Today was golf day with the usual suspects.

Lately, we have been playing at an old country club east of the city. In the summer, many of its residents flee the area for cooler climes and riff raff, like the three of us, are welcomed to play. Welcomed may be too strong a word.



The Seafood King had a shot from in this thicket of Mesquite trees. I would been killed by a ricocheting ball if I tried to hit it out, but he managed to pull it off.



If the ball goes in here, no one is going in after it. I have just one word for you, SNAKES!



This is the home of a rich person. They are known to have the help shout at a golfer who crosses onto their property to retrieve an errant shot. They should expect this sort of thing.

"Luis, you go out there and tell that dreadful-looking man to get out of my yard".

"Sí la Sra. Mueller".

"Hey amigo. The crazy old white lady says to go away."

Many readers have speculated about Some Guy Named Bob. Certain people have speculated that Some Guy Named Bob is a fictional character. The following email from Mr. Edward Billingsly is typical of the many emails we receive on the subject.

Dear Mr. Sneed,
Does Some Guy Named Bob really exist or is this more of your nonsense?
Edward Billingsly Winston-Salem, NC

Allow me to assure one and all that Some Guy Named Bob is a real person. As much as the Sneed blog wishes Some Guy Named Bob was make believe, he is a living, breathing person.



Some Guy Named Bob lines up a shot on the front nine. No actual people were hurt during the taking of this photo.






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

Today was very busy in the hardware store. I am usually busy on Wednesdays because we are short-staffed on that day. Today was worse than usual because two of the people who normally work on Wednesday, were at some seminar. I don't like feeling harried. It seems everywhere I turn, the news is reporting another financial crisis. The latest thing I am supposed to be worried about is that Christmas gifts will cost more this year than they did last year. Wanna bet? Retailers, unlike consumers, understand how supply and demand work. Stuff only costs more when there are willing buyers. When there are not enough buyers, prices drop. Retailers cannot just leave piles of stuff sitting around the store because no one is buying. That's why they call a sale a sale. Except for food, shelter, clothing, transportation, medical care and utilities, we can opt not to buy. No one ever died because they didn't get a new cell phone for Christmas. 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

Finches

I didn't technically take this picture, but my finch feeder looks just like this and I get gold finches feeding at it.

How do the finches know that I have filled the feeder? My finch feeder got overrun by the vines on the wall, and I forgot it was even there for a couple of months. Last week I uncovered it, cut away the overgrowth and filled the feeder with thistle. Within minutes, it was covered in finches. Do they have tiny thistle radar?

Something else. Maybe this has happened to you. Or maybe not, because you are not a belligerent a-hole, like some people. And by 'some people', I mean me.

Mrs. Sneed and I frequent a bakery cafe down the street on a regular basis. Even though there is a lot of tables, sometimes they are all occupied, like they were this evening. Usually, one opens up sooner rather than later.

As I walked around the joint looking for a place to sit, I noticed a woman sitting alone at a table obviously neither eating nor ordering, which you do a the counter anyway. After a couple of minutes another woman came over and took a seat, freeing the first woman to get up and order. Each held the available table while the other ordered.

My initial reaction was annoyance. Then I was struck by the realization that I would have, in fact have done, the same thing. Many times. So I guess I was pissed because she beat me at my own game. Damn introspection.







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

Golf Tournament

I may have to maim Some Guy Named Bob so that he can no longer play golf. No, wait, that's insane, I like Some Guy Named Bob. Just say, if he turns up missing, I am your man. Some Guy Named Bob is the kind of guy who will attend any sort of event. His credit union annual meeting, his car dealer's customer appreciation barbecue, the new neighbor's open house, the grand opening of the dog park or just watching the paint dry. You name it, Some Guy Named Bob will be the first guy there and the last guy to leave. Even though most of these events suck, Some Guy Named Bob enjoys himself at them. It's a gift. I, on the other hand, would not go across the street to see the second coming. Social events are not my cup of tea. I've met people and usually, it is not what it's cracked up to be. Some Guy Named Bob especially likes charity golf tournaments and he is forever trying to get the Seafood King and me to play in them with him. Most of these tournaments are on Saturday, which gives me the built-in excuse of having to work. No one knows how Some Guy Named Bob finds out about all these tournaments, but he badgers us weekly about one or another. Bob has tons of disposable cash and would play every day if we would go along. My objection to these events is that they take too long to play. If golf lasts more than four hours, it's gone on too long. I have been to some of these things that lasted all day. Slow play by terrible players is the norm for these events. Then to stretch the day just a bit longer, afterward they have an "awards lunch". Some Guy Named Bob loves the lunches, no matter how awful the slop is. And believe me when I tell you, it is generally slop. Lukewarm hamburgers served in a room that is too small, with too many people crammed in to it. Sisyphus was condemned to eternally push a boulder up a hill. With my luck I will spend eternity playing in golf scrambles with Some Guy Named Bob. Being forced fed crappy hamburger and checking raffle tickets. Some Guy Named Bob did the unthinkable today. He found a fundraiser held on a Monday. Since he knows I am off on Monday and that I usually play golf with The Seafood King on Monday, he trapped me. We played in a fundraising tournament for the United States Air Force. It benefited a squadron that is deploying to Iraq next month. Why they need money was never explained, but there we were. We started at 7:30 a.m. and finished at 1:00 pm, way too long. The guys in font of us couldn't find their asses with both hands, so you can imagine how long it took them to find their lost golf ball on every hole. As a team we played as well as we can. Mostly, this is because The Seafood King is a terrific player. Some Guy named Bob and I just fill up the team. That reminds me of the story of the future of air travel. In the future, commercial airliners will be able to take off and land without a pilot. Since most people won't get on a computer-controlled airplane, there will still be a crew, consisting of a guy dressed as a pilot and a dog. The pilot will be there to reassure the passengers. The dog will be there to bite the pilot, should he touch the controls. That's me and Bob, no purpose beyond being present I bugged out as soon as we finished playing and Some Guy Named Bob hung around to eat the slop and find out what treasure he might have won in the raffle. I do not know how long the Seafood King stayed, but while I was eating lunch at a place down the street he came in with his wife. After lunch, I stopped at the grocery and Some Guy Named Bob was there. He confirmed that we finished fourth and said that he did not win anything in the raffle. But, he said the hamburgers were great. It's a gift. 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

My pal Noah went home on Friday afternoon. His mother is out of the hospital and recovering at home. The house feels empty without the little guy jumping on the couch and ransacking the cupboards in search of snacks. Mrs. Sneed and I let him have the run of the joint, in the finest tradition of grandparents. We have had a series of heavy rains the last few days, which has made thing chaotic at the store. Lots of people are coming in looking to patch roofs, repair downed fences and clean up fallen trees. Some are kind of agitated, which is understandable, I suppose. In addition, the manager of the store is on vacation, leaving us shorthanded. Several people called in sick Friday and/or Saturday, which seems to happen more when the boss is gone. I thought about the 80/20 principle, as it applies to our store. It is actually called the Pareto Principle and states that says that 80% of results come from 20% of the causes. In the case of our store, 80% of the cases of someone calling in sick, are from 20% of the employees. 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

Doors

Since my pal Noah has made me watch Spiderman 3 about five times this week, I thought I would post a picture of a spider from one of my Spider plants.



I remember when I was in the seventh grade at Bellevue Junior High, in Bellevue, Nebraska, our school had two sets of doors at each entrance. The outer door let you into the building and the second set, a few feet further in, kept the cold out when the first doors were opened. I suppose that this arrangement is common whereever the winters are cold.

One winter morning, a group of us boys were playing tug of war with the inside doors. One group of guys on the inside trying to hold the doors closed, while another group tried to force them open. I was on the inside, holding the doors closed.

When the first bell rang, I dropped out of the tug-of-door-war and headed off to homeroom. Several guys did not immediately abandon their posts, opting continue the battle of the doors.

When the second bell rang, two of my friends, Jimmy Thompson and Jimmy Patterson, did not appear in class as they should have. Just after I left the game, someone pushed the entire giant pane of glass out of the door and it smashed into a zillion pieces. No one was maimed, but several suspects were quickly identified and apprehended, including the Jimmies.

The Principal managed to get a complete list of the participants from the detainees and a bunch of parents, mine included, got a letter demanding their pro rata share of the damages. The Principal's position was that anyone who was pushing on the doors, was responsible, whether or not he was there at the time of the carnage.

Since I was sitting in class at the time the window broke, my old man saw no need to pitch in and called the principal to tell him so. Sometimes you get lucky.

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

A Welcome Rainy Morning

We are getting a soaking rain this morning. Here in the desert, these rains are especially welcome. The first heavy rains of the season tend to runoff. Later, after the ground has become more saturated, they soak in, where they do the most good.

Looking down my street to the north, the mountains, which loom over our city are completely obscured.

To the south, there are touches of blue sky at the horizon. This may be the first sign of clearing or the last of clear skies. I guess we will see.

I was watching a video presentation by Dr. Louise Leakey this morning. Dr. Leakey, like her famous parents and grandparents, has spent much of her life looking for clues to the origin of our species in East Africa. I'm fascinated by her family's work and our evolutionary trek.

It is inconceivable to me Americans are so scientifically ignorant that they buy into the notion that a sky god created the Earth a mere 6,000 years ago. According to about half the people in this country, Dr. Leakey is not finding traces of our ancestors, but instead is finding fossils planted in their current form by God, for reasons that we cannot understand.

If you Google 'evolution' and 'poll', you will get a bunch of hits confirming the near majority opinion in America, that God created us, as is. Here is a recent article.

Anyone who is not worried about religion and its supernatural belief system infiltrating our government even more than it has, should be. The specter of our two presidential candidates pandering to the religious blocks makes me uneasy.





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

Thanks for all the kind thoughts about Daughter Sneed's illness. She is improved today. Her infection turned out to not be an antibiotic resistant one, which was our worst fear. When I spoke to her a few moments ago she was feeling better but still had a bit of a fever and achiness. The antibiotics that she is on seem to be helping. This has been quite a scare.

I told my boss that I might not make it in to work today because of the situation, but I did. A relative was kind enough to help out with Noah today, so that I could go to wok.

Work was uneventful except for the police action in the parking lot right before closing. I'm not sure what happened except that the police cornered a car in our lot and hauled the driver out at gun point. He was loaded into a squad car, while several undercover officers in bullet-proof vests, searched every nook and cranny of the car.

At one point an officer came in to buy batteries for his flashlight, but he wouldn't tell us what was up. He did say the guy would be 'going away' for a while.



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

Gray Skies

The skies have been gray for few days and we have had a couple of heavy rains.

Just a bit of higher humidity and cooler temperatures and the flowers bloom. The desert loves the moisture.

Who knew that there are so many shades of pink? A single rose contains all the shades the eye can see.

My buddy Noah has been with us for four days . He came on Friday night and was supposed to go home yesterday, but his mother was taken quite ill unexpectedly and is in the hospital. I'm trying to maintain a level head about the situation, but I'm concerned about her. She has a mystery infection and those can turn nasty in a hurry.

At times like this it is hard for me not to dwell on worst-case scenarios, even when they are just that, worst-case scenarios.




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

Statistics And Customer Service

Let me be real clear about something. Working in the hardware store is the most satisfying job I've ever had. I like the people I work for and work with, for the most part. That doesn't mean that I won't continue to complain about the stupid stuff that goes on. Now on with the show.

Sometimes a question sounds stupid because the listener doesn't understand it. Other times it is simply a stupid question. Wait, there are no stupid questions, only stupid answers. Now I'm confused about my point here. Oh yeah, I asked a question at work and apparently, I'm the only one who didn't think it was a really stupid question.

We had a meeting at work and in the course of the meeting, the manager handed out some statistical data, which reported the results of a customer survey of our customers, that was recently conducted. The data was supposed to tell us something about how we could better serve our customers. It didn't tell me squat, because I didn't understand it.

Our chain classifies customers into five classes, from the casual passerby, who happens in, to the most regular of regulars; those who won't go anywhere else for their hardware needs. To my way of thinking, five is too many categories to be useful at the store level, but I don't get any input. So it is, what it is.

The information looked a bit like this;

(the number shown is the top score for each group)**

A. People who only shop with us: 48%
B. People who shop us first, but will go elsewhere: 71%
C. People who shop us among several stores: 49%
D. People who shop somewhere else as their first choice, we're in the mix: 83%
E. People who happen in by accident: 46%

**I have no idea what the parenthetical statement means

My question was simply, what do the percentages mean? As you can see there is no discernible pattern to them.

My question was met with stammers, awkward pauses and general confusion among the higher-ups. It became painfully clear that I wasn't the only one struggling to understand the data, including the poor woman trying to present it.

In the end, someone tried to change the subject by explaining what the five categories of customers mean, apparently thinking an explanation of something, was better than no explanation at all. I finally shut up, to the relief of everyone when it became obvious that we were getting nowhere fast.

Many managers, mine included, don't understand that data tells a story and it is their obligation to translate that data into something meaningful, if they want the little people to benefit from it. Instead, they confuse a bunch of numbers with actual information.

After the meeting two different people commented to me that, not only did the bosses not understand the information they were trying to present, they didn't even seem to understand my question. One guy asked me if I was just messing with them. Oh, well.

In more satisfying store news, I received my evaluation yesterday and it turns out that I'm doing a pretty swell job. In fact, I'm in line to become assistant manager (just kidding, Kurt). I did receive a raise, bring my wage up to 'next to nothing, plus sixty cents.' That ladies and gents is a sweet eighteen bucks a week. Well, technically $10.80 after taxes, but sweet none-the-less.









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

Sun Tea and Plumbing Tee

Merle Sneed enjoys iced tea more than any other beverage, even more than coffee. Out here in Hooterville, all it takes is a jar of water and some tea bags. Set it out in the sun and in a few hours you have excellent sun tea.

One of the downsides to getting pissed off, is that you sometimes cut off your nose to spite your face. Anger often drives us to do something to 'make a point'. Unfortunately, the point we mostly make is that we can be jackasses. I know, I'm an expert on the subject. So is another fellow I met today in the store.

He came in to buy some plumbing parts. In all, he needed ten parts and when I met him in the aisle, he had already gathered eight of them on his own. All he lacked was two tees, a part to connect three different pipes. We only had one in stock and that pissed him off.

I offered to call a nearby store for him to see if they had another tee. I was on hold for awhile and Mr. Cordiality grew tired of waiting and announced that he would just drive over there. And as long as he had to be put out like that, he would just buy all the stuff from them. He dumped his load of parts and hustled away.

A minute or so later, someone from the other store finally answered me and they also only had one of the tees. One from us and one from them and her has what he needs. Except that he left ours with me.

I guess Mr. Cordiality learned that when he got there. Too bad for whoever had to wait on him.




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

This is our present home. Once I'm dead, Mrs. Sneed says she's selling it, don't ask me why. Mrs. Sneed will also wonder why I didn't put down the garage door before I took the picture. Good question.


Since we are talking about home today, I will share a bit about the homes I've lived in.

In my fifty-eight years of living, I've had at least twenty-three dwellings I've called home. Some were houses, some were apartments, most were government-supplied military rentals and the last few, I've owned. Mrs. Sneed and I have shared the last six homes over the past nearly forty years.

Ten of the homes were in Tucson: I've moved here three different times. Three were on the opposite side of the world in Guam, three in Omaha, Nebraska, three in Tampa, Florida and one each in Savanna. Georgia and Ft. Worth, Texas and Atwater, California. That'a a lot of moving.

The first owner-occupied house I lived in was one Mrs. Sneed and I bought in 1971 for $16,200. It was a two-bedroom, 800 square foot affair in a new neighborhood. It wasn't much to look at, but it was ours. The two older kids were born there.

My father was a career military man who never saw any reason to own a home. Given our frequent moves, I have to say he had a point. Besides, my dad preferred investing in comodities, a six-pack at a time, over real estate. He bought his first and only house in 1975 and lived in it for thirty years.

Of all the houses I've lived in, our current house is my most favorite. We are centrally located, it has room enough and allows me to garden a bit. Plus it has the benefit of being paid for. What more could a guy ask for?



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

Assistant Manager

It has been my observation, from decades of toiling at a job, that people with 'assistant' in their title are trouble. Assistant Manager, Assistant Principal, Assistant Warden, you get the idea. Assistants are people who want to be boss and are earning their stripes by being professional bad guys. Getting their hands dirty, so the boss doesn't have to. Some are born to it, others have it thrust upon them. There are exceptions but they are few and far between. The assistant manager of our store is an older guy who knows he is not moving up and is fine with that. He is great to work with. As I said, he is the exception. For instance, this morning we made a couple of keys for one of the workers from a quick copy place down the street. Just business as usual. That is until the assistant manager of the joint suddenly appeared and told me that I had not given 'her girl' the original key back. I checked the key machines and the desk area and there was no key laying about. I was certain that I had given it back to her, because it is easy to forget it in the key machine and I have a little routine I use, so that I don't forget to return it. As an aside, who but an assistant manager would use the expression 'my girl' in this day and age? Not exactly new millennium kind of behavior? The more I explained that I didn't have the key, the more insistent she became that I did have it. Finally, completely exasperated with me, she phoned 'her girl'. This only served to set off another round of did so, did not. I suggested that we check with the cashier to see if it was left there, but it wasn't. The assistant manager, now sensing a broader conspiracy, strengthened in her resolve that we were behind the missing key. She projected the attitude that it was inconceivable that anyone under her command could be wrong about where the key went. It had to be us and she made no bones about it. That is until one of the other employees came in the front store of the store, held something aloft and asked, "Anyone lose a key? I found it in the parking lot." Seamlessly, the assistant manager shifted her ire from us to 'my girl', who in an instant turned from saint to incompetent. I pity 'my girl' when ths assistant boss got back to the store. 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

Everyone knows that Merle Sneed sticks fairly close to the rules. I may complain about the rules and make fun of the stupid ones, but I really try to observe them. After all, what would society become if we all flaunted the system? I was at the bank this morning cashing my giant hardware store job check, when I heard the guy at the next window having this conversation with the teller. Guy: I would like to break this bill (a hundred). Teller: Do you have an account? Guy: No but my wife does. Teller: Do you have the account number? Guy: No. Teller: Then I can't break the bill for you. Guy: Can you look up her number? Teller: Not if you aren't on the account. By this time I was engrossed in the goings on and I noticed that the guy was disabled and walked with a cane. I think he had suffered a stroke. As he shuffled away from the window I was struck with an inspiration. I stopped him and pulled out five twenties from my wallet and exchanged them for his hundred. Then I handed it to the teller and said, "break this for me." Which she did. What a stupid way to do business. My friend Ched asks how much money a couple would have to earn to buy a $100,000 house? That really depends on a lot of things. Let's assume that they were able to put down ten percent and that they could get a 6% loan for the balance. That would result in a monthly payment of $539 plus taxes and insurance. Let's call that another $500, because property taxes are high in New York, as I recall. That would make the payment a thousand bucks, give or take. To my way of thinking, the couple in Ched's question should take home about $4000 per month, in order to comfortably make the payment. Or about $48,000 per year, again take home. The banks would probably let them get away with something a bit lower. Forty-eight thousand take home would translate to about $62,000 gross, assuming that they had insurance and deferred compensation coming out of their gross pay. This is all assuming that they don't have a bunch of other consumer debt and have good credit. People with bad credit or even suspect credit are no longer getting mortgages. Hope that makes sense. 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

Sunday

The lovely Mrs. Sneed has a lot of time on her hands and access to Home and Garden TV, and that my friends, is a dangerous combination.

Mrs. Sneed had a large freestanding oak bookcase, about five feet tall and five feet wide in her office. On HGTV she learned about something called 'repurposing', where one takes a perfectly good item and makes something else from it. Or repurposes it.

Where I come in, is that she got this idea to take the large book case, cut it in half, top to bottom, and make herself two swell work spaces from it. So we spent a couple of hours this afternoon cutting the thing in half. I must say, it worked out pretty well.



This is the former right half of the book case. Laid on its side, it will become a work space in the office. That's right after a load of shelves get put up.



The former left side is now holding up the dog food in the backroom.

Son Sneed and Daughter-in-law Sneed were over this morning. We got to kicking around ideas for the new baby's name. Mrs. Sneed has been calling the baby Tessa, which the happy couple nixed as a candidate.

We got to looking at the family bible to see what the Sneed family names for girls have been. Most were 86'd out of hand and who can blame them? Clara, Johanna, Edna, Hortense, Bonnie. Not very modern, are they? I guess we will see, when we see.

One interesting fact about my family tree caught my eye. My great-great-great grandparents were born in 1796 and 1798. They had eight sons and one daughter. The last of their children died in 1919. This family lived in the 1700s, 1800s and 1900s. That is pretty cool.

The Sneed's have a history of having more boys than girls. Of all the generations of Sneeds for which I have records, only one, my great-grandparents, had more girls than boys and then only two to one.


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

Leaky Shower

Not to get all "hardwarey" with you, but I have to explain something before I can tell my story. When you turn on your shower, the handle actually turns a valve behind it that turns on the water. Probably everyone knows that. At the base of the valve is a rubber washer that sits on something called a seat. When the handle is turned to off, the rubber is compressed against the seat to block the flow of water. With one hundred percent certainty, if the water drips from the shower head when the valve is turned off, the rubber washer or the seat are bad. The fix is to replace one or both. It is a job that is simple, but not always easy. Usually, the valve stem, the part the handle turns, is covered by a flange where it extends into the shower to allow the handle to be attached. It is a finished metal part that trims the plumbing to make it look nice. Sometimes water leaks out from around the valve and runs down the wall of the shower, both inside the shower and worse, behind the wall. This is the stuff of plumbing calamity, because as we all know, leaking water is bad for everything. Ignoring it rarely helps the situation. Bright and early this morning a woman came into the store carrying something in a bag. We see this a lot in the plumbing aisle. People bring stuff they've dissembled in hopes that we can make sense of it. You don't want to actually touch a lot of this stuff and even if you just look into the bag, there is an urge to wash your hands. And sometimes your eyeballs, too. I looked into her bag to find something resembling a stalactite, or a stalagmite, if you turn the bag around. It was her shower handle, which was was frozen to the flange by years of calcification and soap scum. She said it had been leaking for a long time but she only now found out how to remove the handle. I had to put the mess in the vise and smack it to get the handle loose from the flange. The poor woman's theory about what ailed her shower was that she needed a washer in the handle or something. I assured her that it was 'or something' and not the handle causing the leak. I drew her a picture of how to remove the valve and told her to bring it back. She also explained that the shower wall was bugling out. This results from the leak ruining the backing for the tile. Later in the morning she reported back without the valve because she she said her husband couldn't get it loose. Rather than repair the mess, she just soaked her handle and flange in CLR to remove the years of crud. She said that they looked 'real good' and she just put the mess back together. I told her she needed a plumber, but I am positive she won't call one, at least until the wall of the shower collapses. Working in a hardware store gives you an eye into the way people live and it isn't always a pretty sight. 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

Thursday's Theme - Birthday

Since today's theme is birthdays, I thought I would repost something from a couple of years ago. It illustrates how the world has changed. It is the story of my father's birthday, or birthdays, as it was. 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. Their marriage was a hastily arranged affair, after young 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 birth dates 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 birth dates of record throughout their school years. The word of the parent was good enough for school officials in those days. My father's real birth date was in March, and I am not sure how or even when his official birthday, that we always observed in March, moved back from July. Maybe it was when he graduated from high school and had to have he birth certificate to go to college or later join the Navy. It's all very murky. Sometime in the early '70s, I came into possession of a family Bible that had a detailed record of many of the 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. In retrospect, that was clearly impossible. 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, because he never really thought he was good enough. He couldn't bear a chink in his finely crafted facade. I said nothing to him about my discovery. 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. 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 about his parents deception. 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, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Technological Marvels

I would like to introduce you to our granddaughter, who will be born in November. Until yesterday we didn't know that she was a she. Isn't this a breathtaking picture?


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

A Clarification Of My Cellphone Hostility

Nan Patience asked via comment why some people, and I include myself in that number, have a seemingly pathological hostility towards cellphones? I can only speak for myself, but my hostility is not directed at cellphones, in fact I own a cellphone. Cellphone are an invaluable tool and have improved our lives in many ways. My hostility is reserved for people who don't understand that it is inappropriate to bring private conversations into the public arena. I have enough drama in my life without being subjected to other people's grief. Should I sit at a table in a cafe and loudly describe my personal business, people would think me insane. Virtually no one, aside from the truly insane, would do such a thing. But, put a cellphone to an ear and all bets are off. Insane behavior becomes the norm for many people. The ubiquitous iPod has earphones for a reason. We would not accept people attaching speakers to their iPod and playing loud music everywhere, would we? To further clarify, my ire is not directed at all people having a cellphone conversation in public, but rather those who have never learned the inside voice/outside voice lesson. I don't need to know the details of your medical conditions, financial dealing or relationship issues. Then there is the matter of common courtesy. Why should my dinner, movie experience or other leisure activities be subject to disruption because someone else has a pathological need to remind themselves that they are not alone in the universe? Additionally, why should people tying to provide a service, such as a cashier, be made subordinate to a phone call. Many cellphone users lack the common courtesy to even acknowledge the humanity of the person at the register. As a matter of practice, I ignore customers in our store who cannot get off the phone long enough to explain what they want. My current favorite sign related to this issue is at my local branch post office, where the USPS has posted a notice advising patrons that they will not be served if they approach the window while talking on the phone. So perhaps my hostility is really about the lack of common courtesy in our society. The cellphone just drives home that fact. Dennis wonders what type of snack I enjoy with my coffee. I enjoy all things pumpkin and Starbucks has a nice pumpkin scone. I enjoy that. 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

Jammin' with the Cellphones

What do you call a million inconsiderate cellphone users at the bottom of the ocean? A good start.

July is Cell Phone Courtesy Month, at least according to the cell phone industry. But as I like to say, you can lead an a-hole to water, but you can't make him get off the phone long enough to drink.

I was at my Starbucks this morning and the soccer mom in front of me and the third-night-assistant-relief manager at Radio Shack, behind me were both talking on the phone. Terribly important stuff.

Mom was talking right up until she got to the register, then she hung up the phone. I thought she was onboard with the whole Cell Phone Courtesy Month thing, until the phone rang and her kid answered it for her. Kid passed the phone to Mom and she began a game of cellphone charades, trying to order and talk on the phone at the same time.

Later in the day I went to a major electronics retailer to drop off something for repair. While I waited in line behind a woman, also talking on her phone, I heard a cellphone ringing. Without missing a beat she reached into her purse, pulled out another phone and began to have two conversations, alternating from one to the other. I'm not kidding. When it got to be her turn at the counter, she waved at a guy standing nearby, who took her place and explained what she needed while she continued to do the babbling two-step. How important must you be to need two cellphones?

Since cellphone courtesy month is being ignored by those most in need of observing it, I implore all concerned Americans to consider investing in a pocket-size cell phone jammer. This device allows you to interrupt cellphone communications in your general vicinity. Not that anyone would actually do this, it being illegal and all.

It's technically a violation of FCC regulations and subject to an $11,000 fine, to use a jammer, but think of the "hypothetical" satisfaction you will derive from "hypothetically" messing with some yammering ninny. There is the possibility that you can mess up someone's pacemaker or interrupt an important police call, but if anyone drops you can simply bug out. If you were to do such an uncivilized thing.

Oh, and you have to buy the jammer from some guys in Israel and maybe England, because, again technically, it is illegal to sell them in the United States. But still not that much of a sacrifice, for a hardened criminal, not that any of us are.

Here is a link that explains how jammers work. The author mentions not using a cellphone or a jammer at a gas pump due to the dager of sparking a fire. That part is wrong as anyone who watches Myth Busters knows. Other than that, it's a pretty good explanation.

"But", you might be saying, "Why should I risk a hypothetical $11,000 fine so that Sneed can have a little peace and quiet?" Good question.

Nathan Hale, before he was hanged, said, "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country." Makes $11,000 seem petty doesn't it?

Here's a link to a New York Times story on the subject, in which they reinforce the illegality of this dastardly deed.

The moment is upon us to take back our peace and quiet and return a bit of civility to daily life. The greatest revolutions began with the determination of a single individual. Be that person. "Hypothetically" speaking.


Note to the FCC, the DOJ, the FBI, the CIA, the FAA, the FDA, the AAPR and the EIEIO. Merle Sneed would never actually use a cellphone jammer and is not responsible for what his rowdy friends might do.








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

At Least I Have A Starbucks

I asked the guy at my neighborhood Starbucks this morning if the store was in danger because of the 600-store closure announced last week. He said that the store is among the top five most profitable in Starbucks' SW region (whatever that is) and that there was no chance it would close. That's good news for me, Not everyone will agree with me on that. Most people profess to prefer the homeyness of the little business on Main Street, to the branch office of the giant on Wall Street. After all, small business is usually someone's dream and who doesn't want to support someone in pursuit of their dream? It seems a lot of us won't. Otherwise, there wouldn't be a Starbucks on every corner. Would I prefer a nice coffee house to a Starbucks? You bet, but I don't have that choice at the moment, so I go where I can. Independent coffee shops do not proliferate here in Hooterville, party because we have our fair share of SB locations, but also because our geographic layout is not conducive to foot traffic, which I think is a key to success for the small operator. In fact, it is something of a miracle that any business succeeds here. If Older Son and Daughter Sneed were to move elsewhere, I think I would vote to blow this joint. Pretty much all we have going for us is the terrific scenery and very agreeable winters. For that we pay the price of the unbearable summer. To make matters worse, our fair city is reeling backwards rather than moving forward, economically, and from a quality of life standpoint. Our city council is controlled by special interest groups, including well-to-do Yuppies, business and special interests and advocates for minority groups. They conspire to make sure that nothing ever gets done. Each idea put forth is promptly planned to death. Employment, here in the 51st largest metro area in the country, is dominated by the government. 15 of our largest 20 employers are governmental entities. Another is a large producers of military armament. Of the four remaining, one is WalMart and the other three are hospitals. We are a city of the very wealthy, those people who make a decent living working for the government or people barely getting by, working at low-wage jobs. We routinely reject light rail, and freeways as a way to move people more efficiently. Our streets are over-crowded. We have passable bus service so long as you have a very flexible time schedule. On the other hand, the Phoenix metro area has been led by folks with a clue. As a result they routinely accomplish what Hooterville won't. We are their poor cousins. The latest indignity visited on us by our relative to the north, is that they are poaching our baseball spring training teams away. We currently have the Chicago White Sox, the Colorado Rockies and the Arizona Diamondbacks spring training here. The White Sox have announced that they hare headed to Phoenix and the other two will soon follow. Our leaders fiddle while the moving vans are loaded. Even our Triple A minor league team is bailing out for Reno, NV. Reno? Our isolation in the far corner of the nation makes it difficult to attract major employers, quality airline service and a host of other things big cities routinely expect. It seems as though our fearless leaders are content with that situation. 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

I keep hearing a radio commercial in which some interest group asks me to contact my Congressperson and urge her, in my case, to vote for more drilling for oil and gas in the US.

As much as high oil prices hurt us in the short term, they are good for us in the long run. America is still full of smart people with brilliant ideas about how we can power the things that make modern life possible.

Everyone has heard of the magic carburetor that would get 200 mpg, if only the oil companies would allow it to be brought to market. That is a load of nonsense. We have inefficient cars precisely because oil has been cheap and plentiful. As long as oil remained cheap and plentiful, there was no incentive to change things. Now that oil is sky high, incentive abounds.

The market will soon be dominated by light weight electric cars, energy production from alternative sources, such as wind, ocean currents, biofuels and a host of things we can't even imagine today. But only if the price of oil remains high.

I won't be calling my Congressperson.

If you are inclined, please look at this presentation by Amory Lovins about hypercars. Click on 'Launch Interactive". It's a bit long, but worth the time. It's from a NOVA presentation on PBS. You will have a delay between the end of one segment and the start of the next, so be patient.


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

Bored On The Fourth Of July

Readers of the Merle Wayne Sneed blog know that Merle Wayne Sneed doesn't like to complain. Especially about his job, which Kurt advised me not to take and who will remind me that he did, should I complain about said job.

I had to work today. That's right, on the Fourth of damn July, Merle Wayne Sneed had to trudge down to the hardware store and spend the day. Merle Wayne Sneed did not stay home with the lovely Mrs. Sneed, who has a real job that provides time off for the holiday. In fact, the ownership of our store doesn't consider the Fourth of damn July to even be a holiday. It kind of makes a guy wonder what would constitute a holiday?

Whether or not the Fourth of damn July is a holiday in the eyes of the ownership is of no practical consequence to Merle Wayne Sneed, because I am a part-time employee anyway. The full-time folks who worked today are the ones who really got jobbed.

Here's what makes no real sense about the store even being open today. When I checked just before closing time, our store had gross sales of about $4,000 for the day. That is probably about 60% of a normal day.

Just last week, we were told in a meeting, that 22 cents of every dollar in sales goes to employee pay and benefits (for those who get benefits). The cost of goods sold amount to about 55 cents of each dollar of sales (my estimate). Sales tax takes another 8 cent bite from each buck. That's about eighty-five cents of each dollar that is eaten up.

If you haven't stopped reading by now, that means that of the $4,000 in sales, about $600 is still available for profit. Except of course there is rent, utilities, insurance, etc. Basically, the store was open today to break even.

The fact is though, keeping the store open was a money-maker. Should the store be closed for a holiday, the full-time employees would have received a day's pay, like they do for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Some of the fixed and variable costs (rent, utilities, insurance, etc) would have had to be paid. So, keeping the store open, even is business is really slow, makes perfect sense, so long as gross profit is greater than the cost of being closed.

Anyway, I wished I hadn't worked.



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

Thursday's Theme - Shoes

Should you ever get up in the morning, put on your shoes and think to yourself, "Man, I have big feet", let this serve as a reminder that all things are relative.

I wear either a 14 wide or a 15 regular, depending on the shoe. This means that I cannot just go into a store and have any reasonable expectation that I will leave with shoes. In fact, when I tell the shoe salesman that I'm in need of at least a 14, I usually get treated as if I had requested pants made from raccoon pelts.

"No, we don't have THOSE here."

One time we went to an outlet mall in Massachusetts and I spied a New Balance outlet store. I found two pairs of shoes in size 15 and when I went to pay the clerk announced in his loudest voice, "This must be big foot day." It seems the customer ahead of me also bought size fifteens. Giant shoes go to outlets to die.

These are the shoes that I wear to work at the hardware store.



Mrs. Sneed has big feet for a woman, size nine. This is a picture of her, putting her size nine shoe completely inside my shoe. She wants everyone to know that it fits with room to spare.





These shoes, like all my shoes are bought from freak stores on the internet.

Oh, and all my shoes look like boxes with laces, because it is impossible to make stylish shoes for the freakishly big-footed. At least no one appears to be trying. It seems that we should be grateful that we don't have to clad our feet in burlap sacks and be satisfied with giant, square baby shoes.






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

Wednesday

All kidding aside, is there a rule that the bigger the SUV, the more the driver has to talk on his or her cellphone? I think that there is. I was nearly run over this morning at Starbucks by a woman driving a big old SUV. She was speeding across the parking lot, jabbering on the phone and nearly flattened me. Only my lightning quick reflexes averted disaster. "OMG! I have to totally hang up, I just ran over a guy at Starbucks." She parked her car, gave me a friendly apologetic wave, went in, ordered, went into the bathroom, came out and picked up her order, got back into the SUV and drove off. All without getting off her phone. Who has that much to say? And who has time to listen? I see that Starbucks is closing 600 of its stores. I hope mine isn't one of them. This isn't like the big city where there is a Starbucks on every corner. Often times we have to travel as much as a mile to find a Starbucks. No one ever said that life on the frontier is easy. If my posts seem more intelligent than they used to, it may be because I bought myself an Apple MacBook. Or as Daughter Sneed says, I've gone over to the dark side. I'm not a computer guy, so I don't fully appreciate the technical advantages of a Mac, but I have to say, so far it is a dream to use. If my posts seem as dopey as always, just remember, you can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. By the way, here's the link for the National Geographic Genographic project if you are interested in more information. 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

I predict that in the very near future we will begin to hear stories about a new banking crisis. This time instead of bad home loans it will be bad car loans. I read that automobile repos are at an all-time high and are expected to get worse. Low interest rates and long loan terms have allowed middle class people to get into car debt far beyond their means. Now, with crushing gas prices and no one buying giant gas-guzzlers, repossession is the only way out for many people. Some are voluntarily surrendering their cars, others are having repossession forced upon them. How many times does Merle Sneed need to nag people about the perils of debt? And speaking of nagging, I helped a guy today who was looking for a bug light. I showed him the regular incandescent bulbs, two for $3.29 and as he dropped them into his cart, I suggested that he might want to consider a compact florescent bulb instead. He looked at the $8.99 price and decided that was too much to spend. That is until I mentioned that it uses only one-sixth the energy of an incandescent bulb and lasts for five years. I think most people are becoming hip to the fact that, global warming or not, it is time to stop being so wasteful. This guy was no exception. He weighed the value of a long-life, energy-saving bulb and decided to spend a few extra bucks for a more environmentally friendly bulb. 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