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Vote Now! What’s Funny’s Best Post of the Year?

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Jacob at My Personal Finance Journey just emailed to say the blog is hosting this year’s Tour de Personal Finance! He asks PF bloggers to send in their best post of the past year.

As many of you may know, Jacob is a strong believer in charitable giving. He’s reserving 10% of his blog income for June and July (and this is a guy who actually has a blog income) as prize money and as a donation to the winner’s charity of choice. So as you can see, this competition is a worthy cause.

Well, heck. I don’t know which was Funny’s best post over the past 12 months. How about you tell me?

What do you think is the best post that’s appeared in these precincts of late? In case, like me, you can’t remember that far back, here are my own candidates:

Debt Consolidation: Proceed with Caution
Higher Education in America: A Modest Proposal
Opportunity Cost/Hassle Cost
Codeine Cough Medicine… Where’s Our Common Sense Gone?
Springtime, the Very Pretty Burglar Time
Entrepreneurs: Crystal Stemberger’s Blogging Empire
WTF Is In Your Food?

Which of these do you think, dear reader, is most likely to hold its own in the hot competition that is the Tour de Personal Finance? Or do you have a better candidate? Please let me know, one way or the other, in the comments below.

To get in Jacob’s spirit, if our nominated post winds the Yellow Jersey, I will donate my part of the prize winnings to Habitat for Humanity, as well as designating the part offered for the winner’s charity to go to the All Saints choir.

Deadline is June 24. But last year a lot of people participated, so if any of the posts above (or elsewhere) look like likely candidates, we should move fast.

Tell me your choice, and I’ll send the consensus winner to Jacob ASAP.

🙂

 

Dog$! Grrrrrrrrrr….

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Well, I finally managed to get Charley’s attention this morning. How? By flying into a stratospheric rage and yelling at him for about 30 minutes, that’s how.

He now seems to understand “NO!” “STAY GODDAMMIT!!!” “OFF!” “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!” and “STAY AWAY FROM THAT THING!!!!!!!!!”

The “NO!” part has been a long time coming.

During the week he’s resided at my house, he has pretty well dismantled a $5,000 irrigation system. This morning I caught him contentedly chewing on the fourth dripper sprinkler of the week (you can get little sprayers to attach to dripper hoses, which work a lot more efficiently than the stupid drippers that have to run 8 or 10 hours to put enough water on a plant to keep it alive in 110-degree heat). He loves those things. He chews them off the dripper hose and then carries them to a comfortable spot where he can lay down and chew them into plastic confetti, presumably swallowing a fair number of chunks of plastic in the process.

Did I mention the vet bills for his chronic digestive upset? Did I happen to talk about the extravagantly expensive special food and the future of having to prepare 14 pounds of dog food a week in the kitchen of whichever house he ends up occupying, now and forevermore?

Oh. No…I see I didn’t.

The dog has had intermittent diarrhea since M’hijito got him from the breeder. He’s been tested for parasites and infections repeatedly, always negative. Just before M’hijito left on vacation, the vet put him on one of the blindingly expensive Hill’s P/D canned diets and handed M’hijito an expensive prescription and an expensive bottle of probiotics and then told him to feed the dog chicken and rice after the P/D runs out. Permanently.

So on the morning appointed for him to leave for San Diego, my son showed up with the dog, the dog’s mattress, a crate of staggeringly expensive canned dog food, instructions to feed a full can each morning and another full can each evening, a lifetime supply of Costco chicken thighs, and a sack of bulk rice from Sprouts that needed a camel to carry it into the house. He handed me a hundred-dollar bill with which to purchase more lifetime supplies of meat while he’s gone.

So most of the week I’ve been cooking dog food, which Charley consumes at an incredible rate. He’s getting better (although if he actually has IBS, the least drastic of the possibilities, my yelling at him for half an hour or 45 minutes will give him a relapse), and I think he may have regained some of the 4 pounds (that’s 6% of his body weight!) he lost during the last episode.

Meanwhile he’s chewed up at least four sprayers and drippers and snipped off lengths of hose at the ground, making it damn near impossible to repair the damage.

Several of these things, I can NOT find. They were installed before the plants grew up, so they’re hidden underneath shrubbery, where Charley can insinuate himself but I can’t even see. To aggravate things, the water pressure in his favorite part of the system is weak to begin with, so when I turn the system on, I can’t spot any geysers that would tell me where the broken parts are. Underneath there, the break that’s closest to the main is dribbling away, and everything downstream from that is dry as a bone.

This means I won’t find the broken parts until my (established! years old!!!!) plants goddamn DIE.

After I yelled until my throat hurt this morning, I went out and fought with the system for an hour—at 5:30 in the morning it was at least relatively cool out there. Yesterday while I was running around the city I bought a dozen new sprinkler gadgets and so was able to replace the ones in the potted plants (sort of…he’d shortened the dripper hoses enough that I couldn’t position them where they’d get all the pots) and dig a dripper that was watering a spot where a cape honeysuckle had been removed and seal it off and bury the dripper hose (which Gerardo’s ignorant sidekick will soon dig up again…he pulls that stuff up from the crushed granite and then just leaves it sitting there, the idiot).

The drippers are as nothing compared to the late-model kitchen cabinetry, into which Charley has dug great gouges in spite of having been told OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF to the point of blueness in the face. Yes, he does know what off means. He knows what no means. He knows what stay means. He will do those things when it suits him. Problem is, it rarely suits him.

And when it doesn’t suit him, he simply ignores the human in question.

Anyway, one of the cabinet doors now needs to be replaced. God only knows what THAT will cost. Those are custom cabinets that Satan and Proserpine ordered from Home Depot.

Interestingly, after this period of throat-scorching nuclear eruption, the dog responded to NO! by leaving it, by stopping, by not proceeding with whatever he was focused on doing. He responded to OFF! by sitting quietly with a contrite and respectful look on his doggy face. He responded to STAY! by actually staying long enough for me to dodge out the door. And he responded to STAY AWAY FROM THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!! and to MINE, GODDAMMIT!!!!!!!!! by standing down from his contemplated exploit.

Temporarily.

I should be ashamed for yelling at a helpless dog. But I’m not. And he’s not.

Joe’s War: Great Book for Veterans and WW II Buffs

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My friend Virginia Anders kindly visited this week’s Scottsdale Business Association meeting and delivered a guest presentation about her recently published book. Besides being a pretty interesting lady on her own, Virginia acquired, almost by serendipity, a treasure trove of historic documents written by her father, who was an officer on the U.S.S. Yorktown during World War II. He had written letters home to his wife, Virginia’s mother, almost every day that he was at sea in the Pacific Theater.

Long widowed, the love of his life carried his letters with her until the time came for her to move to a care facility. Virginia, helping her mom divest herself of her belongings and pack what remained, noticed a stack of envelopes sitting atop the trash dumpster, recognized them as her dad’s correspondence, and asked if she could have them—and of course the answer was yes. Virginia rescued the documents two hours before the recycling truck came along.

The pile of letters morphed into a labor of love (literally: no clichĂ© here) for Virginia. To create a book, she transcribed them and then researched the history of the Yorktown. To build context for the correspondence, she interpolated military reports of the Yorktown’s position and activities for the dates her dad, Joe Clifford, wrote his letters.

Men (and the few women) at war were enjoined from sending details of military operations in letters home. To keep the censors from literally cutting (with a razor blade) passages from his correspondence, Virginia’s dad Joe was careful to keep to the daily life on board ship. But he was a natural storyteller, and the result is a vivid revelation of what it was like to live on board a carrier in the middle of a war zone, where kamikazi planes (which Joe coded as “buzzbombs”) targeted American ships and torpedoes were a moment-t0-moment fear.

Virginia published the book through Amazon, making it available in hard copy as well as on Kindle. If you or someone you know is a World War II veteran or an aficionado of WWII history, Joe’s War: His Yorktown Letters Home would make a very fine gift.

Live-Blogging from the Jobsite

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Well, K&J got the Simonton doors and window here in record time: we ordered them a week ago yesterday, and today Darin’s guys showed up to install them. Some difference between the Milgard dealer and Home Depot, each of whom said maybe they could get the product delivered in three weeks. Or so.

It’s quarter to one. They’ve been working since 7:30 this morning (and Charley the Golden Retriever has been locked in a bedroom, and Cassie the Corgi has yapped nonstop). And they’re still at it…about at the finishing-up stage, I think.

Retrofitting new doors and windows to fit openings that have been jury-rigged by previous owners is quite a trick. And this house has belonged to a seemingly endless stream of Happy Home Handymen.

The bedroom door, which I think was installed quite some time ago, went into a hole created by sawing out the wall below an old window. The H. H. Handyman then installed a (pretty nice-looking, I thought) stained wood frame around it, which covered a few minor sins.

This was the double-paned number that felt hot to the touch when the weather outside was fairly mild, in the 90s. Don’t even ask what it was like in true warm weather. It’s coming on to 102 degrees just now, and the new one, pictured here, actually feels cool when I put my hand on it!!

They didn’t have too much trouble getting the bedroom door in, or the back bedroom window, or the old Superlite aluminum cheapo installed back in 1971 by the builder. Wish the doors could just stay out and we could live like Tahitians, with the walls open to the ocean breezes. That craving passes, though, as the desert day grows warm.

Then…heh heh heh… They came to the door Satan installed when he (intelligently…) built his west-facing covered deck off the dining room. To create this opening, Satan started with a narrow, wide window the builder had set high in the wall, not quite a clerestory—a clunky style that was in fashion at the time. He sawed through the block wall on each side and then constructed some framing to accommodate a Home Depot special. He left a lot of air around the thing, interestingly. That one required quite a bit of effort and carpentry skill to replace. After spending a good amount of time wrestling with it, the men got that in place, too, and then built new framing around it.

Here’s how the new door looks from the outside…

…and here it is on the inside:

Now they need a little paint touch-up, which is fine: I’ve got a long list of honey-do’s for a good painter! Once he’s here, he can also take care of some of the other issues that need fixing. Depending on what he charges, maybe he can wangle a most-of-the-house repainting job, come to think of it.

I need to wash and rehang the curtains, but believe I’ll wait till it’s little cooler out in the Garage-O-Mat.

These windows actually are physically cool to the touch. It’s weird! Not only that, but they’re even marginally cooler than the Milgards that I installed in the place after I moved in. But that may be because the Milgards are on the north-facing wall. Still…no direct sunlight ever hits them. The REAL cool-to-the-touch test will come late this afternoon, when the setting sun manages to work a few beams in around the foliage on the west side. Satan’s door actually was pretty energy-efficient—the only older window in the house that even approached low-E. But it did warm up along about 5:00 p.m.

And so, this is The Fat Lady, signing off from the Funny Farm in lovely uptown Phoenix, Arizona. Be glad you’re not here, and be especially glad you’re not a tradesman in this place!

the-sun

WTF Is in Your Food?

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Now, this is scary, but I dare you to listen to the whole freaking thing. No… Consumer alert: I’m afraid “scary” is an understatement. This report is stand-your-hair-on-end horrifying.

You need to hear this. Hold your nose to make your way past the nauseating part about how beef, pork, and chicken are fed and raised and (near the end) get an earful of Philpot’s thoughts on raising your own birds. It’s sorta heartening.

Think I just lost interest in eating Costco or grocery-store beef and lamb and chicken and pork and developed a profound interest in eating about a quarter as much meat but buying it at Whole Foods.

In the meantime, this line of thought brings me to something I’ve become quietly obsessive about. To wit:

Surely there’s a way caring people can work together to make life better in today’s dystopia, even if it’s only within their own small groups. For example: the chicken-raising project. Though everyone talks about it, La Bethulia is my one (count her, one) friend who has had the sheer chutzpah to actually DO it. Could we all learn from her and figure out how to keep a flock of chickens happy without having the carnivores that live with us eat the damn things? And with our collective knowledge and intelligence, could we figure out how to sell or donate extra eggs?

Good lord, folks… Do we ever need to resist Big (Business) Brother! If we worked together, could we find a cost-effective way to buy free-range beef, pork and lamb? Could we figure out a collaborative way to raise healthy chickens or ducks or goats or god knows what to our mutual benefit? Could we generate solar energy for a neighborhood and cut down on the coal-fired plants?

There has gotta be a way.

Roundup: Dog Joy Edition

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Charley the Golden Retriever is always beside himself with doggy joy when M’hijito gets off work and comes by to pick him up. Somehow dogs know what time it is. Charley and Cassie start watching the front door along about 5:00 p.m., and no matter how late the human is, they keep up the vigil till they hear his car roll into the driveway. Then they dance the evening two-step.

Charley has this wacko upside-down thing he likes to do. He tries to stand on his head. He’s so happy he can’t contain himself.

Don’t ask. I have no idea where he learned to do that!

Speaking of learning, over at Grumpy Rumblings, Femme Frugality gets a conversation going when she asks “What are the qualities in your ideal student? Where’s the line between being a good student and being a kiss-ass?” If you ever doubted that academics are grumpy, this will clear your mind.

Over at SquawkFox, there’s been some changes made! The new adventure, though, hasn’t interfered with Kerry’s original and humorous spin on life, the universe, and all that frugality.

Prairie Ecothrifter has a nice post how to deal with the needy sibling. Probably easier said than done…but good words and true. This advice also applies to the child who always needs rescuing, usually with a hand-out.

Money Beagle tells a story that illustrates why he’s glad he hires a tax accountant to do his returns.

Over at The Digerati Life, SVB contemplates some of the worst jobs in creation. LOL! I’d include teaching freshman comp in there…not as high on the list as being a cop or serving in the military, o’course, but certainly on a par with collecting trash (which, by the way, pays significantly better than what I earned with my Ph.D. and my Phi Beta Kappa key in a full-time university position).

Speaking of jobs, check out Steve’s take on ten quotes about careers over at Brip Blap. There’s some entertaining and some profound stuff here, from Hilary Clinton’s advice (“Don’t confuse having a career with having a life”) to Steve’s reflections on some of these bons mots (“Americans confuse education with achievement”).

Here’s an awesome recipe (with mouth-watering photo) at Musings of an Abstract Aucklander.

Revanche grinds her teeth, at A Gai Shan Life, over having to pay some dumb tax. Heh…who among us has not shared the privilege?

Donna Freedman does it again with an amazing riff on midnight movies and guilty pleasures. How can that woman write so much and still manage to write so well?

Did you see Evan’s post at My Journey to Millions on ethnicity and patterns in investing? As you can imagine, he stirred up a fair amount of controversy, some of it totally off the wall. Speaking of amazing.

Several PF bloggers have been talking about long-term care insurance lately. Free Money Finance considers some refinements on long-term care policies, which are worth thinking about.

Mrs. Accountability at Out of Debt Again asks if you like to use the ubiquitous store saver cards. Guess I’m nuts, but I just hate those things. What a scam!

Over at The Blue Collar Workman, TB explains that bigger is better with the new air-conditioning units.

You have gotta see the photo at Five Cent Nickel, where Nickel holds forth in awe about extreme credit-card collections! Ay-mazing!!!