unambiguously pro-Chinese at the expense of everyone else on the planet.  Work is for the government and the party.  Why are the Muslims in China in reeducation camps?  Because Islam isn’t Chinese.  China is a country built on unity and Islam isn’t on the menu.  And if you’re not on board?

SOUP

Literally.   

Next, Fuyao fired the plant manager when production and profits were too low, but it was probably the lawsuits on safety that sent him over the top.  The plant manager had been an American – they replaced him with a Chinese guy.  I’ve actually seen this in real life in one company I did business with.  When things weren’t going well, the owners fired the American and replaced him with a person from their country.  I mean, if you’re going to yell at the guy, you probably don’t want to do it through a translator.

The documentary ended with increasing tensions ahead of a vote to bring in a union.

I’m torn.  Nearly every union person I’ve ever worked with has been the opposite of what I see on television.  They’ve worked hard and with great skill.  But to listen to a labor organizer for a union talk makes me feel nothing but that I want to keep one hand on my wallet.  They have a sense of entitlement that seeks to make the worker feel that they are a victim, and to a certain mindset that’s an easy sell.  One person who early in the documentary had been so thankful to have a job, any job, had now put himself in the role of a victim at a union meeting.  Heck, in America we even have unions for pirates – but their claims always end up in arrrrbitration.

As noted above, safety and adherence to American laws wasn’t really a Chinese priority, at least at first.  But with the union vote on the line, the Chinese gave a $2 per hour raise across the board and the Plant Manager committed to solving most problems in just one day.  The plant workers voted to reject becoming unionized, by a 2-1 landslide.  After that, the Chinese terminated several vocal union supporters, but since this wasn’t China, that wasn’t a literal termination.

Some thoughts that this movie brought out:

  • The Chinese like being Chinese, and like being around Chinese people. They don’t have much use for everybody else on the planet except economically.  I’m sure they keep visiting the United States to measure to make sure that their stuff will fit.
  • A factory worker used to be able to support a family as a sole breadwinner. The same can be said of the skilled trades.  Immigration (illegal and legal) destroyed this because demand for jobs didn’t increase, while numbers of workers did.  “Greedy” factory owners get blamed, but the reality is open borders means all jobs that don’t require certificates or diplomas are under pressure from about several billion people willing to do it cheaper, especially if it can be done over the phone by “Bob” from Bangladesh.
  • Every union worker I’ve worked with has been awesome. Every union organizer I’ve ever seen on a documentary has reminded me of a conman.
  • This documentary showed the aftermath of the outsourcing of American manufacturing, a transition that has been ongoing since 1995.
  • The next economic transition is upon us. The new jobs that will be created are going to be quite a bit different than the ones disappearing.
  • The Mrs.’ Grandmother would offer her a shiny nickel to rub her corns. There’s a job that won’t be taken away soon.
  • The documentary ended with discussions on how the Chinese were trying to automate the factory even more – replacing workers with robots. It was less than thirty seconds of the documentary and the equivalent of writing something at the end of the essay that you wanted to write about but forgot.  Given Chinese recent history with something as simple as eating bats, I imagine that automation will turn into automated killer robots that will kill all of humanity.  But, hey, productivity is up!!!

VARMINT

I purchased some suspenders a few weeks ago.  Pugsley immediately pounced.  “Want me to get your varmint rifle, Pa?”

I’d like to think that globalization is doomed, however I read a story two weeks ago about a surgical mask and protective equipment maker in Dallas.  During the Swine Flu wave back in 2012, the owner had expanded capacity to meet with demand.  What did the buyers do after the rush?  They went back to sourcing from China.  The owner was left with high unemployment insurance cost and new equipment that he had to pay for even though it was unused.

This time, the owner was more than happy to expand production, but he’d only do it on a long-term contract.  Last I heard?  No takers.

But nah, I’m sure that we’ll figure out that at least partially, globalization was what made our economy so fragile that a virus could cause it to collapse like a Jenga® game played by a drunk Michael J. Fox.

Being Overwhelmed, a Survival Guide

“I guess this whole experience has left me feeling a little overwhelmed.  Flying at warp 10, evolving into a new life-form, mating, having alien offspring . . .” – Star Trek:  Voyager

HANDPUMP

Whenever I get too overwhelmed and I need motivation, I think back to what Grandpa Wilder said to the doctor on his deathbed:  “Be positive.”  I just wish he would have answered the doctor about what his blood type was instead – they might have saved him.

Overwhelmed.

It’s that moment when everything is happening at once.  When the dishwasher is flowing a mass of foam that looks like a 1960’s science fiction monster onto the kitchen linoleum.  When the new baby has a fever of 102°F and is expelling fluids at high velocity from every orifice.  When the wife is crying because it’s Sunday night and someone left a Sharpie® in a pocket and it’s now all over her white skirt that she was going to wear for her presentation that was going to make or break her career.  And then out in the driveway the car has a flat.  And when these are all happening . . .

All at once.

It’s overwhelming.

I’ve been there.  And so have you.  It’s part of life.

Being overwhelmed brings with it that moment of time when you feel hopeless.  There’s literally too much input for you to make rational decisions – deal with the suds on the linoleum or put the baby in the freezer?  In some cases, if you’re overwhelmed enough, there’s a tendency to not make any decisions and freeze like an artificial intelligence told to compute ways that Mayor Pete could really be elected president outside of his home planet.

But somewhere between the intersection of life, family, work, and self you’ve created that moment and now you’re overwhelmed.  There is but one salvation:

Scotch.  Action.

justpark

I think one of those might have a slight door ding.

The first thing I do when I find myself in a situation like this is, well, something.  Not just anything, however:  I try to prioritize loss of human life or loss of property first.  Which one life or property?  Depends on who it is and what’s going to be lost, I mean if the choice was to save the life of the ex-wife by donating my used shoes or to let her die and collect aluminum cans by the side of the road in Arizona in summer instead?

What’s aluminum going for nowadays?  I kid.  I hope she does well – Star Wars® well.  In a galaxy far, far, away from me.

onering

I kid.  She wanted to leave as much as I wanted her to leave and I really don’t bear her any ill will, and I think that she would agree with me that divorces are expensive because they’re worth it.

After taking whatever emergency action is required, I like to list the rest of the things that are overwhelming me.  While it’s not actually solving the underlying problem(s), it at least puts a boundary on the situation.  It’s translating me from thinking that “there’s too much to do” to a list that, while it might be really long, is finite.

And then?  I like to prioritize.  First on the list are the things that have to happen now – the urgent and important issues.  Then I take action to get them off the list.  I know it sounds crazy – making yourself feel better by taking the issues that are bothering you and dealing with them?  What sort of sorcery is this?

I know, it sounds as foreign as a “job” to a Bernie Sanders supporter.  But unlike a Bernie Sanders supporter, my method works.  Crossing something off the list that’s urgent and important – it makes me feel less whelmed.  Bonus – now you and I know that whelm is really a word.  (I didn’t until the little red squiggly didn’t show up underneath it and then looked it up to make sure.)

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I did this a while ago.  It’s based on comments from Eisenhower but has the stink of MBA all over it now.

Items that are urgent and important are the ones to do first.  But even though you get a burst of dopamine from solving those important and urgent items, it’s a tyranny in your life – a tyranny of crisis.  Unless you’re a drama queen or a Kardashian (but I repeat myself), being in a constant state of adrenaline from always having to react to the latest emergency is tiring and probably wears out your deodorant.

The first step away from this continual crisis management state is an understanding of a simple truth:  not everything matters.  The second step might be to understand that a deodorant that’s “Strong enough for a man, but made for a woman™” may not be enough if you have the scent glands that produce Kardashian mating musk.

kardash

I hear they’re filming a remake of Gorillas in the Mist, but to save money it will just be ninety minutes of Kardashians showering.

When you are stuck in that emergency, dig out, not deeper down.  I’ve seen people respond to emergencies by taking more and larger risks.  They hope that a home run will save them.  Eventually, the risks get higher than a hippie in a hot air balloon so that even if they won, it still wouldn’t save them.

Dig out.  Solve one problem.  And then the next.  I have always found that one solution leads to the next, and before too long I feel in control.  Success breeds success.

And for heaven’s sake, don’t be like Hillary Clinton running for president for the 35th time:  learn from the situation so you never have to repeat it.  Some advice:

  • Learn to say “no” and mean it – there are large numbers of charities, clubs, boards and even hobbies that will consume all of your time if you let them. Guard your time jealously – it’s all you have.  Time is the biggest resource – nine pregnant women can’t make a baby in a month.
  • Understand that other resources matter, too. Money is a pretty big one.  I know that some folks preach that you have to have an “attitude of abundance.”  That’s fine, if it teaches you to be happy with what you have.  It’s not fine if you end up buying three new cars and a European vacation on $12,000 a year.
  • Understand that some results matter more than others – in some races there really isn’t a second place. If a loss will be devastating, either plan to win, or don’t play.
  • Learn that effort is better than genius. Combine the two and you have a nearly unstoppable combination, but if I have to pick just one, I’ll pick effort.  There’s rarely any traffic on the second mile, except for that Jesus guy.
  • Schedule.  Anticipate.  You can’t plan your future entirely, but you can plan to have skills and competence in things that may help you in the future.  You can never tell when carving a flute out of your enemy’s shinbones might come in handy, so practicing early is recommended.

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Beware of the comfy chair.

But sometimes, even though you’ve planned, even though you’ve attempted to do the right thing, you’ll lose.  Sometimes, tsunamis hit.

And sometimes the dishwasher shoots suds all across the kitchen floor, even if you tell her to stop it.

So get to work.

Status, Money, and Bad Car Jokes

“Dude, where’s my car?” – Dude, Where’s My Car?

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I wonder if her Tiffany is twisted, too?

I recall reading a story about several wives at a kid’s soccer game in Dallas.  They were comparing cars – each of them had a new Mercedes® or similar luxury car.  One of the wives, exasperated, mentioned their really wealthy friend, Martha, who drove around in an older car.  “I wish I was as rich as Martha.  Then I wouldn’t have to drive a new car.”

It’s always fascinated me that there are people who feel that they have to spend money for appearances.  The Mrs. can vouch for that – it’s because of her vocal insistence that I spend money for deodorant, which I guess is like a Mercedes™, except Old Spice© is cheaper and costs much less to insure.

I know, I know, having to spend money to impress people is not a club I want to be in, but I find it interesting nevertheless.  After all, I’m in an even more exclusive club:  guys who want to be able to buy a pickup with a stick shift, a vinyl bench seat and rubber flooring instead of carpet.  As nearly as I can tell from the domestic pickup truck market, this particular club has one member.  Me.

The world seems to have gone into a mode that is based in luxury.  A few years ago, I visited a friend, Dave.  Dave had a new pickup truck.  As we drove around on a fairly warm day, I noticed that my butt was getting . . . cold.  That’s not something that normally happens to my butt by itself.  It turns out his pickup truck didn’t have just have heated seats, it had climate controlled seats that also got cold.

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I’m sure it has seats that cook you at 350°F or freeze you to -40°F.

I was amused – I didn’t even know that such a thing existed.  I hadn’t had my butt chilled for my pleasure before, except for that one time in Amsterdam.  Dave, however, didn’t buy the pickup because he was showing off or because he wanted specifically to chill my butt – he bought it because he wanted it.  And he probably paid cash.

Just kidding.  Dave probably wrote a check.

I wasn’t jealous of Dave’s truck.  It wasn’t something that I’d ever buy for myself.  My current daily driver is older than Pugsley, and has nearly 180,000 miles (3,500 kilograms) on it, and only 36,000 miles (45°C) on the latest oil change.  I’m wanting to keep it until it’s driven at least one light-second, which is 186,000 miles (63 meters).  Fingers crossed.  But I’m pretty sure I won’t get my car to the Moon – that’s 226,000 miles (5 liters), and I’m nearly certain my fuel pump will die again before then, plus Allstate® won’t insure translunar travel, I mean, at least not with full coverage.

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I’m sorry.  I Apollo-gize.  And, yes, I know that Neil never had a sweet ride like this one.

I’m not against spending money, but I think you should spend money like Fuzzy Pink Niven (Hugo® winning author Larry Niven’s wife) spends calories:

Potato chips, candy, whipped cream, or a hot fudge sundae may involve you, your dietician, your wardrobe, and other factors. But FP’s Law implies: Don’t eat soggy potato chips, or cheap candy, or fake whipped cream, or an inferior hot fudge sundae.

I think that advice on calories applies to many areas of life.  I have a budget of money.  There are things I have to buy, and have to spend it on – The Mrs. gets rather cranky if I don’t feed her.  Beyond those necessities, with any left over, I have a choice as to what I spend it on, and when I spend it.  Where Dave chooses to spend his on a really cool pickup truck, and a collection of pinball machines, my choices are different.

But those choices are mine, just like Dave’s choices are his.

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My ideal truck, complete with DIY garage!

Money represents potential.  It is the potential to create, the potential to build, the potential to serve.   In many ways, it represents the potential for future choices.

Time represents the potential for future choices as well.  We choose how to spend our money as if it is limited, but we choose to spend our time as if it’s unlimited?  Money comes and goes, but my budget of time is my life, measured in minutes and seconds.  Spending my time is nothing less than spending my life.  Just like a pickup seat determines how warm or cold our butts are, how we spend our time (and who we spend our time with) determines who we are.

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Is it just me or does this picture of Beto O’Rourke look just a bit off?

Knowing this, go and make your choices today.

Because my butt is warm.  (That’s supposed to be motivational.)

I predict: these are the funniest predictions for 2020 you will read in 2020.

“Predictions are hard.  Especially about the future.” – Yogi Berra

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Okay, some people do pretty good predictions.

Once upon a time I tried to do real predictions.  The big downside of real predictions is being wrong sometimes.  I’d much rather be wrong all of the time, like last year (Silly Predictions for 2019. Bonus? Golden Bikini Force.), so here are my stunningly incorrect predictions for 2020:

January

  • The Senate takes over the impeachment trial of Donald J. Trump. Because of poor ticket sales, the trial is cancelled, but people who had reserved tickets were given a 20% off voucher for the Nirvana® reunion tour.  I’d love to bum a ride with you guys – I’d call shotgun, but Kurt beat me to it.
  • Joe Biden suspends his presidential campaign for Black History Month© so small black children across the nation can have the opportunity to pet his wet leg hair. When informed that Black History Month is in February, Biden suggests to the reporter that they bare knuckle box, because he’s “tired of your stupid malarkey, 23 skidoo, Tippecanoe and Tyler too!  Cockroaches!”  Biden calms down later after getting some tapioca pudding and watching Price is Right®.
  • Hillary Clinton asks the question, “Do you want to play a game?”

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Chelsea calls Chardonnay “Mommy’s Monica Juice.”

February

  • Ruth Bader Ginsburg sees her shadow on Supreme Court day, assuring us of six more weeks of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
  • Tom Brady’s body reconfigures itself into a new form on national television during Super Bowl® LIV. His new body appears like a low slung muscular tank, and Brady “throws” passes by expelling the football explosively downfield from a brand new fleshy orifice designed by Bill Belichick, based on the anatomy of a platypus.  Sadly, this doesn’t help the Patriots© at all, since they were eliminated earlier in the playoffs and are not even playing in the Super Bowl™.
  • The New Hampshire Democratic primary is won by Kim Jong Un. Unfortunately, it was actually Hillary Clinton being mistaken for Kim Jong Un after her next round of plastic surgery.  Rumor is she was secretly pleased to be called Dear Leader instead of the usual nautical term, “Seaward.”
  • Brexit happens on schedule, but Boris Johnson’s hair stages its own Borexit and joins the Labour Party.

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I guess technically we’re all undead, but Ruth takes it to the next level.

March

  • Super Tuesday, a collection of 13 primaries is held on March 3rd. The top three Democratic finishers are Johnny Depp, Harvey Weinstein, and a resurgent O.J. Simpson.  Nancy Pelosi states, “We are so proud to have our Democratic values and inclusivity on display in these results.”
  • Patrick’s Day replaced by a new gender and religion inclusive holiday: “Buy Expensive Green Things and Drink if You’re Not a Muslim Day.”
  • Joe Biden again suspends his presidential campaign, noting that he needs to focus on saving lives by using his true talent – being able to detect diseases in women by holding their shoulders and sniffing their hair while standing behind them.

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“Don’t thank me . . . now.  Thank me later.  Want to play with my leg hair?”

April

  • Ralph Northam, governor of Virginia, is discovered eating living children on the front lawn of the governor’s mansion while in blackface. After calls for his resignation, he noted that it was, at most, a “youthful indiscretion.”
  • Ruth Bader Ginsberg develops a desire for human flesh much like Tom Cruise or Keanu Reeves, and soon appears to be no older than about 30.
  • A vortex connecting our dimension to another dimension containing hellish beasts is accidently opened by Pentagon scientists. This is almost exactly like the plot to the Stephen King novella The Mist, though not in a legally actionable way, at least according to my lawyer, Lazlo.

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“How could I make this worse?  Oh, yeah, I’ll go after the guns.”

May

  • Beto O’Rourke, while no longer a presidential candidate, decides to create an anti-gun organization, PistolsMakeScared (PMS®). He noted, “I really needed something to do while my wife has quality time with her boyfriends.”
  • France declares war on Canada on Tuesday morning. France surrenders to Germany later that afternoon, declaring Paris an open city.  The Germans refuse the surrender, indicating they can’t determine the number of troops required to defend France, since that’s never been tried before.
  • Australians will discover a spider that is the size of a cat, is as fast as a mongoose, has a diet of eagles and crocodiles, and is as poisonous as a middle school girl’s Instagram®. They name it “Dave.”

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Pictured:  Australian infant’s crib mobile.

June

  • LGBT Pride Month (June) officially replaced with LGBT Smug Condescension Months (June, July, August).
  • Elon Musk unveils a Kleenex® dispenser that automatically pops up a new Kleenex© every time you take one out at a base price of only $45,000. 25,000 people place a deposit, even though there’s a two year wait.
  • Chick-Fil-A® decides to start serving food on Sunday, adding hamburgers to their menu, and encouraging the worship of Satan as part of a new marketing campaign. “We’ve got to change with the times,” said their new spokesman, Lena Dunham.

cfa.jpg

I mean if you have to choose between values and a tasty sandwich . . .

July

  • The Democratic Convention is moved from Milwaukee, Wisconsin to Malmo, Sweden as the Democratic Committee considers it unfair that people outside the United States have been denied a vote. Greta Thunberg, noted school dropout, is nominated.  Her vice presidential nominee, Joe Biden, is quoted as saying, “I’m thrilled to be behind her.”
  • The Republican Convention is held in a hollowed out volcano somewhere in the South Pacific. Donald Trump is nominated as the presidential candidate, and in a surprise move, he is also nominated to be vice president.  “Job’s too easy.  And I need someone whose I can trust to be vice president.”  Trump also adopts a pure white Persian cat with a diamond collar.
  • The 2020 Summer Olympics® open in Tokyo. Bingo is not an approved Olympic sport, primarily because the Japanese are still a bit superstitious about “B-29.”

hipster.jpg

We now know what Paul Tibbets would do for a Klondike Bar®.

August

  • Google® is found to be censoring ______, ______ and _____, and working with Facebook™ and Twitter© to also censor _____. It is feared that the election might be impacted because ____ ____ ____, ____ and ____.
  • Elon Musk unveils an electric reusable coffee mug – he calls it Teasla©. Initial claims are that it is autonomous and can be used for both hot and cold liquids.  It also requires the new Teasla™ Supercharger, which can recharge it in 70 minutes using a 50’ by 50’ solar power array costing only $25,000.  The mug weighs 43 pounds.

musk.jpg

(Pssst – it’s in the trunk.)

September

  • For the second straight year, September is again cancelled by general consensus.

October

  • Two televised presidential debates and one televised arm wrestling contest are held. The planned presidential MMA bout is cancelled when Greta Thunberg tests positive for high levels of testosterone.  She is furious, “How dare you assume my gender?  You have ruined my fight plan.”  She then proceeds to spend all of her campaign funds on a live commercial showing her eating seven pounds of mashed potatoes (no gravy) in one sitting while scowling at the camera.
  • Gormongous, Ruler of the Dark Empire, emerges as a dark horse third party candidate after having emerged from the Pentagon’s dimensional experiment earlier in the year. “Everyone can be an American,” he hissed through clouds of sulfurous vapor.  The Ninth Circuit Court ruled that his alternate universe was “technically America” so he was a valid candidate for president, despite him being seven stories tall and covered in an exoskeleton made of material from neutron stars.

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Never take potatoes from a testosterone-raging Swede with fetal alcohol syndrome.  It’s a rule I live by.

November

  • The 2020 presidential election is held on the third. California immediately protests because the Electoral College now has fraternities, and no one asked California to join one so she could go to that cool Kappa Sig kegger and maybe hook up with Montana.
  • Donald Trump wins both the popular vote and the Electoral College. Democratic candidate Greta Thunberg says, “That is not enough – it makes a mockery of our democracy.  You must also defeat me in a best-of-seven game of Jarts®.”
  • Joe Biden celebrates his 78th birthday.  His hair and teeth turn 22.

jarts.jpg

Many a G.I. Joe® experienced a fatal chest wound to Jarts™.

December

  • Santa Claus is now required by the 9Th Circuit Court of Appeals to be race, gender, and species neutral when used in any public school setting. Ironically, this has the effect of making most kindergarten pictures of NuSanta™ highly accurate.
  • Gormongous, Ruler of the Dark Empire, decides that he will use the fame from his presidential run to launch a top tier tequila as well as a chain of animal shelter/fast Asian restaurants in the Midwest.
  • Ruth Bader Ginsberg looks down on the lights of the city at night from her perch at the top of the Washington Monument. She smells, senses, and sees the life below her.  The life that she drains, person by person, to prolong hers.  Then . . . a target.  She aims her bat-like wings to take her quickly down the side of the monument, and then to strike.  Ahhh, fresh blood.  Ruth feels the gravity drawing her down as she leaps . . . .
  • National Park Ranger Report, 12/22/20: Bat killed by hawk near Washington Monument.

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To all:  Happy New Year!

Bad Bosses, Part I, Including Garfield as Written by H.P. Lovecraft

“Michael, we don’t have a lot of time on this earth!  We weren’t meant to spend it this way.  Human beings were not meant to sit in little cubicles staring at computer screens all day, filling out useless forms and listening to eight different bosses drone on about mission statements.” – Office Space

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“That’s what she said.”

I had just gotten the greatest performance review of my life.  It was outstanding in every way.  My boss (let’s call him Miller, it goes with the song) went on and on about how I was a stunning example of every possible good quality a person could have, and how I was universally loved, admired, and generally made women fertile just through a fleeting glance, and made men better than they thought they could be through the slightest example.  If the company needed someone to walk across a pond, on the top of the water, John Wilder was your guy.

For about a second, I bought it.  Flattery works because your mind really wants to believe all those nice things.  It’s like a horoscope, keep using nice adjectives, and you’ll find one that the person is already predisposed to agree with.

Then I thought about it – this guy Miller, my new boss, has been with the company about a month.  He barely knows where his office is and he’d only visited my office once.  For him to write a performance review like this?  I didn’t believe it.  As much as I’d like to think of myself in such glowing terms, I rejected his flattery.

Beyond mentally rejecting his praise as an attempt at manipulation, I also made the mental note never to trust Miller.

Why?

Anyone who will be quick to praise will be quick to condemn.  Besides, when I looked at him while he was smiling, he only smiled with his mouth – never with his whole face.  He was smiling because he was “supposed” to be smiling, not because the smile was genuine.  During those smiles Miller had the dead, flat eyes of a predator, like he was attempting to see if you were fooled and really believed the smile.

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I never did meet Miller’s wife – I think her invisibility suit worked pretty well.

I was careful to document every conversation with him.  Always trust your gut, people, unless your gut says socialism is a good deal.  If your gut says that, remember:  never go full Bernie.

I worked pretty far away from the company headquarters, where Miller’s office was.  I set up weekly calls to keep him informed on what I and my team were doing.  I’d done this in the past for my previous bosses.   These calls allowed them to understand what we were doing, and digest it for top management if they needed to.

Except.

Except I found out from a colleague that during these meetings, most of the time Miller was shopping for things online, teaching himself to play the banjo, translating Garfield® into cuneiform (did they even have lasagna in ancient Sumeria?) or, in general, not paying any attention to what I was saying.  My colleague noted that Miller generally wasn’t listening at all.

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If you get the cuneiform wrong and accidentally translate a passage from the Necronomicon© this is what you get.

Normally, that’s not a problem, I ran had been running my end of things for years, and after a few years you get used to the usual problems – and are expected just to handle them.  But my boss had a boss – call him my Grandboss.  When my Grandboss wanted to know about some aspect of what I was doing, he’d ask my boss, Miller.  Since Miller had literally no idea (despite weekly written reports and the phone call mentioned above) what I was doing, he did the simple thing:  he made it up.

Most of the time, it worked fine.  My Grandboss generally had an idea of what was going on, even if the specifics were a bit off.  But when the results my boss made up promised didn’t happen?  The Grandboss got mad.  Very mad.

So mad, in fact, that my Grandboss called me up one day and was yelling.  I explained, calmly, the real situation and the plan, and that seemed to calm him down.  He checked up a few more times to make sure what I said was really happening, and then went away.  But the troubles with Miller continued.  Our conversations became a random affair – one day he would be polite.  The next day, he would be literally yelling over the phone.  What had started out as a bad feeling based on that too-good-to-be-true performance review had morphed into a full-blown sitcom level bad boss.

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I mean, can you imagine such micromanaging?

I had one or two advantages – first, I had been at the company much longer and had several well-placed friends, and second, I wasn’t a deceitful sack of weasel meat.  I’m certain that my boss was lying based on my informants at headquarters, and I’m equally certain that the things Miller was saying weren’t very positive. It’s been several years, and my career is still recovering from his “help.”

I’m ashamed to admit it, but one of the happiest days of my life was when Miller got fired.  “But, you can’t fire me!  You don’t even know what I do!” were his comments as they took away his keys and allowed him to pop his personal possessions in a box and gave him a complementary cement bag (for the weight, dear).  And, he’s right – the Internet sure won’t surf itself.

As near as I can tell, the company didn’t skip a beat in his absence.  I’ll also admit that on the day he got fired, I had one of the best workouts of my life.  The entire time I worked out that lunch, I just listened to Mack the Knife on a loop for 45 minutes of the best treadmill time I’ve ever put in.  I smiled every second.  Why Mack the Knife?  I have no idea.  I rarely listened to it before, and haven’t listened to it even one time since that day until tonight.  As I write this, it’s on a loop in the background.

It may be a song from a Marxist play written by a Leftist, but it makes me happy that it made so much money – after the Marxist author died.  Also?  The most upbeat song about multiple murders.  Bonus trivia:  Lotte Lenya, mentioned in the song, played Rosa Klebb in the James Bond movie From Russia with Love.

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As you can see, she’s the perfect Bond® girl for 2019.

I’ve tried to feel bad about feeling so good because Miller was fired.  Even years later, it’s still a pleasant memory.  Yeah.  I shouldn’t feel good about that, but I do.

Okay, the choice was a single post that was twice as long as this, or this broken into two parts.  I chose two parts.  Next part is on Friday.

Death, Taxes, Ancient History, and Bad Advice

“I have to do it alone.  Don’t you get it?  Everybody dies here.  It’s just a rule.  Death, taxes, more death, and I don’t pay taxes.  So all I know is death.” – Ash vs. The Evil Dead

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Don’t delay on filing your taxes . . . any longer than me.

If I could write a book about taxes, it would be a very short book:

“Avoid paying taxes if you can and do in such a way as to not be thrown into jail.”

That would be the title.  That would also be Chapter One.  There would be no Chapter Two.

“Tis impossible to be sure of any thing but Death and Taxes,” wrote Christopher Bullock in The Cobler of Preston in 1716.  There is, however, biblical evidence that Bullock was only partially correct:  in the New Testament, Jesus was hanging with Peter and they were talking about taxes.  Jesus tells Peter to go down and catch a fish, and money would be inside the fish, and Peter could go pay taxes for both of them.  Peter did, and they even have the picture to prove it since they didn’t have receipts back then:

peter

Is that Jesus or John Lennon behind Peter?

So, even though Jesus could both return from the dead as well as make dead people live again, he still paid taxes.  This therefore means that the only real certainty in life is . . . taxes.  If you’re an atheist, however, it’s okay to plan for both.

The biggest tax (for me) is income tax.  But the list of common taxes is mindboggling:

  • Federal Income Tax
  • State Income Tax
  • Sales Tax
  • Social Security Tax
  • Medicare Tax
  • Property Tax
  • Liquor Tax
  • Gasoline Tax
  • Tobacco Tax

I was going to make up some joke taxes for the list above, but throughout history, I believe that government has taxed . . . everything.  New York City has a tax on food, but if the restaurant slices your bagel that means it’s prepared food, so thus you get to pay yet another tax for the privilege of living in New York.  But taxes aren’t new – taxation spans recorded history – the earliest documents relating to accounting go back to at least 5,000 B.C.  I suspect taxation goes back even deeper into the past – there are tally sticks that go back at least 40,000 years, and I imagine that they were counting out taxes on profits from sales of knickers made out of baboon fur even then.

egypt

Is it just me or does it look like the Egyptian accountants have huge Egyptian bongs?  Talk about creative accounting . . . 

As tribes wandered around in the distant past, the idea of supporting others within your tribe was probably pretty natural – these were your people, after all.  But as tribes grew bigger, and connections more tenuous, taxation started.  I think the idea of taxation came as soon as one man could count and see that another man had a little more than he did, was a little bit better of a hunter, a little bit better at fishing.

That man (or maybe his wife) then got other men and planted the idea of envy.  “Why Oog need three bearskins?  Me have only one, so Oog one percenter.  He am greedy for having thing Thag want.”  Thag went on to write the first tax regulation.  Humanity, I guess, has evil people who are filled with hatred that show up all throughout our history – we call them the IRS® now.

taxreturn

Okay, sometimes I use colored pencils and also write quotations from Moby Dick. 

For all of that time, governments have taken taxation seriously.  Murder?  Arson?  Burning an elementary school?  Overthrowing the government of a small (really small) country for fun and profit?  All petty crimes when compared to cheating on taxes.  I think the current punishment for tax evasion includes snakes and having to share a cell with a Hollywood® C- list actress-mother who bought her kid into USC®, so I certainly don’t advocate that – I mean, snakes are not so bad, but Hollywood™ mothers?

So what can you do?

First, file your taxes.  TurboTax® makes it easy, sadly.  I wish that taxes were difficult to pay.  I wish that every person got paid weekly, in cash, and had to count off actual cash payments to an IRS© agent.  Or that there was no withholding so that people HAD to write a check every year for the full amount of taxes due and didn’t live with a fictitious “I got a refund – the government paid me” mindset.

Second, max out any things you can do that lower your tax burden.  401K’s are nice for that – they allow you to invest money (often in the stock market) before taxes are taken out so you make stock gains on the pre-tax dollars.  This puts your tax burden out into the future when you will need Depends® and a walker and worthless paper dollars will be used by barbarians for heat due to the new ice age due in 2028.  But at least you avoided taxes now.

filing

Actually the records are in an envelope under my camping gear in the basement in that back room.  I think.

Third, set yourself up as a corporation and have your employer hire the corporation to do your job and pay yourself minimum wage.  The rest of your salary can then be paid out in dividends to you, which are taxed at a lower amount and you can be just like Warren Buffet.  Really, Warren does just that, and then he complains that he pays a lower tax rate than his secretary, although there’s really nothing that would stop him from paying your taxes, or mine.  But he won’t because he’s busy having cheeseburgers in Margaritaville.  Oh.  Wrong Buffet.

Fourth, don’t make up your own currency to pay your taxes.  As cool as “Bi$onBuck$” sounds, unless you want three free meals a day for the next 33 to 60 months, you should probably not use ‘em to pay your taxes.

fake

Yes, I know they’re Euros, but don’t they look like Christmas wrapping paper?  Besides, all you can do with Euros is buy baguettes, bassinettes, marionettes and cigarettes in France.

Fifth, put off doing your taxes to the last minute.  It lowers your risk of audit, and, if you’re like me and have to send off a check most years, you can keep your money for just a few more weeks so you can roll on your bed in it.  Unfortunately the pennies stick to my butt, so be careful if I give you change.

Sixth, remember that John Wilder (me) is an Internet humorist and is not licensed to be a financial advisor or tax consultant or provide legal advice, because what would the fun be in that?

How I Got Into Debt, Trench Warfare, and an End of the World Cult You Can Believe In

“Well, if you don’t like that, try some Archduke Chocula.” – Futurama

franzmeme

After World War One, the phrase, “Happy as a Hapsburg in Serbia” fell out of favor, as did the “Hair Smile” style of mustache.

I’ve already told the story about digging out of debt.  In retrospect, it seems to me that all of those stories end up sounding the same:  “I weighed six hundred pounds, my kitchen floor was covered in dirty dishes and cat food, and I had $3.7 million in debt until I found Wildernetics© and the First Church of PEZology™.  Look at me now!”

flammen

Proof that I am a reincarnated World War One soldier (Part One).  These are from a soldier’s joke newspaper, The Wiper’s (a mangling of Ypres) Times, produced for soldiers by soldiers that found an abandoned printing press.

I know my methods can solve everything, but today I had a crazy idea.  How about spending some time talking about how I got into debt in the first place?  I know that might cut into the revenue of the Wildernetics© End of the World Cult and Take-Out BarBeQue Restaurant®, but I figure you might come back for the brisket.  It’s very tender.

I’ll quit teasing.  How did I get into debt?  First a little.  Then all at once.

Let me rewind a whole marriage.  As regular readers will know, The Mrs. was not the first, but she is the final spouse.  My first marriage was an example of a series of escalating poor mutual decisions where each side seemed to lack a brief moment of sanity to back out before anyone got hurt, sort of like the run up to World War I.  Even before Archduke Franz Ferdinand proved that .380 ACP was a useful round against Hapsburgs and their notably gelatinous bones, World War I was inevitable.  Before I said “I do” everything was in place for the trench warfare of future divorce.

ditch

Okay, I apologize for this joke.  I think it violated the Geneva Convention.

But, rewinding.  After graduating college I got married and got a starter job, which is to say I had a job that just barely paid the bills.  Nearly exactly.  In fact, after working at the job for a few months, we were exactly (most months) at zero.  We weren’t saving any money yet, but we also weren’t in the red.  Success.  My credit card limit was 10,000 . . . Siberian Lira.   This was equivalent to a whole bright and shiny quarter.  This helped me stay debt free.

Then came the table.

optimism

Proof that I am a reincarnated World War One soldier (Part Two), this one is for James.

We had a dining room table.  It wasn’t great, and the chairs that came with it were a bit ratty – the vinyl arms had been slammed into the table often enough that it looked like a pack of rabid Chihuahuas had spent their lives sitting on the chair seats and gnawing on the arms.  I imagine them growling and chewing in unison as they sat around the table, like Viking Chihuahua rowers.  Most all of our furniture was second hand or gifted, but the table really was the biggest eyesore.

unread

Okay, this one isn’t mine, but I couldn’t resist.

At some point discipline broke.  I know how silly it sounds to say that now, but back then, month after month of not buying anything but actual necessities takes more discipline than Elizabeth Warren around a tribal gathering.  Eventually I gave in.  We bought the table.  Using debt.  Back then, individual stores would give you amazing credit limits just to buy their crap.  They gave us more than enough credit to buy that table, and with the money I saved from shipping the Chihuahuas back to Denmark, I figured we’d be money ahead.

fireworks

Proof that I am a reincarnated World War One soldier (Part Three).

The table was only $500, but the difference between having no debt (outside of a mortgage) and having debt, even a small one, was a huge psychological hurdle for me.  It’s like having a doughnut when you’re doing low carb.  “I got weak had one doughnut, so I might as well have, say, 36.  And do you have any whipped cream I could just guzzle straight from the can?  I broke my diet, and don’t want to waste it.”  Pretty soon other nice to have things showed up, very few of which I still own today.  But I had crossed that mental barrier from peace (debt free) to war (spend away!).  Suddenly, the credit card companies realized I had debt, and immediately wanted to lend me more money.  My credit limits tripled.

I hope that this doesn’t sound like I’m blaming The Ex.  Like Adam in the Garden of Eden, I was fully complicit.  Ultimately the debt grew faster than my wages.  This led to the idea of grad school:  I could get free tuition plus be a paid graduate assistant.  Would it work?

Sure.  There were also student loans.  Free money!  Oops.

bellgas

Okay, let’s all admit that Nachos Bellgrande® is NOT a war crime.

gas

Proof that I am a reincarnated World War One soldier (Part Four).

There were some places along the way that I could have gotten off the merry-go-round.  When I sold that first house to move for a new, post-grad school job, we’d made a stunning 40% profit in three years.  It would have more than paid off a good chunk of my student loans.  Nope, that would have made too much sense.  We did pay down a little debt and bought a new house, putting down the minimum down payment.

But most of the money was just spent.  About this time I also had one of the worst ideas I’d ever had in my life.  The Ex and I were always arguing about money, and about the thermostat – I knew that 50°F in winter and 90°F in summer were reasonable temperatures, but The Ex disagreed.  Well, if she had to pay the bills, she would certainly understand how tight money was.  Right?

No.

We had a different view of not only household temperature, but the idea that one should pay monthly bills, well, monthly.  I didn’t figure this out for three years, by which time I owed enough money to qualify as a third world country, but one of the nice, mainly atrocity-free ones.  Mainly.

mgmeme

Taco Bell® inspired outfits?

Debt is like George Washington’s description of fire, it’s an amazing tool, but a fearful master.  My advice is to pay all of your bills in full, monthly.  I know that the people who own your debt disagree.  Why?  They want you to have debt, as much as you can pay.

I had a friend (since passed away in an accident) who I called Batman© on this blog (“I’m Batman,” – Batman, in Batman).  He had one particular investment that was worth about $12 million – a series of apartments.  He had paid the apartments off before they were even built by selling future property tax credits to other businesses.  Yeah, that kind of friend.

But he viewed his tenants as slaves (his term), who went to work daily so they could send him money every week.  I heard him use exactly that phrase to describe them.  He liked his tenants, and was a good landlord.  However, he knew the score:  when they went to work each day, they went to work so they could pay him.

And Batman was a good guy and he taught kids that debt was a form of slavery of ordinary people to wealthy guys just like him, not that they always listened.

My marriage to The Ex?  That particular marriage is proof of the old Henny Youngman joke:

“Why are divorces expensive?”

“They’re worth it.”

peaceinourmeme

Yeah, divorce just STARTS the argument.

The day she moved out was one of the happiest days for both of us.

I was still digging myself out of debt when I met The Mrs.  As our relationship blossomed, I thought it was only fair to tell her of the debt that I had.

“The Soon To Be The Mrs., I have something to tell you.  You might want to sit down.”

The Soon To Be The Mrs. looked shaken.  She sat.  I told her about my debt.  She laughed.

“Is that all?  I thought you were going to tell me you’d been in prison.”

No, not prison.  But I still owe reparations payments to France.