Welcome to my traditional take it easy at work day. I’ve decided to re-read “The Arms Bazaar” to see if it remains relevant today. The author [Sampson] instantly reminded me of the biggest arms-dealer unknown in history—the Viet Nam war. While most captured weapons find their way back into the secondary arms market, the entire Vietnamese haul (792,000 semi-automatic rifles, 608 tanks, 104 self-propelled guns and 73 turbo-jet fighters) has disappeared. Poof! Not one scrap of it has ever re-surfaced.
As Sampson points out, arms-dealers rely on periods of peace to restock their warehouses. The North Vietnamese already had a surplus of their own and never re-equipped with the American material. So, like, where is it, Ho Chi Minh? My theory is that it was secretly loaded on a surplus aircraft carrier, and sent to the deserted west coast of San Clemente. From there it was modified to work in the rarified atmosphere of Mars and boosted up into near Earth orbit by the otherwise totally useless Space Shuttle program. Until further notice. When Mars is colonized, it will not be by welfare mothers or ethnic minorities who like to protest a lot. See how it fits together? The scheduled date is 2089 A.D.
Finally finding time to go into the shop, I see there is already a reply from the owner of the product review company mentioned last day. Naturally I am very concerned about the incubation period [the amount of time between starting and receiving money] but otherwise it could be a dream position for me. I test brand new gear right as soon as it hits the streets, critique it, and get paid to do all this. Did I say the pay was a share of the revenue? That far more suits my temperament than an hourly wage. (The owner seemed very impressed by the samples I gave.)
Having answered all my email by late afternoon, I took an extra hour and carefully examined the web pages for this “writing” job. There will likely be no way for me to confirm that I am getting a correct share of any amount. What is certain is that my writing is a sheer different caliber and scale beyond what is already there. Good, because my style is hard to copy and I take it with me if the pay isn’t up to snuff. If it is, I stay, if not, I transfer my property over to ePinions, easy enough to do since I keep my originals of everything.
On the way home I stopped at Trader John’s, the bookstore off Young Circle. One cannot help overhearing the phone calls of people wanting to sell books. People, your $50 used book is worth a dollar or two at most. You want $200, you bring in 200 books. No, it does not matter what the books are about. Upon leaving I heard guitar music on the corner (O’Hara’s?) and stopped to listen. It was a single act with tight chops. I wanted to hear a variety of what he could do, but when he saw me he kept playing the same tune for so long I just left. It sounded like something original, as in ho-hum.
ADDENDUM
Fred has a different theory on all that missing Viet Nam gear. He says Saddam Hussien dug a huge underground bunker and buried it in the desert. Young Saddam then accidentally sniffed a little too much “nerve gas” and forgot where the secret door was hidden. It all rotted away in the heat and he got soooooooooo pissed off that he invaded Kuwait. See, I'm not the only one who independently studies history.
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