My Personal Bail-out Plan

(Published February 13, 2009)

     Anybody besides me get the itch for an iced tea by the pool this last week? What a surprise. That bright, warm sunshine was just what this tired old body needed to get jolted out of the winter doldrums. Of course, it didn't help that part of the grayness in my life was caused by getting everything together for that annual emptying of pockets called Taxes. It also didn't help that my accounting and filing system is charitably referred to as non-existent. Uncharitably it is called– but that is another story.

     My first order of business is to get my check account in order and properly entered into my computer. That's not as straightforward as it sounds. You see, last May someone made a major mistake with that account. That major mistake cost me quite a bit in what is gently referred to as, “Bank Fees.” My response was to just quit entering the account into the computer. That was because it obviously was the computer's fault, I wouldn't make such a costly mistake. (I know, I know- It's called being childish.)

     Right here I can give everyone a really, really good accounting tip: don't forget to enter debit card charges into your checking account. Not that I did, or anything.

     Next was to make order out of 12 months of receipts that have been jammed into a box that originally held peanut butter and cheese crackers. (It's OK, we ate all the crackers before anyone discovered that they might have salmonella.)

     My fiscal ineptitude made me cry out for help. I knew what I needed: a bailout! After all, it worked for the banking industry to the tune of over a third of a trillion dollars. Guess what they did with their 350 Billion Dollars? They bought up other banks so that they would have someplace to put all that money. They were smart, they didn't put that money into their own failing banks. Oh yeah- they also used a chunk of that money for executive bonuses.

     Now we are about to spend somewhere around a trillion dollars as an economic stimulus to jump-start the economy. Well, my personal economy needs a jump-start, too. I can be just as irresponsible as any bank CEO with money. And, I don't need as much money as those guys.

     One lousy million dollars is all it would take for me to be able to live in the manner to which I would like to become accustomed. Chump change in the great scheme of things. That would give me enough of a cushion to actually pay all my bills on time, drive a car that was built in this century, and kick back and relax a bit when the mercury climbs to something approaching comfort.

     Where would this money come from? Well, in that economic stimulus bill that totals eight- hundred-fifty-thousand,-million dollars is a small item of 60 million dollars set aside to distribute condoms in schools. Why not make it 59 million and give me the leftover one million that nobody will miss. I promise that I won't be promiscuous.

     Thank you, sunshine, for taking all this doldrum thinking away from me. I may not be beside my non-existent pool, but I am drinking iced tea.

There's Too Many Of Us

(Published January 9, 2009)

     Global warming. Encroaching deserts. Depletion of the Earth's fossil fuel reservoirs. People starving all over the world because there just isn't enough food to go around. And every time there is some sort of a natural occurrence, people are in the way and die. I've come to a conclusion: there are just too many of us.

     I've suspected this for quite a while. I remember, growing up in Pittsburgh, that going to Conley's Hamburger Shop in Monroeville was an excursion to the country.We drove through various city neighborhoods, then a bunch of little communities to get there. Monroeville is now a community of 50,000 that is a short ride on the Parkway from Pittsburgh. A visit to my uncle at St. Vincent's College required a certain amount of advance planning because it required us to leave what we thought was civilization. Mom packed extra food, Dad made sure that the spare tire was inflated, and us kids took blankets and pillows, just in case.

     There were certain way points along the route: Wilkinsburg, Braddock, Turtle Creek, Pitcairn, Trafford, Irwin, Jeanette, Greensburg, and Latrobe. Each of these was separated by an expanse of hilly country on a twisting route. Every so often a two-pump gas station would appear at a crossroads.( Is anyone else old enough to remember the gas pump with the glass bulb on it that showed the flow of gasoline?)

     Every time we would cross a bridge I, or one of my sisters, would ask, “Are we still in America?” Eventually we would reach St. Vincent's, have a short visit with my uncle, then head back so we could get home before midnight, tired and happy. The round trip took an entire day and usually involved at least one flat tire.

     Time goes by and I find myself riding to Pittsburgh and back in a couple or three hours. That's because the roads no longer wend their way over hill and dale and through every hamlet along the way. That's the plus side. That's also the minus side. What we get are uninterrupted views of malls, stores, fast food joints, strip malls, car dealers, and other cars. Many, many other cars.

     Guess who is in all those cars? People like you and I who now overpopulate the countryside and have turned it into one huge megalopolis radiating out from Pittsburgh in all directions for 60 miles. In our unending quest for rolling vistas, clean air, and a little “elbow room,” we have brought the congestion of the city with us. If it keeps up, a trip to Pittsburgh will once again be an excursion, but without the scenery.

     What to do about it? I dunno. I know of no painless way to reduce population. It usually involves war, pestilence, famine, and other things that we would just as soon not get involved in.

     You know, we wouldn't be in this fix if it wasn't so darn much fun taking part in overpopulating the world. Maybe if there were better offerings on TV- but I digress. I have no solutions, just observations.

Jupiter and Spazz

(Published November 14, 2008)

     One dog, two cats. That was a pretty nice mixture. Tigger, the old tom, tolerated Zeus the monstrous dog. They kept pretty much out of each other's way. Smokie, the young female cat, bossed Tigger around and loved to torture Zeus, who good-naturedly tolerated it. After all, how much damage could she do to him? Her whole body wasn't the size of Zeus' head.

     Time went on and a kind of pecking order was established. Tigger was conmfortable enough with the arrangement to sleep in bed with Lynnie and I. Smokie would sometimes join us. And, once in a while, Zeus would manage to sneak onto the bed in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep.

Then Smokie disappeared. As you can imagine, we were frantic, scouring the neighborhood for her. Two days later, her long flowing tresses in total disarray and matted with mud and thistles, she nonchalantly strolled in the back door. I could tell, just from the look on her face, that she was, as they say, “with child.”

     A few weeks later I was proved correct. She birthed four cute little kittens: two boys and two girls. With 24 hours Lynnie had named them all. The females are Charcoal and Patches, the toms are Spazz and Tazz. Any guy will tell you: once an animal is favored with a name, it is here to stay. Not to mention animals as cute as kittens.

     The little ones self-trained themselves to use the litter box as soon as they were able. They stuck with their mom and made infrequent appearance to show us their cuteness. That didn't last. In no time, they were into every nook and cranny in the house. They left evidence of their presence in the bathroom in the form of a completely unrolled roll of toilet paper. They found endless enjoyment in emptying boxes of tissues, one tissue at a time.

     Tigger became the Old Codger and treated the youngsters as though he were their sire, which was medically impossible. Zeus never passed by one of them without bestowing a hearty lick on a face.

     Then, there was a family emergency. Our son was moving from State College, PA to Naples, Florida. He wouldn't be able to take his puppy, Jupiter with him. Jupiter is a 90 pound German Shepherd. Of course, mommy said that we would take care of his puppy until he found a place where he could keep him.

     Jupiter is a bit more hyper than Zeus. He is still young enough to want to play roughhouse with anyone he encounters. One effect of his rambunctiousness has been that Zeus has dropped a few pounds and is more active. Another effect is that the kittens have learned to be much faster and more agile around him.

     They don't understand why he likes to pick them up by their head and he doesn't understand why they don't want to roughhouse with him. All except for one. Spazz seems to think that either he himself is a German Shepherd, or that Jupiter is just a large kitten.

     The net result of this menagerie is that nothing is safe. If the kittens aren't pushing something down from a height, then Spazz, Tigger and Zeus are knocking furniture, trash cans and what-have-you all over the place in their exuberant playfulness.

     I can't wait until our son finds suitable accommodations in Florida. Then he will be on the other end of a family emergency. He'll have to take care of a couple of cats. Not for long, mind you. Just until we get a 40-acre farm for them to freely roam.