Many people think that Costco is the greatest thing since sliced bread. I've had enough experience with them to know that shopping there isn't for me. My reasons are several.
1. I have a philosophical problem with paying admission to get into a retail store. You may not agree, but I feel that an annual membership fee is a payment of admission ("We charge this fee to keep prices low").
2. I hate waiting in line behind 20 other people for the privilege of checking out, and when I get there, they won't provide me with any bags for my purchases ("That's how we keep prices low") and they won't take a check.
3. Often their goods are sold in large units, but it isn't often that I need a 55 gallon barrel of Thousand Island dressing. Sometimes when you are buying for a single household and you buy in quantity, some of the product may go bad before it's used up. That isn't thrifty. Another point to make here is that I'm not used to pricing large quantity grocery items, so I have no way of knowing if I'm getting a deal or not.
4. You have to be a careful shopper at Costco; often their pricing is higher on certain items.
5. Another way you have to be a careful shopper at Costco is to avoid the "I'm getting a special deal here" and over-buy just because you think you are getting a special deal. You may be getting deals, but you also may be buying things that aren't necessary. It's easy to leave Costco with a very long receipt, which makes you wonder, "Did I really spend that much?"
Now, I've got a real problem with buying gasoline from Costco. I've driven by one of the Costco stores near me several times. In the area where they sell gasoline, the cars are lined up (no exaggeration) 10 and 12 deep to get up to the pumps. At present, their unleaded gasoline is about 15 to 20 cents below other retailers, depending upon whether you buy at Arco or Union 76. Let me tell, you, all those loyal Costco customers waiting in line behind 10 cars to save 15 cent a gallon have got to be nuts. No way am I going to wait in line behind all those jabbering, disorganized, pushy (never mind) to save 15 cents a gallon. Think about it; you have to wait for every driver of every car to get out, pay, pump their gas, fiddle-fart around with their seat belts, kids in car, put receipts away, etc, times however many cars are ahead of you. I've got better things to do with my time than that. That isn't saving money, it's wasting time.
I'll leave you with this final thought. If you could drive right up to the pump in some kind of express lane for special people and avoid waiting behind 10 cars ahead of you, wouldn't you be willing to pay 2 or 3 dollars just for that privilege? That's basically what you are doing by going straight on by Costco and going to Chevron (or similar) to buy your gasoline. I'm happy to pay a couple of dollars extra to avoid that jabbering bedlam in the gas pump line at Costco.
If you are looking for bargains in grocery items, you can often save more money at places like Grocery Outlet or Save-a-Lot, or similar discount stores in your area.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
How Sexual Predators Operate
Here's a story that I've never told anyone before and I haven't thought about it for at least 25 years. I used to work in a retail liquor store when I was in high school, and once again after I was in the Army and was going to school. The first time I worked there was for three years, covering the full three years I was in high school. I started working there before I could drive and used to walk up Del Amo St. in Lakewood, California to work. On Friday and Saturday nights, I worked there as a stock clerk mostly, but would help the counter clerk on the register when it was busy. During the week, I worked most afternoons stocking shelves and helping on the register when the owner had other stuff to do.
So, there was this customer named Al. I've tried to remember his last name, but I can't. No matter. I would say it was about the first year I worked there that this guy Al started to get friendly with me. Somehow, in a conversation it came out that I was interested in guns. One time he said, "I've got a gun at home; you ought to come over some time and take a look at it." I was about 15 or 16, and having grown up in Lakewood, wasn't too street-smart, and was reasonably trusting. I don't remember the details, but one evening I agreed to go over to Al's home which was on one of the side streets south of Del Amo St. near Palo Verde Ave. He did have a gun, a cheaply-made, older .38 revolver. After showing me this, he suggested that we go for a drive and he'd show me a place that he liked to go or something like that. I can't imagine now why I played along with him, but sometimes young people do things when they are with older people just to be agreeable. Sometimes they get into situations and don’t quite know how to disentangle from them gracefully. I don't know. Anyway, Al drove us up to Signal Hill and parked his car. After we parked, he started asking me a series of uncomfortable questions of a sexual nature, like, "What do you do about it when you all hot and bothered down there?" or something along that line. To this specific question, I remember giving him the lame answer, "Oh, I just take a walk around the block to get over it." He said something like, "Ah, come on, you can do better than that." Well, by now I knew or at least had an idea where he was going with this, and I wasn't going to say something like, "When that happens I masturbate to get some relief" because it would have just escalated the level of sexuality of the conversation and my discomfort with it. We may have had more conversation along the lines I described above, but it didn't get more specific. Somewhere hereabouts Al must have realized that he didn't have a fish on the line, and although I don't recall exactly how we wound this up, he drove back to his place and I left.
For some time after this, I gave a lot of thought to this episode with Al. At that time in life, I didn't have the life experience I got through the natural process later. Even still, I knew that Al had some hands-on sexual activity in mind. As I think back on it, Al was a clever, slippery little perve. First, he knew how to bait the hook by finding a topic that his intended victim was interested in. Second, he knew just how to ask probing questions that, depending upon the response he received, he could either escalate to more specific questions or back out of. It was a lot like smooth male heterosexual predators who prey on young women to receive casual sex. They know the kind of intimate questions to ask to get to succeeding levels of familiarity. Sexually perverse predators have to be even more slippery; they are in some legal danger if caught. From the way Al was approaching me, in later reflection it seemed to me that perhaps he'd had a lot of practice.
Al was a homosexual pedophile, pure and simple. I've no way of knowing for sure which, but he probably wanted me to fellate him, or for him to fellate me. Some of these old male homosexual pedophiles get more kicks out of fellating a young male than receiving their own gratification. It's just another weird aspect of their perversion that most "normal" people don't understand.
After that time when Al would come in, we would still greet each other in the store but I would avoid conversation with him. He'd act friendly and sugary but by then I knew what that was all about. Since he was a customer, I couldn't very well be hostile to him. Beyond that, at that age, I was embarrassed at myself about the experience I'd had with him. I guess I was embarrassed that I'd been so stupid and accepted his invitation in the first place. Even if I'd decided to mention this to someone else, what had Al done to break the law? He asked questions but made no overt suggestions. Like I said, he was slippery.
It has occurred to me that sexual predators use the embarrassment of young victims to mask their activities.
Fast forward to when I worked in the store the second time, after I got out of the Army. Al was still coming into the store. We wouldn't talk more than what was necessary to conduct business and maybe he'd ask how I was doing. I could tell he now recognized me as an adult and not the stupid kid that he'd tried to lure, but he still had a sick twinkle in his eye. When I worked there that time, I was the night clerk and had a stock boy helping me into the evening. One of the stock "boys" that worked with me was a guy named Bill, the owner's nephew. One time when Al came in and Bill saw him, Bill made negative comments about him to me. Every time Bill and I worked together and Al came in, the same thing would happen. I should have, but never did, ask Bill the nature of his animosity toward Al but guessed perhaps he'd been approached by him in a similar fashion.
Well, so that's the story of my own personal experience. It isn't a big one but to me it was a good illustration about just how sexual predators work and how they get kids in a corner, feel them out with questions and see how far they can get with them. It wouldn't surprise me if Al had a police record; sexual predators who keep battering away at the odds like that are bound to get caught once in a while.
So, there was this customer named Al. I've tried to remember his last name, but I can't. No matter. I would say it was about the first year I worked there that this guy Al started to get friendly with me. Somehow, in a conversation it came out that I was interested in guns. One time he said, "I've got a gun at home; you ought to come over some time and take a look at it." I was about 15 or 16, and having grown up in Lakewood, wasn't too street-smart, and was reasonably trusting. I don't remember the details, but one evening I agreed to go over to Al's home which was on one of the side streets south of Del Amo St. near Palo Verde Ave. He did have a gun, a cheaply-made, older .38 revolver. After showing me this, he suggested that we go for a drive and he'd show me a place that he liked to go or something like that. I can't imagine now why I played along with him, but sometimes young people do things when they are with older people just to be agreeable. Sometimes they get into situations and don’t quite know how to disentangle from them gracefully. I don't know. Anyway, Al drove us up to Signal Hill and parked his car. After we parked, he started asking me a series of uncomfortable questions of a sexual nature, like, "What do you do about it when you all hot and bothered down there?" or something along that line. To this specific question, I remember giving him the lame answer, "Oh, I just take a walk around the block to get over it." He said something like, "Ah, come on, you can do better than that." Well, by now I knew or at least had an idea where he was going with this, and I wasn't going to say something like, "When that happens I masturbate to get some relief" because it would have just escalated the level of sexuality of the conversation and my discomfort with it. We may have had more conversation along the lines I described above, but it didn't get more specific. Somewhere hereabouts Al must have realized that he didn't have a fish on the line, and although I don't recall exactly how we wound this up, he drove back to his place and I left.
For some time after this, I gave a lot of thought to this episode with Al. At that time in life, I didn't have the life experience I got through the natural process later. Even still, I knew that Al had some hands-on sexual activity in mind. As I think back on it, Al was a clever, slippery little perve. First, he knew how to bait the hook by finding a topic that his intended victim was interested in. Second, he knew just how to ask probing questions that, depending upon the response he received, he could either escalate to more specific questions or back out of. It was a lot like smooth male heterosexual predators who prey on young women to receive casual sex. They know the kind of intimate questions to ask to get to succeeding levels of familiarity. Sexually perverse predators have to be even more slippery; they are in some legal danger if caught. From the way Al was approaching me, in later reflection it seemed to me that perhaps he'd had a lot of practice.
Al was a homosexual pedophile, pure and simple. I've no way of knowing for sure which, but he probably wanted me to fellate him, or for him to fellate me. Some of these old male homosexual pedophiles get more kicks out of fellating a young male than receiving their own gratification. It's just another weird aspect of their perversion that most "normal" people don't understand.
After that time when Al would come in, we would still greet each other in the store but I would avoid conversation with him. He'd act friendly and sugary but by then I knew what that was all about. Since he was a customer, I couldn't very well be hostile to him. Beyond that, at that age, I was embarrassed at myself about the experience I'd had with him. I guess I was embarrassed that I'd been so stupid and accepted his invitation in the first place. Even if I'd decided to mention this to someone else, what had Al done to break the law? He asked questions but made no overt suggestions. Like I said, he was slippery.
It has occurred to me that sexual predators use the embarrassment of young victims to mask their activities.
Fast forward to when I worked in the store the second time, after I got out of the Army. Al was still coming into the store. We wouldn't talk more than what was necessary to conduct business and maybe he'd ask how I was doing. I could tell he now recognized me as an adult and not the stupid kid that he'd tried to lure, but he still had a sick twinkle in his eye. When I worked there that time, I was the night clerk and had a stock boy helping me into the evening. One of the stock "boys" that worked with me was a guy named Bill, the owner's nephew. One time when Al came in and Bill saw him, Bill made negative comments about him to me. Every time Bill and I worked together and Al came in, the same thing would happen. I should have, but never did, ask Bill the nature of his animosity toward Al but guessed perhaps he'd been approached by him in a similar fashion.
Well, so that's the story of my own personal experience. It isn't a big one but to me it was a good illustration about just how sexual predators work and how they get kids in a corner, feel them out with questions and see how far they can get with them. It wouldn't surprise me if Al had a police record; sexual predators who keep battering away at the odds like that are bound to get caught once in a while.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Are You a Native of Your State?
The history of America is about movement. The westward movement was the biggie. In some branches of my ancestral family, I can follow it along generation by generation, from Plymouth Rock Colony (Massachusetts), to Connecticut Colony, the Western Reserve (Ohio), Indiana, Iowa, and California. Another branch went from the New England colonies to Iowa with a stop in Ontario, Canada instead of Ohio or Indiana. My dad's grandfather did a boomerang movement, emigrating from Germany to Iowa, moved to Minnesota, then to Nebraska, and finally back east to upstate New York where he farmed to the ripe old age of 88.
People moved for different reasons, but often it was for economic ones. Often their livelihoods in those days were centered on the acquisition of land, and moving west afforded that opportunity. Once the country was more or less settled and the frontiers were closed (considered to be around 1890 by historians), they still moved around some, but many would put down roots and several generations might live in the same area. When it came, wartime was often an occasion that saw much movement within the country, naturally enough for economic reasons. Lots of farmers moved from agricultural regions to the cities where they engaged in war work making munitions, ships, or aircraft. Lots of poor people in the South moved north to the cities for work. On it goes; people still move around when they can find a better deal for themselves in a place different from the one they live in.
California has long been a place of economic opportunity and that's why many people from other states flocked there for a good long time, like starting in the Gold Rush of 1849, and continuing unabated even now, as people from Mexico and China still find it a better place to live than their home land. California has, for the most part, a forgiving climate that attracts people and enterprises. It has major seaports. A remarkable set of circumstances emerged to create what modern people would call a synergy that resulted in this great economic engine that is California.
The population movement continues now with the out-migration of people from California. Those leaving tend to be middle class, white and retired or close to retirement. As they retire, they want to live in a place with a lower cost of living and no state income taxes, like Nevada. This is simply the ages-old American tradition of looking for a better deal.
It isn't limited only to individuals who wish to move out of California. I was watching an interview on CNBC and it involved a businessman who had relocated to Nevada. His view was that lots of businesses are fleeing California, which has business costs that are typically 20% higher than other states. With the state budget currently 24 billion dolars in the hole, the future doesn't look any better.
I myself was a refugee from California. We moved to Washington state over 22 years ago. It was partially about money, because at that time we could buy more house for the money here than where we lived. There were other reasons, though. Neither of us particularly like heat, so we wanted to live in a cooler climate. We also never really felt that imbedded in the "California culture" and thought a move to another location might be for the better in that way.
In the intervening 22 plus years, where we moved to in Washington state has become increasing built-up and overdeveloped to the point where I'd move again if given the chance. I'm not allowed to move again, however, as my wife wants to stay around our adult children.
I'd lived for a summer in Washington in 1968, and had wanted to move there since that time. It took me 19 years to get around to it, and when I did it wasn't because other Californians were doing so. When we did move, other California emigrants were turning up here and there, but the big wave didn't hit until a few years later. There was a certain amount of resentment among some native Washingtonians against California migrants. After while, if the subject came up in a conversation and the person didn't already know me, when asked where I had grown up, I lied and said, "Iowa". They'd say something like, "Oh, that's a nice state." So, it was okay to be from any state other than California. California was unique as an object of rancor and demonization. We've all seen those bumper stickers that say "Colorado Native" or "Washington Native" or whatever. Native son pride. In many places, it means something to some people to be a local. I was born in California, a "Native Son of the Golden West" as they used to say, and not that common when I was in elementary school and many kids were "from somewhere else". California is the one place where being a "Native" isn't worth a s**t because so many people are from somewhere else; it's a pluralistic society that doesn't place any value on the provincial notion of being a local.
I've spent some time in Missouri when I was stationed there in the Army, and I later had a co-worker who lived there for nine years. In those small towns there, even if you have lived there for 20 or 25 years, you will always be an outsider because you weren't born there. It's the same way in western Iowa where my parents are from.
Some time ago, I had a discussion along these lines with a good friend of mine. We came to the conclusion that there's more to making a major move than economics. In order to make the move for that or any other reason, the people involved need to have a certain sense of adventure, or to put it a better way perhaps, they have be of the sort of personality that can overcome a reluctance to leave a comfortable situation. Not financial comfort, but the comfort of their familiar surroundings. Some people just can't do it. Naturally enough, people who are landed or well-to-do have less reason to leave their happy homeland. Of those who are not wealthy and have an opportunity to leave for some other place where the pickings might be better, some just can't bring themselves to do it.
I have to say from my own experience, even if you have the will and disposition to make a major move, it isn't particularly easy. You have to move your stuff which can be quite an undertaking if you have much. You have to find new banks, doctors, places to shop, and so on. You will be moving into at least one strange house, and maybe more if you rent before you buy. Your surroundings will all be new and that takes come getting used to and learning to navigate a new area is required. If you are working, you have a new workplace, new bosses and fellow employees to get used to, etc. If you have children, they will be going to new schools, finding new friends (or not), and doing new things or having trouble doing old ones. It's a pretty big deal.
People moved for different reasons, but often it was for economic ones. Often their livelihoods in those days were centered on the acquisition of land, and moving west afforded that opportunity. Once the country was more or less settled and the frontiers were closed (considered to be around 1890 by historians), they still moved around some, but many would put down roots and several generations might live in the same area. When it came, wartime was often an occasion that saw much movement within the country, naturally enough for economic reasons. Lots of farmers moved from agricultural regions to the cities where they engaged in war work making munitions, ships, or aircraft. Lots of poor people in the South moved north to the cities for work. On it goes; people still move around when they can find a better deal for themselves in a place different from the one they live in.
California has long been a place of economic opportunity and that's why many people from other states flocked there for a good long time, like starting in the Gold Rush of 1849, and continuing unabated even now, as people from Mexico and China still find it a better place to live than their home land. California has, for the most part, a forgiving climate that attracts people and enterprises. It has major seaports. A remarkable set of circumstances emerged to create what modern people would call a synergy that resulted in this great economic engine that is California.
The population movement continues now with the out-migration of people from California. Those leaving tend to be middle class, white and retired or close to retirement. As they retire, they want to live in a place with a lower cost of living and no state income taxes, like Nevada. This is simply the ages-old American tradition of looking for a better deal.
It isn't limited only to individuals who wish to move out of California. I was watching an interview on CNBC and it involved a businessman who had relocated to Nevada. His view was that lots of businesses are fleeing California, which has business costs that are typically 20% higher than other states. With the state budget currently 24 billion dolars in the hole, the future doesn't look any better.
I myself was a refugee from California. We moved to Washington state over 22 years ago. It was partially about money, because at that time we could buy more house for the money here than where we lived. There were other reasons, though. Neither of us particularly like heat, so we wanted to live in a cooler climate. We also never really felt that imbedded in the "California culture" and thought a move to another location might be for the better in that way.
In the intervening 22 plus years, where we moved to in Washington state has become increasing built-up and overdeveloped to the point where I'd move again if given the chance. I'm not allowed to move again, however, as my wife wants to stay around our adult children.
I'd lived for a summer in Washington in 1968, and had wanted to move there since that time. It took me 19 years to get around to it, and when I did it wasn't because other Californians were doing so. When we did move, other California emigrants were turning up here and there, but the big wave didn't hit until a few years later. There was a certain amount of resentment among some native Washingtonians against California migrants. After while, if the subject came up in a conversation and the person didn't already know me, when asked where I had grown up, I lied and said, "Iowa". They'd say something like, "Oh, that's a nice state." So, it was okay to be from any state other than California. California was unique as an object of rancor and demonization. We've all seen those bumper stickers that say "Colorado Native" or "Washington Native" or whatever. Native son pride. In many places, it means something to some people to be a local. I was born in California, a "Native Son of the Golden West" as they used to say, and not that common when I was in elementary school and many kids were "from somewhere else". California is the one place where being a "Native" isn't worth a s**t because so many people are from somewhere else; it's a pluralistic society that doesn't place any value on the provincial notion of being a local.
I've spent some time in Missouri when I was stationed there in the Army, and I later had a co-worker who lived there for nine years. In those small towns there, even if you have lived there for 20 or 25 years, you will always be an outsider because you weren't born there. It's the same way in western Iowa where my parents are from.
Some time ago, I had a discussion along these lines with a good friend of mine. We came to the conclusion that there's more to making a major move than economics. In order to make the move for that or any other reason, the people involved need to have a certain sense of adventure, or to put it a better way perhaps, they have be of the sort of personality that can overcome a reluctance to leave a comfortable situation. Not financial comfort, but the comfort of their familiar surroundings. Some people just can't do it. Naturally enough, people who are landed or well-to-do have less reason to leave their happy homeland. Of those who are not wealthy and have an opportunity to leave for some other place where the pickings might be better, some just can't bring themselves to do it.
I have to say from my own experience, even if you have the will and disposition to make a major move, it isn't particularly easy. You have to move your stuff which can be quite an undertaking if you have much. You have to find new banks, doctors, places to shop, and so on. You will be moving into at least one strange house, and maybe more if you rent before you buy. Your surroundings will all be new and that takes come getting used to and learning to navigate a new area is required. If you are working, you have a new workplace, new bosses and fellow employees to get used to, etc. If you have children, they will be going to new schools, finding new friends (or not), and doing new things or having trouble doing old ones. It's a pretty big deal.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Sad State Affairs for the US Auto Industry
2003 Pontiac Bonneville
When I was in the Mount Vernon, WA area recently, I decided to drive by the dealer where I bought my Ford Crown Victoria in 2005. This dealer was about 40 miles away from my home, but I purchased the car there because it was a left-over new 2004 that they still had in their inventory the next model year. This dealer, Skagit Motors, gave me a very steep discount on the car to move it out. When I bought it, they gave me a nice calendar with a picture on it they made when I took delivery of the car. The calendar was designed to be used over again, year after year with a new refill pad. That's what I went by the dealer for today, to get a new refill for my calendar.
This car dealer was built north of town on some river low-lands, and was located in a complex that was promoted and developed as a kind of retail auto mall. There were many dealers located there, and the idea was a person could come to one location and shop around among all the brands offered to find the one car they wanted. The whole area was new, big, spread-out, and filled with new cars. When I have been in this complex a few times before, it was always bustling with activity. They even built a shopping area across the road from the car mall where you could go to get a meal and buy other things while you were in the midst of your car-buying spree.
Today, I visited this same car shopping mall for the first time in a couple of years (since the last time I needed a calendar refill). What a change has come over this place. The Ford dealer was still there, but there wasn't a single customer on the lot anywhere that I could see. There were five unhappy looking salesmen in the showroom with no customers to show cars to. They did give me a calendar refill, but it's a very cheap version of what I'd been given before.
Worse, the General Motors dealership that had been located across the street was closed and the lot was completely vacant. The Dodge/Chrysler dealer that had been next door was no longer a franchise dealer, but had been set up as a used car lot. Next door beyond that, the former Lincoln-Mercury dealer was closed up and a used car lot had replaced it. The Dodge and the L-M signs were still up on the lots, but only because it costs money to take them down and nobody in this business is spending one dime more than necessary. There were some other vacant lots around, but two import dealers were still open a little way to the north. The shopping area across the road from the auto mall was nearly all vacant, with businesses closed and just empty rooms behind the plate glass windows to look into. This former hive of commercial activity has had the flame turned down very low.
I noticed the Ford dealer had seven shiny, new Lincoln MKS sedans lined up out front. In the past, this dealer was not franchised to sell Lincoln-Mercury products. Since the L-M dealer nearby folded, I wonder if the manufacturer needed a place to shuffle these $50K cars off to and the Ford dealer was a convenient solution. I'll bet the manufacturer gave them a hefty incentive to take them; and I imagine that you can get a steep discount on one -- if you need a flashy car like that. Well, the factory has to do something with them. When the L-M dealer closed, these expensive cars had to go somewhere, and you can't expect another dealer to take this distressed merchandise onto their books easily without something to make them attractive in the way of making a profit.
It's ironic that at the time the American auto companies are in deep trouble, some of their stuff is the best they've ever made. Ford products, which I am fairly familiar with and have looked at new models of over the past year, are the highest quality they've ever made. Plus, they have a number of innovative new models both available and more coming shortly. One of my personal favorites is the new Ford Flex.
The legacy of Daimler-Benz's short involvement at Chrysler is still showing with their rear wheel drive cars, like the 300 series, the Dodge Magnum, and the Dodge Charger which are all good products and help me to forget the many years of shoddy front wheel drive cars they built that you had to put a couple of new trannies in before you hit 100K miles. Those nice, sturdy, economical Sprinter vans are a Euro legacy too. But, D-B has been out of the picture for a while now and it makes you wonder what Chrysler is going to do for new engineering and styling.
General Motors quality is still a bit behind, especially on their lower-priced cars. They have a number of innovative cars coming down the pipeline that show promise, but the question now is, will the company last long enough to see them have an impact on the market. I can't wait to see that stinkin' Cadillac Escalade hit the skids; it's a symbol of all that has gone wrong with America. Unfortunately, there are probably enough over-paid basketball players and other posers around to keep them in production. So, G.M. has to down-size, and they keep Chevrolet as the mass production brand (rental companies still need them) and they keep Cadillac because the profit margin on each unit is high. I can't figure out for the life of me why they picked Buick to retain and let Pontiac go. I don't know what the production figures were, but Pontiac had a full range of product, from small economy cars up to luxury sedans, plus they had the sports cars and even an SUV (the butt-ugly Aztec might just be the reason they decided to kill the brand!!) Buick doesn't have that breadth of product, and in this area at least, that share of the market. I see tons of Pontiacs around here but not that many Buicks. Well, maybe G.M. wanted to get rid of the very diversity of product that Pontiac had and concentrate on a narrower share of market. If that's the case, they must realize that they have surrendered a certain amount of market share to concentrate on another.
As bad as the situation is with the manufacturers, the plight of the dealers around the country and their workers tends to get forgotten as a part of the problem. Not only do the sales personnel suffer due to lack of new car sales, but the service department employees have less work to do as fewer and fewer cars are sold, and add to that the lousy economy keeps some people from bringing in their cars for repairs. A lot of the mechanics in the business, and in particular in rural areas, are walking around with their hands in their pockets.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Mini Greenhouse Project
I'm not a serious collector of plants, but I do have 15 or 20 cactus and succulent plants. Many years ago when I lived in California, I had a large collection of them and even a small cactus garden. A few of the plants that I still have are remnants of that long-ago interest. Three or four of these are over 40 years old, my having gotten them in the mid-1960's.
When I moved from California in 1987, I left most of my plants at my parent's home where they have struggled along in a state of neglect for over 20 years. In the past couple of years when visiting my mother, I've taken some steps to close out the surviving remainder of those plants. Where I live now in Washington state is not a climate that is particularly conducive to growing cacti. However, enthusiasts cultivate cacti in England so why not Washington? I brought about six or eight plants home with me on two separate trips. I figured I had nothing to lose, as left mostly without care as they were, they would eventually perish anyway. With careful care, including moving them indoors for their winter rest period and out of the wet, they stood a decent chance of survival. So far, this has worked.
Part of my plan to cultivate these plants in Washington is to place them outdoors during good weather. In the Pacific Northwest, that means when there is no longer any danger of freezing and the moisture has eased up a bit. This period is approximately from mid-April to early October.
To enhance this time outdoors, two years ago I decided to get a small greenhouse. I didn't want to spend a fortune for so few plants, so I bought a folding, tent-like mini-greenhouse online. It was made out of plastic tarp material with a spring steel band that held it up. It lasted two years and by the time the second year was up, it was badly deteriorated and no longer serviceable. I decided that I would buy something more substantial to replace it. Checking online, I couldn't find anything that I could afford or that I wanted. I decided to make exactly what I needed. The pictures above show the result. The design rather follows the pattern of the punishment sheds in "Bridge on the River Kwai" but the sheathing materiel is clear, not steel. I'm no carpenter, but I took my time making this mini-greenhouse and used many existing materials that I had stashed away. The lumber was all freebies or scrap, and much of the hardware was as well. I had to buy three sheets of the clear PVC sheathing material for about $12.50 apiece, so by the time I got finished I had $50 or a little more in the project.
The stand or base that the mini-greenhouse is sitting on was not part of this project. I already had that on hand. I was driving down a street not far from my home, and this stand was sitting in a front yard with a "free" sign on it. I think it was originally made to support a water heater off the floor (code requirement). It looked potentially useful to me, so I stopped and wedged it into the trunk of my wife's Pontiac Bonneville. Before placing my mini-greenhouse on it, I covered the top with a remnant of some vinyl flooring that was left over from one of our bathrooms.
Now, I have my plants moved into it. There's plenty of room left; I may even get a tomato plant to put in there to use up the extra space.
If you're eating in the South and you wonder what that while pile on your plate is, them's grits
This question might just occur to you if you are travelling in the southern US for the first time.
Southerners can be sensitive about what you do with that white pile on your plate when they serve it to you. I have committed some of the violations of the "10 Commandments of Grits."
Grits are just another form of corn meal, ground a little more coarsely.
My mother, who was from Iowa, used to make Corn Meal Mush. Right after it was cooked, we would eat some of it as hot cereal, sugared, with half and half on top, and usually with some buttered toast for dipping. Then the rest would be refrigerated and it would solidify overnight. The next morning, my mother would fry up a big batch of Fried Mush in an iron skillet. The results were crisp, thinly sliced hot little morsels that we would put butter on and finally sorghum or molasses. If there wasn't any of those two sweeteners, we'd use clear Karo corn syrup which I still use on all pancakes, waffles, and French toast. When I travel on the road, I carry a bottle of Karo clear in the trunk of my car 'cause most eateries only have maple.
The frying of the Mush generated tons of smoke throughout the house and I can still recall seeing things through a fog on those mornings.
The four food groups of Iowa are:
1. Grease
2. Fat
3. Sugar
4. Starch
Many of those old Iowa farm gals in my family had some pretty hefty hams on their upper arms to testify to this fact.
The first time I had grits served to me was in Georgia. I knew right away what they were, sitting there piled in a puddle of molten butter. I asked the waitress for a bowl, which she brought to me. I scooped up the grits and dumped them into the bowl. Then, I sugared them and poured the coffee cream onto them and had a first class bowl of hot cereal. To this day, I keep a box of grits in the kitchen to be made into hot cereal on occasion. I can only hope that I don't go to Hell for treating grits so harshly.
Southerners can be sensitive about what you do with that white pile on your plate when they serve it to you. I have committed some of the violations of the "10 Commandments of Grits."
Grits are just another form of corn meal, ground a little more coarsely.
My mother, who was from Iowa, used to make Corn Meal Mush. Right after it was cooked, we would eat some of it as hot cereal, sugared, with half and half on top, and usually with some buttered toast for dipping. Then the rest would be refrigerated and it would solidify overnight. The next morning, my mother would fry up a big batch of Fried Mush in an iron skillet. The results were crisp, thinly sliced hot little morsels that we would put butter on and finally sorghum or molasses. If there wasn't any of those two sweeteners, we'd use clear Karo corn syrup which I still use on all pancakes, waffles, and French toast. When I travel on the road, I carry a bottle of Karo clear in the trunk of my car 'cause most eateries only have maple.
The frying of the Mush generated tons of smoke throughout the house and I can still recall seeing things through a fog on those mornings.
The four food groups of Iowa are:
1. Grease
2. Fat
3. Sugar
4. Starch
Many of those old Iowa farm gals in my family had some pretty hefty hams on their upper arms to testify to this fact.
The first time I had grits served to me was in Georgia. I knew right away what they were, sitting there piled in a puddle of molten butter. I asked the waitress for a bowl, which she brought to me. I scooped up the grits and dumped them into the bowl. Then, I sugared them and poured the coffee cream onto them and had a first class bowl of hot cereal. To this day, I keep a box of grits in the kitchen to be made into hot cereal on occasion. I can only hope that I don't go to Hell for treating grits so harshly.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
My 2004 Ford Crown Victoria
This is a picture of my Ford Crown Victoria at the Madeline Plain south of Alturas, CA.
Crooked River high bridge on US Highway 97 in central Oregon. This bridge was built in 1926 and spans an 850 foot deep gorge.
Tree along US Highway 395 at Sage Hen Pass in northern California.
US Highway 97 sign in central Oregon.
US Highway 395 sign in Alturas, CA.
Recently, I returned from a trip to Reno, NV. I drove my 2004 Ford Crown Victoria on this trip. I know what kind of fuel economy this car gets, but I like to clock the mileage from time to time just to keep my eye on it. On the return trip, I drove 479 miles between fuel stops. The amount of fuel used to drive these miles was 16.49 gallons. 479 divided by 16.49 equals 29.05 miles per gallon. The car is equipped with the 4.6 liter OHC V-8 engine and automatic overdrive. The route travelled was from Reno, NV via US 395, CA 299, CA 139, OR 39, US 97, OR 58 to Goshen, OR. No interstate highway miles were driven on this segment of the trip. Although most of it was open road driving, slow-downs were required in many towns where lower speed limits along the highways prevailed. The speed on the open highway varied between 55 and 70 mph. I used the speed/cruise control wherever possible, usually set around 60-65. Even throttle pressure maximizes fuel economy and using the speed control facilitates this. The specifications for this car call for the use of 5W-20 oil, and this reduces engine friction. I've commonly gotten 27-28 mpg with this car in highway driving, but this is the first time I've broken the 29 mpg barrier. Fuel consumption in around-town driving is lower, in the range of 17-20 mpg. Most people look at this car and think, "Gas Hog". It's deceptive.
I've talked to the service writer at the dealer where I have my car serviced, and he says that the mileage I get is typical of the 2003 and up Crown Vic and Merc Grand Marquis. He also agreed that the car is kind of a "sleeper" in that people do not expect that kind of mileage out of such a car.
The rear axle ratio on this car is 2.73 and when the automatic overdrive is in 4th gear, the final drive ratio is .70. When you lock out the AOD, or it kicks down, the third gear is running one-to-one. The police and performance versions of this car have quicker rear axles, mostly 3.27 and some 3.55, so of course cars so equipped don't get as good of mileage but they accellerate faster. My car has all the accelleration that it needs for my purposes.
Many old timers and back-yard mechanics hate "computer cars". However, having fairly complex computerized controls on automobile engines causes them to operate much more precisely and efficiently that older systems.
My first car was big, old 1957 Lincoln. That was in 1966 and gasoline cost around 26 to 30 cents a gallon. I didn't pay much attention to the fuel economy of that car, but I do remember buying the cheapest fuel I could find. I used to drive this car to the desert with my high school friends, and the trip to where we used to go was about 140 miles each way. The fuel tank held 20 gallons, and if I was real careful, I could make the round trip of close to 300 miles. Sometimes it was very close, and I used to worry enough that I would fill it before I got home. I dreamed of having a car that had an easy range of 300 miles on one tank of fuel. My 2004 Crown Victoria has a 19 gallon tank. Recently, after driving 479 miles, the car still had about 2-1/2 gallons remaining. I've driven 500 miles on a tank of gas before with it, but the low fuel light comes on at about 475 miles and even though it still has more than two gallons left, the light being on makes me nervous. It's nice to have that 500 mile range when you are out on the road, crossing desolate stretches of road. There are a lot of those in the west, and they're my favorite roads.
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