Things Will Be Great When You're Downtown

The Christmas season is upon us hot and heavy here in the desert. I offer you pictorial evidence, the newly decorated tree here at Casa Sneed. Technically, it is upon us cold and heavy, because temperatures have dropped. Its cold by our standards anyway. 60F (18C) during the day and 30F (-1C) at night. Cold enough for me and pretty close to as cold as it ever gets here. We live in right in the city, just a block off a main thoroughfare, so neighborhood businesses are lit up. The nudie bar and the porn shop around the corner from Casa Sneed are both decorated for the season. I spied a Christmas tree in one of the 5 or 6 car lots within 2 blocks of the house. Many of the neighbors have their lights up. Only 25 days now. I had better get cracking on my shopping. Yeah, that's gonna happen. In other news, I going to start calling my fair city, Berkley by the Border. The reason is that our local government keeps getting more liberal and goofier by the month. Case in point. Our downtown area is basically a dump, like that of many American cities. The hope is that it can be rejuvenated in a big way. At the moment our downtown consists of the government offices of various sorts, a load of law offices and the small service businesses that cater to them, plus, and this is a big plus, a bunch of artists, none of note, if you ask me. We have a couple of old falling down warehouses, being used as artist studios. It goes by the name, the Warehouse District. The moniker district is generous. Dump is more appropriate. Downtown is mostly closed at night, except for the alternative music crowd. Lately, the downtown area has had a spate of housing construction and some people have moved downtown. More construction is planned, but with the housing slowdown, who knows when it will happen. Since there is no shopping or services for homeowners downtown, the pool of people willing to shell out big money to live there is limited. Our fair city has a master plan for downtown, called Rio Nuevo, or roughly New River in Spanish. It is really a taxing scheme to finance the construction of a bunch of really swell stuff downtown, none of which has actually been built thus far. Like most government projects, the drill is study, study more, scrap the plan and start over with a new study. After 10 years, they have built almost nothing, but spent a ton of money doing it. In fairness they did restore the old movie theater downtown, convert the Greyhound station to a vacant lot and tear down some other buildings. Sensing a need for some retail business downtown, the latest plan is to lure a used bookstore operation downtown. That's their big idea, a used bookstore. A giant used bookstore, but a bookstore none-the-less. Not exactly a retail magnet. Plus the bookstore guys say there isn't enough parking downtown and even if they wanted to go downtown when the lease on their current building expires in 2008, there is no building for them to go to. The chances of the city getting one ready in less than two years is zero. Oh, I nearly forgot the trolley. They have a plan to run a trolley from downtown to the University Medical Center. It will cost a zillion bucks and the potential ridership is suspect since almost no one lives downtown and how many of those who do need to get to the hospital daily? You can already take the bus from downtown to the hospital, but evidently we have money to burn. I'm also fairly sure that the medical center end of the line was pulled out of their butts. It had to go to somewhere and since the routes to places people might actually want to go to lacked the right-of-way to get the trolley there, it was the medical center or nowhere. The old buzzards behind the trolley idea weren't willing to take nowhere for a destination. Enough about the government buffoonery, in a bizarre juxtaposition, I have to work tomorrow and the lovely Mrs. Sneed is off. Lucky her and since my boss is off, I might find myself off part of the day by accident. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Dream A Little Dream

"Dreams are nothing more than wishes and a wish is just a dream, you wish to come true" -Harry Nilsson "The Puppy Song". That's deep thinking, right there. More about that in a moment. I had to go to the doctor today to see if my blood work came out okay. It did. My doctor seems to be cutting back on his hours for personal reasons. The reason I mention this is that he had a medical student helping him today. The student did all the listening to my inards, checking stuff and asking a bunch of questions, before the doctor actually showed up. This medical student idea is a real deal for the doctor. I was a little surprised when he asked me what Advicor, my cholesterol medication, was. I guess they didn't get to drugs yet in his medical school. Plus, he kept thumbing through a paperback book as he examined me. I really prefer that my medical professionals have this stuff memorized. Let's see, the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone, check, the thigh bone's connected to the...to the...crap! Not a real confidence booster. I'm 76 inches or 193 cm tall and weigh 235 pounds. The med student said something kind of funny. He said that when he sees on a chart that the next patient weighs a lot, like me, he tries to guess what the patient will look like. Is he opening the door on Jabba the Hut? Just a point here. I am actually at the ideal weight for a slightly taller man, so blame nature if you must point fingers, Doctor-Man. Dr. Medical Student was kind enough to remark that I carry my weight well. I appreciate that he thinks that I make lugging this mess around look easy, but I'd like to have someone else carry about 50 pounds of it around most days. I can't figure out how to arrange that though, and short of a short of a diet, I'm out of ideas. Yikes! At the end of the medical stuff, the doctor asked me when I planned to retire. I waited for him to tell me that I ought to, seeing as how I only have a month to live, and all. But it turns out that this is related to him having cut back on his hours. I think he is really struggling with the idea of taking more time for himself. I just keep thinking of reasons for keeping on with my crappy job. This did set me to thinking about what I would rather be doing, not like I don't think about that about every ten minutes already. That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question though. Some people have a dream. I don't, try as I might, to think of one. Man, I am so boring. If I could just convince myself that being a miserable wreck is living out my dream, I would be one happy clam. However, if I could do anything, I would like to be a singer. The problem is that I can't really sing. At least not without people asking me to stop, so that's out. I'm pretty sure that when they say to pursue your dream, they mean something you can actually do reasonably well. I would also like to be a handyman, but then I worry about really screwing up something, at someone's house. Plus, I don't want to paint or do someone else's yard work. See what I mean? It's always something with me. This miserable wreck dream idea may have some potential. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Who Knows What Evil Lurks In The Heart Of Man

Before I launch into serious matters, here's a tip for healthy living because I care about your well-being. Don't keep a gigantic-sized bag of Nestle's semi-sweet chocolate chips in your pantry. I'm just saying, because some people might eat them by the handful. And the handful and the handful. What kind of a sicko eats chocolate chips as a snack? None of us, I'm sure. I got a depressing email this morning telling me that a woman that I have worked with for a long time is dying. A year ago she was working with me to learn what I do, and because she is a decade my junior, I had high hopes that she would be my replacement. She went on vacation last December and never came back. When I finally found out where she was, I learned that she was back in treatment for her cancer. We have known that she has battled cancer for the last 5 years, but for a while it seemed that she had it licked, until last year, when it returned, evidently for good this time. She is in hospice care, so the outlook is bleak. This is so heartbreaking. In other news, I read today that Michael Richards, of Seinfeld fame, and racist outburst infamy, is now explaining why he claimed to be Jewish in his defense of anti-Semitic remarks attributed to him. It turns out that he isn't actually Jewish by either birth or conversion, but, and I'm not making this up, feels Jewish. Well, I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and wise. Don't make me pretty or witty or wise, though. I've been thinking a lot about the Richard's incident since it happened. You never want to be in the position of denying that you are a racist, because the accusation is ugly and it is impossible to deny credibly. I guess to a certain extent, like it or not, we are all racists in one way or another, be we red or yellow, black or white as the old children's hymn goes. Decent people of all races and ethnicity, while aware of our racial and ethnic differences, try hard to make them unimportant in our person-to-person relationships by our word and deed. One-on-one we are pretty good at it. Less so on a societal level. Our habit of sterotyping makes us all suspect until we prove ourselves otherwise. We waste a lot of time and energy proving that these sterotypes are wrong. The history of race relations in this country has left us all with some uncomfortable baggage to unpack. Situations like Richard's outburst are a stark reminder of the darker side of our nature. At the end of the day, I think Mr. Richards has more of an anger problem than a racist problem. Often when we get angry, we lash out in ways intended to create maximum hurt, at least I do, and I assume I'm not alone. Its just most of us know where the uncrossable line is. He evidently doesn't. I hope that makes some sense, but its a white guys opinion, so I may have a distorted perspective. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

I'm On A Need To Know Basis

A very unusual thing happened at work today, I arrived early. How early you ask? Really early, before 7 am. Now maybe you think that's not all that early, but for me its early. Generally, if I make it by 7:30 am, its still early, eightish is more the norm. To make matter worse, I always have trouble sleeping on Sunday night. The anticipation of a new work week is always disturbing to me. I fell asleep about 11 pm last night and woke up at 3 am, tossing and turning until 5 am, when I finally got out of bed. I was tired before the day even started. Being tired when you arrive at work in the morning does not bode well for the rest of the day. I checked my voice mail on the way into work and returned a call to someone who needed an answer right away. I thought how lucky I was to only have one new voice mail after the long weekend. By the time I reached my desk, I had another new voice mail. This was the best kind of voice mail a guy can get. It was from the boss saying he was in a city far away and would be gone until tomorrow afternoon. How great is that? I'm a salaried employee, so I'm hired to do a job, not to punch the clock, a concept the boss routinely tries to abuse. When I come and go seems irrelevant to me, so long as the job gets done. The boss, on the other hand, is all about the clockwork. He figures that every hour beyond eight that I work each day, is a freebie for him. This is a problem with the whole salaried worker idea. Employers are quick to ask you to go above and beyond and less willing to recognize when less than forty hours in a week is appropriate. My goal is to keep it as close to eight a day as possible, while still getting my work done. Anyway, I had to go in early today because my co-workers are both off for the next two days and I had to cover for one of them at a meeting. Of course, I know nothing of the meeting and there was not a hint that it was in the offing. This past Wednesday, while I was fighting my way through the avalanche of idiotic emails from the boss, someone called to ask who from our office would be attending this meeting today. Since I was the Lone Stranger at work today, it fell to me. So this morning, when I should have been heading to WalMart to get coffee, I found myself on the interstate, rocketing toward a community 35 miles or so south of my fair city to attend a meeting in the place of the alpha male member of this duo. When I arrived at the meeting, the lead guy of the folks I was meeting asked me for some paperwork that alpha guy was supposed to have for him. I had to plead ignorance. The guy was not happy and insisted upon recounting the entire conversation in which he told alpha guy about the urgency of having the paperwork to him today. I was appropriately sympathetic, but I don't think he was assuaged. I did solemnly swear to talk to alpha guy the moment he appears in the office. You gotta give them something, even if its the non-committal, committal. I got back to the office around noon and had a bunch of phone calls to return, and administrative things to do. Around 2 pm I was overcome with fatigue, but being a trooper, I pushed on until 3. Then, seizing on the whole salaried employee thing, I came home and took a catnap. A guy's got to do, what a guy's got to do. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, blah, blah, blah,blah, blah.

This sad specimen is the smaller of what the lovely Mrs. Sneed refers to as the barbed wire Christmas tree. It is hard to see clearly in this image, but that is a hat atop it. My father, who died in August of 2005, loved Christmas and so we decided to use his hat to top the tree. She's a beauty, isn't she? We celebrated younger son Sneed's birthday today by meeting for breakfast. The older son Sneed and his family, along with daughter Sneed and her Sneedlet were in attendance. Of course the lovely Mrs. Sneed and yours truly were there. It was very nice. Unfortunately, I got a call just as we were leaving the parking lot from Cletus Sneed our homeless son. He wanted to know if we would be home in an hour or so. Never a good sign. He is presently working at a used car lot as the only employee. He says he makes $50 per day plus 10% of the profit on any cars he sells. According to Cletus they only sold 5 cars so far in November, so it isn't big money. I figured that this would end with him asking for money. About an hour or so later he showed up just as I was getting started on some fall yard work. We have to prune the bougainvillea back before the first freeze. Otherwise you wind up with a bunch of dead branches in the spring. Trimming them also requires a trip to the dump to dispose of the trimmings. We spent the next 2 hours trimming, bagging and loading the truck, plus another hour taking them to the dump. We finished about 4:30 pm and I dropped him at the bus. He never did ask for any money. All in all, it was tolerable I guess. When I got home from the dump the lovely Mrs. Sneed and I went out shopping for a really good fake Christmas tree. We already have a mini-forest of fake trees. We have traditional fake pine, a white tree, with white lights so bright the you could guide the space shuttle back to Earth with it, a smaller white tree and probably another that I can't identify off the top of my head. The problem is that we have a hard time being enthusiastic about Christmas and so we flit from idea to idea. One year, at least, we had no tree. This year we got a 9.5 foot, slim something pine, emphasis on the slim. It was purchased to be set in a particular spot in the foyer area of our house, although it may be moved. We'll see. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

If the Shoe fits...

Once when I was in high school, living in California, I convinced my dad to buy me a pair of brown wingtip shoes. The shoes were a ridiculous purchase since I didn't have any dress clothes, but I'm pretty sure someone told me that the really cool guys wore wing tips, so I coveted them. They also cost $22 and believe me when I say that the Sneeds did not normally wear $22 shoes. My dad's idea of good footwear was black military oxfords that could be purchased at the military clothing supply for $5. Anything more expensive cut into the beer money, which made it an unacceptable frivolity. You may recall from an earlier lesson that, using the offical Sneed currency converter, a=4b where a equals the number of beers and b equals the total dollars available. So in this case a=4*22 or 88 beers. This is serious dough. My mom, God bless her, was always on the lookout for good hand-me-down shoes. In fact, when I was going into the 8th grade, she scored a pair of brand new size 8, black loafers from one of the neighbors. They were the best shoes that I had ever seen. I think the neighbor's teenage son had purchased them and then wouldn't wear them. I tried them on and I told Mom that they were too tight. She assured me that they would stretch out. My mother always believed whatever was wrong would magically clear up if you gave it enough time. I wore the shoes to the first day of 8th-grade, and the second day and by the third day, I could barely walk. About day four I dug out the black military oxfords, much to the relief of my aching feet. When my mom noticed and asked me what was wrong, I told her that the shoes were too small. She assured me that I wore a size 8 and there was no reason that they would be too small. What is a guy to believe, his mom or his lying feet? Miraculously she relented and took me to the store on Saturday, where the shoe clerk measured my feet and pronounced them a size ten and a half. No wonder they hurt so much. I got a pair of white canvas slip-ons that cost around 3 bucks and was glad to have them, although my dad still insisted that the black military jobs were fine. Anyway, back to the wingtips. I wore them everywhere for the first few days I had them. I even wore them to school with my jeans. these were the greatest shoes I had ever owned, by far. One afternoon, I was hanging out in a park near home with a bunch of kids and someone got the bright idea to take this older kid's 1957 Chevrolet convertible and fill it with watermelons from a farm not too far away. Since I was always trying hard to be one of the cool guys, I jumped right in. As soon as it was dark, we took off for the melons and filled the backseat to overflowing. We returned to the park and began eating and throwing watermelon all over the place. What we didn't know was that the farmer had seen us in the act and had called the sheriff. The park was soon surrounded by sheriff's cars. They illuminated the area we were in with their car lights, flash lights and spot lights mounted on the cars. Someone on a bullhorn ordered us to stay where we were. Needless to say, we scattered like rats. My friend Bob and I ran into a vineyard, where we laid down in the dark hoping to escape detection. After a bit, the cops came into our field looking for suspects. We ran in the opposite direction as fast as we could. Fortunately, becasue a vineyard is planted in long rows of plants on wooden frames, they couldn't get to us from the adjoining rows. We ran and ran, eventually getting away across a highway. Unfortunately, in the melee, I cut a slice in the side of one of my new shoes. The old man made me wear them like that. I tried to fix the tear with some craft glue, but it looked worse after than before. Fortunately, my dad never stuck to stuff and after a couple of weeks he forgot about the shoes. I eventually threw them away, having worn them only a handful of times. What a waste. This is illustrative of why poor people remain poor. Only a poor kid would wear his new dress shoes to a watermelon fight. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Nothing Worse Than A Lock With No Key

Well, today is another day off work. One of the decent things my company does is to allow us a holiday on the Friday after Thanksgiving. It saves me from calling in disinterested. I had to go to the Salvation Army today to drop off some exercise equipment for the men's rehab program. It has been gathering dust in our spare bedroom since our "get fit" program was declared DOA. Better there than here. In case you don't know it, the Salvation army has a terrific live-in rehab program for people trying to get off drugs and alcohol. It is worthy of our support. Their facility, here in our fair city, is located on the south side of town. It took me a while to find it. I took a longcut (like a shortcut, but much longer) to get there, first driving too far south and then too far west. Once I got my bearing and headed in the right direction I found it easily. While I was stopped at a traffic light a Native American cowboy (isn't that an oxymoron?), who was standing on a corner, started yelling at me that he could use the weight machine to get ready for the rodeo. Then he mimicked a body builder, much to his own delight. It was quite a show. I got home in time to discover that I needed to go buy a bolt cutter. Talk about a tool you never expect to own. The key to the side yard gate got lost when we redid the kitchen and the lovely Mrs. Sneed was locked out. So I got a bolt cutter at Ace Hardware and cut the lock off. The problem with a bolt cutter is that it is made to be used by a younger, stronger guy than me. It is a brute force tool. After much grunting, pushing and prying, the lock finally snapped. I also bought two combination locks for the two gates to the backyard. Unless we all develop amnesia, we shouldn't have a repeat of the lockout. If you need a lightly-used bolt cutter cheap, leave me a comment. I finished breaking the lock just in time to get to lunch with my friend. For reasons that I can't begin to understand, he brought his wife along. I thought this was covered in, The Rules for Old Guys Having Lunch in a Bar, 7th edition. I'll have to research this and get an appropriate note of reminder to him. How are we supposed to put our good moves on the young women who happen in with her hanging around? Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Thanksgiving

Sam the dog was unimpressed with the Silly String and refused to participate after Sneedlet blasted him. Sneedlet didn't have much luck with the fishing. We are at daughter Sneeds today for our Thanksgiving celebration. Today is a bittersweet day for the Sneeds because it is not only Thanksgiving, but its also the birthday of our grandson Christian, who died four years ago as the result of a traffic accident. Christian would have been 11 today. We had a remembrance in the backyard. Each year we release balloons, this year there were eleven, to remember Christian. Plus we shoot one another with Silly String, one of his favorites. When Christian died I wasn't sure how our lives would go on. This morning while Sneedlet, Christian's younger brother who was born after the accident, was playing in the living room, the lovely Mrs. Sneed remarked, that having a Sneedlet right here with you, makes its easier to be thankful for what you have, rather than dwelling on what you don't. I have learned that time is always of the essence when it comes to being a grandfather. There have been times when my children or grandchildren wanted to do something, go to the playground or read a book and I declined thinking that there would always be time later. I have come to see that there may not be a later, so I have learned to do it now. When we found out that both Sneedlet 1 and 2 were going to be born, I thought I would never become attached to them like I was to Christian, but it turns out that I cannot control that. The little weasels wormed their way into my heart without asking my permission. A lot of people in a lot of ways have observed that having children is offering hostages to fate, so we give them the best we can and we dream great dreams for them. We do it all on faith. I am thankful for what I have. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Thanksgiving Eve

Today was a slow day for the most part. Many, many people from work were missing today and several of them confused me with the person they meant to leave as their alternate contact on their voice mail. I had very many, terribly important phone calls today from folks who just had to have an answer today. Regretfully, I was not up to the task and several were disappointed with my efforts. I hope this doesn't ruin their Thanksgiving holiday. Then there was the boss. For some reason he showed up today with the intention of sending me emails asking questions that had nothing to do with me in particular or our workgroup in general. Since I was among the few in attendance, I was the big winner. As I've pointed out before, my boss confuses random actions with results, so he was quite satisfied to send me on his wild goose chases. It was all very managerial. I intended to bug out early, but the boss. sensing this, sent me a final and ill-timed missive which delayed my escape. What good is a holiday-shortened week if you can't shorten it even further? To make matters worse, Mr. Boss apparently hit the send button on the final idiotic email as he fled the building, because when I went to deliver my response, he was gone for the weekend. This evening I went to my bowling league as usual. There are usually three leagues bowling on Wednesday evening, an all-womens league, a mixed-league of men and women and our all-male league. Tonight we were the only league bowling, because evidently women do most of the Thanksgiving cooking and they needed to stay home to prepare. Speaking of Thanksgiving preparations, daughter Sneed is having our Thanksgiving dinner at her home tomorrow, so she is busy preparing. The Sneedlet was busily disrupting the preparations, so I had to make an emergency dash to their house to get him out of there. He fell asleep on the way to our house and is now safely asleep in his Thomas the Tank Engine bed. All's well that ends well, and you can quote me on that. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Another Fine Mess

I often get emails asking that I share more of the history of the Sneeds in America. I'm always happy to oblige, because the Sneeds have a storied history. Our trip to the zoo this past weekend put me in mind of a story that my grandfather told me about his grandfather, Garret (Van)Sneed, who was born in Albany, NY, around 1820. Garret's father was Jurean Van Sneed, a minister known for his stern ways. One day he caught sixteen-year-old Garret in a cornfield with the young daughter of a wealthy merchant. Both families were mortified. Garret was not considered a suitable marriage prospect, so the merchant demanded amends in another way. Garret was given a public flogging before the townsfolk. He was banished to a small cabin outside of the town, in the custody of a bachelor farmer, who farmed the merchant's land. Two year's of servitude was the price extracted in addition to the beating. Young Garret figured that hanging around a smelly old guy, with a serious penchant for hard work had little future and soon took flight. He signed on as a helper on a trapping expedition headed west. Over the next few years he trekked around northern Michigan, learning the trapping trade. What he learned was that trapping didn't agree with him. It mostly involved getting wet, cold and dirty, and trapping and skinning stinking animals in harsh, primative conditions. Garret's trapping experience wasn't a complete loss though. It taught him the value of a keen eye and the ability to move across the landscape without being detected. Skills that would prove useful. One day, while the trappers negotiated the sale of some pelts to an army platoon, Garret stuck up a conversation with one of the officers. They quickly made a deal for Garret to become a scout for the unit, playing on his outdoors skills. Although the trappers objected to the plan, the army had them outgunned and outnumbered, so they bade Garret godspeed, albeit grudgingly. The platoon headed south into the lower Midwest and ultimately received orders to go to Texas to protect the growing population there. It was 1850 and Garret was around 30 years old. Garret made the acquaintance of Henry Wayne, a young Army officer who was convinced that camels were the future for the army's burgeoning need to move supplies and equipment. The problem was finding someone to encourage the army brass to endorse the idea. Wayne caught the ear of Jefferson Davis, Senator from Mississippi and future president of the Confederacy. Davis was intrigued but wasn't sure he could deliver. In the mean time, a plan began to develop around the camp. Someone proposed the idea that if a couple of enterprising fellows could raise the $20,000 or so needed to buy the camels, they could be resold to the army at a huge profit, once the idea was approved. Garret and two of his pals quit the army and over the next year or they barnstormed the small towns of Mississippi, Alabama, Louisiana and Georgia, pitching their idea to investors and collecting small investments from hundreds of eager citizens hoping to cash in. Garret promised handsome returns to the yokels. By 1855 Garret and his pals had raised the money needed, contracted with a ship's captain and set sail to the middle east to procure the camels, leaving from the Port of New Orleans. Unfortunately for Garret and his mates, Jefferson Davis had been appointed Secretary of War and obtained the money needed to obtain camels for the army. The animals arrived in Indianola, Texas in 1856, and were put to work. Garret and his team trekked across north Africa in search of a suitable supplier of camels. They eventually found their treasure in Egypt and set sail for Texas, with 40 animals and 6 drovers in hand. Meanwhile in Texas, trouble raised its ugly head. Davis and Major Wayne had a row over the matter of breeding the camel stock that they had. Wayne wanted to increase the herd and Davis figured that they had all the camels they needed. Wayne got pissed and transferred leaving the camels to commanders who were not enamored of them. The new commanders learned that camels are an acquired taste. They tend to be smelly, ill-tempered and stubborn. Eventually Davis ordered that the use of camels to haul supplies be halted. The animals languished in their pens. Even though they later distinguished themselves for a short time during westward exploration, the army's experiment with camels has passed it's peak. In 1857, about the time that the great experiment was winding down, Garret and his caravan reached Indianola, having travelled overland from New Orleans. The trip overland took longer than expected. In fact, many times camels got loose and would lumber off across the countryside with Garret and his party in pursuit. In order to recapture them, the pursuers would have to dismount and sneak up on the beast when it paused to rest. Often this meant walking a considerable distance, which is where the expression, "I'd walk a mile for a camel" actually comes from. Upon arriving at Indianola, Garret had 38 animals and the six drovers, two camels had vanished, never to be found. Unfortunately, the army no longer wanted the camels and he was left with a herd of eating machines and their bewildered handlers. Garret surveyed the situation, weighed his options and decided to skip town, leaving his charges to figure things out for themselves. Some animals were sold or given to locals, others died of neglect, some vanished into the desert and some were tried in private business. Garret headed north, arriving in Albany, where he made amends with his family and took a job as a shopkeeper's assistant. He continued to dream of a better life. One day, while visiting New York, where he hoped to interest some businessmen in his idea for an improved plow, he bumped in to a Mr. Joshua Johnson, of Macon, Georgia, who recognized him as the fellow who took several hundred dollars from the good citizens of Macon to buy camels. Johnson demanded that Garret return the money and when he refused, Johnson shot him in the upper thigh. Garret lingered in a local hospital for a couple of weeks, before succumbing to infection. As always with the Sneeds in America, if its not totally bad ideas that do us in, its good ones that are just a bit past their time. Or as the family crest proudly proclaims, Illegitimi non carborundum (Don't let the bastards grind you down). Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Flopped When They Should Have Flipped

Great location, location, location but four and a quarter still seems a tad high to me. Perhaps you've seen the movie, Best In Show, about a group of kooky characters involved in the world of big-time show dogs. If you have seen it, you will recall a scene in which the annoying yuppie couple, Meg and Hamilton Swan, describes how they first noticed one another. He sat in Starbucks store and saw her through the window as she sat in a different Starbucks directly across the street. I had a variation on that experience today. I went to meet a guy who is building a, you guessed it, Starbuck's at one of the malls here in our fair city. I arrived to find that he was running 40 minutes late and since I didn't have time to go anywhere else and get back to meet him, I decided to walk down the block, about 200 yards, to a Target store to get a drink. Imagine my surprise to find another Starbuck's location down there. We may have lost our lead in manufacturing, but we're the world leader in making coffee and coffee-related drinks. In another development and sign that the world has gone mad, a new home that someone built down the street from Casa Sneed is for sale for $425,000. Perhaps that isn't a big deal in some places, maybe even in your area, but in our neighborhood it is a sign of lunacy. About a year ago I noticed a for sale sign on this property and I couldn't figure out what was for sale. The sign was stuck beween two houses in what looked like the side yard of each. It turned out that hidden behind the oleander hedge was a buildable lot. Some real estate guys have built this house and are having trouble selling it, based upon the fact that it is still empty, after taking the better part of a year to finish. Its a nice house, but it isn't a palace or anything. It is maybe 2000 square feet, with a small lot. The houses on either side are definitely not $400,000 plus models. In fact, I did a little research on this property, using our assessor's website, and the house immedaitely next door sold for $235,000 about a year ago. That was at the height of the real estate craze and was the most a house in this block had ever sold for. I think the investors in this project are about to experience bitter disappointment. I also heard on one of the Las Vegas podcasts that there are 20,000 resale homes currently on the market there and that one-half are not owner occupied. A bunch of homes in Las Vegas are about to be foreclosed on. Too bad for the greedy investors who thought that they could flip them and cash in quick. On the better news front, only three days of work this week. The only thing better than working four days a week is getting to work three. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

I Swear

Another tip for socially acceptable living brought to you by your old pal Merle. I'm thinking about vulgarity today. We hear so much vulgarity these days that we may not even notice it. As members of the Sneed clan will tell you to a Sneed, Merle Sneed is an expert when it comes to swearing and swearing-related matters. I've been dubbed by some as the Emily bleeping Post of profanity, although I'm not sure that the comparison is entirely deserved. I try to limit my swearing to those situations that require a little extra expression. I don't use vulgarities in normal conversation, but I like a good curse word when it is called for. There has been ongoing disagreement around the Casa Sneed about the situational justification for my cussing, so I try to pick and choose my provocations. That noise you may be able to hear is the guffaws of a crowd of Sneeds. I listen to this Christian financial guy on the radio just for his financial advice, because his religious talk makes my skin crawl. You might subscibe to the notion of a personal god and I have no issue with that, but this fellow gets entirely to folksy about it. If I hear , He gave us a love letter called the Bible, or He's our dad and he's crazy about us, again, I will heave. Anyway, he used the term hard-butt, in the phrase "don't be a hard-butt" on his show. What he means is hard-ass, but he evidently believes that his faith precludes the use of the actual words. Thinking hard-ass okay, saying it not okay. Why would you bother to say "bite my ankle", when you mean bite my ass? The latter has such a poetic quality to it? I think he should just say what he means, or choose an expression devoid of innuendo, rather than having to temper his instinct for some religious proscription. We don't need some half-butt sanitizing the world of vulgarity. Then there are the people who can't compose a sentence without cussing. I work with two guys who can't form a sentence without the F-bomb in it, at least once. I can't play their voice mails on my speakerphone without fear of offending my cubicle neighbors. This is going too far. F***k is not the type-O of the language, it can't be substituted for any other word, despite those who try. You have to mix up your curse words for maximum effect and ease of understanding. If every third word is the F-word, it becomes difficult for the listener to follow the content. They become mesmerized by the steady stream of curses and you sound like an illiterate buffoon. My advice is to use vulgarity judiciously. Often cursing can be very descriptive, such as when one says, "that guy is an f**king idiot." Its so much more descriptive than just, "he's an idiot", which has no punch to it at all. Plain-speaking takes real skill and most of us just aren't willing to develop the vocaulary needed to insult others effectively, while foresaking profanity. So remember, vulgarities are just a part of the language and can add to your reputation as a skilled communicator, if used appropriately. When used indiscriminately they make you sound ignorant and boorish. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

We Don't Need No Stinking Soccer.

We took Sneedlet 1 to the zoo today. It was really crowded because they were having a free day. Had we known it was free day we would have gone another day, mostly because of the parking situation. Sneedlet and I were just in time to to feed the giraffes. They give you pellets and the giraffes grab them with their giant, black tongues. Sneedlet is at the age (3) where he is more aware of things that previously didn't faze him. For instance, he has become afraid of high places and doesn't want to ride on my shoulders anymore. I thought he might be afraid of the giraffes, but he did pretty well. Our little zoo is pretty nice for a facility of its size. We have had a brewing controversy for sometime now about the elephants. The elephant area is too small to support both elephants according to elephant experts. Some citizens had a plan to move the elephants to a refuge in Tennessee, where they have a herd, living big, both literally and figuratively. There was a petition drive, which seems to have failed. Instead, the city council voted to build a multi-acre enclosure better suited to the needs of a couple of lovable giants. The plan is to convert an small portion of the 1 square-mile park in the center of our city that is adjacent to the zoo. Unfortunately, this includes a field that is used by some soccer club and you know how passionate those wacky soccer guys can get. They are up in arms (or is it feet?). Anyway, as many have observed before me, Americans don't care about no stinking soccer, so the plan is on. By the way, I know that many rabid parents care deeply about soccer, or at least care about their kids playing soccer. All across our fruited plains scores of kids play endless , mind numbing games of soccer each Saturday morning. Parking lots fill with SUVs, their windows adorned with supportaive messages. Kid soccer is big, I get it. I also know that once these soccer-playing hostages get old enough to just say no, they will join the majority of Americans who don't care about no stinking soccer. Of course, lots of things get talked about in our fair city and many don't actually happen, at least in a timely fashion. I don't look for the new elephant enclosure in the near future. After the zoo we went to have lunch and now his honor is spending the night. I just took him out of my bed and put him into his own. He will be pissed off when he wakes up, but as I have said many times, seniority has it's perks. Merle Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

You Want Fries With That?

Perhaps you have had this experience. It happens at all sorts of places these days and it is called the up-sell. It basically means going somewhere to buy something and being offered the chance to buy a bunch of other stuff you never imagined you needed. Up-selling been around as long as people have been selling stuff. It is just that it is getting worse, largely due to competition. Many stores try to up-sell high markup stuff because the margin on big ticket items is often slim. For instance, I went to buy a cord to extend a UBS port at Best Buy. Their price was about $30. A similar item at Target was $10. Best Buy carries a bunch of high-dollar, low-margin items and has to make their money by up-selling the things that can be marked way up. Target makes a profit on a zillion things. I realize that employees up-sell because their job depends on doing so. I guess I can't hold it against them. Most retail places have up-sell quotas for their employees to meet. That doesn't mean I'm buying though, in fact it means I'm probably not. This morning I stopped to get the oil in my truck changed at a national franchise operation called Jiffy Lube. You have probably seen their signs or been to their stores. First thing is that there is nothing Jiffy about them, but that is a different issue altogether. I drove up to the place and was directed to the waiting room where I remained like a condemned man awaiting the warden. I knew it was just a matter of moments before one of the employees would show up with a list of stuff I ought to get done. I'm convinced you could drive a new car off the lot, two blocks down the street to a Jiffy Lube and they would still produce a list of recommended services that you really, really need. Sure enough, fives minutes after I arrived a young woman calls out, "Silver pickup." I raise my hand and she comes over, list in hand. She says that the manufacturer recommends x, y and z every 30,000 miles and since I have 48,000 miles on the truck, I need to get them done. I tell her that x, y and z were done at 30,000 miles and that she should see me at 60,000, the next increment of 30,000, as I figure it. Not to be deterred she tells me that I also need an air filter every 12,000 miles. That pushed me over the edge. I sort of politely told her to just change the damn oil. Still not accepting no, she counterd that the manufacturer recommends that the air filter be changed every 12,000 miles and since I have 48,000 miles on the odometer, its time. But, I pointed out, it says right on the paper in your hand that they changed the air filter a mere 3500 miles ago, so no thanks. Clearly irritated, she told me that she was just showing me what the manufacturer recommends and huffed off. I hate that. It is the same at the car wash. Pull in and the order writer pops over, clipboard in hand. You tell them that you just want a regular wash and their off to the races, extolling the benefits of their special Carnuba spray-on wax, undercoating, carpet cleaning, complete detailing and a bunch of other stuff, including their fine list of specials. While all of this takes place, a sleazy guy from some glass company inspects the windshield of your car for cracks or chips so he can hassle you about getting a replacement. Just leave me be and wash the fricking car. In fact, my somewhat tongue-in-cheek remark about recommended services for a brand new car, actually happened to me at a car wash when the lovely Mrs. Sneed's Honda had about 1000 miles on it. I went in for a carwash and the guy started in on me about sealant. You know better sealant than the factory version? I told him it only had 1000 miles on it but that didn't slow him down one bit. No sir, he would have me believe that the Honda people, maker of cars legendary for their quality, use cheap clear coat and it is only at the neighborhood car wash that you get the real deal. The grocery store that I go to always has some item on the checkout counter that the checker has to offer to you before you leave. This last time I was in they tried to sell me a giant candy bar, before that it was disposable cameras. Their bonus item of the week. Bonus for whom? We sometimes go to Boston Market. When you get to the register they ask if would you like dessert? If I wanted dessert I would have ordered it. Try and buy a piece of electronics at one of the chains. When I bought my Ipod, I was offered a case, a wall charger and, of course, the extended warranty. Computers are even worse. HDTV? Need those special cables. Radioshack wants to sell you batteries, McD wants to super-size it, buy a pair of shoes and they want to sell you shoetrees, socks and spray on water repellent. Everybody is on the up-sell. So, effectively immediately, I'm not buying. Give me what I asked for and I'll be a happy guy. It is really a pretty simple concept. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

I think my computer is talking to me. I just got a pop-up that said, Think about retirement.That must be some kind of sign, don't you think? I took some time off work today to play golf with my friends. Let me just say this; I suck at golf. If I don't play for like a year, I will play pretty good, for me anyway, the first time I play. I will shoot like 90, not bad for your garden-variety hacker. The second time out, that would be today, I just stink. Anyway, my friend owns a chain of restaurants and some other stuff. I'm not completely sure what his average work day involves, but I can tell you it leaves time for plenty of golf and bowling. As I was telling him today, I think I can be retired or I can keep working and maintain my lesiure activities. I don't think I can do both, at least not yet. My other friend in our group today is a painter at a manufacturing plant. He works three twelve-hour days a week. That would be okay, except for the twelve-hour day part. I've been thinnking that I should tell my boss that I want to work four days per week. I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that though. Anyway, always the short-term thinker, I'm glad to be off work tomorrow. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Hell Yes, I Killed The ....

In a shocking revelation, OJ Simpson reveals that he has finally found the real killer of Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman. It took ten years of golfing, partying and whoring around but he's finally done it. The real killer is (drum roll please) OJ Simpson! Apparently the piece of crap has written a book...what the hell am I saying, he can't read, let alone write. Someone has written a book to which his contribution was to describe exactly how he did it. This is all very hypothetical of course because he making a non-confession confession. He isn't saying he did it, but he is offering an explanation of how he would have done it, if he had done it. Get it? What kind of A-hole writes a book implying, while not quite admitting, what anyone with more than s**t for brains, already knew. That he is a murdering scumbag. This cynical pig did it strictly for the money. He beat the rap, so its time to cash in. Plus the folks at Fox News have decided to pimp this ho, in a two-part interview later this month. Not that I am suggesting it, but no one would be saddened if someone put one in his big melon. Since he is immune from the law the world would be a better place, should someone step up. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Anyone? Perhaps the hapless 12 that got back at "the man" by letting this moron off will finally see the light. But if they did see the light, they would no doubt report it as a UFO, based on their track record anyway. This is a post-verdict statement from a juror, identified only as Juror R. That is this is what she would have said, if she actually had said it. I hear she's writing a book to clarify the actual statement. Sh*t no, OJ Simpson didn't do it. Johnnie Cochrane showed us that glove that the aliens dropped from their mothership and Mark Furman was drivin' it or something, and it did not fit, not the space ship, the glove didn't fit. Furman probably threw that glove behind the guest house because it didn't fit OJ, the glove not the spaceship, and 'cause we didn't get to see the spaceship anyway, we just got to see the glove and that's reasonable doubt, right there. And so the saga of OJ Simpson, world-class dirtbag and murdering jackass continues. To think that I tried to convince the lovely Mrs. Sneed to name our first child after him. What was I thinking? In other creepy celebrity news, I saw this link to an exchange between Larry King and Rosanne Barr about the Internet. Evidently, Barr was a guest on King's show. Larry King doesn't believe in the internet. I wouldn't know because I wouldn't watch King if he was interviewing actual aliens emerging from their actual spaceship to kill Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman, while OJ fought valiantly to stop them. The man is an parody of himself. Watching Larry King is like watching a bad actor impersonating Larry King at the community dinner theater. Add to it, the towering intellect of Roseanne Barr, and you get a circus of fools. Anyway, I have to go bowl with the other old guys. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Its No Wonder I Turned Out this Way

My idea to sell plants door-to-door didn't really work out. I was listening to something the other day and someone was making the point that there are reasons for crappy stuff in our lives, but they don't have to be excuses for continued crappiness. The point the speaker was trying to make is that people have the tendency to blame the crappiness in their lives on things that happened and that were largely out of their control. Well, first of all, the guys and gals handing out this motivational hooey usually have experienced much less adversity than the smucks they're lecturing to. So while it sounds good in theory, you really had to be there to test out the hypothesis that setbacks make us tougher. I am fully the sum of the lessons that I learned growing up. One of the important lessons I learned early in life was that it's difficult to order a pizza from a payphone. They think you are doing the fake order. Unfortunately, this lesson is no longer relevant, since working payphones are rarer than Dodo birds and the pizza places all have caller ID anyway. When I growing up our home telephone was frequently shut off for non-payment, very frequently. Also my father was frequently sitting in a bar drinking up the vast Sneed fortune, which left me and my mother to watch old movies, get drunk (her not me) and plot to get pizza. This was only after we were certain that the younger kids were asleep, so that they couldn't get their grubby mitts on our pizza. Seniority has its perks, even in a loony bin. In 1964 you could buy a large pizza for about $3. That was twelve glasses of draft beer in those days, using the official Sneed rate of exchange, so we're talking serious money. If Mom had squirreled a little something away from the grocery money or if I had some cash from mowing lawns, we would go in on a pizza. Sometimes she would say, "I'll buy us a pizza" or "let's go in on a pizza (if she didn't have the whole $3)", but the ending was always the same, if you go get it. The nearest place to get pizza in those days was at a place called Marco's Pizza, which was a couple of miles from our house. This conversation always took place about 10 at night. Sending a child out at 10 pm to get a pizza seemed perfectly normal at Casa de Alcholicos Loco. I would get on my bike and ride to a payphone to place the order. Then I would have to wait at the payphone until they called to verify the order. I learned the hard way that it is a bad idea to be honest when the guy asks if you are calling from a payphone. If I didn't have the money for the phone call or I the guy wouldn't take the order, I would have to go place the order in person. This was bad because pizza-making technology was far less developed in those days and I would have to wait at Marco's for about 30 minutes while they made our pizza. Pizza in hand, I would balance it on the handlebars, as I pedalled home in the black of night. Once in awhile, if neither of us had any money, my mother would tell me to go to the usual bars that my old man frequented, to ask him for pizza money. This was not an effective strategy. My dad would just be so humiliated in front of his drunken, lout pals that his urchin kid hunted him down in a bar, that he might smack me one for good measure. The lure of hot pizza makes a kid agree to do screwy things. I don't blame my unusual upbringing for my sometimes boorish behavior. In fact, growing up I got a real lesson in what not to do, so that's something. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Gimme

Caution: This may seem uncaring. I was reading the Denver Post newspaper today and they had a story about a major US company that was changing a provision in their pension plan regarding death benefits. It seems that the company pension plan has had a provision that if a pensioner dies there is a life insurance benefit equal to their last year's salary, up to $50,000. This is above and beyond the pension benefits they have received. As of the 1st of January, 2007, this drops to a maximum of $10,000 and the pensioners are up in arms. I guess the thing that occurred to me is why is this such a big deal? Why in the world does an 85-year-old need life insurance, beyond what it takes to bury him or her? The answer, of course, is that they feel entitled to all they can get. The story cites the example of a retiree, age 85, who worked 38 years for this company. The man in question died a couple of weeks ago, before the change and his wife says that if he had died after the first of the year she might not have had the money to bury him. Well, who's fault is that? This guy was a long-time employee who rose to the rank of district manager in his company, retired with a good pension and social security benefits for him and his spouse and his widow is willing to go to the paper with the story that they wouldn't have been able to bury him because they lost at most $40,000 in net insurance proceeds, from a policy they paid nothing for. I would be way too embarrassed to peddle that story. Their lack of saving is not the pension plan's responsibility. The crux of all of these stories is greed. People often don't have any perspective when it comes to money. Perhaps this seems harsh, but the notion that someone else is responsible for us from cradle to grave is misguided. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Evening Update for Sunday

I know you have been wondering how my progress toward turning my AdSense by Google account into fabulous wealth is proceeding. The google Adsense account is responsible for the very fine ads appearing at the top of my blog. You may recall that on October 1, 2006 my account stood at a whooping $1.21. Google pays out when they owe you $100. I projected that I would reach the $100 threshold by my 76th birthday. Well, I'm pleased to report that just in the last month I have added a sweet $1.26 to the previously reported $1.21, bringing my total to $2.47. At this pace I expect to reach the $100 mark, and receive a check from Google on or about my 63rd birthday. Just thought you'd want to know. Merle. P.S. And as always clicking on the ads just to support old Merle is wrong, very wrong. Only click if you are truly interested in the fine prodicts or services displayed. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Collectors Are Generally Idiots

The lovely Mrs. Sneed just popped into my lair to inform me that she set a couple of bills that she meant to pay on her desk and laid something on top of them, where they remained until a moment ago. This is not a big deal since neither is due yet, its just that she has a system and she doesn't like it messed up. I am reminded about an incident that happened to me several years ago. There aren't many lapses in judgement or character that I haven't made in my life, but failing to pay my bills on time isn't one of them. I can say that I have never missed paying a bill on time, with two exceptions, neither of which were my fault. In 1995 we sold our house that was on the outskirts of the area here and moved to the center of town. Just prior to moving to this house, I took our youngest son to Mervyn's to buy him a pair of shoes. My mistake was when I accepted their offer to open an account, in order to get 10% off the price of the shoes. I saved about two bucks or so it seemed at the time. Within a week or two, our new house was ready, and we moved. I completely forgot that I opened the account with Mervyn's and charged the shoes. Mervyn's sent the bill to the old address and even though I had changed my address with my various creditors and the post office, I didn't think to tell Mervyn's and I didn't get the bill. One evening I got a telephone call and when I answered it, the voice on the line said, "Are you paying this bill or not?" I was totally mystified. She told me that she was from Mervyn's and that I owed them for some men's shoes. Blank. This person said that I had to immediately go to the store and pay the $20 bucks. I asked her to send me a bill and said that I would pay it, if it was legitimate. She agreed, grudgingly, and a few days later the bill arrived with a copy of the charge slip, which jogged my memory. No sooner than I had opened it and realized my error, I got another call from Miss Congeniality. "You need to pay this bill today." I traipsed to the store and asked for the manager so that I could let him know what I thought of his collection people. I paid the $20, closed my account and now I rarely go into Mervyn's. The swell two dollars in savings cost both me and Mervyn's a bunch of grief. The other time that I experienced the missed payment, I got a phone call on the 20th of the month from my mortgage company reporting that they didn't get my payment for the month and they wondered if there was a problem. Well, since I mailed it three weeks earlier, I guess there was a problem. The mortgage lady asked that I send a replacement check as soon as possible, if not sooner. This was in the days before the Internet, when dinosaurs still ruled the earth, so mail was the common man's only option. I sent a cashier's check, certified mail, return receipt requested. I got confirmation that they had my payment and all seemed right with the world. A few days later, I got another call from the same woman asking where the second check was. She found my delievery receipt story interesting, but not compelling and stuck fast to her story that the check never arrived. Yes, I, along with the full might of the US Postal Service, had conspired to bring down a national mortgage company screwing with their accounting. I had to send a third check to a super-secret address reserved for miscreants like me before the matter was finally put to rest. I guess my point is that it simply isn't worth it to buy stuff on credit, although with a mortgage we usually have to. No matter how diligent you think you are, things go wrong. Merle Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Veteran's Day

Veteran's Day holds a special place in the Sneed family. Not because we have a long and storied history of military service, but for a special reason. I graduated from high school in 1968 with plans to attend the University of Arizona,where I hoped to study biology. In those days tuition was $212 per year, I believe, although that could have been the per-semester tuition. I applied for admission and was accepted. I went to my old dad and asked for the money to enroll. He informed me that guys who want to go to college either get a job or get a scholarship. After all, education was below beer in the Sneed family hierarchy of needs in those days. So I got a job, with plans to enroll second semester. My old man made plans for me to join the Air Force, so we both got to experience disappointment. I lived the first 18 years of my life shuffling from place to place as my father's military career demanded, so I wasn't eager to extend the experience. I got a job working in a fast-food joint, where I met the lovely Mrs. Sneed, who was working through her own educational issues. I managed to save enough to pay my upcoming tuition, which is somewhat of a miracle when you are an eighteen-year-old kid making $1.55 per hour and you are the richest person in the family. Everyone has a pressing need for your hard-earned dough, so there is always pressure on the nestegg. Just before the enrollment period for the Spring 1969 semester my dad came to me with a problem. According to his expert analysis of the family financial situation, he, my mom and my three younger siblings were about to be on the street unless I came up with some dough to bail them out. My dad actually accompanied me to the Southern Arizona Bank while I withdrew $300 and handed it over. Bankroll depleted, I now eyed the Fall of 1969 to begin my college career. I got a better job at a grocery store, $1.60 per hour, with straight day hours and slogged on. Things became more serious with the future lovely Mrs. Sneed and my dreams of being a biologist grew fainter, as other priorities emerged. In April of 1969 we got married. In June of that year I hit the jackpot, job-wise, landing a gig where I earned the unheard of sum of $95.50 per week. Her loveliness was bringing in $65 per week, so we were living large. That is until another relative, Uncle Sam, tried his best to lay waste to our cozy life. In 1969 I became draft-eligible and the same year the government instituted the draft lottery based upon birth dates. I had the good luck to get number 30. I don't know where in the 365 dates one was safe from becoming a draftee, but it was definitely higher than 30, because 3 months later I got my draft notice. I was herded on a bus with 42 other misfortunates and driven to Phoenix, Arizona for a draft physical. The other 42 were judged either "unfit for service" or "bound for Vietnam." I was sent back home to see a lung specialist due to a suspicious spot on my lung. The good news was that I wasn't destined for Vietnam and a possible early demise just yet, but the bad news was that it was possible that I was destined for a slow, agonizing death, as a result of a horrible lung disorder. No real upside there. The trip to the lung guy proved that there was nothing wrong with me. The spot on the xray that concerned the Army so much, proved to be some kind of innocent shadow, possibly from the Army xray tech having dropped his sandwich on the xray image or something. So I returned to the pool of guys who seemed like the sort of guys who would like Vietnam and waited for my new report date. When all hope was gone, we caught a break. For the first time in my short life, the shit did not hit the fan. On November 11, 1969, the lovely Mrs. Sneed went to the doctor, to find that she was pregnant with daughter Sneed. In those days the Army couldn't draft guys who either had children or who were about to have children, so I was out draft-wise. So, every Veteran's Day, we remember our good fortune in having a daughter as super as daughter Sneed. Almost no young men wanted to experience Vietnam as draftees and I was no different, so that is the second best thing that happened that Veteran's Day. In case you are wondering how the college thing worked out, I finally graduated. I was 46 at the time, but hey, I never said I was a fast learner. We at the Merlesneed blog tip our hat to Veterans everywhere and thank them for their service. I would have served too, had things worked out differently, but they didn't. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Crack Pot Ideas

I was reading a short article in this month's Discover magazine about a British researcher who has a hypothesis that beautiful people give birth to more daughters than homely people. The thinking is that it is to the benefit of the species to produce good-looking female offspring, because they more easily find mates and have children. It seemed logical to him so he decided to test the idea. Sounds plausible on the surface, given what we know about how natural selection works. The researcher's analysis showed that beautiful people produce daughters at a slightly higher rate than ugly folks. The real problem with the research is that it was based entirely on the subjective interpretation of beauty by the researchers. They rated people from one (butt-ugly) to 5 (holey-moley), by sight to define the beautiful group. However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as someone said and so there is no objective criteria by which to test the data. Crap alert! This research is suspect ,in my opinion, because it was destined to prove the researcher's bias. Speaking of crap, I have a few hypotheses of my own that, haven't proved out either. I have long believed that young women's biological urge to have children is immune to the changes in societal norms. That is to say that I believe that the shifting roles of the sexes in our culture has not affected the desire among women to be mothers. This is purely anecdotal, because I have no scientific training nor have I had the motivation to actually check into it. I use the 'cause I say method and my data is entirely anecdotal. I have alway believed that while American birth rates are falling overall, the percent of women who have at least one child has remained constant. The same number of women are having fewer children. It turns out that I am full of baloney on this one. This is why I rarely check out my assumptions. According to census data, the percentage of 40 year-old women in the United States that have never had a child has gone from 10 percent to 19 percent in the past 30 years. Here's another one. I have observed that you see many more black / white intereracial couples where it is black man / white woman, than the opposite, white man / black woman. My observation happens to be true. Interracial couple where the man is black are 2.5 times more common than where the man is white. I had this idea that it was rooted in our biology. My top-of-the-head belief was that because men have traditionally been the protectors of the tribe, family, village, or what-have-you, that it was to our survival benefit to be suspicious of people who didn't look like us or belong to our tribe, if you will. Well, I am wrong again and the proof is while black men are more likely to marry whites than black women are, the opposite it true for Asian men and women. Asian women are far more likely to marry white men than are Asian men to marry white women. Go figure. Plus I totally failed to recognize that my idea had to be wrong, because black men were marrying women of a different race, and according to my hypothesis, they should have been biologially wired to avoid these women. This is important because it illustrates what happens when your own bias corrupts the research. I think I was really looking for excuses for the reluctance of white men to marry black women, apart form the obvious explanation, that it is bigotry. Bigotry plays a role, but other many factors are present too. Lastly, when I was a boy my parents were alcoholics. I observed that they, along with their alcoholic friends, all smoked. My father was also a compulsive card player. When he dragged me to his poker games, I saw men who seemed to be addcited to three different things. My hypothesis was that addictions are symptoms of an underlying process and addicts often have multiple addictions. Anecdotal evidence of this idea can be observed in any casino. Gamblers are more likely to smoke than the general population. Alcoholics and drug addicts are more likely to smoke that people in general. Whether the additon is chemical or process, such as gambling, complusive eating, etc. the likelihood is, that if a person has one addition, they have others. I think I'm right on this one. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Willing to Learn

Some people have suggested that I wasn't really equipped to be mine inspector, even if I had garnered the five hundred seventy some thousand votes I came up short. Well that is just bunk and I have the pictures to prove it. My detractors suggest that I think mine inspection is just riding around in a Hummer, with a bloodhound and a giant magnifying glass. Well, it is a little tougher than that, but I was prepared to do the hard wok needed to be the best darn mine inspector ever. Enough about that. It is all ore down the shaft now. My boss sent me a voice mail today chastising me for having left the tool box on my truck unlocked. Some midnight inspection team swooped in and uncovered my carelessness. He said that this was a company code of conduct violation and it ought never to happen again. I hope this doesn't go on my permanent record. Oh, by the way, the bin was empty. Idiots. If you have the chance check out The Skeptics Guide to the Universe podcast. It is really interesting and entertaining and is a production of the New England Skeptical Society. In the show I was listening to today, they discussed human memory. It seems a lot of what we remember is just stuff that our brains plug in to fill out our mental pictures. Plus some of what we remember may never have happened. This has big potential if I can convience some people that their memory is tricking them. Oh, before I completely forget, I got a call from Bill Clinton, the Bill Clinton. Bill (we're close) called to ask for my support in electing Democrats to office this past election. I gave him my thoughts on some of the issues of the day, but I have to say that he completely talked over me and I don't think he was listening at all. We parted without him gaining the Sneed endorsement for his folks. It could be the old memory acting up though. So that it. I got nothing. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

A Day Late and A Half Million Votes Short

Its kind of late getting to post something today. I sat down to write something before I left for my bowling tonight, but the lovely Mrs. Sneed got off work a bit early, so we went out to get a bite before bowling. I talked to the guys at bowling tonight and 5 said that they would vote for me next time around. By my count, that is 10 solid votes. I may take another run at mine inspector next time around. I'm no political novice. Years ago I was overwhelmingly elected precinct committeeman. Of course I was unopposed. I hope to one day make a mockery of the electoral process by sneaking in to some office, by just hanging around and then to spend my term doing absolutely nothing. It would be interesting to see if anyone would notice. I think this would have worked in my recent run for mine inspector had I planned it just a bit better. The winner running unopposed got about 578,000 votes. In the other statewide races, all of which were contested about 1,100,000 votes were cast, meaning 450,000 voters looked at the mine inspector race and didn't vote, presumably because they weren't willing to vote for the only name on the ballot. Had I run for real, I presume that most of the under-vote would have gone to me. That would leave the totals at 578,000 to 450,000. Had there been two names on the ballot some voters would have picked the second name rather than the first. If only 10% of the winner's voters switched to me, I could have won. Drat. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Election Update

Dateline - Our Fair City, Arizona, 6:04 am At 6:04 local time a winner in the race for Mine Inspector has been declared. Official vote tally; Joe Hart, (R) 577,537 Merle Sneed (I) 1 When contacted by news agencies in front of a local Hummer dealership, where he was sitting in a lawn chair waiting for the place to open, Mr. Sneed refused to concede and suggested that Mr. Joe Hart should screw himself. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

CORRECTION!!!

Use with adult supervision only--The Shopping Cart Safety Board In keeping with the MerleSneed blog code of ethics, we wish to make the following correction about an item that appeared on this blog on Sunday, November 5, 2006. The lovely Mrs. Sneed of Our Fair City, Arizona, has taken umbrage at our attribution of the Sonoran Plowdown to her. She would like it to be known that she is not the originator of the technique commonly known as the Sonoran Plowdown. Further she says that she was first a victim of this device at the hands of a thoughtless shopper who may have been Sonoran, but she does not condone it's use by shoppers, regardless of their country of nation origin. Lastly, the lovely Mrs. Sneed would like all to know that she fully supports diversity, openness and equal opportunity in all commercial enterprises, schools, workplaces and governmental entities, and as such finds the phase Sonoran Plowdown to be a thoughtless slight and unacceptable slur on the fine citizens to our south. She also believes that mean people suck, that the Earth is our mother and some other stuff that I may have forgotten, but was clearly sensitive and caring. On behalf of the management of the MerleSneed blog and it's editorial and creative staffs, we would like to offer a sincere apologize to the lovely Mrs. Sneed and the fine citizens of Sonora for any offense they may have taken because of this unacceptable sloppiness in reporting. Because the MerleSneed blog code of ethics holds to the highest standards and dictates that the buck stops at the top, a letter of stern reprimand has been placed in the permanent record of Mr. Merle Sneed, Managing Editor and he will forfeit a week of his vacation accrual. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Vote Early and Often.

Is it me or are the poll workers actually getting older? And why are there three times as many as are needed at the polls? I know that individually the workers are getting older, because they are most of the same bunch that have worked my poll for years. But even the new faces are older faces. It is as if they have a minimum age requirement that gets higher each election. Let the sixty-year-olds in? No way, no how. If you aren't 80 you don't work. I went to vote this morning, not that I particularly care who wins. I did write myself in for state mine inspector, because I didn't recognize the name of the joker that was running for the job unopposed. I'm not completely sure what the mine inspector does, but that is a minor issue. Besides, it would be cool to call myself, Merle Sneed, Inspector of Mines. I would make everyone call me Inspector Sneed and I would show up at various mines with a giant magnifying glass and a bloodhound, driving a Hummer. I mean I would be driving, not the dog. Plus, I would adopt some sort of paramilitary uniform, with giant epaulets. Not that I think one vote will put me over the top, or anything, but it is nice to dream. Besides, I had a plan to garner more support. I thought I had daughter Sneed's vote too, but she didn't come through for her old dad. I guess I needed to say Vote for me for mine inspector. I figured since I told her about my write-in vote plan before she went to the polls, that she would get the idea. No cushy deputy mine inspector job for her. My dentist said that he would have written me in, but he voted before work and I didn't see him until this afternoon. The lovely Mrs. Sneed went to vote after work, but I forgot to tell her about my last minute campaign. Next time around I am definitely getting better organized. My polling place is in the library of a nearby elementary school. This morning there were no less that 10 eighty-year-olds crammed in to the library, all trying to be useful. Two guys were in charge of looking up names on the voting list and checking IDs. The list guy couldn't see that well, so he had to flip back and forth several times before he found me. Then he shouted my name and voter number aloud to a woman two seats away who was supposed find me on another list and to write down this information on a slip of paper. The slip woman couldn't hear and couldn't remember more than one thing at a time, so she kept saying, "What is the last name?" The first guy had completely forgotten by then, so he had to ask me my name again. The woman then noted that she had several Sneeds on her list and had me look at the list to show her which one was me. I took my slip of paper and moved one step to my left where two other women sat. One took my slip and the other gave me a ballot. A third woman was in charge of saying, "Don't forget to fill out the back side of the ballot." After voting, there was a guy who instructed me on how to put it into the ballot reader, and a second guy handing out I Voted stickers. Every bit of this operation was carefully supervised by the Judge, an old guy with some kind of spinal disorder that caused him to have to stare at the floor most of the time. That has to be hard to live with. In Arizona, starting with this election, you have to have photo ID to vote. The old guy in front of me this morning had an older driver's license and the picture was not legible. We had a bunch of defective licenses years ago, and the pictures on them faded out due to some kind of a chemical reaction. This was before digital images. They made him use a provisional ballot, and it won't count until he comes back with a good photo ID. I blame this on Al "Hanging Chad" Gore and his traveling voter fraud show. Anyway, I did my civic duty and in a few hours we will likely have a new set of crooks in charge. All those bright, fresh faces in Congress will soon forget us and start figuring out what's in it for them. Ain't government great? Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Still Nothing

So, I'm sitting at my desk today working away and I get this phone call. The caller was an electrical engineer, who was working on a new building for a large national company, a company that would be familiar to most people. This guy asks me if I am working on their new building, a project that is just breaking ground here in our fair city. It seems he was referred to me by one of my coworkers. Well, I'm not working on this project, in fact I've never heard of it. He seemed disappointed. I told him that I would do some checking and call him back. Then I hung up. Before I could even get out of my chair, the guy calls back, literally 30 seconds later. He says that he forgot to give me the address of the building site, as if I am going to say, "Oh, that XYZ building, sure I forgot about that one, I thought you meant a different one." Instead I tell him that I don't know anything about it, but I will make some inquiries. This guy says, and I am not making this up, I cannot accept that answer. He can't accept that I've never heard of his customer's project? I'm wondering if he would feel better about a lie? Perhaps an admission that I forgot would do the trick. Maybe I can unpack the time machine that I have hidden under my desk and go back to the point in time where I could be properly notified. I've heard of nuts who believe in past life regression, but this fellow seems to subcribe to "pissed life regression". I run into guys like this from time-to-time. I suspect he was in a dither because he had forgotten something important and was looking for a place to dump the blame. The lovely Mrs. Sneed thought that he was trying out a technique that he learned at one of those half-day assertive communications seminars they hold at Holiday Inn. Maybe so. I eventually found the right party, the one who had the situation in hand and sent this yahoo packing. I hate it when I run into some want-to-be bully and blowhard. Merle Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor

Sunday

I Did Not Have Sex With That Man, Mike Jones The saga of the beleagured Pastor Ted continues. As I predicted on Friday, the deconstruction of his denials proceeds apace. In today's episode Pastor Ted confesses his lifetime struggle with his sexual identity, while still denying having had sex with Mr. Mike Jones. A spokesman for the oversight board that canned Pastor Ted says Ted has trouble with reality. Translation: Ted had this affair but just won't admit it. Ted also says he is done as leader of the New Life church. Ya think? In another matter, living so close to Mexico makes the issue of illegal aliens a really big deal here. It really chaps some folk's hide that the children of non-citizen mothers born in this country are automatically citizens. There is widespread belief that these mothers beat feet across the border to give birth. That may or may not be true, but even if it is so what? That's the constitution. If you don't like it, change it. All one has to do is take a trip across the border to see the poor conditions for the ordinary person in Mexico. If I was in that situation I would get out too. In fact, I'm sure my ancestors did the same thing in fleeing Holland. A local writer named Ernesto Portillo wrote in the paper today about the effort to deny healthcare to the newborn children of illegals that are born in the US. It generated about 125 comments on the Arizona Daily Star forum, most railing against illegals. They speak as though these are not people but some kind of vermin. These are hateful and stupid people. I think that I am not exaggerating when I say that if you deported all the illegals in my fair city, our construction sites would be empty. There are jobs here, there are people who want those jobs and will risk death to get them and our leaders have their heads up their butts, instead of figuring out an reasonable plan to deal with the matter, so we have what we have. Do not take it out on the people trying to improve their lot in life, demand that the idiots in charge fix the problem. Well, Sneedlet 1 is safe back at his house. He was here for his Saturday night visit, and was a little under the weather, so he was a handful. He took a late nap yesterday and wouldn't go to sleep last night until 11:00pm. The lovely Mrs. Sneed, daughter Sneed, Sneedlet and I went to Costco this morning. It was packed as usual and the Sneedlet was tired and grumpy, which made for an unpleasant experience. If you are unfamiliar with Costco, it is a membership warehouse-type store. Costco sells groceries, clothes, seasonal items, sundries, office supplies, tires and a bunch of other stuff in limited selections, but in jumbo sizes. Ours is the busiest Costco store in the chain and it is always very crowded. Our Costco is a favorite of well-to-do Mexicans from the state of Sonora Mexico. The wealthy in Mexico lead privileged lives. The poor live crappy lives so it is little wonder that they risk life and limb to get to the US. Being broke in Mexico is very different than being broke in America because Mexico is a land of haves and have-nots. The wealthy Mexican families that shop here often have an expectation of special treatment. It is not that they are obnoxious about it, but it is that is the way things are for them in Mexico, so it never occurs to them to expect less when shopping here. It has also been my observation that Mexicans are far more social than Americans, and shopping is more than just stocking up. The aisles of Costco are often blocked by Mexican families having a mini-reunion. It can be frustrating to try and navigate through these imprompto gatherings. Plus, they frequently seem oblivious to the need to accommodate other shoppers; they just stop where they stop and expect others to work around them. The lovely Mrs. Sneed gets very annoyed by this practice and employs a tactic that she calls the Sonoran Plowdown, where she uses her cart as a battering ram to break through the gatherings, not violently, but assertively. It makes me cringe to watch. I am sure that someday I will read the following headline in the local rag; Local Woman Beaten at Costco Store; Mexican Citizen Held. Anyway, I don't really have much to offer for today. Merle. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky Tag: Daily Life Personal Finance Humor