Great Gift Ideas

I just received a wonderful gift catalogue in the mail. It was called Harriet Carter. The messages therein are made possible by the USPS policy on very affordable bulk mail (BM) rates. This supports the free enterprise system, which is a system wherein the best and brightest creative inventors can realize their dreams and yours. It is a fabulous partnership of government and free entrepreneurial spirit. Here are some of the most creative and wonderful gift ideas.

Here’s a great idea for getting clogging leaves out of your gutter! I’m not sure how it works exactly without the directions. From the view of the hand holding the device it appears that you need something to levitate you ten to twenty feet up into the air. Perhaps a small crane with the hook attached to your Super Kegel Exerciser could get you up where you can reach your gutter.

Gotta go now and check my mailbox for more BM.

Why did they sabotage the invention?

The heat pump thermostat

For the technically challenged, the heat pump is the greatest invention ever for heating your house affordably with electricity. For every kilowatt-hour of energy it consumes, it delivers as much as four kilowatt-hours heat equivalent to your home interior. This is because it fetches heat energy from the cooler outdoor environment, raises it’s temperature by a compression process, and delivers it into your home. At the flick of a switch on the thermostat, it reverses itself to become a central air conditioner in the summer months.

The fly in this miraculous ointment is the stupid thermostats that they install with the heat pump. These all have a feature called “emergency” or “auxiliary” heat. This feature turns on an array of cheap energy-hog resistance heating elements to help the heat pump speed heating the house when the temperature setting is raised or in case the heat pump mechanism fails.

Now, I admit some benefit in having emergency back up elements in case your heat pump compressor fails on a frigid night in Fargo. The stupid part of this feature is that the thermostats are designed and default programmed to almost guarantee that the energy-hog emergency heat comes on eagerly all the time when it doesn’t need to. Apparently the vendors, installers, and thermostat manufacturers have a terror of getting complaints that the heat pump does not blow out warm enough air or that it just takes too long to warm up the house after the temperature has been set down for the night or a weekend away. So, your thermostat is configured to bring on the emergency heat when you tweak it up as little as one or two degrees higher than the current house temperature. Then it keeps it on until the house temperature rises to one or two degrees above the set point. Also there is a manual setting for turning on the auxiliary heat any time you want to as well as accidentally whenever you change modes from cooling to heating. Take heart; there is some relief for some thermostats. Check your thermostat manual; you will have to download one from the Internet since you lost it or were never given one. Actually you may have to download the installation instructions, which is often a separate item, intended for the installer. Many models have a well-obscured procedure to increase the difference between the set point and the actual indoor temperature that triggers the automatic energy hog to come on to maybe five or more degrees. Increase this setting to the maximum. Sometimes it is labeled as a choice between “comfort” and “economy”. Choose “economy”. Then when you’ve had the temperature way down because you’ve been away you may still have to raise it back up in increments so you don’t trigger the energy hog. Be patient though. The mass of structure and furnishings in an average house weighs 40,000 pounds, more or less. It takes a lot of energy to reheat it after it has chilled down. That means a whopper cost if you let your auxiliary resistance heat do it.

Finally here's a tipsheet from my former employer that will give you an option if your thermostat can't be adjusted to reduce the eagerness of auxiliary heat.

Why did they uninvent the...

...single blade shaver? I’m talking about the human powered shaver, a.k.a. razor or safety razor, not electric shavers. They used to have one-blade safety razors in a reusable handle that was advertized as well-balanced. Balanced?! Are they afraid you’re gonna hoist it to your chin and stick it up your nose or maybe fall over into the sink? Ha! OK, I diverged into ranting about balance. Pretty soon in modern time this safety razor evolved into the plastic throw-away type that taxes our landfills, but still I’m diverging from my point. After a couple of years, the throw-away plastic shaver started appearing with two closely spaced blades for “closer shaves”. Not to be outdone, competitors came up with the three-blade model and now they are up to five blades or more. Not even one electron of a whisker extends above the skin line after the final swipe until a few seconds later when it has already grown out a micron’s length. STOP the blades! Haven’t they heard that it is now fashionable for the elegant sexy well-dressed man to have day-old to week-old stubble? The worse thing about all these multi-blades is that if you wait more than 24 hours between shaves, as fashionable and lazy men do, the whiskers jam between the blades and clog the stupid multi-blade shavers. You have to stop after every stroke and use your toothbrush to clean them out. OK, single-blade ones are not quite totally uninvented yet. I did manage to find one product at Target that is still single blade, the Bic 12-pack of single blade shavers. The package even says “Single blade for easy cleaning”. Go out and buy these.

Why did they uninvent...

...home economics? OK, so it’s not exactly uninvented, but it has fallen out of popularity. Maybe it needed some modernization but it should not have disappeared from the mainstream of education. I’m not sure why it has nearly disappeared, but I assume it is because it was always considered a girl thing. Guy stuff like changing faucet washers and buying lawn mowers was not included in any significant degree. Then, with the feminist movement and more women validating their self worth in the work place instead of in the home, it lost status. I assert that it is, and probably always has been, more than just learning how to bake a delicious and attractive cake or artfully display Christmas decorations. For example, in Hand Jr. High School, Columbia, SC in 1958, it was a conduit for girls’ sex education. I know this because my seat in social studies class was next to a hole in a new wall to accommodate a radiator that predated the remodel that made two small classrooms from one bigger one. I heard all the stuff they taught the girls about the birds and the bees in the home ec class on the other side of the wall. I got a D in Social Studies. But, there I go diverging into sex again. Lets get back on track.

While we’ve forgotten home economics, we have gone ape over global economics. This is the great disaster of everybody on the planet trading with or hiring everybody else, especially on the opposite side of the planet. You can read more about why this only works on a micro scale. This global economy thing is showing itself to be unstable and able to turn some former winners into losers because there is little regulation of global markets and finance. As we all end up unemployed or underemployed, or at least way underpaid from this monster genie being let out of the lamp, we need to do some rethinking. As individuals there is little we can do to stuff the genie back in the lamp or teach him some manners. However, we can reduce the power he has over us if we get smarter on home economics, the economics of our household and the households of our friends and family. This doesn’t necessarily mean baking tastier cakes. The 21st century home ec should be more like what its name says. It might cover stuff like getting the most nutritious greens and beans to feed our loved ones with the meager twenty bucks in our pocket. We need to reinvent home economics for the 21st century and teach it in school. We need to cover diverse things like:
• What to eat and drink because it’s good for us and what not to eat and drink because it will kill us or bankrupt us.
• What we need and don’t need in a house and how to finance the house we need.
• How to shop for and buy stuff to outfit and care for the house and yard that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg, break down prematurely, poke our eyes out, or drive us nuts with superfluous features.
• How to make stuff we need instead of buying it.
• How to get the best deal on a credit card and how we should never carry over a balance month to month.
• How to find a mate to share the shelter and expenses, how to bring joy to the mate and keep him/her forever, and (above all) how to have a good time with the mate without making more babies than you can feed.
• How to get an employer and keep him/her happy no matter what our skills are.
• How to create or at least participate constructively in neighborhood and community associations.
• (Last but absolutely not least) Become media literate.

I need to elaborate on this media literacy thing. Defining it properly would take up more than I want to put in this post but you can Google it. Start with the Wikipedia description. Basically it pertains to learning not to be so freakin’ gullible to all the media conduits that the genie uses to turn us into zombie slaves. The “poster child” of media illiteracy is probably the sticker you see on so many products and ads in magazines and catalogs, “As Seen on TV”. Do you know what that means? It means the majority of cabbage brains out there believe the stupid television is actually credible, that it furnishes valid and reliable information. God help us.

Maybe there is some hope. We seem to be figuring out finally that nearly all politicians and people in the finance industry (a.k.a. Wall Street) are lying sorry sacks of slug slime. The problem is (although the Tea Party might disagree) we can’t just get rid of these characters and expect things to gravitate to harmonious prosperity. We do need to select leaders for ourselves. We have to educate ourselves in how to detect their lies, unmask their lies, and hold them painfully accountable for their lies. That’s where media literacy comes in. It’s all about recognizing and rejecting lies that come to us in an overwhelming barrage of mostly electronic media. Let’s reinvent home economics for the 21st century with a good chunk of media literacy education.

Why do we need a better mousetrap...literally?

We’ve had fine mousetraps all my life. Aside from a pesky little habit of sometimes snapping your finger when you set them, they did the job, executing the little rodent painlessly in about a millisecond. But now we have the sticky mouse paper inspired, no doubt, by fly paper. With the sticky paper, the poor little sentient beings (What does sentient mean anyway?) get stuck, trapped in terror for hours until you find them. Then, what do you do? They’re still alive, looking up at you with pleading little beady eyes, hoping you’ll at least drive them across town to your insurance adjuster’s house and set them free. You can’t peel the paper off so you’d have to cut around their little feet leaving them little paper slippers for the rest of their mousy life. But no, you’re too busy so you have to drown them in the toilet while they struggle in agony as if they were being water-boarded by Dick Cheney, or worse yet, you just toss them in the garbage can to agonize for hours while ants eat their eyes out. Yep the original was much better.

Why did they uninvent the...

...ordinary toothpaste cap. The ordinary toothpaste tube nozzle and cap were perfected at least as far back as when I was a small child and Dodos and Ivory-Billed Woodpeckers filled the forests. You just unscrewed the cap, squeezed out the paste and screwed the cap back on. But, they couldn’t leave it alone. They had to devise nozzles that dispensed different colors of paste through little sub nozzles. You’re supposed to believe these different colors are actual different ingredients (like epoxy glue) that can’t be mixed until they’re about to enter your gaping maw. They also had to add a flip up cap that won’t stay closed and copiously ejaculated toothpaste into your travel bag on air flights until toothpaste on flights was finally made illegal. The flip up caps usually break off before the last of the toothpaste is used up too. Bring back the ordinary toothpaste tube and screw-on cap.

Why did they uninvent the...

...car that uses a one size fits all round sealed beam headlight?

There are adults alive today who don’t remember this. There used to be a one size fits all standard headlight for all cars and trucks; Chevrolets, Fords, Plymouths, Mack trucks, even the imports like Volkswagen Beetles, Triumph sports cars, and Opal Cadets. They cost about one dollar and constituted the whole thing from illuminating filament to integral lens of thick non-yellowing, scratch proof, pebble-resisting glass. There were some improvements as the years passed. They started to make them with permanent quartz halogen bulbs inside for greater efficiency but they were still round, under five bucks and above all, one size fit everything. If one burned out or took a rock, replacements were still available at any gas station even in Nowheresville. Then it started to happen, first innocently enough. The car manufacturers’ stylists figured we needed some new shapes; rectangular and small rectangular.

Then things started to get out of hand. They figured we’d like two lights per side on some vehicles and they added extra small and small round to the increasing numbers of sizes. Suddenly somewhere around the early 80’s each car manufacturer started designing custom component illumination systems with separate bulbs, reflectors, and protective (ha ha) clear plastic covers that scratched and yellowed. And, they leaked too, fogging up and corroding the reflector. What a great ADVANCE! When my wife hit a deer and cracked a custom protective lens on our ’85 Subaru, they wanted $180 for the replacement. Of course I got some junk yard parts plus some screws, rivets, and epoxy glue to make a mount for a one size fits all replacement. I had to do it again when I bought and “restored” a wrecked Civic for a few months transportation in Washington State a couple of years ago. So what if my cars were asymmetrical. I’ve heard of “illumination systems” on higher end models of today’s cars that cost over $800. As consumers, have we gone nuts to accept this? We’re scared to death of federal standards requiring greater fuel efficiency because they might make the cars cost more. Of course we’re happy to pounce on the newest all fluff and no stuff squinty-eyed illumination system proffered by free enterprise innovation.

Why did they uninvent the...

This post inaugurates a series on laments about great things of the past that were uninvented. True to form I shall probably drift off topic onto some other twists like “Why didn’t they invent it right?” and “Why did they have to make a better mousetrap when the original was perfect?”

Have you noticed that your fitted sheets never fit? That’s because the bed industry has gone bonkers making mattresses and box springs thicker and thicker. If you get a new set today (They nearly always come in a set.) the combined box spring and mattress thickness almost require you to have nine-foot ceilings. Why do you even need the box spring at all? You could put bowling balls under the mattress and you wouldn’t feel them. Heaven help you if you have to get up and go to the bathroom at night. You’ll need a stepladder. You’re liable to fall off the ladder since you’ll be suffering from hypoxia at the extreme altitude. I know why beds all have that pile of sham pillows now. You need to throw them down around the base of the ladder in case you fall climbing down. Why did they uninvent the sensible thickness mattress?

Gun hater stuck with gun

My loyal buddy of 55 years was kind enough to drive my car from Charleston to Asheville for me. Friendship is a wonderful thing and there is much more that unites us than divides us even though he is at the opposite end of the political spectrum from me. He’s like a serious Republican NRA-supporting dude and I am a kind-hearted enlightened Democrat.

Anyway, to get on with the story, Bud (not his real name) got home and realized he’d left his Glock 27 bad guy-whacker pistol in my glove compartment. (What's with these GOP NRA types that they can’t take a day drive up the interstate without deadly weaponry?! Do they think some deranged bleeding heart, liberal, government-lover is going to assault them at a rest stop?) All right, back on topic, I can't just leave it in the glove compartment because I think it's against the law to be packing heat in your car without a license unless you're in South Carolina where it's actually smiled upon. Now I have to get the damned thing out of the glove compartment and find a safe place to stow it. I guess I just carefully pull it out by the butt end while keeping the nozzle pointing away from anything I don't want to shoot. Apparently guns are liable to spray out bullets spontaneously at any time judging by the number of my friends and people I've met who have managed to accidentally get shot by their own gun.

Later: I got the gun out of the car and into my office. Now I've got to figure out how to safely take the bullets out and ship it to Bud. He tells me the bullets are in something called a magazine, which is not the same kind that you read. He said there is a little button on the left side that I can push to make the magazine drop out. I pushed the hell out of it and nothing drops out. Maybe I’m pushing the wrong thing. That’s scary.

Voila! I got the bullets separated from the pistol and didn’t shoot any holes in anything. Following Bud’s direction I was able to eject the magazine by pushing a little thumb button on the left side of the handle in a certain forwardish downward direction while carefully avoiding pulling the little pointy-finger lever under the bottom.

Uh oh! Turns out those sissy second amendment-hating liberals in government of all levels have made it very difficult for an innocent law-abiding person to ship a firearm to another innocent person. Bottom line: Costs over $50 and must be shipped from a licensed firearm shipper to a licensed firearm receiver.

I will just take it to Bud on my next trip past his town, currently scheduled for next month. If he has to shoot anyone before then he’ll just have to use his turkey gun.

The South Carolina Light Bulb

Failing schools, genocide in Libya, budget deficits, drunk drivers killing 17,000 people per year nationally, earthquakes, tsunamis, scary unions wanting to bargain collectively. Just when we thought we had heard it all, we learn that the government wants to tell us what kind of light bulbs we can buy, starting in 2012. They want us to use those sissy energy saving “Curly Friggin’ Lightbulbs” (CFLs for short) Isn’t that the coup de gras for our personal freedom!

We in South Carolina don’t have to take this. Representative Bill Sandifer (Republican Oconee County) is going to attract a manufacturer here to build a factory to make old-fashioned incandescent light bulbs like Thomas Edison invented in the late 1800’s. Apparently if they are manufactured here, we can still sell them here. Heck; we should take this to the next level and make it a state constitutional amendment. We already have a “right to hunt” amendment. We could have a “right to buy horridly inefficient light bulbs” amendment. Yeah! And even a “right to eat junk food while praying in school” amendment. OK, I’m getting off topic. Just got a little excited about how SC could set the nation’s pace for freedom.

How will we get a manufacturing facility for obsolete light bulbs here? Easy! Give them giant tax breaks, and fund training programs for their workers. We did it with Boeing. We can do it for obsolete light bulbs. If need be we can even give them big subsidies. Everyone knows that if you give money to rich businessmen they will invest it in ways to create jobs and stimulate the economy.

Why should we support this effort to keep ourselves in the 19th century? There are lots of reasons. Everyone knows the 19th century was the best century. The old fashioned light bulbs are only 10% efficient so we can get 90% heat out of them in the winter at only three times the cost of heating with a heat pump. Two out of three women say the 19th century bulbs make their skin look better and warmer. In fact it really is warmer because they are so inefficient they give off tens times more heat than light. If you think that doesn’t make you look good, go to Light Your Face and have somebody look at your face. It lights up your face like a super inefficient 19th century light bulb. Oh! Don’t make video calls to movie stars with this; they’ll fall in love with you and start stalking you.

Funny Superbowl Commercials

I watched the Superbowl XYZ (or whatever the Roman numeral for 45 is) along with the rest of you. The commercials were truly entertaining. There was one where a fellow fell through a rotten wooden bridge and smashed his testicles. There was another where a whole bunch of different guys were getting violently kicked and kneed in the testicles with near lethal force. There was one where a baby got smashed into a glass window and another where a giant log smashed into an elderly lady. There was one where a robber had a gun in the face of a guy in a convenience store threatening to take his life while another guy lay writhing in agony on the floor with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Ha ha ha ha! Isn't it fun to watch other people get painfully injured?! Oh oh, another great one was the one where somebody threw a pop can with such force that it smashed a young woman in the face and completely knocked her off her park bench. Oh, crack me up! Ha ha, get it? CRACK me up. How will they top this next year? I can’t wait. Maybe they can have people getting their eyes gouged out or actually killed completely dead. Sooooo funny!
Actually I’m being sarcastic, which is supposed to be the lowest form of humor. That’s probably why you aren’t laughing. I miss the gentler more refined commercials of a few years ago like the Budweiser one where the greatest violence was when a couple just got singed a little when they accidentally ignited a brewery horse's bowel gas. And wardrobe malfunctions! That one with Janet Jackson was GREAT. I know that was the half time show but why can’t we have more of that in the commercials?

Boo may come to Edisto Island

Brace yourself. He wants to move to Edisto and bring Boo. I am speaking of Kiawah resident, Graham Banks, a self-described poet, investor, day-trader, and dog owner. Mr. Banks is fed up with getting big fines on Kiawah Island for repeatedly having his dog Boo on the beach unleashed. According to a February 9, 2011 Post and Courier article, he plans to teach Kiawah a lesson. He aims to sell his Kiawah house and move to Edisto Island where he figures it’s more “laid back southern”.
I am a very laid-back grits and collards-eating Edisto Island resident, born and raised in the middle of South Carolina. However, I really do not need Boo or others of his species scampering unleashed and sandy-footed on my beach towel, shaking water on me, and shoving his big wet sniffing nose where I do not care to be sniffed. My two-year-old granddaughter does not like getting body slammed by affectionate forty-pound carnivores laying siege to her and her sand castles. Few of us good old freedom-loving southern boys and girls on Edisto really want unleashed dogs digging up turtle nests and defecating big steaming piles of disease-causing coliforms in the sand, even if their owners do scoop when watched.
Town of Edisto Beach rules require that dogs on the beach be leashed May 1 through October 31 and of course owners must scoop year-round. Dogs anywhere in town anytime must be under “verbal command” of their owners when off leash. If Mr. Banks does not intend to live by the democratically established rules of the community, perhaps he and Boo can seek their Utopia somewhere far away. Maybe there is a place where the prestige of having a poet and day-trader for a neighbor outweighs all else.

Man's Best Friend

She yaps at me every day to go for a walk with her. Then she scampers all over everyone’s yard inspecting their new shrubs and things while I holler for her to come back before we get into trouble with the neighbors. At least this ritual ensures that I get my daily exercise. She’s not always nuts about me watching television but she will sometimes reconcile and flop partially across my lap to be stroked. She’s very protective of my children and grandchildren although she gets restless in the car when we drive to visit them; we sometimes have to stop for exercise breaks and it’s hard to round her up again. She’s a good early warning alert because her acute hearing and sense of smell pick up anything unusual long before I can detect it. My friends all adore her. Most heartwarming of all, she is very loyal and comes bounding to greet me when I return from a trip. Yep…though I sometimes complain about her, I really really love my wife.

Shameless: Coarse language and Insufficient Nudity

Last night we watched Shameless, the much-hyped new edgy Showtime mini-series. Normally we don’t get Showtime but our cable TV provider is doing a free week of it for promotion. Anyway, the show is well named. It is about a trashy single-parent family where everyone uses coarse language to discuss their sex lives and even normal everyday events like going to school or getting arrested. The Dad is drunk most of the time and passes out on the floor every night. They’re just the type of family we all wish we had. Right?

Why does the entertainment industry think viewers are dying to hear coarse language? I’m not a prude; I just don’t see the entertainment value in it. I don’t use coarse language in normal conversation and neither do others with whom I associate…too much. Coarse language should be reserved for special moments like dealing with an inane robotic call director when trying to report a lost credit card, or getting your finger snapped in a mouse trap you’re trying to set – both of which happened to me yesterday. If I become habituated to coarse language in ordinary conversation it will lose its efficacy for these important moments.

There are scant moments of sex and nudity in the show. But somehow the producers think the most exciting sex is on the kitchen sink with dishes getting broken with every lunge. Obviously they have a lot to learn.

The bright spot in the show is Fiona, a lovely young woman and the only character with a shred of discipline and responsibility. She also happens to be smart and deliciously curvy. We need to see more of her…not just more screen time but more surface area. She should be innocently nude in all the scenes, while speaking with a civil tongue of course. It wouldn’t matter what she’s doing. She could be baking cookies, doing her income tax, or practicing her yoga. I’d subscribe to Showtime for that!

Johnny is faltering

Yesterday after loading a full chest of drawers, and other tonnage from our Dragonfly beach house into our little Honda Fit, we stopped at the bank to make a deposit. What?! No check book. It was supposed to be in our big FedEx envelope with our passports, birth certificates, and SS cards that we had used to register our car and lives in SC. We unloaded everything out in the parking lot and searched every drawer of the chest of drawers. No FedEx envelope. Then I decided it had to be under the back seats that were folded down. But, I couldn't lift the left seat because the head rest was under the drivers seat and somehow the drivers seat wouldn't slide forward. After a cursing fit in the parking lot, my first crush (Ginger from when I was 8) wandered up to enjoy some comic relief. It turns out that I had dropped one of the screws from removing my front license plate (not used in SC) and or course it had bounced into the seat adjustment track and jammed it. Finally dug it out. Still no FedEx envelope. Then in an epiphany moment I sort of remembered that I had stuck the envelope in a plastic box for safe keeping when we left the department of motor vehicle office (60 miles behind us). Where was the box? Oh yes! That was one of the boxes we had just stashed in our 150 degree Edisto house attic. Back to the house and up into the attic we found it. Yee Haa! We celebrated by a good long swim in the ocean, now 86.7 degrees according to the NOAA sea surface temperature web site. Life is good...intermittently.

Explanation of the Economy

Many people are disturbed by something called "the economy", which is always misunderstood but clearly accepted as being caput at the moment. I shall explain how it works. In a nutshell the economy is an abstraction. It is neither a particle nor a wave. It is the other thing, a system. Right now it is a flawed system.

There are two kinds of economic systems. One is called microeconomics and the other is called macroeconomics. Microeconomics is where you have a maximum of two islands and two products, usually coconuts that grow best on one and clams that grow best on the other. There is a strong and logic-based science that guides the people on these islands toward certain mutually beneficial agreements that make all the islanders better off. These agreements involve the clever practice of trading some of what one island has for some of what the other island has.

The science of microeconomics breaks down when the two products are not both food, but something else such as guns and butter. It also breaks down when a bully owns all the canoes, or when somebody eats the cow that makes the butter. Then it is no longer microeconomics but macroeconomics, sometimes called politics. These aberrations that degrade microeconomics into macroeconomics are accelerated by a special invention, the IOU (pronounced "I owe you") also known as money. Money pretty much drives the nail into the coffin for microeconomics.

Since we are stuck with macroeconomics, here's how it works. It works on greed. Do not be intimidated by the negative connotation this word has in normal parlance; it is a good thing in macroeconomics. If it were not for greed, we would all have starved to death when we finished eating all the clams and coconuts. The greed is that everyone wants the money and performs conniving manipulations to get it, sometimes even resorting to work.

The macroeconomic engine runs on hot air exchanged between two opposing greed driven groups. The first group (called the Haves) worships the earth's first man, Adam Smith, and his only begotten son, Will Rogers, who described the trickle down theory. The second group worships Adam's wife, Eve, who was thrown off the coconut island for eating a coconut from a tree designated by God as his own tree. Eve scraped by on a sandbar with nothing but sand and seaweed to eat. The followers of Eve are called Have-nots and they espouse a theory called the soak-up theory.

The hot air happens when the preaching starts. The Haves start preaching the trickle down theory which reckons that if you designate some money (like in a stimulus package) and give it to them it will trickle down to the Have-nots, creating jobs and income on the way. The Have-nots preach the soak-up theory which reckons if you give all the money to them it will soak up to the Haves, again creating jobs and income on the way. As long as one side has hotter air than the other, the engine will be driven by a law of physics called the Carnot cycle. (Named for Eve's son Sadi Carnot who was half brother to Will.) There is a physical limit to the Carnot cycle's efficiency. Not all of the flowing hot air can create jobs and income. A certain percentage of it turns into entropy which is a lot of hot air floating away in all different directions.

So why has the economy gone caput? Simple! The Haves' aggregate greed slowly caught up to the have-not's aggregate greed even though the Haves were greatly outnumbered by the Have-nots. This destroyed the temperature gradient and the macroeconomic engine ground to a halt. What can you and I do about it? Our best bet is to go back to an island and eat coconuts and clams while something called the market sorts itself out.

Image of Virgin Mary Has Appeared in My Underpants

The Virgin Mary has appeared in my underpants! When I cast them upon the floor before my shower this morning I saw the amazing likeness. This is not faked! If I lie, I pray Satan will turn me into a pillar of salt or, worse yet, a Republican. At first I thought it was Mother Teresa but then I realized it was actually the Virgin Mary. Not the romanticized child face from Michelangelo's imagination in his Pieta, but the real Virgin Mary at a later age. Look at this image. Is this not the worried face of a woman whose eldest son at age, say, 33 is still unmarried, neglecting his day job, growing his hair a foot long, and running around claiming it's all fine because he's on some kind of self-devised spiritual quest?

I do not know why the Virgin Mary has appeared to me. I think it may be to reassure me that my house will sell. My cousin told me that if I buried a statue of St. Joseph in my yard upside down it would make the house sell. I could not find such a statue. In good faith, I went to garden shops but they only had statues of St. Francis and various naked cherubs frolicking in bird baths. Now I am thinking that if Saint Joseph is good, his wife would be ten times better. I think I shall bury my underpants in the yard upside down... unless someone out there wants to purchase this priceless religious relic for $400. Oh, the image is no longer visible because I am currently wearing the relic. You can even purchase the underpants along with the house in which this miracle occurred for $420,000. May God bless you!

Octuplets: Are you kidding?!

This source of intellectual commentary usually eschews popular tabloid fodder like, "Greed Crazed Fertility Doctor Assists Single Mother in Having Fourteen Children". But, that's exactly what this post is about. It was too tempting to pass up. By now we've all read about the woman who had octuplets and (Oh yeah) already had six other children. It turns out she was single and living with her mother.

I don't know much about this mother of octuplets. It is kind of being kept hush hush but apparently her own mother has said her daughter is obsessed with having babies. For goodness sake; there are over six billion people on this planet eating it up and heating it up. Why should we not be aghast that a woman wants to have fourteen children by extraordinary methods? OK, I don't know the whole story. Maybe she is an Olympic athlete with an IQ of 180, the beauty of Cleopatra, and assets of 20 million bucks to birth her exceptional babies, raise them, and educate them. Maybe her genes are just so fabulous they need to be spread for the betterment of the human race. But, I doubt it.

This blessed multiple birth event has led to some criticism of the fertility medical practitioner community. They have responded with "Who us? Why should we question a woman's personal choice about what to do with her body and her life?" I don't buy that. Doctors see all kinds of people. Many are mentally disturbed, poorly educated, suffering from various obsessions, and incapable of acting in their own best interest. Johnny's Rants believes unequivocally that doctors have absolute responsibility to not exploit these people by cutting on their bodies, impregnating them, or anything else that takes away their money and/or alters their mind or body in a way contrary to their best interest. See also my sensitive essay on exploitive cosmetic elective surgery, Coping with Cleavage.

Greedy plastic surgeons exploiting persons of low self-esteem may be the poster child of the medical profession sliding from Hippocratic ethics to gutter grubbing. However, exploitive fertility doctors can take it to another level. Making babies grow inside women with insufficient means of supporting them is not only a violation of the mothers' wellbeing but also the wellbeing of the babies and the tax payers who will have to pick up the tab for a lot of food, shelter, medical care and public education. I read one article that alleged that just the prenatal care, birthing, and postnatal care of these octuplets is costing $400,000 PER BABY. If I help a vulnerable woman make babies by personally donating sperm cells (you know in the traditional manner between the sheets) the law will hold me financially responsible for helping to support the resulting babies. Why should we not also hold a fertility doctor financially responsible for his complicity in making babies with a woman obviously unable to sufficiently support those babies through their upbringing and education to independent adults?!

Putting the Toilet Seat Down; NOT!

There is a humanitarian crisis in East Africa and Gaza. There is a collapsing world economy; there are brazen pirate attacks on the high seas which are getting higher by the day because of global warming. Accordingly I intend to address the issue that I know is foremost on the mind of all Americans, LEAVING THE TOILET SEAT UP. Sadly it seems to be the toughest issue in the gender equality quest.

Obviously the best and most equitable solution to this gender war issue is to leave the seat as it was last used. For women, this will be the down position. For men after whizzing, this should be up as shown in the photograph at the right margin…or left or top, wherever BlogSpot puts the photo. The efficiency of this is obvious. Supposed the next necessary function in the toilet is the same act by a person of the same gender such as a male. Imagine if the male had put the seat down following the prior use; he would have to raise it again. These are unnecessary cycles of the seat. Scrink scrawnk; the hinges wear out.

I know my women readers will scream at this suggestion. First let me say that I am very sympathetic with essentially all women's issues such as the need for equal pay for equal work, having the word NO respected, maternity leave, getting better representation in upper management positions, etc. Neurologists have discovered that women actually have more neural connections between the left and right brain hemispheres making them better at multitasking and alliance-building networking, both key management skills. But on this important bathroom issue I have to ask my women friends, "Ladies! What's the big deal?" You just grab the seat between two fingers and put it down before sitting. Yeah yeah, I hear you. You are yelling, "Do you know what it feels like to think it's down when it's not and sit and fall through?!" Well yes I do because so many times I have been host to women or a guest in one's home only to hear a scream then see them come tearing out of the bathroom to grab me by the neck and deliver a scalding lecture on why I should put the toilet seat down after I use it.

Allow me to make a suggestion to my hundreds of women readers. Look before you sit! This should be a no brainer to a person of any gender sitting on anything. There could be a creepy spider on that toilet seat. I have a woman cousin in Florida who once approached the toilet to sit. Fortunately she looked and saw the large land crab that had entered the bowl from the sewerage system and was waiting with raised open claws. I have heard of sewer rats sloshing around in the bowl too. Even sitting places other than a toilet seat, like on a sofa with your pants on warrants a look. Anyone who has a house cat should know this. I don't have one but I learned fast when I visited a friend with a house cat. Anybody who has made it through junior high school where some jerk-head invariably puts a thumbtack in your seat when you come blazing into class late should learn and retain this important safety fact. LOOK BEFORE YOU SIT!

Ladies may I suggest you count your blessings if you have a loving wage-earning male whose only alleged sin is leaving the toilet seat up. There are much worse men. These are the ones that we men must also be wary of. They're the cabbage brains who leave the seat down BEFORE whizzing, sprinkling it with little yellow spots. When I was a little tyke I had trouble remembering to lift the seat before starting. My mother was so intent on training me to raise it before starting that she never even tried to confuse the issue by training me to lower it when I was done.

Now I must confess that there is one situation where a male should lower the toilet seat when he's done whizzing. That's when he's a guest in a lady's home and she requests it. It is her home after all. She has the right. My sister and sister in law will applaud this concession I'm sure. I am working hard to remember when I visit them.

I have a lot of sympathy for the extra hardship a woman faces because she has to sit for a number one. I have often railed with my women friends in support of more stalls in public women's restrooms where lines form because there is not sufficient capacity to accommodate the necessary extra privacy and time required for women to drop their drawers for a tinkle. However, in the quest for gender justice there is one behavior a man must never accede to. Some women actually try to require this behavior. This unmanly act is to sit to make water. I almost never use the term "p-word envy". It is an arrogant accusation usually levied by loser males who can't take it when a woman beats them at their own game. However, to the woman who has the audacity to suggest that males should always sit, I must say, "Madam, you suffer from p-word envy. Get over it."

Willy C Becomes Rowdy Beaver

While driving from Liberal, Kansas (actual town name) to Kansas City on Monday my wife and I got hungry about 50 miles before Witchita. This was a natural consequence of the fact that it was two hours past lunch time. I wanted to stop at some reliable convenient place like one of the many golden arches and KFCs. This never works when traveling with my wife. She feels that every meal may be our last or at least our last in that part of the world and thus must be special. It must be delicious, low caloried, and memorably representative of the character and history of the region. This causes her to research all our AAA books and interview numerous passers by in quest of the ultimate dining experience. It drives me nuts.

As we were approaching Wichita, she read all the quick histories and restaurant reviews of Wichita from our AAA and other reference guides. She came up with the "must eat at" restaurant, Willy C's. We dutifully programmed the address of Willy's into our trusty new Garmin GPS. Ms. Garmin got us off at a certain exit then immediately directed "Turn left…" on some street then, "Arriving at destination on right." when we were in the left lane with lots of traffic on the right and no sight of anything called Willy. Almost immediately it was into, "Recalculating: Turn right on Elm St. Recalculating, Turn Left on Oak Street. Oh Golly, Go back". Then my wife starts in with, "No it's got to be on West street; go under the freeway." I respond, "I can't go under the freeway; I'm in the left turn lane." Then all hell breaks loose (this happens all the time) with wife, Ms. Garmin, and me all squawking at each other hysterically and wife insisting that I'm losing my temper and becoming an unsafe drivers so I should stop there in the middle of the freeway ramp and let her drive.

So, to make a long story more tolerable we somehow moved wife into the driver's seat and caught a few honks and middle fingers as we headed off with her in pursuit of Willy's. This time she resolved to stop right where Ms. Garmin said, even though it definitely did not say Willy C. (a rare moment of agreement with Ms. Garmin). It turns out that this was not Willy C's but the Rowdy Beaver. We went in and learned that Willy's had gone bust and the Rowdy Beaver had just opened two weeks ago in its place.

In the end it was good. The Rowdy Beaver was my kind of place. They had much paraphernalia for sale including, prominently, manikins with tiny very narrow-fronted thong bikinis that said Rowdy Beaver on the front. They had many micro brew beers and ales to choose from with good names like "Flying Dog Doggy Style pale ale". They had big burgers with thick beef patties and they weren't all soggy with that crappy mayonnaise and pickle relish that runs downs your forearms when you try to eat burgers at most of the fast food chains. There were lots of flies but we were able to swat them with carefully aimed blows of our menus. I really liked the place. I think my wife did too; she figured it was soooo authentic Witchita.