I like to think out loud and see if anything sticks or salutes before I go ahead with it. It’s like the Grateful Dead cooking songs for years on the road before they committed them to commercial recordings. It’s way-social.
As regular readers know, I have not been a happy camper this winter. Actually, I have clues that there are lots of unhappy campers, but it is my duty to affirm my angst and others will have to be responsible for their own.
I’ve mentioned a time or two that I’ve been shoveling the roof lately, and that’s because there’s an intake pipe up there which can be drifted over by snow at which time it shuts off the furnace so the furnace can’t kill us by failing to breathe.
I appreciate that.
I’m not so appreciative of the plumber who put the pipe there in the first place, and we should really talk about that sometime. If the winter ever ends, that it is. Mostly because he charges mileage just to drive out and talk.
Anyway, I’ve put away the antique ladder again, if not back on the fire truck from which I got it, and it’s becoming a challenge to put it back on the deck and go up there again.
The wind is blowing like crazy, there’s still plenty of snow up there…….
“think of something that requires no space” the little voice said
My lovely lifestyle once in a while sets me up and I drown.
If you have something expensive like the Worst Winter That Ever Was you’re going to miss your credit rating and if you pay for everything BEFORE you get it you’re going to resent others who seem to get by “on credit”.
Sometimes there just isn’t enough work.
Sometimes the workplace just goes insane with new safety rules or something (or worse, goes insane with a CEO who really doesn’t get it).
If you’re me, sometimes you’ll sucker for causes that you can’t help, and those suck resources twice as fast as just being stupid, which I often wish I were.
“think of something that requires no space” the little voice said
(I probably also wish I were working on my taxes)
While the clock ticks, I need to decide how to react to eBay’s new pricing structure and present balancing of their site, taking place now.
Without running through the math here, it looks on paper like the best thing for me to do would be to upgrade to the Premium Store (or nomenclature just like that), which is fifty dollars a month. In exchange for that I get all kinds of stuff.
However, in exchange for LESS than that, I can get all kinds of stuff in other places.
One of those other places, Amazon, is easier to use, at least through the process of listing media.
One of them, Ruby Lane, is more tasteful.
One of them, my own site, affords me the most control.
That’s where the issues are: control. eBay deconstructed the “flea market” at least a couple of years ago now, and “flea market” was one of the things that was so cute about me. Now they’re Costco, and I’m not.
Then they beat up the sellers, assuring the shoppers of a good time. I survived that with flying colors only to get bruised over weird stuff like encouraging gambling and illegal activities by selling Coke Rewards Point codes and used High Times Magazines with articles about Jerry Garcia.
The management I originally admired is running for Governor Of California. The Community people I knew are gone. I’m not a Category Voice anymore.
The forward momentum that I enjoy at eBay due to my sterling reputation there does count still in one category: Antiques. They haven’t found a way to slaughter the Antiques auctions yet, and my bread and butter is in there.
Yes, the Premium store looks nice with the bargain Fixed Price rates that are going to be as searchable as they once were before the “rebalance”, but um, the Store Format is irrelevant to that Antiques business.
I don’t have an easy decision to make here, and it’s pretty rarified territory. It’s times like these that I miss the Board Of Directors I’ve never had.
Today I learned how to crawl over the snowdrift to the antique fire truck in the other yard and drag its wooden ladder to the house and crawl up on the roof and unblock the pipe that gets covered with snow and makes the furnace go off.
If I had been one of the Brave Pioneers crossing the prairie, when we got to this area, I would have definitely said “I don’t care about the crummy black dirt, this place is just wrong, let’s not stop here”.
Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you.
Forget the dead you’ve left, they will not follow you.
The vagabond who’s rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore.
Strike another match, go start anew
And it’s all over now, Baby Blue.
Bob Dylan said that. I really wish Bob would stop by sometime and I continue to believe that he will.
Stuff I might list at eBay today, if I run Things as seven day auctions, ends too close to Christmas (the 20th) for me to promise to get it there “on time”. People know that.
I could run some short durations and squeeze a few sparks out of the coming week but I don’t think I will. I think I will generally put down my guns now.
2009 was a harsh year, don’t you think? Well, especially if the Post Office gets that two hundred dollar check they owe me into my pocket, it was much kinder to me than it was a lot of people.
I wound up with a couple hundred dollars.
That’s better than 133 US banks so far, and I’m not in court bickering about any of my mergers or acquisitions or whatever.
Two of my closest friends died this year; they were from the same era, and I am now missing the verifying other party in two-thirds of my stories about my “formative years”. In conversations with both of them before they did that, they both mentioned that “the money” doesn’t mean diddily-squat. I am choosing to believe that.
That isn’t to say that we might not play “radio station” a little and churn out a few of our Greatest Hits or something but tonight’s launch will be intentionally “soft”, or throw-away, as we keep the place but don’t crowd too closely up to the holiday.
The Twitter tag has become #IowaDeathStorm09 although there is a local tag #suxweather.
I frankly didn’t care last night because I notified my customers I was goofed up and my now-favorite band Furthur was playing in New York and it was possible to listen to them (I love the Future).
This morning I cared a little bit since we were technically trapped in here. That’s one of those things you’re supposed to avoid, like when your clean underwear bursts into flame in the middle of an accident. So I made the mental commitment to shovel.
It isn’t like we didn’t call somebody first. The radio mentioned the name of some guys but they hang up when you call them. I mentioned that about them via a Google review, heh heh. I love the Future. There just is no such thing as a kid (or even a big kid) from the neighborhood with a shovel.
So, I think: since I happen to detest this stuff so much, I have to make it a game I like. Not so hard, I have to first get out the door to do any shoveling at all, which is sort of like the video games I remember. It doesn’t take long after accomplishing that for me to realize the next objective will be to shovel a path to the car where my Iowa Hawkeyes stocking cap and Gortex gloves are (those gloves are one of the best things I ever bought; I used them for years for winter cycling and have had them around ever since).
That next objective took a while. I really shouldn’t be shoveling at all, but I don’t want to talk about that part. I made it to the car, got the gloves and the cap and NOW I can stand the cold. Naturally, that’s when the sun starts fighting its way out, and I don’t need the hat so much maybe but it’s nice to have the gloves-I make a living with my fingers you know.
I’m not one of those “isn’t it beautiful?” guys. I hate the snow. I don’t know why I live here. But I have my hat and gloves on, maybe I should go around to the lake side of the house and snap a picture of the lumpy snow on the lake-it usually lies much flatter than that.
There are a couple of missing elements in that photo: the lumps on the lake and the nine-million-mile-per-hour wind. Whatever happens to be wrong, unpleasant or unsatisfactory in your life pales in comparison to standing in that invisible wind.
So I came inside and tried to catch what I wanted through the window:
Well, it isn’t so peaceful in my opinion, but I’m also not that threatened. The sun is STILL trying to come out, the wind is getting a little quieter….probably if I take a nap it’ll be like nothing ever happened…..
I love the Post Office. Anybody can tell you that.
I wouldn’t bash ’em for the world, especially after the local PM treated me so well over a claim I had today. But you know that question the Retail Sales Assistants have to ask you about “is there anything liquid, flammable, potentially dangerous in that package”?
Well, as you have probably noticed, the flu Us Guys from Iowa wish was always only called H1N1 has changed life at the Post Office and other places (hospitals come to mind) because now they have little bottles of hand sanitizers there that you can use to help combat the spread of germs.
The Purell at Storm Lake is 63% alcohol, and I assume it’s right around that strength almost anywhere. Well, guess what? ANYTHING 63% alcohol is dangerous and even probably fatal in my hands, or more specifically down my throat. Since 1995 I have subscribed to a philosophy that using (ingesting) alcohol is fatal to me.
I’m probably not going to grab the bottle of Purell at the PO or anywhere else and dart desperately out the door to snort it, as I have other solutions, and anyway, it’d be much easier and less Federally indictable to just dodge around the corner to any other store and just snag some of the stuff which was brewed up for actually drinking. It’s cheap as far as I recall, and the economic issue wasn’t really the first one when I first started subscribing to that fatal stuff.
Nontheless, standing right next to that little bottle, that’s a funny question: is there something liquid or dangerous in the box I’m mailing while there’s something both liquid and dangerous on the counter right next to me.
I’m sure somebody’s working on that one. Or if they’re not, I hope somebody’s at least making sure Purell costs more than beer or Listerine.
Having sold Things for ten years now, Us Guys have decided to define them:
A Thing is a tangible object to which we have applied a description, usually one or more images and which can be transferred to you (its shipping attributes have already been applied) and which we are actively TRYING to transfer to you, usually in exchange for consideration, typically money.
Not long ago this was going to be impossible again due to the standard economic calculations. I was screwed, it wasn’t going to work, there were too many valleys in the roller coaster ride, the whole Idea was going to crash.
In case you haven’t noticed, there’s help for every corporate gang of thieves, welfare for everyone who needs to recover from something and hand-outs on every corner because the garbage company no longer picks up “whatever” on every trip.
In the middle of it all, I’m lucky to even prove my identity, which I have recently accomplished, and that’s one hell of a starting point down the road to being denied the use of Food Assistance which used to be food stamps but is now a plastic debit card.
Having become as cynical as I think I can get, when I hit the most recent hard patch I decided to attack it and slash its throat because I “can” and almost all the dues I’ll ever owe any stranger have already been paid.
Leaving out the middle part, which you are SUPPOSED to be reading daily with fascination, it worked. I have money in the bank today. It just got there last night, and I am not able to tell yet if it is sticking around, but I have more money in the bank than many BANKS have in the bank, depending upon your accounting system.
If they would just obligingly rope me into universal health care that I cannot afford now (I am your Uninsured Enemy), I believe I have the so-called system snookered some three or four years before I intended to accomplish that.
Stay tuna’d-eventually I may feel inclined to share the how-to’s.
Originally posted in Elsewhere, transferring it to here.
Formerly gracing the top of the now-defunct Website Gnus forum here, was thee front door:
I’m keeping it here mostly because it’s one of the last things that Nancy and I did “together”. She made the nice raindrop, I stuck stickers and tape all over it….
