September 19, 2019

Yesteryear
One year ago today: September 19, 2018, not readily recognized.
Five years ago today: September 19, 2014, never cowboy enough.
Nine years ago today: September 19, 2010, Suez grade.
Random years ago today: September 19, 2011, nice people, dirty job.

           Car insurance day. I’ve now paid more for insurance than for the car. What a racket, it’s a constant drain on the pocketbook of the middle class. Some say that is the factor behind Obamacare, to get their hands on those trillions in tax-sheltered retirement plans. During the boom times people were encouraged to save for their own old age, but nobody in the government was smart enough to look ahead. People were no longer dying at 65, so even the estate tax system they had ready and waiting was not producing enough cash. That money is not taxed until it is withdrawn and there’s nothing like enforced health care premiums to provide a reason.

           Health insurance is the only expense I’ve ever heard JZ complain about. They confiscate it right out of his bank account every month. I know all to well how this sticks it to the young and healthy who have the income and have not yet learned to protect it. In Canada, it is worse because they dock it off your paycheck. The similarities of the end result are more than enough to suspect there is a single guiding hand behind it all. I would be impressed to meet one man in 100,000 who read and understands his insurance policies. Like I said, what a racket.

           This is my new seed ball. Until I can build another wooden feeder that excludes the big hungry birds, I chose this one. It’s a bit messy, but works by only allow birds with small beaks to get at the majority of the seeds. Both my red cardinal families have disappeared. I’m hoping to tempt them back. I know they are nearby because of the early morning chirping to the far south. I’ve finished reading the arrowhead booklet. It’s a fail. If it at least had included some commentary on hunting and warfare, that would teach something. Instead, it is on about the hardships of finding and categorizing the artifacts.
           From what I can tell, the big event in the book is how back in 1969, some team of eggheads were brazen enough to rename one of the Mississippi arrow shapes. Shocking! The book is written for a small, inward-looking group and spouts too many uncommon terms. What I object to, and same with fossils, is any non-English, non-friendly, non-descriptive naming scheme. They name the arrowheads after such things as the nearby town. One shape is called the Quad arrowhead. You’d expect it to have four of something, or have four points, or be quadrilateral shaped. Wrong. Quad is in northern Alabama.

           And another thing. I don’t like that “Ave Maria” song. Never have. And I don’t care if I’m the only one in the world who doesn’t like it. It’s the medieval equivalent of your droning sucky guitar ballad. I don’t like the song and that is that. It was cool enough to work in the yard, which resulted in this picture I thought was memorable in a way. It’s some root-bound pots including one I broke in the process.
           Two days of pruning and weeding has the yard in presentable condition, then I drove to Winter Haven on business. One of the items was the renewal of business licenses. I had discovered a glitch in the system. If you don’t file on the date they want, they zap you with a $538 penalty. But, if you wait another six months until they make your business dormant, you can renew it for $238. Now, who is calling who names, Tallahassee. You are the Establishment and I am the businessman.

           They were not pleased that I had opted for the lower dollar figure, but tried to lecture me that my using the system to “underpay my share” was “not fair”. As if charging people for licenses they don’t need is moral in the first place. They seem more miffed that this would catch on. I am contemptuous of any bureaucracy that relies on fines and penalties as a steady source of income. That, and my nifty pot picture, and an I about to say “flummoxed”?

Picture of the day.
Shetlands.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Is it time to talk hotdogs? The crowd went mild. The concept of running the cart at the Fubar is contingent on reliable staff. It isn’t happening there. As for the softball team that wants to supply the hotdogs, I still cringe away from the thought of some board group providing the supplies. It’s an association that doesn’t fly, more like an undefined partnership. If they take an initial loss, they’ll blame it on us, if we take a loss it establishes an unwelcome precedent. This was over at Agt. R’s, where I put down $300 toward the Yamaha (150cc scooter). He had to immediately use it to pay the electric bill.
           Here’s more prep work for the front yard. I’m pointing to a row of mother-in-law plants moved back three feet to beside the birdbath. That leaves this strip of soil ready for experimentation. I’ve tried planting shrubs and flowers that like the shade but nothing took. Shown here in the right panel are cuttings of my most successful plants, hoping something will take.

           The next photo looks like a milkshake but it is epsom salt. It has two stir sticks that look like straws, but I was breaking up the chunks. It seems mice will eat this salt and they gnawed through two containers to get at it. Next time, I store it in glass. This salt is used to flush old batteries, I was flummoxed that such a compound was even edible. It’s taking more time each return to get this place shipshape. JZ thinks I should sell the place, but he has a die-hard renters mentality. That comes from always being assured of enough money to pay rent, or in his case, condo fees. I would have to earn the money or take it out of fixed income, something getting progressively harder for everyone over 40 these days.
           In another example of my loathing for the new American business model, I half-shrugged off the Harbor Freight store manager. I would not buy the pole saw unless assured the store carried replacement chains. It took 20 minutes and the store manager to get an answer, and it was not a very straight one. During that time, Agt. R and I had walked up and down every aisle in the store, noting that what chains were available were at opposite ends of the establishment. This prompted my remark that it was some millennial design.

           That ball of blubber at the till overheard this and said she was a millennial. I said I was a boomer. What’s the problem. Oh, she was offended. I was offended that she was eavesdropping. She was offended first, so I informed her part of being a millennial is to emotionalize everything they don’t like. The other telltale feature is, as you know, the millennial has a whole head full of things you can do to make their lives better. In this case, the manager finally said they didn’t stock the chain, but that every 90 days I could return the whole saw for a replacement.
           That folks, is a good illustration of what the America these listless, unoriginal, Common Core, half-wits have done to the system that made America top of the world. People say grand old stores like Sears went under because of competition. Maybe, but it was not a positive style of competition that, in theory, causes overall improvement of the system. Rather, a negative drag-down to third world levels by companies who undercut their prices by dint of not honoring product warrantees.

           [Author’s note: difficult to use product service is a horrible business tactic led by the Sony corporation. They realized that that the American public had become lulled after decades of doing business with reputable places like Sears, who took back any article that did not work, warrantee or not. And in some cases, whether they sold it or not. (Remember the snow tires.)
           Sony noted the “return to factory” sticker had a deterrent effect and expanded that to the “service contract”. It was a scam based on the unsuspecting American consumer who trusted the contract was something new in addition to existing superior product support. They got something else instead. Sears went under partially because they could not continue their business model in the face of such deceit. Sadly, paying for your own product warranty has become commonplace in this country, to the extent the “warranty” attaches to the purchaser, not the product. Bring your ID.]

           At that point I turned to wall out and noticed she had a look of disappointment. Seizing the moment I told her that solution was bogus, that I had better things to do with my time that schedule return trips to her store, and that she could avoid the problem by putting a warning sticker on the pole saw that there were not replacement chains. She actually thought she could sell me that saw to make her happy or something. That part of America is down the tubes and just don’t realize it yet.

ADDENDUM
           The Biltmore Estate in North Carolina. I’ve never seen the place. By later today, I’ll have more info. I like to tour these houses as relics of the single positive effect of income tax. I said positive, not good. What happened with the Vanderbilt and their kind is they got rich, but did not stop there. Europe, with its finite resources, requires that to stay rich you had to prevent others from doing the same. The robber barons applied this formula to America. Income tax, for all its evils, puts a brake on the rich, a brake that most of them sorely require. Why? Because without it, the rich would already have their New World Order with themselves firmly in charge.
           I wonder sometimes if that could be the reason the American Constitution says people can own guns. To prevent a disconnected elite from taking control of the money, legal, and government systems for their own benefits. You know, like the liberal agenda would if the you-know-whos would let them. Myself, I want to tour the castle, er, pardon me, the private home. Depends on the admission, as I was not too keen on shelling out $50 to see The Hermitage.

           Now the Biltmore, I looked it up, is worth the $99 admission just by the landscaping. My last chance to see it was 1999, when I decided not to go see it. I had recently retired (from working) and knew not to stretch my budget. I used the money for gas to drive to Florida. There is a hotel, an inn, and a cabin for accommodation on the estate so I thought I’d check prices for any vacancies in October. Yikes. The hotel rooms start at $469 plus all those “fees” that, together, spawned the bed-and-breakfast industry.
           I thought you might like to get a glimpse of what will happen to bnb if the hotel lobby (Ed Case) succeeds in blocking their right to advertise on-line. That’s right, folks, the hotel mob haven’t got the cajones to duke it out man-to-man, so they are trying enact legislation to prevent bnb from using the Internet. And they are not about to let silly concepts like corruption, book-burning, and back-stabbing deter them.
So, I looked at the closest thing the Biltmore offers to bnb. It is what they call a cabin or cottage. It takes a nice picture, with a fireplace and all. Let’s call that their version of bnb so we can make a comparison. How much can you expect to pay? Are you ready for this? Remember, according to them, they have only your safety, comfort, and best interests at heart. It’s $1,700 per night.
           Plus fees.

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