If a 500-pound Man Wears Horizontal Stripes, Does He Look Fatter?

Well, it's 7:30 pm and we have yet to get our first trick-or-treater. We don't do daylight savings time in Arizona, so it has been pitch black for way over an hour. My problem is that I have a bowl full of M&M's that have to be given out or they will be eaten by yours truly, and god knows I am fat enough, as it is. The following is a mean-spirited and at times cruel rant about decent people trying to celebrate Halloween and at the same time have a little fun. Had they taken the time to check with me, I could have helped them to make better choices. What can I say? I work in a building that is largely occupied by a call center, which means that it was full of near-adults wearing Halloween costumes today. One of the biggest challenges in running a call center is to keep spirits up in the face of overwhelming tedium, so opportunities to let the inmates go crazy are prized. Today was no exception. I don't work for the call center company, but I put forth my best effort to get into the swing of things by dressing up as Merle Sneed, an effort that went largely unnoticed and unappreciated. Some woman, with cat whiskers plastered on her mug, asked me, "Where's your costume?" What do you say to that? Uh, I'm wearing it. Duh. Besides, every day is fricking Halloween if you're Merle Sneed. You know, bad costume, too much candy? Among the costumes that stood out, was a sixty-year-old woman on my floor who wore green tights, a green shirt and a green elf's hat. Let me tell you that you don't want to see a sixty-year-old in tights. These things were tight in all the wrong places, and left nothing to the imagination, not that anyone has that much imagination. Lumpy is the word that springs to mind and when I say lumpy, I mean bad lumpy, really bad lumpy, gouging out my mind's eye lumpy. The really depressing part is that she is married, so someone failed to tell her the bad news before she left home this morning. I feared being trapped in the elevator with her and having to acknowledge the monstrosity, but I avoided trouble. Another memorable get up was the 500-pound man who works on six (I'm not kidding), who came dressed as an inmate. It the kind you used to see in cartoons, complete with the little (in this case giant) striped hat. He had the whole horizontal-striped inmate suit thing going on. I've got to give him credit for really getting into it. The poor guy is so big that he already walks like he is dragging a ball and chain, so he was a very convincing inmate. One of the problems that I have on Halloween, is that many people that I assume are wearing costumes, are not, so I have to be extra careful to keep my big mouth shut. When you work in a building tucked between the municipal bus depot and a WalMart store, you can't be sure if its clever costuming or merely bad taste in clothes. In the old days, before my company downsized 70% of the workforce out of existence, we used to have hoards of people who dressed up for Halloween. It was painful to watch. Dopey cubicle denizens, oohing and aaahing over their respective dopey costumes. I don't have that many standard for accetable behavior at work, but costumes at work at on my "don't do" list. On the home front, I posted a few days ago that we were concerned for the young couple next door. I am happy to report that I spoke to the young woman tonight and things have been stressful for them because of an incident with a friend, but they are doing okay. That is a big relief to the lovely Mrs. Sneed and me. Not to sound like a broken record but...what am I saying, my life is a broken record, not to mention my Groundhog Day-like posts. At any rate, tonight when the lovely Mrs. Sneed and I went to a cafe we frequently visit for dinner, there was a big dumbass at a nearby table, sharing the details of his very messy divorce with the world and whomever he was speaking to on his cell phone. Are you and I the only people left with a sense of decorum? Have you ever noticed that you never have a stun gun when you need one? Lastly, I have also been listening to a new podcast, at least new to me, called the Skeptic's Guide to the Universe. It is really interesting and if you like science and making fun of the paranormal crowd, the alternative medicine quacks, or general kooky true-believers, then this is the show for you. Check it out at http://www.theness.com or through Itunes. Well, that is my Halloween report. Merle. Hold on, buckaroos. There are kids at the door. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

I'm Trying to Talk Here!

Kurt, from the always witty and wickedly funny, OtherPeopleExist blog site has commented more than once on my blog, that he anxiously awaits the time when someone using a cell phone in a public place "shushes" him. You know, when they tell him that his public conduct in someway is interferring with what ought to be a private phone conversation, that is, if they had the brains to conduct it in a private place. Well, I had that experience, sort of, anyway. The lovely Mrs. Sneed and I, along with younger son Sneed, went to a quasi-fast food joint. The drill is that you wait in line to order and then find a table. When the food is ready, they call your name and you go pick up the food. Wait, forget the quasi, it is a fast food place, with a lot of decorations. Son Sneed and I waited to order, about fourth or fifth in line, while the lovely Mrs. Sneed scouted out a good table. There was one line with two cashiers. Cashier one was your standard teenage kid and cashier two was the manager, a woman about 40 years-old or so. As an aside, if you are forty and managing a fast food restaurant, it may be time to rethink the career progress. Judgemental for sure, but hey that's my thinking. While we waited, the manager woman stopped taking orders altogether, while she and the assistant manager had a ten minute conversation at the register, keeping those of us in line, in line. Now, I am not the most patient guy in the world, so at the 2 minute mark I began, what turned into a series of increasingly loud, smartass remarks, designed to prod her back into action. Well, this short bald guy in front of me wearing, and I am not making this up, a red Women's Flat Track Derby Association shirt, whips around and harrumphs at me because my loud remarks are interferring with the very important cell phone call he is having. His harrumph was to no avail, because I stopped ragging on the manager, and started making smartass remarks about phone calls in public. I got no reaction, so I returned to the manager. Not as ugly a scene as I was prepared to make, but a small victory, in my view. In a somewhat related matter, I would like to propose some sort of vigilante action against jackasses who think it is acceptable to blast their car steros. I am taking suggestions as to the nature of the action. I have considered taking a ball bat to the offender's windshield, but the possible outcomes include being pummelled or incarcerated, both which give me pause. I'm thinking of some sort of ray gun that can be deployed from a safe distance. If you have any information on such a device, please email me. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Memories

Something is wrong at the house next door. Earlier today, as I was taking in my gardening tools, I saw the young woman who lives with her husband next door to me, in the driveway, crying and being comforted by some people that I haven't seen before. The husband was nowhere to be seen, so I am very concerned. I was working in the yard this morning with Sneedlet 1, while we awaited the arrival of his mother and older son Sneed and his family. I was pulling some weeds with one eye on the Sneedlet, who was hepling me by pounding the ground with various garden implements. As I watched him, I got to thinking about the life of a three year-old and the earliest memories that I have of my childhood. I was born in Tampa, Florida in 1950. We left Florida when I was about a year old and moved to Savanna, Georgia for a few months. From there we went to Ft. Worth, Texas for about a year. I remember hearing my folks talk about a grisly case of child-abuse that happened while we lived in Texas, although I am not sure if I heard about it while we were living there or sometime later. We returned to Florida while I was still two and stayed there another year, before coming to Arizona. Some kids recall happy times from their childhood, those were in short supply at my house, so I don't. Perhaps I have blocked out stuff or maybe that is just how memory works. I only remember one thing from when I was about Sneetlet's age. I clearly remember digging a hole with some other kids in the yard of our apartment in Tampa when I was about three years old. The water table in our area was vey high and the little hole filled with water as fast as we could dig it out. I remember somone's mom being mad about the hole, although I can't remember why she was mad. I know I was three, because we moved to Arizona when I was three and there is no chance of a shallow hole filling with water here. I also remember being in my family's car traveling somewhere, Florida to Arizona, I think, when my dad picked up a young couple with an infant, who were hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere. They told my dad that the young guy's mother had turned them away, because she didn't approve of their marriage. My dad, took them back to where the mom lived, so that he could talk to her. Like many alcoholics, my dad thought he had special insights into human nature and could persuade her to see the error of her ways. The mother lived in house attached to a small gas station. My dad went to the door but she refused to let the kids in, so he drove them to the next town, so that they could get the bus. I think this happened in west Texas, or in New Mexico. However, this might have happened when I was six and we were moving from Arizona to Guam. We had to drive to San Francisco to catch our ship to Guam. On the Guam move, I remember that my dad's 1950 Nash Rambler had a flat tire in the middle of the night and I recall him being really angry because it was dark and cars were speeding around us. I only remember the the dramatic stuff, which I guess makes sense. Even my ginormous head couldn't hold all the stuff that has happened in my life. I am really glad for that. Anyway, I hope the Sneedlets look back some day and have some happy memories of their old grandfather. Merle Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Just three Amigos, Loose On The Town

Movie Snacks, yum!! I picked up both of the Sneedlets, 1 and 2, from their repesective homes this morning and we went to the movies to see Open Season, an animated feature. It was fun and they were well-behaved and interested in the movie. Only 50% of the Sneedlets is on board with the Say Cheese! concept. After the movie, they played in the mall playground. Sneedlet 1 insists that it is a playgound, Sneedlet 2 says it is just the mall. The dispute went unresolved, but didn't interfere with their play. They had lunch at the food court in the mall, although neither ate much, because McD's puts toys in their Happy Meals, which totally distracted the Sneedlets. The only mishap of the day was when Grandpa lost Sneedlet 2's Disney sunglasses in the movie and the kid at the theater wouldn't go look for them. This is why the lovely Mrs. Sneed popped for the Honda Pilot. Finally, it was time to hit the road, because we were all tired, especially Grandpa. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Out of My Way, I'm Saving the World.

I had to drive younger son Sneed to the garage this morning so that his car can get some maintenance work. On the way home I was passed by a guy, who bore a remarkable resemblance to the Pillsbury Doughboy, driving a Jeep Cherokee. The back of the Jeep was plastered with bumper stickers. I'm not a huge fan the bumper sticker. Most of the time bumper stickers are just little reminders from the car's owner that he or she is a superior human being and the stickers explain exactly how the driver is better than you or me. We subsequently converged at a school crossing zone, which gave me an opportunity to study the vehicle and it's driver in some detail. This guy had bumper stickers, which by the way were not confined to his bumper, decrying racism, sexism and George Bush, promoting peace, recycling and human rights, warning against climate change, and reminding us all that Earth is our mother and requires care (who knew?). Additionally, it seems that humanitarian aid is never a crime (you have to live in Arizona to get that one)and Gabrielle Giffords is the best bet to replace Jim Kolbe in the House of Representatives. Whew, I feel so worthless, I've no right to breath air. He also had a radar-detector planted on the dashboard of the Jeep, leading me to the inescapable conclusion that eliminating racism, sexism and George Bush are best accomplished by speeding from place to place in a gigantic Jeep Cherokee, while evading detection, although there was no bumper-sticker with that exact message, so I could be wrong. My friend called just now to make sure that I was meeting him for lunch. His son is getting married tomorrow, so they are in the throes of prenuptial mayhem. He is such a good friend that he spared me torture of actually inviting me to the affair. That's true friendship right there. In fact, I'm getting a damn bumper sticker. Friendship means not having to go to the wedding. Catchy. Merle Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Merle Sneed - Father of the Century

Excuse Me, But I Have The Shirt To Prove It. I'm off work tomorrow, which feels mighty good at the moment. I also received my yearly allotment of work shirts from my employer today which is mighty depressing, because it seems like opening the bags commits me to working for them for another year. I was listening to a podcast today and the podcaster was talking about a job he had working in pizza business located inside a gas station. He was too old to be working there and he was embarrassed when other people found out about his job. He said that one day when he was taking out the trash, some kids started yelling at him and calling him a big loser, so he claims that he lied to them and said he was collecting cans out of the trash because that seemed like a more prestigious job than making pizza in a gas station. That reminded me of an incident that happened in about 1979. When oldest son Sneed, who is now a highly trained medical professional, earning far more money than his old dad ever dreamed of, was about 6 or 7 years old, I bought him his first new two-wheeler. It cost $27.95 plus tax from Fedco, which was a discount chain store. Fedco was owned by the Price family, who later founded Price Clubs, which is now Costco. Isn't that fascinating? Son Sneed left the bike lying on the sidewalk in front of our house and it was stolen. Since I was making about $150 per week in those days and the lovely Mrs. Sneed was a struggling college student, this was kind of a big loss. I decided to teach him a life lesson by making him earn the money to replace the bike. I couldn't have him do chores because I would have to pay him which would have defeated my motive and he was too young to put to work in a real job, so I hit upon the idea of making him collect aluminum cans, that we could recycle for cash. And since he was only about 6, I had to go collect them with him. Not a really thoroughly thought out plan, in retrospect. We began to collect cans and collect them and collect them. At a 15 cents per pound it takes a lot of cans to get to $27.95. Our back porch was soon piled high with bags of sticky smelly can, oozing black goo, stinking of stale beer and attracting armies of ants and swarms of flies. Again, not a really thoroughly thought out plan. One day, when I was off work for the Veteran's Day holiday, I took son Sneed to a park to search the trash for aluminum treasure. As we went from barrel to barrel, we came to a ball field where two drunk a-holes were sitting in the bleachers drinking beer. I tried to pretend they weren't there staring at us with drunken smirks, but they soon began to make snide remarks about us. When I didn't respond, they started in on the kid about how his old man was a loser, because he had to make his kid pick through the trash for cans to support the family. This from a couple of idiots drinking in the park in the middle of the day. I told son Sneed to ignore them, but they persisted. Finally, I decided that I had enough of their foolishness, so I went over to where they were sitting and told them that he was earning money to replace something he lost because of carelessness and I would appreciate them not interfering. I think having a small child in tow kept me from being pummelled by two drooling drunks, but perhaps my firm tone and manly demeanor, gave them pause. What? It could happen. Well, after several weeks of collecting cans, we loaded them in the back of our very fine 1976 Plymouth Volare wagon, perhaps the worst car ever built, and hauled them to the recycling center. Our haul was worth $12 or about nothing per hour. I ask the guy how much if we also threw in the Volare and he lowered the price to $11. I'll be appearing here all week. I wound up kicking in $15 bucks and we replaced the bike. Let's see, I exposed my small child to the drunken rabble, dug around in filthy garbage containers like a crazed raccoon, smashed, bagged and hauled one zillion dirty cans and kicked in $15 cash from my own pocket, just to save $15 bucks. Yup, a standard Merle outcome. I'm not sure if son Sneed learned any lessons beyond learning that his dad was a bonehead, but he turned out to be a great son, fine husband and terrific father, so I'm taking the credit. He is a success despite me. Merle. P.S. I once made him apologize to a store manager about something he and another kid took from the store when he was also about 6. The other kid's folks said their kid wasn't there when the item was stolen and even if he was, he didn't take it and even if he did take it, my kid probably made him. The other kid got off scot-free. To this day when this incident is remembered at Casa Sneed, the part most remembered is that I made son Sneed shoulder all the blame and Kevin didn't even get in trouble. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Fashion By Sneed

Perhaps you have noticed that I took my net worth chart off my blog. When I started this site as a personal finance blog, it seemed appropriate to have it. Since this has turned into the rants of an old crank, it seems out of place, so its gone. I popped into Kohl's today to update the Merle Sneed official wardrobe. Even though the Sneed suit is a model of efficiency and conenience, while remaining timelessly stylish, it requires occasional tending. The official wardrobe of Merle Sneed is polo shirts in various solid colors, preferably Haggar Cool 18 polos, jeans, Levi Signature, relaxed fit, medium blue, long for winter or short for summer. Flip flops in summer and walking or athletic shoes in winter or for work. A high-fashion marvel. I needed to replace some jeans today which had frayed at the cuff. Kolh's was having a sale and as a bonus, it was 10% off for senior citizens. I can sometimes get the senior discount because, lets face it, I look haggard. In fact, there is a kid at a fast food joint we go to who asks if I mind him giving me the senior discount. Hell no I don't. 10% off is pretty sweet. So I am browsing around and there are a zillion old couples shopping for that swell bargain. Technically, there are a zillion old women shopping, with a zillion old guys shuffling along behind them. Seniors will line up to get anything, even crap they don't want, if it is 10% off. Anyway, I see an old guy and his wife standing a few feet away. She is holding up a shirt and I hear this conversation. Her: You would look nice in this. Him: I don't think I really like that. Her: You always like what I pick out for you. Him: (cricket chirping) I need to make this public. If you ever see an old guy in jeans and a polo shirt and a lovely younger woman is picking out his clothes, please intervene and find out if his name is Merle Sneed. If so, please just shoot me because it will be over. When the lovely Mrs. Sneed begins to pick out my clothes for me, it is time to shut the barn door on old Merle and get out the 30-30. As long as I am at it, should I become any of the palegics, para or quadra, if I need help showering or anything worse, should I forget who I am completely or what decade it is, please just go ahead a pop one behind my ear. There will be no hard feelings. Some people have what it takes to face down this kind of adversity and have productive lives. Me? Not so much, so I'll pass. Clean shot, lights out, no sweat. In fact it may be getting close to time anyway. I got a flu shot today, which means I have gone over the edge, old guy-wise. In addition, at the flu shot clinic, they were doing health screenings for free, so in the finest tradition of the elderly, I said, Free health screening? Heck yeah. This is what we learned. I weigh too much, my pulse is too fast, my blood pressure is high normal and my body mass index is in the somewhat obese range. Hey, I'm big-boned, what can I say? Geez, I used to mock the old people queuing up for the shot and now I am one. What a pisser. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

The Thrill Of Victory

This isn't too bad, we can pull this together. It is a glorious day here at the MerleSneed blog, and for two different reasons. As you may have gathered from my previous posts, I love to be right. I love being able to say I told you so even more. Before I get to the gloating part of our program, let me to bring you up-to-date on the struggle with DIRECTV over their unreasonable demand that I fork over 200 smackaroos. I called back to DIRECTV today to see if they had a decision on the bogus $200 charge they were trying to get over on me. They didn't, but the woman I spoke to, transferred me to a second woman, who had an answer for me. Her answer was too bad, pay up, schumk, more or less. I took a moment to compose myself before calmly uttering the magic words, "Disconnect my service". This, of course, was a total bluff. Well, that got me to the Customer Retention department, and fast. The helpful representative in that department did the math on who loses if I actually quit and blinked. She put me on hold for awhile and came back with better news. She said that they would make an exception, just this once and just for me. She made me promise to go forth and sin no more with respect to improperly discarding DIRECTV receivers and with a keystroke, she fixed the problem. So, to DIRECTV I offer a tip of the hat. They did not go willingly, but they went, and that's all that matters. Now to our feature presentation. On September 18 and 19, I posted about how my coworker, let's call her Lindy, had failed to get some work done for a project and as a result, I had a really angry customer on my case, not hers. My boss, is a fellow we shall call Kendall. Now Kendall doesn't like to be bothered with these sorts of problems, you know, the ones where he has to actually get involved. Kendall would rather command the problem solved, through the mighty power of his Kendallness. He promised this customer that things would be just dandy without having gathered any evidence to support this contention. It was an empty promise, delivered by a fool. The poor customer made the mistake of believing him and the trainwreck was officially scheduled, for early November. Today was the day that the chickens came home to roost, so to speak. I received a call from a frantic coworker, who evidently was under some pressure to explain to someone exactly what was wrong and why we were about to miss the customer's date. The questions he asked me made it clear to me that someone was blowing smoke up his behind about what was really wrong. I gave him the real lowdown and off he went in a different direction. Shortly thereafter, Kendall himself called me, with the first guy on the phone. He asked me the same misguided questions, except that he said, "didn't you, Lindy and I find a workaround for this problem?" I said, "Yes, except that was a different customer and it was me, not you two. Plus that solution won't work here." In Kendall World, willing the problem solved, is synonymous with actually solving the problem. He and Lindy wished it was solved, so it must be solved and they must have solved it. Simple. I also reminded him that a month ago I tried to alert him that he was going to have to deal with this problem sooner rather than later, but that he wasn't all that interested in dealing with it back then. I don't think he liked the reminder that much, but he went away and that is all that matters to me. In a couple of minutes the head dude of the company we are failing called me and asked what the story was. He had been fed the same line of bullcrap that the first guy had told me. I suggested that he call Kendall and ask him what he intended to do, cause I am powerless to drag the unwitting or the unwilling. Plus if the guy getting the big money to be boss, refuses to boss, what can I do? I did what I could do, told who I could tell, warned those who needed warning and now I get to say...told you so! I am reminded of this; God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Oh yeah, and the resolve to let dopes fall in the holes they dig. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

For some reason I woke up too early this morning. If you are like me, you know what a disappointing thing it is to wake up too early. The newspaper didn't have much news, so I find myself with a moment to post this before work. I was noticing in the news, that my old hometown of Omaha, Nebraska has the toughest anti-smoking ordinance in the country. In fact, the cops in Omaha are urging that people call 9-1-1 if they see others violating the ordinance. Crime must be slow in Omaha. I think you have to live in the Midwest to appreciate the mindset of a lot Midwesterners. The European immigrant influence remains strong, despite changing demographics and, despite what some social commentators may say, that is not a bad thing. There is a reason high school graduation rates in the upper plains states are consistently the highest in the land. Americans in general are prone to following the rules, but residents of Minnesota, the Dakotas, Nebraska and Iowa are even more likely to value social order, I think anyway. I was listening to the comedian Louis Anderson being interviewed the other day. Louis is from Minnesota and he remarked that if you ask a Minnesotan to give you directions on the street, they not only willingly do so, but may also offer to accompany you to your destination to make sure you get there okay. That is the Midwestern spirit. This got me to thinking about another thing in the paper today. Dale Dauten, who writes a business column, syndicated by King Features, remarked in his column today that corporate loyalty remains dead in it tomb. Dale can sure turn a phrase. That is the state of American business in a nutshell. One time, in a galaxy far, far away, I was a loyal company man, with aspirations of upward mobility. People in my job were hired and stayed until they died or retired. Getting fired was an act that took extraordinary effort. In the 1980's and 1990's things changed and companies began to downsize, corporate speak for layoff. We were told that the downsizing was vital to the survival of companies, but too often it was a vehicle that allowed the people in power to enrich themselves. The result is a culture in which few are loyal and most are free agents, looking out for number one. This is what the critics of Wal-Mart are trying to express when they talk about Wal-Mart killing small towns. Unfortunately for the genuine critics, they are accompanied by fellow travelers who are freaks or blatantly self-serving, but that is another story. Anyway, the absence of loyalty and the willingness to do things simply to save a few bucks is not a good way to run a business and it is a really bad way to run a country. Merle.

Little, If Anything, To Say

Let's face it, on most days I don't have a darn thing that is really worth saying. One of the advantages to being an older guy is that many of the day-to-day pressures of life have gone their way. I don't have to worry about losing my job or getting ahead in the company, no kids skipping school, staying out too late or generally misbehaving, and I don't have debt, so I don't really have real money worries. In short, my bellyaching has reached another level, second-tier whining, if you will. Nowadays, my complaints are entertainment, mostly. I started this blog because I have been fortunate to learn a thing or two about money and I thought others might find these lessons learned useful. As it turns out, everyone knows what I know, the question is whether or not they choose to act on the information. I can't help with the motivation part, it seems. So my blog has evolved into an online diary of sorts. It is interesting to me to go back and read about what I was doing or thinking on a day in the past. Through all of my nonsense, several people routinely take a moment out of their days to check in and see what I am moaning about. An act that mystifies me, but makes me feel very appreciative. And as unbelievable as it might seem, my regular readership is not limited to my family. So, whether you are the reader from nearby Bisbee, AZ. or far away Moorabbin, Victoria in Australia, New York City or Austin, Texas, or the reader who only shows up in my stats as United States, I want to say thanks for looking in. This is a picture of the two cupcakes that were the centerpiece of Sneedlet's birthday tribute to his grandma. He noticed that our family celebration last Sunday didn't have a cake or singing, and as any three-year-old can tell you, no cake, no singing, no birthday. So, I got these cupcakes and this morning the lovely Mrs. S and Sneedlet lit the candles and belted out in song. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Saturday

This is me modeling my special stadium hat. I had high hopes of marketing them to disgruntled fans, but I seem to have been foiled again. I went to a football game today. We lost. I was wearing a special hat that I had prepared for the occasion, based upon my experience at the last game. Read here. I took an old hat and cut the top off to make it easy for the gate stooges to see I was not sneaking alcohol into the game. As it turned out my one-man protest was unnecessary, because they weren't checking hats this week. I like to think my indignant emails had something to do with change. Earlier in the day, the lovely Mrs. Sneed and I were nearly broadsided by a woman in a van who decided to make a u-turn from the center lane of traffic. I followed her into the shopping center where she was headed intending to give her a piece of my mind. Before I could do that, she leapt from her van, with two elderly people in tow, apologizing profusely, and leaving me looking like a cretin. What can you do? Beyond that, not much happened. Sneedlet is here for his Saturday visit and is jumping on me while I type this post. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

I'm Off! Work That Is.

My brother Earl took this photo of my father's boyhood church in Peekskill, NY. DIRECTV is rated #1 in customer satisfaction, higher than cable or any other satellite company, according to the American Customer Satisfaction Index.* This statement comes directly from the DIRECTV website and if true, it apparently is restricted to those customers who have never actually had to talk to a DIRECTV customer service agent, all of whom are in India, the agents, not the customers. As you may recall, I am locked in a dispute with DIRECTV over their attempt to charge me for failing to return my dead receiver to them, the one that I had previous purchased from them, which belonged to me and as nearly as I can tell, they had no claim to. This is equivalent to a car dealer demanding that a car he sold, be returned to him when the buyer wished to dispose of it. Per their instructions to call back in 48 hours to find out if they intend to remove the bogus $200 charge from my bill or not, I called back. Call one was answered by a woman who spoke English plainly enough but apparently did not understand it completely. She could not grasp the sentence, I threw the old receiver away. Please understand that I am not being facetious. She did not understand the phase, I threw it away. She kept telling me that there was no indication in their notes that I had thrown my receiver. This is the problem with these off-shore customer service centers. Even though the the agents may speak English, there are nuances to the language, or the turn of a phrase that might escape them. I had to finally say I put it in the garbage, before it sunk in. I am not trying to be critical of this person, it is just the way it has evolved. After 20 minutes of miscommunication, she tried to transfer me to the supervisor, but instead disconnected me. I called back, got another DIRECTV customer service represetative and told the tale again. She got the the technical assistance department, which has not been outsourced, on the line and I had a pleasant enough chat with a young guy who sort of shared how this all works, including that it takes 7 to 10 days, not 24 to 48 hours to resolve these disputes. He gave me a direct number to reach him back and said that if the answer from headquarters does not go my way, he will give me enough free stuff to cover the $200 dispute. This is a nice gesture, but getting several months of pay channels free in exchange, is the same as having bought them in the first place, a purchase I would not make, given my TV habits. So we will see what happens. I am meeting my friend today for lunch, then I have to go to the dermatologist to see if my leprosy is clearing up. At 4 pm-ish, my brother Earl is coming over to show me the pictures from his trip to the traditional Sneed homeland in America. I may or may have shared this before, but my loopy brother took our dead father's ashes along on the trip in order to scatter them in the family burial plot. However, after surveying the site, he decided it was too dumpy to scatter them and he brought Dad back home. In life, my father refused to travel, so it ironic that after death he crossed the country twice. If you can figure this out email me with an explanation. The lovely Mrs. Sneed is interviewing a subject this evening for a reseach project she is working on, so she will not be home until 8 pm or so. This will throw the entire Friday night social schedule out of kilter and probably cause us to be out later than normal, which is already pretty late for a guy of my advanced years. Merle Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Happy birthday, Mrs. Sneed

This is a picture that I took at Seaport village in San Diego, California, USA this past September. The Sneeds have spent many a lovely evening looking at this building while enjoying a meal, usually pizza. The really newsworthy item for today is that it is the lovely Mrs. Sneed's birthday. It is not every 56-year-old guy who can say he is married to a 30-year-old. What can I say? Secondly, the DirecTV weasels are keeping me hanging. Yesterday morning I stopped at my regular cafe/bakery on the way to work. I was waiting in line to order when a woman brushed past me and told the cashier that she needed a cup for water. For a moment my heart leapt at the possibility that I had finally achieved invisibility, a power that I would only use for the good of mankind. Like many places this cafe uses clear cups for water to keep people from filling them with other beverages, rather than buying a drink. Iced tea and other cold beverages are sold in large paper cups with the store's logo on them. All the beverages are self-serve after you pay for the cup. I ordered my scone and went to get a napkin. I noticed that the woman had wrapped the clear cup with a napkin, to disguise it's clearness and had filled it with iced tea, a lemon and was putting Splenda in it. She also had a couple of bread samples. Then she put her head down so not to make eye contact with anyone and dashed out the back door. This whole thing got me to thinking. She was well-dressed and didn't appear to be starving or anything. I went to my truck and caught a glimpse of her walking down the street, so I turned into the street and drove in her direction. She was walking at a leisurely pace, so I had to go down the block and come back. I was curious about who she was and where she was headed. It turned out that she works in a building down the block. It seems to me that she is just a thief. I wonder why people think that it is no big deal to take little things? Plus, I wonder why this bugs me? Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Listen Dumbass

Readers who know what make Merle Sneed tick, know that he doesn't suffer fools easily, nor does he get pushed around by corporate giants. You will remember my vicious struggle with Circuit City as an example of what I am talking about. They trod on Merle and wished that they hadn't. Don't you love it when I talk about myself in the third person? Anyway the corporate bigwigs have regrouped and are making another run at me, to see if they can crash my defenses. These people are like cockroaches. You can't let them get a foothold. I did learn today that when talking to a customer service agent about a problem, beginning a sentence with "Listen dumbass", is not a persuasive tactic, but on to the issue at hand. I have to take you back to January 2005, when the lovely Mrs. Sneed finally succumbed to my pestering and agreed to give up her VCR in favor of TIVO. I had been a TIVO user for some time and had been regaling her with its virtures. I called our long-time satellite provider, DirecTV, and inquired about changing the lovely Mrs. Sneed's regular receiver to a TIVO unit. The rep for DirecTV told me that I would have to purchase the unit from them and offered me the super-swell price of $99 plus installation, providing I agreed to extend our contract for an additional year. I agreed. The rep suggested that I try to sell my old receiver on eBay. He also said that since I was buying the new receiver, it was my problem if it broke outside of the warranty period. All this is important later in this story. A few weeks ago, the lovely Mrs. Sneed's TIVO unit crapped out, totally dead. I called my good friends at the DirecTV technical support team and after a few futile suggestions about how the unit might be resurrected, they pronounced it dead too. When I asked about buying a replacement, the guy said they don't sell them anymore, but instead they lease them to the subscribers. He said that they would send me a new unit and that they would own it. Should I ever disconnect my service, it would need to be returned to them. I was also obligated to once again extend my contract. Fair enough. Two days later the unti arrived, I hooked it up and all was right with the world, that is, until the bill arrived. This past Monday I got my bill and it included a $200 charge for "equipment". This puzzled me, so I gave them a jingle, to see what was what. The nice woman on the phone told me it was a charge for failing to return the dead receiver. Assuming a misunderstanding had occurred, I told her that I owned the dead unit, so it didn't have to be returned to them. Besides I threw it in the trash. Silly me. The next person I was passed on to was a TIER 2 REPRESENTIVE, and judging from his dismissive attitude, a very important one at that. He patiently listened to my tale of woe and said, in not so many words, that any brainless ninny would know that the old unit needed to be sent back. But, I protested, it was my receiver, not theirs and as such, mine to dispose of as I pleased. This fell on deaf ears. I told him I wasn't paying and he told me that he would refer it to his boss and that I should call back in 48 hours to see if they would make an exception in my case. At this point I had had enough of Mr. Nice Guy Merle Sneed, so I snatched the phone from that panty-waist and unleashed Nasty Guy Merle Sneed on the hapless schmuck at DirecTV. I told him that as long as he was writing notes to his boss, write down that I would pay the $200 when hell freezes over. Furthermore, if they persisted at stupidly insisting that I return a receiver that they sold to me and that I owned, then I would send them one of the remaining two receivers that I own, I would gladly pay the $275 early-cancellation fee and then they should shove my DirecTV satellite dish, with dual LNBs up their collective arses. I am not beyond cutting off my nose to spite my face. So, this morning I called to see if they had arrived at a decision. Not yet, but another guy took up the task of explaining to me why I had the oligation to return the receiver that I owned. My rebuttal was (a) its mine!!!! and (b) if returning it was part of the deal, then they should have told me that before I pitched it. Well, Mr. Smartypants allows as how they probably did tell me, but I didn't understand. Quaking with rage and near an aneurysm, I invited him to get the tape of the original conversation that had been recorded for customer service and training purposes and play it. If the guy told me to return the unit, then I will pay the $200, if not, it comes off the bill. Well surprise, they don't have no stinking tape. The he begins to explain to me that I got a swell deal for $99 on the original receiver so it had to be returned. I counter with the arugment that it is insane that a brand new $99 receiver is worth $200 dead. Hell, send me a million of them and I'll break them for you and we can split the profit. DirecTV logic. Well, eventually it got to the part where I may have called him a dumbass and he may hung up on me. The lovely Mrs. Sneed offered me $200 to just shut up, but I can't be bought off. I rethought my plan to cancel our service altogether, because that would leave the lovely Mrs. Sneed high and dry TV-wise and me in sh*t city. So instead, if these jugheads insist on insisting, I will send back my TIVO unit, cancel my HBO which no one watches except me and the lovely Mrs. Sneed can continue to enjoy DirecTV on her set because I will be done with these fools. Plus she can pay those idiots. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Sneed Contemplates Adoption of Antarctic Orphan; Ice Floes Stall Progress

The celebrity world was abuzz today with news of Madonna’s adoption of baby David, an orphan from the impoverished African nation of Malawi. The extensive Madonna security apparatus secreted the baby out of Malawi and into the waiting arms of nanny Elizabeth Shropshire, who will care for the child during the week, with the pop icon assuming motherly responsibilities on Sunday afternoons and many holidays. Upon first seeing the child, among several orphans preselected for her consideration, Madonna is said to have remarked to husband, Guy Smiley of Muppett fame, "God they're cute Guy, can we pick two?" Guy reminded her that the infants would not remain cute forever and sending one back could prove difficult, so they opted for baby David alone. This adoption follows closely on the heels of the well-publicized adoption of Ethiopian baby Zahara, by Angelina Jolie, another pop icon and the woman credited with starting the celebrity-foreign orphan adoption craze, currently sweeping the entertainment industry. Rumors of bad blood between the pop culture divas have circulated widely. Since Madonna has forsaken our fair country for England’s shores, I put in a call to my distant cousin, Chesley Sneed, of Berksire Upon Sneed, a village in the north of England, for local thought. “The lads in the pubs think Angelina will be positively bonkers when she hears the news. After all, she set the bar for this whole celebrity-ankle-biter adoption business, don’t you know, old man?” he remarked. Well, I am not sure I do know, but I was determined to find out. Fortunately my connections in the paparazzi community run deep. I contacted one of my most trusted sources, a man I can only identify as Steve. Steve confirmed that he had heard the rumors and relayed a conversation he was told had occurred. According to Steve, photographers chasing the Brangelina rickshaw through the streets of Pune, India think they may have heard Angelina screaming at Brad and they are somewhat confident that they heard her say this, but they can't be sure. That old buzzard will not one up me godd**n it! If she thinks her urchin is more pathetic than Zahara, just because the frickin’ Malawians are poorer than the Ethiopians, she has another damn think coming. I am Angelina f**king Jolie, the informal UN Ambassador for Refugees. Pitt, get off your lazy ass and find me a better sad kid, even if you have to get a blind Chinese amputee kid, hear me A-hole? I invented caring you old cow! I'll adopt the whole continent if I have to. Sounds serious, I will keep up on the latest as it come to me and give a full accounting. Merle Legal Notice We here at the MerleSneed blog have nothing but the highest regard for Ms. Angelina Jolie, Ms. Madonna No Last Name and Mr. Brad Pitt and we both support them and thank them for their efforts to make the world a better place. Additionally, we recognize that fine celebrity-humanitarians such as Ms. Jolie, Ms. Madonna, and Mr. Pitt would never behave in the manner portrayed above. Both the lovely Mrs. Sneed, who would like to remind the Jolie-Pitt-Madonna legal teams that she has no editorial input in "that idiotic blog" and I wish them the very best success in raising their lovely children. And as always Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

More History of the Sneeds in America

One of the interesting chapters from the history of the Sneeds in America involves my grandparents, Walter Sr. and Meryl Sneed. My name is a derivation of my grandmother's name and may also be the origin of the name of a famous actress. My father was Walter Sneed, Jr. My grandparents were married in October of 1923 in a small village in central New York state, which is the traditional home of the Sneeds in America. Soon after their marriage Meryl was found to be "with Sneed", as they say. This was a major deal in central New York in 1923, so the young couple was sent to live with relatives in Holland, Michigan, where the exact date of their marriage could be concealed from nattering naybobs. Young Walter Sneed, Jr. came into the world in March of 1924, with his brother Roger born 13 month later, in April of 1925, also in Holland. In 1927, while the boys were still young enough not to know when they were born, the family headed back to New York and once more settled in, living with both Walter and Meryl's mothers, all together in the same house. Since everyone in town knew or could find out the date of Walter and Meryl's wedding and compare it to the boy's actual birthdays, the birthdates were adjusted forward to legitimize young Walter's birth and to keep Roger the younger of the two. Walter Jr.'s new date became July 15, 1924 and Roger's shifted to August, 1925. These remained their birthdates of record throughout their school years. The word of the parent was good enough for school officials. Once the boys reached adulthood, the need to maintain the ruse was past and they reverted to using their real birthdates. My father's birthdate was in March and that's all we knew of the story until one day in the early 1970s. Sometime in the early 70s, I came into possession of a family bible that had a detailed record of many milestones in the history of the Sneeds in America. One of the items recorded was the wedding of Walter Sr, and Meryl Sneed in October of 1923. I thought long and hard about the implications of this before finally calling and asking my mother if she was aware of this fact. She told me that I was to never tell my father what I knew...ever. My father, she said, would be ashamed about this revelation and I was not to embarrass him. She also said he had no clue about the deception of his parents. We had different sensibilities in the old days. My father was a proud man and lived most of his life putting up a false front for the world, becaue he never really thought he was good enough. He couldn't bear a chink in his finely crafted facade. I, of course, said nothing. Years later, maybe a decade ago, my brother Earl and I were speaking to my uncle Roger one evening in my father's kitchen. Dad was in the living room watching TV. While kicking around the history of the Sneeds in America my uncle said, "You know that your grandmother was knocked up when your grandparents were married, don't you?" My brother and I stared at one another in stunned silence, in part from the utterance of the forbidden fact and partly from his choice of phrasing. Finally, I told him that we knew but that our mother had threatened us if we ever told Dad because he would be embarrassed if he found out. Uncle Roger looked at me and then my brother and said, "Do you two imbeciles think he's a moron? Of course he knows." Then he shouted, "Hey Junior, when was your school birthday?" "July 15th." my dad responded. Then he went back to the TV. This how it was in our family. We spent so much time covering up our Sneedness that we often confused one another. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Unabomblet

You tell me. Today was the lovely Mrs. Sneed's birthday celebration. The Sneed family tradition is to celebrate birthdays on the Sunday prior to their actual date. We gathered at a restaurant for breakfast, but before we could begin the festivities there was a small police matter that had to be resolved. Two cops eating breakfast thought that Sneedlet 2 might have some connection to a notorious criminal. Once they were satisfied that Sneedlet was born after the Unabomber was jailed, he was free to go and the celebration began. As you can tell from Sneedlet's get up, we are having cooler weather. It is not Buffalo, NY cold, but it is a nice change. I love the cooler days and less sunlight that fall brings. We get so much sun here that the change is welcome, at least for me. Anyway, that is all I can think of to say for today. Tomorrow is work and it offers a wealth of nonsene to dwell upon. I look forward to that. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

There wasn't any stinking Sneed Days

We're back and none too soon if you ask me. As a side note, I just discovered the hard way, that if you don't weigh yourself in a couple of months, it is possible to have gained ten pound accidently. As I noted in the previous post, I picked up the lovely Mrs. Sneed from the hospital where she works and we headed to the airport Wednesday evening for our trip to Las Vegas. As usual, I was worried about getting there on time. But it turned out that I needn't have been concerned. We had no sooner cleared the cracker jack airport security screening area, than the fine folks at Southwest Airlines announced that our plane would be late. In fact at it's scheduled arrival time here in our fair city, it was sitting in Ontario, California, the pilot having misplaced the keys to the plane or something. Eventually, it arrived and we were on our way, no worse for the wear. Expecting a warm reception from dignitaries of the Las Vegas community because of the rumored Sneed Days festivities, we eagerly deplaned and rushed to the lower level of the terminal. We looked for someone holding a banner, some balloons, or at a least someone in a chauffuer's uniform holding up a cardboard Sneed sign. Things were surprisingly subdued, no fanfare, no crowd of well-wishers, no Dixieland band, no nothing. When we did find the Sneed driver, he turned out to be looking for my archnemesis, Beryl and his slutty wife Penny. We managed to find backup transportation in the person of a recent immigrant from the Cameroon, who failed to recognize the Sneeds as savvy Las Vegas regulars, and took us the long way to the strip, tacking an extra $7 on the cab fare. This is a trick the cabbies in Vegas are regularly busted for by the Taxi Authority. My indignant call to the Yellow-Checker-Star Transportation company was futile. The fellow who answered the phone basically told me that there was no accounting for some of these drivers and that he would appreciate me hanging up because he was busy. A nasty email to the Nevada State Taxi Cab Authority followed. There was also some sort of a mix up at the Luxor, because while we expected that the Sneed Days celebration would warrant a grand suite or other deluxe accomodations, all that was available was a standard room on the ninth floor, so we made the best of the situation. By the way, there is standard and then there is standard. At the Luxor, things are definitely standard. It was curious that as special guests we had to produce a credit card at check in. The perks that were made available to us as honored guests were many, almost too many to list. Here are just a couple highlights. On Thursday evening we were the special guests of the Mirage Hotel, for Love, Cirque du Soleil's tribute to the music of the Beatles. We had terrific seats on the aisle in the 7th row and while the tickets were part of the gala Sneed Days celebration, we did have to pay a modest $125 service fee per ticket. The show was terrific. Throughout our stay, we were offered free drinks in all the casinos by attentive waitresses and at the buffets, we were accorded unlimited eating, including a fine selection of deserts, all for one modest price. During the remainder of the trip we ate too much, gambled too much, stayed up too late and made fun of too many people. Why do tourists in Las Vegas dress like they are auditioning for a part in Vegas Vacation? One thing I have noticed, and you guys out there feel free to use this tip, is that no matter how short, how bald, how fat, how ugly, how old or generally how hideous you are in appearance, if you have money, beautiful women will overlook your shortcomings. I saw more freaks with babish women than I could count. Money has to be the explanation. We saw a 400 lb guy, who had to wedge himself into his seat at the show, with a young, thin, reasonably attractive woman on his arm. Money is the only explanation. Here's another tip for both men and women. Las Vegas doesn't have special laws of physics. When you try to cram ten pounds into a five pound sack it is noticable, and not in a good way. Yesterday, we gambled and ate until the very last minute and then had to make a mad dash to the airport to make our 7:25 pm flight. Our cabby, another recent immigrant, took us the short route and was rewarded with a handsome tip. We rushed to the gate and eagerly anticipated immediate boarding. The gate agent announced that the flight would be 15 minutes late. Then he announced that the plane was on final approach from Oakland and would pull up to the gate momentarily. The passengers rushed to line up at the gate. We waited and then we waited. After a bit, the agent announced that rather than pulling up to our gate, the plane was in fact on it's way to Ontario, California, due to bad weather. It was raining in Las Vegas. So we sat back down. Some time after 10:00 pm, we were told that the plane was on final approach and that we should get ready to board. So we lined up again. A plane pulled up to the gate and rather than being from Southwest Airlines, it was an US Airways jet. More confusion ensued. Then passangers were directed to another gate. While the line at the original gate was headed up by those who patiently stood or sat in line for three damn hours, the sprint to the new gate resulted in the fittest being at the head of the line, along with their fat, loud-mouthed, know-it-all friend, and I think she knows who she is. By the way, capri pants and a large tunic-like top, not your best look lady. At long last we left Las Vegas, arriving home a mere four hours late. But hey, it was Friday night so we slept late this morning and all's well that ends well. We had a great time, we lost the money we set out to lose, we ate like pigs and I only aggravated the lovely Mrs. Sneed a few times, none resulting in an ugly fight. What more can a guy hope for? Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Off To Las Vegas

Well, there will be no witty and insightful posts until Saturday. The lovely Mrs. Sneed and I are off to Las Vegas. Rumor has it that the town has rolled out the red carpet for the Sneeds, with some special events planned. We'll see about that. I am picking up Mrs. Sneed after work today and then we shall be jetting to Sin City, although we are too old for that moniker to mean much. It is also doubtful that we will be up five hundy by midnight. Still solvent by midnight, is a more realistic goal. Still speaking to one another by midnight would be nice, but that is a slightly longer shot. Instead, we will eat like pigs, wander from casino to casino and generally have a good time. By Friday, we will be glad to be out of there. It will be a nice diversion for a couple of days. Until Saturday, you are in charge. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

The Sneeds in America

A Portrait of Hans Van Sneed - Shopkeeper. This priceless heirloom has passed down through generations of Sneeds The confusion yesterday between me and Beryl Sneed got me to thinking. I Googled Beryl to see what I could find out. Beryl seems to be a mystery man because nothing showed up. But I have a secret weapon, my brother Earl, the family genealogist. I called my brother Earl, but he was out and I left a message with his daughter, Pearl. She said I should also try his cell and I said I would give it a whirl. When I finally reached Earl, he was able to tell me that our grandfather and Beryl's grandfather were cousins, making me and Beryl, third cousins. This started a long discussion of the history of the Sneeds in America. Once Earl gets started, there is no shutting him up. The patriarch of the Sneeds in America is Jacobus Van Sneed. Van Sneed was the original family name but Jacobus dropped the Van after the stinking English stole the Dutch colony that is now New York and New Jersey. Jacobus and his brother Hans were shopkeepers in the Dutch city of Haarlem. During the 1630s Haarlem was gripped with tulip mania and the brothers got the idea to cash in by buying futures to purchase large numbers of tulips to be sold at inflated prices. Alas, they bought at the brink of the crash of the tulip market, leaving them holding purchase contracts for tulip bulbs no one wanted. They were ruined. Jacobus and Hans signed on with the Dutch West India Company and beat a retreat from their angry creditors, as well as the Dutch authorities, landing in New Amsterdam, in what is now New York, and New Jersey. An interesting event took place during the transit from Holland. Jacobus was playing Nonsens, a tradition Dutch game of chance, played with a sheep's clavicle and 3 wooden balls. Being a skilled player, he quickly found himself the big winner, much to the chagrin of the crew. The deckhands told him to return their money or they would toss Hans overboard. While Jacobus pondered his choice, the captain intervened, much to the relief of poor Hans. The captain ordered the money returned and Jacobus and Hans spent the rest of the voyage below decks. Once in New Amsterdam, Jacobus and Hans tried their hand at hauling freight. The bought an interest in two mules and a freight barge from the widow of a freightman who was killed in a loading mishap. Unfortunately, the mules took sick and the barge mysteriously burned one night. Freighting did give them contacts in the native American community and they made considerable money selling alcohol to the indigenous peoples, before getting into hot water with the Dutch governor, as well as the Dutch Reformed Church. Once more they were forced to flee, ahead of the law. The two settled in the community of Peeksill, where they resumed their careers as shopkeepers. Jacobus married and fathered seventeen children, 6 of whom died in childhood. Hans, forever the bachelor, turned to the church and served it for many years as an enforcer of the faith. Later Sneeds ventured west settling Michigan, Illinois and Iowa, but that is a story for another day. The Sneeds are proud to be a part of the Dutch in America. Some notable Dutch Americans include both Presidents Roosevelt, President Martin Van Buren, Eddie Van Halen and of course Merle, Earl and Beryl (Van) Sneed. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Never Mind

How did I miss that? Today was an odd sort of day. I went to the cafe / bakery that I go to almost every morning on my way to work. I got my maple scone and started out, when the owner stopped me and said, "You know, I really appreciate your loyalty to my business. Thank you." I didn't know what to say. Later, as I sat in my cubicle, my boss and his boss came in and asked to speak to me in one of the conference rooms. They shared with me that they appreciated my diligence and that they wanted me to know that I was making a difference in the success of the company. They added that a letter of commendation was going in my permanent record. I was embarrassed by their lavish praise. Then the phone calls began. Friends that I had forgotten, called regaling me with the ways that I had touched their lives. Readers to my little blog commented on the difference that my musing had made to them. At the Subway at lunch, the employees made me pose for snapshots and I was treated to the Meal Deal. Mario, the manager, thanked me for recommending his store to others. Later in the afternoon, I was driving to look at something for work and I came upon a line of cars. An older woman pulled along side of me and signaled to me that she wanted to get into the line. I slowed and let her in. A block later a policeman pulled me over, and although I expected the worst, he gave me a card thanking me for being a model driver and good citizen. While I was out in my company truck, some coworkers got together and washed my personal truck, just to say thanks for helping them out from time to time. I was touched. Then just as I was ready to leave for the day, my phone rang. I snatched it up and a woman who identified herself as Blanche, from the Bureau of Recognition, asked if she was speaking to Mr. Merle Sneed. I replied that she was. She told me that a mistake had been made. It was supposed to be Beryl Sneed Day and that a trainee had made a typo in the announcement. She said she was sorry for the misunderstanding. On the way home the cops stopped me again and asked for the card back. Bummer. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Coronado Camp

This is the remains of Coronado Camp, near Oracle, Arizona, in the Santa Catalina mountain range. The cabin was originally a two room adobe building, with corrals. Built about 1900, it has been used by ranchers, miners and of late, by people traversing the Charloueau Gap trail. Efforts have been made to restore the building, as evidenced by the tin roof, but the forest service is recommending that it be demolished as a hazard. Hard rock mines dot the surrounding hills. I believe the miners were chiefly in search of silver and gold. The building is traditional adobe construction. The adobe blocks are 80% sand and 20% clay soil and mixed with water. Some people mix in straw in the belief that it strengthens the bricks. There doesn't seem to be any evidence to support this belief. The muddy liquid was poured into forms and sun-dried, curing in about 30 days. The collapsed portions of the walls demonstrate the effect rain has on exposed adobe. The floor of the structure is concrete, so at the least the cement had to be carted to the site. Of course every home must have "facilities". Coronado Camp is no exception. In this case the corrugated steel siding is probably original. Notice that it has been used for target practice by idiots with guns. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

What Was I Thinking?

My very best pal invited me on an outing today. He is a Jeep guy, he has three of them. His idea of a swell time is to spend 4 or 5 hours having his bones shaken by driving on the most primitive, god-awful trails you have ever seen. Plus he spends thousands of dollars equipping and maintaining these money pits. I know his thinking was that if he could get me in his Jeep, I would be hooked and want one myself. My idea was and remains, there is no chance of that happening. I wasn't totally enthusiastic about the idea of joining him, but he wanted me to go and he has invited me a zillion times, so I went. The day began in the community of Catalina, Arizona, 20 or so miles north of Tucson. We headed out and soon discovered this guy and his very stuck Jeep. He evidently believed he could climb up this rock. He managed to get his wheels headed up the rock and slid backwards, leaving him stuck in this position. It looks as if he should be able to back down to the ground, but his back bumper wedged on a big rock, making movement impossible. My pal attached his winch to the front of the Jeep and with some help the guy got up to the top. Later on the trail we came to this drop off. Driving a Jeep off this ledge is some sort of badge of honor for Jeep guys. I got out to take photos to be used at the coroner's inquest. These are some additional pictures from the trip. Off-road enthusiasts are often criticized by the environmental crowd for damaging the ecology and sometimes with good reason. A lot of off-road motorcyclists and dunebuggy guys tear up the landscape willy-nilly, but these Jeep club guys seemed very environmentally conscious. This trail winds 20 miles through the mountains and is only accessible by four-wheel drive vehicles. The trail is maintained by the forest service and a Jeep club. In 20 miles of driving I didn't see a single piece of litter. It was amazing. The trail cuts through this pristine area and not a thing is disturbed outside the little road. These people are very careful to take care of the land. This is near the end of the trail and although it seems like we are headed up a steep hill, My friend actually fell into a gully, leaving us looking straight upward, with the front wheels 4 feet in the air. Every time my friend took his foot off the brake pedal, the Jeep rolled back and to the side and the front end got higher. Since we are both old and fat, escape was impossible. Fortunately, another fellow with us put enough pressure on the front of the Jeep to get the wheels back in contact with terra firma and allowed us to back out. We emerged in the town of Oracle, Arizona, safe and sound. This was a tiring day and slow going most of the time, but it was fun. I'm glad I went. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

I Can't Hear You!

News reporting has been a recurring theme in my life today. It began with a news story in our local paper's online edition, about one of our popular longtime news anchors having been fired from his TV gig. Accompanying the story were 87 reader comments, most complaining about the unfairness of it all and praising this fellow for being a good journalist. This gave me pause to reflect on my decision to give up on TV news. First of all, TV anchors are not journalists, they are attractive people who read the news. They are more about emotion than they are about the news. The idea is to strike at your heart with indignation, anger or fear. They are trying to connect with you in order to remain relevant and employed. The veracity of the news is secondary, even though they won't admit that. Most of the crap we are warned about never happens. A wise man once said, 90% of what you worry about never happens and 90% of what happens is not as bad as you worried it would be. So you are wasting your worrying energy 99% of the time. I think he was right. If you don't believe me ask yourself, am I dead from SARS or bird flu? These were nightly news warning, and very ominous stuff. As I sat in my cubicle today, a young guy who sometimes seeks my advice on life issues, strolled in and announced that he is in the second week of following my advice to turn off TV news and talk radio. I was surprised to find out I gave him that advice, although I run my yap so much, I often forget much of what I say. Several months ago it occurred to me that I spend way too much time listening to crap on the TV and the radio. It has dawned on me that news reporting has become all about making me mad enough to agree with one side or the other politically or to rev up my sense of fairness. It seems to me that no matter who is in charge, I am bombarded with messages designed to convince me of the need for a change. The idea is to get me to see the unfairness of it all, whatever it all is at the moment. Powerful people are all about power and priviledge, not about you and me. Republican, Democrat or Independent, they get elected and then they get theirs. We're supposed to help them get theirs, in exchange for the promise that they may throw a crumb our way. Libertarians my be different, but they don't get elected so we don't know. Anyway, I am out because stuff happens with or without me. I am not willing to be a soldier in the armies of unfairness, power and greed, whether led by George W. or Hillary, cheered on by Limbaugh or Franken. There are plenty of people worrying about who screwed the pooch, I won't be missed. Getting back to my young friend. He was marveling about the positive change in the quality of his life since instituting the Merle Sneed Checkout Plan. He put it succinctly when he said, "Things happen whether I am worrying about them or not, so I gave up worrying about them." Part of giving up is the decision to stop listening to the professional naysayers. Later at lunch with my friends, my 89-year-old friend Charlie wandered over to our table and said that he couldn't bear to watch the news anymore because things are just too screwed up. Amazing. We get indoctrinated with the notion that we have to be informed and involved to be good citizens. Nonsense. There will never be a shortage of people willing to play in politics, you won't be missed, but your life will change for the better. Get an Ipod, find music or podcasts you like and tune out. The insanity you prevent, may be your own. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

More Golf, Less Guff

One of my golfing buddies smiles as I drain a long putt. Sometimes the best laid plans just don't work out. I planned to take the morning off to play golf with some guys I know. I haven't played for a couple of years because I got out of the habit. We were supposed to start at 7:30ish, but the guy who made our reservation could only get an 8:30 am time. We didn't finish until almost 2:00 pm. Then it was on to lunch and before you know it, it was too late to drive over to work. I guess I will have to work tomorrow, instead of being off. The nature of my job involves a lot of customer contact, so I had about 20 or 25 calls on my cell phone. It was still better than being at the office. We started off walking the course, but the course is really hilly and the weather today was muggy, so at the end of the first 9 holes we got a cart. In an ideal world, I would be able to work about 3 days a week. I would like a job on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, days, no nights. This would give me plenty of leisure time. One of the guys at golf today owns a chain of restaurants. His work is keeping an eye on his managers and handles the strategic planning. He has plenty of flexibility in his schedule. The second guy was his son who manages one of the restaurants. If dad wants to golf, son gets time off. The third member of our foursome has a job where he works 12 hour days, 3 days a week. Pretty nice. Since I had not played golf in about two years, so I was a little apprehensive that I would embarrass myself. It turned out that the restaurant owner was a pretty good player, but the other two were horrible. I shot a 96, not too bad for an older guy. In other news, the local media is in full-on hysteria over West Nile virus. Our local health officials have identified a "hot zone" for the virus. Casa Sneed is right in the middle of the "hot zone". This is how they print it in the paper, with quotes, "hot zone". It sounds so formidable, "hot zone". At Casa Sneed we are hunkered down against the onslaught. The lovely Mrs. Sneed often yells, "*%%%^#@ mosquitoes!" This is effective in scaring some away. I have decided to shower only once a week, I don't think they bite stinky guys as much. That's about the sum of the plan. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

The Spit Hits the (spit)Pan

We had a medical crisis here at Casa Sneed today. The lovely Mrs. Sneed discovered a gigantic tumor on her....drumroll...gums today. Okay, so maybe not gigantic and technically, she discovered this about a month ago, but today was the day it reached crisis proportions. Crisis being defined as, "Ah crap, it's getting bigger." The lovely Mrs. Sneed is afraid of the dentist, so she practices do-it-yourself dentistry. Her theory is that if you brush your teeth obsessively, you don't need no stinking dentist. In addition, she thinks that she can handle most routine dental procedures with common household implements. The lovely Mrs. Sneed is also a highly trained medical professional which would make you think that she would be a regular consumer of modern medical care. Nope. Every day parents trust their little ones to her care. She prods and probes them, often with actual probes. This is serious medicine. So what does she do when she has a medical problem? She calls me, the least qualified person in the universe to offer an opinion. Believe me, when you need medical advice, look elsewhere, I'm not your guy. So, I'm sitting in my cubicle this morning when my phone rings. I have a tumor on my gums and it's probably cancer, what do I do? "Well, I think you should get it checked out", says I. Doctor or dentist? "Can Dr. xxx look at it for you?" No! "Okay, then dentist" You call him and get me an appointment for next Tuesday or Wednesday. I called the dentist and he said she needed to come in today. "He can see you today at 11:15 or 3:15." Oh, I hate the dentist....Ah, 3:15 "Want me to come?" Yes We went this afternoon and it turns out to be an abscess, and not cancer. She got an antibiotic and a follow up appointment. The woman had already braced herself for having a section of her jaw removed and a life of wearing the Elephant Man mask. Good thing it wasn't cancer, it is nearly impossible to accessorize that Elephant Man mask. Merle P.S. I don't like to keep boasting about my AdSense account, but through September, I am at $1.44. Woo Hoo! Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Criminals and Other Stupid People

Cute Really, really scary. The old Babster has nothing to do with this post. I just like the picture. I am in the process of trying to make Sadie the Wonder Beagle into a pet a guy would want to own. It is slow going. She is about 10 months old and is a terror. Her idea of quality time is to run around like a maniac and play, by biting at any exposed foot that she can find. My strategy is to spend more time with her, a lot more, to see if that calms her down. We will see how this works out. At the moment she is laying on the floor ripping a toy I got her to shreds. For your entertainment, I present another Merlism. Crime doesn't pay mostly because criminals are so stupid. For instance, take the guy in Reno who killed his, oh, excuse me, is alleged to have killed his wife, the former Nevada state controller. This bozo told his coworkers that he had a foolproof method to commit murder and the next day his wife winds up mysteriouly dead. He couldn't keep his trap shut. Now he is in the slammer and questions have cropped up about the dead wife's dead ex-husband. Then we have the Congressman who decided that it was a good idea to send lurid emails to an underaged page. Let's see, he works with 534 other egomaniacs and their ruthlessly ambitious staff members, half of whom would love to bring him down and he figures this will end happily. What a dope. In our fair city we have a case where one doctor hired a hitman to kill his ex-partner in their medical practice. The dead man, by all accounts a first-rate human being, had the nerve to bail out of the partnership with the murderer, when said murderer was arrested on drug charges and prety much lost his ability to doctor. Funny how that works. The murderer-doctor evidently solicitated a bunch of people to kill the guy, based on the number who came forward at trial, before finally hiring someone. He went around for several years talking up his hatred for the dead guy and vowing revenge. It took the cops one day to name him as the chief suspect. He is now serving his time. So even though I have never successfully pulled off a real crime, here's a tip. If you intend to kill someone, keep your yap shut. If you are the last person anyone would suspect, you will be the last person the coppers will suspect. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Rationalizing Stoogery

Where do I put my head? Well, my indignant email to the University of Arizona regarding the hat incident, solicited a response, or rather a bunch of blather. The writer, an assistant athletic director, suggests that ballcaps have been known to have secret compartments for the smuggling of liquor. Balderdash! This is the actual text. Our security staff asked patrons to remove their caps as that is the new way to bring alcohol into stadiums. Some wide brim hats or even ball caps have a sewn in pocket at the top and patrons have been porting alcohol in this hat compartment. Sorry you were offended by the request. It was made in an effort to avoid other problems where fans and alcohol don't always mix well. Please contact me if you have questions or concerns. Please contact me if you have questions or concerns? I thought that is what I did. I sent a snappy reply suggesting shoes are an excellent place to hide liquor. Hollow out the heel and presto, you have a foot flask. I also pointed out that a bunch of drunk fans stagger over from the official University of Arizona tailgate area, where the university collects a minimum of $330 for a tailgate permit. I'll bet that if I offered them $330 I could get a permit that allows me to enter unaccousted. The real problem the University has with the demon rum is that they are prohibited by state law from selling it in the stadium. I will guarantee you that should the law change, the crowd-control problems cited as a reason to search the fans, would vanish in a heartbeat. Universities have several goals for their athletic programs. One of the chief goals is to get as much money from the fans and the boosters as possible. They are absolutely unscrupulous in their pursuit of a buck. They allow credit card companies to ensnare the students in exchange for a handsome payment, they sell sponsorship to silly things like the opening kickoff or the band's halftime show. At Saturday's game they allow a payday loan outfit to hand out handfans with their advertising on it. The athletic departments, this one included, will do almost anything for a dollar. On a happier note, my eBay shoes arrived today. They are a little more used than I had hoped, but still a swell deal for $33. They retailed for $320 when new. I'm off to bowling. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong and sometimes just full of it. Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor