Sunday, January 29, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Older explanation of the Posse Comitatus Act has some good information
taken in context with this official US Army release
That is why I support Oath Keepers
“I was just following orders”. The weasel excuse.
“[W]e prefer to use the power of persuasion, but if that doesn’t work we use the persuasion of power.” Andy Stern SEIU past president
The true mindset of the “Progressives”. All for our own good, of course.
But I intend to fight obstruction with action, and I will oppose any effort to return to the very same policies that brought on this economic crisis in the first place.
POTUS State of The Union Address 2012
Many of the pieces are in place to end our freedoms. The “spin doctors” are busy writing position papers. Ready for the next big push?
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Jimmy's Valentine Poem
by Hal Swift
Jimmy, a friend, of mine tells this story
of a poem that he once wrote.
It's for a girl he seen in a local parade,
ridin' the Kiwanis' float.
He says she looks like an angel come down
to bless ever'body on earth.
And he decides he'll tell 'er first hand,
just what her visit is worth.
He figures that writin' a Valentines poem
is maybe the best way to go.
So that's what he does, he takes pencil in hand,
and the words just literally flow.
"You are," he writes, "more beautiful than
a baby pig is to 'er mother.
Your face is sweeter than a fresh green onion,
when compared to any other.
"Your smile lights up the morning sky,
like a fire at brandin' time.
Your voice is softer than the belly of a calf,
whose parents have been judged prime.
"I gotta say, you're the purtiest gal
this cowpoke ever did see.
And, if you ever wanta go out on the town,
just put in a call to me."
Well, Jimmy, he sends his poem to the girl,
and waits by 'is phone for her call.
He just sets there, in front of 'er photo
that he's hung on the bunkhouse wall.
A week goes by, before the telephone rings,
but it's the beauty queen's mean ol' dad.
He says t'Jimmy, "Stay away from my daughter!
If ya don't I'm gonna hurt you bad!"
Well, Jimmy is no small amount dismayed,
by this unseen turn of events.
And it hurts 'im deep--so deep in fact,
he ain't wrote another poem since.
And I've heard tell, that this beauty queen
has taken a serious vow, boys.
That whatever happens the rest of 'er life,
she ain't never datin' no cowboys.
Courtesy of my friend, Hal Swift Nevada Poet
Ladies, watch out for cowboys
Saturday, January 21, 2012
“You are all a bunch of losers. What you need to do, is go to a pawn shop and buy a revolver, then shoot yourselves in the head, and rid the world of your sorry asses. Now, get a .22, not a .38, because a .22 will bounce around inside your thick skulls and do enough damage to kill you. A .38 will punch on through, leaving you brain dead. How would we be able to tell the difference ?” So started our sales meeting by the owner.
Sales meetings! The worst part of car sales are sales meetings. Usually overlong, repetitive and bladder stretchers. There are exceptions.
Dan King was noted for his brevity. “I’m going fishing. If you aren’t on pace to meet your goals, better not take any days off. Now git!” He also was noted for his way of terminating under performing sales people. “What are you doing in my meeting?”
Selling cars isn’t for wimps.
As a manager, I separated sales meetings and sales training. My meetings were under twenty minutes. Sales training was no more than thirty minutes. Training happened every day.
One place I worked had a Friday morning meeting and a Monday morning meeting. The weekend “spiff” checks were passed out on Monday. If you were with a customer, you could skip the meeting. I once went nine months without attending a Friday morning meeting. Appointments, baby! Mondays were different. “Gives me my money!”
The owner giving us the “rat whip” meeting had only himself to blame for his store losing money. His construction business took up a lot of his time. He had his brother, owner of race horses, running the store. The brother spent more time on the telephone with his trainers than he did on selling cars. In addition, the brother had little talent and no passion for the business. Although I was making good money there, I soon went to “down the road motors”.
Over and over, I’ve seen small business failures caused by having family members on the payroll. If they weren’t family, they would be fired. I’ve also observed superb performances from family members. Seems to be a crap shoot.
My “buddy”, Dirty Al, had his own way of handling meetings. The silent fart. He always claimed, “My farts don’t smell”. Al, your shit does stink.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
AmiMental.blogspot.com left a comment on the previous post about what a pain in the ass keys locked in a car can be. Reminded me of a keys locked in my car incident from the past.
1972 saw us on a combination business and vacation trip to Southern California. The business part was delivering a snowmobile to a high performance engine builder in Pasadena. While giving the snowmobile a wash down in a coin operated car wash, two older ladies, wearing tennis shoes, stopped by. “Is that a snowmobile?” one asked. When I gave an affirmative answer, she added, “I thought so, I saw one given away on the Price is Right.”
Our next stop was Long Beach to tour the Queen Mary. At the time it was a new attraction. My wife wanted to see it because her late father, a Norwegian immigrant, had crossed the Atlantic on her. We had a great time and our then only child was enjoying himself. Finally, his little legs tuckered out and we returned to our car, a Ford LTD four door hardtop, were I discovered my keys in the ignition and the doors locked.
The parking lot was new and the trees planted for landscaping were about six feet high and braced with three wires. I broke off a section of wire and used that to hook a lock button and get the car open. This took a few minutes.
While doing this, a policeman drove by the end of the parking lane. We made eye contact. What he saw was a large, red faced man with a piece of wire breaking into a car, a very unhappy brunette woman glowering at the man, and a squalling child (who only wanted a diaper change, a bottle, and a nap) on the car trunk. His head snapped forward and he accelerated out of my sight. Coward!
Must confess that isn’t the only time I’ve locked my keys in my car, or my house, or my office. And AmiMental is right, it is a pain in the ass.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Saturday, out and about, cell phone rings and it is my sister. Wants to give me something. I’m West, going East, then South. She is South, going North then East. Our paths will intersect so a meeting place is arranged. I get there first. As she drives up, her significant other in riding shotgun. Good thing, his keys are in the passenger door lock. Business is conducted through his open window with both of them staying in the truck cab. As they are about to leave, I remove his keys from the lock and hand them to him. Light razzing and mild hilarity follow; then they drove away.
What I didn’t bring up was an incident from a few years before when my office called. I was 400 miles from home and had been gone a day when the little five foot nothing from the office called. Seems the keys to one of my vehicles, parked in front of my house, were in the drivers door. Some good citizen saw advertising material with my employer’s information lying on the seat and called. Since I had extra keys, I requested the little shit from the office (we mutually detested each other) have the good citizen toss the keys on the floor and lock the door. The car would have been hard to steal as it had an anti theft device attached to the brake pedal. Same concept as the CLUB, but goes on the brake or clutch pedal arm. That key, and my house key, are always separate from my ignition and trunk key.
Luck, or chance, plays a big part in our lives. Over the years, I’ve had more than my share. Once I came out of my motel room in Fullerton, CA to find all four doors of my Lincoln Town Car open.
Older Town Cars and Crown Vics are easily started with a “slap” key. Seems the motel had been robbed and I suspect my car had been selected as an escape vehicle. The cost of the anti theft device paid for itself that day.
One of the never ending problems of car lots are keys. Lost keys. Keys locked inside a vehicle. Keys in a sale person’s pocket. (I would NEVER keep the keys to some desirable vehicle so other sales people couldn’t sell it. NO, NO, not me) Over the years you get proficient with a slim jim and other lock out tools. Some vehicles I can open as fast with a slim jim as most folks can with a key.
So, anyhow, I only lightly ribbed my sister’s S.O. No need to invite bad karma and, once again, prove this blog title is accurate.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Early 70’s found us living in Utah where I worked for a housing manufacturer turning out wood component homes and code compliant modular homes. My territory overlapped one of our competitors. Their rep, Max, and I were good friends and often had a few adult beverages at the end of the day when we encountered each other in the territory. He was a funny man and a great story teller.
Max started in sales as a door to door coffin salesman. There was, and remains, a tradition in the Intermountain West of families handling their own funerals. Prudent people bought their coffins ahead of time. Max offered kits to make them useful as storage cabinets, coffee tables and other applications. He had a covered truck he could load with six to eight coffins. He would drive around to farms and ranches trying to sell them.
One story had him in a hospital room, under an oxygen tent, showing a gentlemen his catalog. His very hot prospect was too weak to hold the catalog so Max held it and flipped the pages. The extended family were holding vigil in the room while this was going on.
Whenever I felt like a pity party for my tough path, I would think of Max’s early challenges and decide the pity party wasn’t needed.
Early on I learned there were some people you didn’t want to sell anything. One such individual was a purchasing agent for a coal mine. His interest was a manufactured home for him, not his employer. He had access to a toll free outbound 800 number (think early internet) and lots of free time on his job. Lets call him Mr. Blivet. His conversation with me started with the statement he expected “his” home to be built within a 1/8” tolerance. Huh?
Gosh, we lost that sale to our competitor, Max’s employer.
Fast forward two months. Max and I were having lunch at the Trails End Restaurant in Kanab, UT. Waiting until he had taken a bite, I asked, “So Max, how are you getting along with Mr. Blivet”? After he finished choking and cleared his throat, he had some choice remarks to the effect I wasn’t a good Christian lad and his desire that I not have a comfortable eternity. Tsk, tsk. Seems Mr. Blivet was using his 800 access to call everyone in Max’s company about every little grievance Mr. Blivet could manufacture.
Did I mention Max and I were competitors? While friends, we were throat ripping killers when business was on the table. The time, and sales, he lost while dealing with Mr. Blivet made it into our order book. Max never had a chance to even the score as we moved to the Seattle area not long after Mr. Blivet’s purchase. Oh well. Max a pro, and should have recognized Mr. Blivet for what he was.
BLIVET: def. One pound of bullshit in a half pound sack.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Another car lot story, told by a character I once employed. It may, or may not, be true.
At one time, my employer had me running off site sales. I would rent a suitable property, bring in a motor home to use as an office, 50 or so cars and trucks, and hold a five day sale. As part of the staffing, a Indiana couple would fly in and work the sale; George and Gina. George liked his beer, and liked telling stories. This is his Owl story.
George lived in a rural area. One night on the way to his favorite bar, he hit an owl with his truck. Stopping, he found the owl clinging to the truck grill with his talons. Removing his coat, he wrapped the coat around the owl, and put the owl in his truck.
At the bar, he took the owl inside, unwrapped him, and set the owl on the bar. The patrons knew George, and his ways, and accepted the situation as normal (for George). Per George, the owl seemed to accept the situation and started hopping around the bar. George said the owl didn’t want a beer.
Time passed and the Game and Fish folks, along with the county deputy, entered. The owl was removed and taken away to be treated for a damaged wing. George was arrested.
George was unhappy about one issue. He said the owl got out of jail before he did.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Article today about getting a tanker to Nome through ice. Article mentioned the tanker was following the Coast Guard's ONLY OPERATIONAL ICEBREAKER!
Subject is way beyond my personal knowledge, but......Seems to me this country needs more than one operational icebreaker. What happened to all the money spent on the two Polars?
Thursday, January 5, 2012
People can’t believe I don’t watch television. About a year ago, Comcast jumped their rates. They were my Internet provider. I found a broadband connection and unplugged Comcast.
What I dislike about television are the commercials; too many in a row. My viewing was reality shows and sports. Television drama doesn’t interest me.
I would be watching a show and then the cut to commercials. Six to eight in a row. By the time the program was back, the continuity was gone along with my interest. I hate being manipulated.
Some time ago, I bought a yard sale DVD player. Same crap with the DVDs. Front loaded with commercials.
Haven’t been to a film in over a decade. It is not just the obnoxious patrons, it is the damn commercials before seeing the feature .
See a video that may interest me on the Internet. More damn commercials, I need to wait to play, before I see what I want.
I’m told there are alternatives; hardware that filters commercials. I just don’t see a favorable cost/benefit.
Books, magazines and print media I devour. My interest, my pace, and my choice.
Many people, including my ex, turn on the television first thing when they arise and the box stays on until they go to sleep. Not for me. Silence is to be enjoyed, not shunned.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Hit piece bashing soldiers and air force personnel.
Live in your insular little world. Don't be among the 1% of the population that protects YOU. Piss and moan when the men and women who protect your privileged ass occasionally (rarely) have problems and you feel uncomfortable.
Even though you wouldn't make a pimple on a service persons ass, you think you hold the moral high ground, so you feel free to judge.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Learning opposing points of view is something I peruse. Call me a masochist. Closed minds may be satisfying to those who have them, and labeling people (socialist, gun grabber, gun nut, Tea Partier, commie bed wetter, etc.) avoids dealing with them as people. My belief is this polarization is very harmful to our society overall.
One place I go is a site called Common Dreams. It is a handy source, with their links, to all things leftist and “progressive”.
Since the Lightbringers election, the tone of this site has gone from euphoria to anger, and now, hostility. Excuse me for my weakness and hypocrisy, but I find this highly amusing. These intelligent people (maybe misguided but not dumb) are seething with disappointment. The only thing they now seem to have in common is the belief the Republicans and George W. Bush are to blame along with Wall Street and multi national corporations. Not far from many “right wing” points of view. Their champion is exposed for what he is, a corrupt Chicago politician.
These folks are still voting for Obama. Where else are they going? Still, like me in the last election, they will be holding their noses when they vote. They may well sit on their wallets, and their asses, come the next election. Just for them this musical interlude.
Yes, Progressive Friends, I am razzing you. Deal with it.