Coffee heat rising

Up North Mountain

I made it all the way to the top! Only figured to get halfway up — hauling an extra 20 or 30 pounds of corpus made the hike a little more interesting than it was the last time I climbed North Mountain. These “mountains” (some would call them “hills”) form an island park in the middle of the sea of houses that is Phoenix.

As usual, click on the photo for a bigger, clearer view.

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Parking lot’s right in a residential neighborhood.

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The lower trail looks benign enough…

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Development flows right up to the edge of the park.

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P1020223View to the north and east

P1020224Due north

P1020225There’s the summit

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After the recent rain, the ocotillo are in bloom

P1020230View to the south

P1020233Getting closer…

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P1020237We’re two-thirds of the way to the top here.

P1020240Downtown Phoenix rising from the smog

P1020242Nearing the summit

P1020253There’s the top of Shaw Butte, an adjacent hillock

P1020255Made it to the top!

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P1020261The price of progress

P1020262View from the summit

P1020269Headed back down

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 P1020273Backlit creosotebush blossoms and fuzzballs

P1020274Creosote is what makes the desert smell like rain

P1020275Watch your step…this is the trail!

And Spring Slides into Summer…

What was it? All of a week ago that we were exulting over springtime on the desert? Well, spring has done sprung, and now summer has entered, stage left. Despite a skiff of overcast, the back porch thermometer is hovering between 85 and 90 degrees. Tomorrow is supposed to be 90, and so it will go for at least the next week.

Then it will get hot.

The pool is warm enough to swim in — still brisk, but no longer cold enough to freeze off any vital parts. In fact, I’m thinking I may take the plunge in the next few moments of this still and rather stuffy afternoon.

Various bits and pieces of news and idleness…

First up: It develops that commenter marzy doats was right in speculating that my neighbor Sally was not legally bound, by reason of ethnicity, to accept any halfway reasonable offer on her house from the neighborhood slumlord.

This morning at the weekly Scottsdale Business Association breakfast chivaree, it was our Realtor‘s turn to entertain the rest of us with a presentation. During the Q&A, I described what had happened and asked if it was true, as Sally’s agent claimed, that she could not just reject Mr. B***’s lowball offer. He said no, she was not bound to accept or make a counteroffer to any offer that came in the door. If the prospective buyer was not black, unmarried, or conspicuously religious, she could simply reject the offer with no comment.

However, if the offer met the asking price, with no strings attached, that would be a different matter.

So: score one for Funny’s readers!

Next: It appears that I’m now the president of the Scottsdale Business Association. Can you imagine? Me…the English major, president of a bidness group? Wonders never cease.

Our beloved past president, who to our shock had to go in for bypass surgery, took that opportunity to step down, having run the thing for quite a few years.

I called a business meeting for later this month. He suggested we appoint him as treasurer & secretary (since English-major math definitely will not make it in the bookkeeping dept.) and then select a vice-president who can take over if I’m not there and also who will step in as president in a year. He thinks we should have a rotating presidency, and I think that is a great idea.

Yesterday was an exceptionally busy day. Among other things, my self-publishing author, feeling overwhelmed with the technicalities of going to print, asked me to package his magnum opus.

That took me a bit aback, because it wasn’t what I signed on to do: I expected to do the editing. Period. And it really couldn’t come at a worse time, because another pair of clients are now racing to complete the anthology of first-person narratives they’re compiling, and they need to get the last few contributions edited. Now.

So I passed the lion’s share of the guy’s project along to a former client, a designer who owns a small packaging business. She agreed to do the most involved parts of the work, if I would do the hand-holding.

He’d like to see the book ready to go to print by the end of this month. We think it will take four to six weeks to get him registered with Ingram, set him up with CreateSpace, design the pages, adjust the cover design to fit the perfect binding (he commissioned an artist to create a cover and is busy having her lay out the back cover copy, and she apparently wants to do something fancy with the spine), and then produce and read proofs. After that, depending on who he chooses to hire, putting the thing in Kindle and getting it up on Amazon should take a week or so.

Tomorrow is going to be even more crazy.

It’s out the door at 6:45 a.m. to get to an estate sale in the ritzy part of town. See this set of nesting tables? (Click on the image for a better view, but avert your eyes from the hideous lamp.)

ConantBallTables

Those are solid maple, mid-century modern tables by Conant-Ball. They’re identical to the set my mother purchased in San Francisco in 1958, after we came back from ten years in  Saudi Arabia. M’hijito has coveted those tables for years, but he’s not getting the things until I croak over.

I haven’t seen any of these pieces for sale in quite some time. As develops, they’ve become collector’s items, and they’re stupidly expensive. These have been stripped and refinished, which damages their antique value — but then, mine have had the same treatment. Frankly, a good oil finish looks a helluva lot better on this stuff than the original yellow varnish did. Whatever: original finish or no, the price is still bracing.

So. That is going to be my son’s birthday present.

Two other people, both dealers, are trying to get there ahead of me. Forewarned by the proprietor, La Maya and I are heading for the East Side as dawn cracks, and we intend to camp outside the door until they open up the place at 8.

From there, it’s an about-face and a fast drive to the far West Side, where I have to meet KJG and VickyC at Arrowhead Mall. VickyC wants a new love seat, and in fact, I would like one, too, if one could be found at the right price. VickyC has an almost magical gift for finding really neat-looking interior appointments, from furniture to tschochkies, at ludicrously bargainish prices. So KJG and I want to tag along on her search, in hopes of nailing a bargain ourselves.

I’ll only have until 4:00 p.m. At that witching hour, I’ll have to fly back into town to get here in time to feed the dog, change clothes, and shoot out the door to go to dinner and chamber music with my neighbor and friend.

Naturally, tomorrow the maga-writing students submit their first full-blown articles. By midnight there’ll be a raft of those sitting on the server — a few eager beavers have already sent theirs.

Fortunately, only seven of the original 20 enrolled students survive, and they seem to be the cream of the crop. They’re all doing quite well, and most are articulate and creative. So reading this stuff shouldn’t be torture. I hope.

Charley the Golden Retriever spent a day visiting earlier this week. Cassie the Corgi is looking a bit bored just now, without him to chase around. They spend a great deal of time teasing each other. When they’re not conkered out on the floor, they’re a blur of motion.

We have, for example, the opening feint: a toy-snatch…

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Cassie, who has doggle telepathy, knows what he’s up to. That thing he’s trying to kill is one of her beloved stuffed vultures, lately brought home from Costco.

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Not so fast, hound!

Now for the showdown. First, though, click here for the sound effects

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Make my day, White Cur!

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And it’s a total rout. Even if they weren’t shooting up and down the hall like rockets (and charging the human so it can’t hold the camera steady), Charley’s tail would be wagging so fast it would be a blur, despite (or because of) Cassie’s savage barking frenzy.

Gerardo was over here a couple days ago cleaning up the yard, which was still suffering the aftermath of the freeze. He and his underling picked up a ton of fallen citrus — the Meyer lemon was especially hard-hit by the frost, and the two Arizona sweets also dropped a lot of frozen fruit. And of course there were dead leaves and spent spring blossoms all over the ground, plus thorny dead branches to prune out of five bougainvilleas, plus the dead stuff off the blue plumbago, plus the dead stuff off the yellowbell that froze down to the ground, plus more weeds than Carter has oats.

In the course of pulling out clover and chickweed, Underling broke off an agave plant, an old favorite in the backyard. It was pretty badly frost-damaged, but still…I wasn’t too thrilled to have to haul it out to the garbage.

Whenever Gerardo’s underlings do some sort of damage, they invariably try to hide it. LOL! The guy propped up the beheaded agave so it would look like it was still just sitting there normally. Unfortunately, though, it did look ever so slightly strange. 😀

So now I have to figure out what to do with this spot.

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Interestingly, there’s a rather pretty agave growing in the front yard, one that does NOT have fierce man-gouging thorns on it of the sort that (dis)graced the deceased. It tolerates more water than I expected — I thought it would be pretty xeric, but as it develops, to keep it looking good I have to drag a hose out to it now and again. That’s good, because there’s an old tree bubbler in the now vacant spot.

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And darned if that plant doesn’t have a good-sized baby growing on it!

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So sometime in the next few days, I’ll have to twist that thing off and stick it in the backyard.

Weird things are growing from those bulbs I planted a few weeks ago.

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And now instead of editing anthology essays, I have diddled the entire afternoon away at blogging. And so, to work…

 

Thank You, God!

So here I am in the drink, in more ways than one. I’ve had two b&w’s with a lunch of chicken added to bok choy & garden red chard stir-fried together (the piece of grilled chicken cadged from a week’s supply of Cassie’s stash of cut-rate protein) (b&w: that would be “bourbon & water”). My back hurts. It makes the hips hurt. Though they don’t hurt like they did, they still hurt, and hurt is hurt. Oh, my god, but hurt is hurt.

I’ve learned that sneaking into the icy swimming pool water an inch at a time until the water reaches the sacroiliac helps a great deal to numb the old-bat pain. So….the day is warm, the sun is hot…oh, WTF, why not?

About at knee level, it strikes me that the water is not all that cold. About at hip level, it comes to me that at the age of 12 I would jump into water like this without a second thought.

At 68, I’m smarter than I was at 12.

However, let us suppose that one b&w erases approximately 30 years from the human. Two would erase 60 years. Uh huh. Two and a half would make you…what? Still in the womb? A twinkle in my father’s eye? Nay: a twinkle in my grandfather’s eye…

I declare myself 12 years old and take the plunge.

And you know what? That water is not, after all, cold enough to stop your heart. It feels INCREDIBLY WONDERFUL!

Oh. What a magnificent swim!

And so I am brought back to what I really am: an ecstatic, truth-to-tell pagan whose god is a woman that dwells somewhere Outback of the universe She created. The sky blue goes on and on and on forever and the radiant, no — the radioactive white glare of the star nearest us consumes the west, and yes, yes: people may be crazy, beer may be good, but only God is great.

Thank You, God, for all the life You created. Thank you, God, for all You created that is not life. Thank You for all the magnificence and all the baseness, all the splendor and all the obscenity, all the joy and all the misery, all the grace and all the cruelty, all the knowledge and all the awe, all the mystery of all creation, for all that we who are Your creatures can know or sense.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, God!

 

Happy Easter!

P1020147Happy Easter Egg! It’s been a busy week, and so I haven’t had time to post much. Holy week — the run-up to Easter in the Christian mode of thinking — has been filled with rehearsals and performances. And added to that, work has started to come in from various clients again.

The choir sang Paul Mealor’s Stabat Mater for its Easter concert, and it seemed to come off well. It’s an amazing experience to learn one of these awe-inspiring compositions, and even more amazing for a mostly volunteer choir to pull it off. The reason we do, of course, is that we have a number of professional singers, as well as a near-miraculous music director.

After a little rain a few weeks ago, we’re having a beautiful, warm spring. The desert, still parched by a decade-long drought, hasn’t sprung forth with the color that’s possible, but a few wildflowers are blossoming. We spotted these poppies in the valley between North Mountain and Shaw Butte.

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{sigh} As usual, you have to click on the image to see it in focus and in detail. Annoying WordPress…

Despite  some serious frost damage, the citrus has bloomed spectacularly in the past couple of weeks. The first to pop out was the Meyer lemon, and now the oranges and lime are covered with blossoms. Citrus is heavily scented, so at this time of year the air is perfumed with fragrance.

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The Lady Banks rose I planted a couple of years ago to block the view of the pool equipment was unfazed by the frost, unlike the cape honeysuckle it replaces. The honeysuckle used to freeze back to the ground in a cold winter, but roses shrug it off. And this spring for the first time, Lady Banks is covered with tiny white blossoms.

LadyBanks

The little garden I planted around the base of that rose somehow has managed to survive the seasons of neglect. I don’t remember what this flower is, but isn’t it pretty?

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Here’s another mystery plant that grew in a different neglected bed…

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I have no idea why these things survived the cold snap, but they did, and they’re gorgeous just now.

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Despite the floral show, the yard’s really a mess: dead bougainvillea and plumbago sticks need to be cut back; weeds are growing amok; a third of the lime tree’s canopy is dead; the yellow oleander in front has turned into a dried arrangement; and leaves and twigs and debris have settled in a carpet over the xeric mulch. Gerardo has his work cut out for him…I suppose I’ll have to give him a bonus for the extra work he’ll have to do this month.

And soon it will be summer. The pool’s already almost warm enough for a brisk swim. We’ve had an unusually warm spring, and that often presages a scorching summer. It’s hard to understand how anything lives in this place.

One of these days, presumably, nothing will. But I’ll be gone by then. 😉

Do We Have More Expenses Than Our Parents Did?

At Surviving and Thriving,  a reader named Grace posted an interesting comment on Donna Freedman’s latest gracefully written post about generosity and about keeping perspective on one’s own problems.

Perspective is such an important thing, and one that we so often lose in the face of our personal woes. While I am quick to whine about my financial state, I do try to keep in mind that my parents reared their children, bought a home and had a satisfying retirement on far less than I make. Naturally, they didn’t have my expenses, but truth to tell, I shouldn’t have my expenses!

Our parents brought up their families, paid for a home, and had an adequate retirement despite never earning much…. They didn’t have our expenses, but…maybe we indulge ourselves. Oh, God. I can’t resist:

Really? Is that so?

My parents rented all the time that my father was working — partly because we lived overseas for ten years, and partly because my father felt mortgage interest was the biggest rip-off known to humankind. When my father retired, he bought a house in Sun City with cash.

The house my parents retired to would sell for about $71,000 today. In 2004, it sold for $110,000, considerably less than Zillow thinks it was worth at the height of the bubble, in 2005.

My parents bought that house in 1962. Let’s go with the $71,000 figure as the value of the house, although, relatively speaking, it may have been somewhat higher when the place was brand-new. In 1962 dollars, that price would be $9,235.  In 1960, the average price of a Sun City house was about $10,550 — and my parents’ house was one of the smaller models.

I think my father earned about $8,000 to $10,000 a year as a Merchant Marine deck officer with a license to sail any tonnage on any ocean. That translates to about $61,500 to $76,880 in 2013 dollars. And it’s probably low: today a tanker captain with an unlimited license earns between $120,000 and $200,000. However, toward the end of his career my father sailed, by choice, as first mate, because the job didn’t entail 24–7 responsibility for the ship’s operation and safety.  So, the lower figures are probably accurate. My mother occasionally took office jobs, but she wasn’t paid much — in today’s dollars, probably no more than about 18 grand. By the time my father retired, purchased a new car, and put me through college, he had about $130,000 left in savings; that would come to about $999,400 in today’s dollars.

If that estimate is anywhere near accurate, he was doing a great deal better than his daughter is doing.

Is it true that they didn’t have our expenses?

Well, my father paid for my tuition, room, and board at the University of Arizona. He gave me $1,000 a year to cover all my bills for the nine-month academic period. That’s the equivalent, in 2013 bucks, of $7,868. I paid the tuition and dorm bills, budgeted $10 a week for all my meals, clothing, laundry, and other incidental expenses, and, at the end of spring semester, came out about even. Today, if you lived on campus, it would cost you about $24,744 to attend the UofA.

So: check! There’s an expense he didn’t have.

The four-door Ford Galaxie he bought cost $2,500: about $19,980 in today’s dollars. Not much difference there: that’s what I have budgeted for the purchase of my next vehicle.

In 1962, the cost of gasoline was about 25 to 30 cents a gallon: $1.92 to $2.31 in 2013 dollars: about 2/3 of what we pay today, adjusted for inflation. Some savings there, but not as much as one might have expected.

A Porterhouse steak cost $1.19 a pound; hamburger was 45 cents a pound; butter, 67 cents a pound; baby food, 25 cents for three jars; carrots, 9 cents a bunch; asparagus, 19 cents a pound; potatoes, 39 cents for 10 pounds; corn, 5 cents an ear; onions,  29 cents for 2 pounds;  oranges, 89 cents for two dozen; bananas, 10 cents a pound; bacon, 79 cents a pound; Crest toothpaste, 50 cents a tube; Tide laundry soap, 59 cents.

How much would that market basket cost us today, if we paid the same amount in inflation-adjusted dollars?

Porterhouse steak: $9.15 a pound (= $1.19 expressed in 2013 dollars) (Safeway has Porterhouse for $5.99 a pound just now)
hamburger: $3.46 a pound (Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates average price of $3.055/pound for 100% ground beef in 2013)
butter:  $5.15 a pound (BLS estimates $3.37/pound in 2012)
baby food: $1.92 for three jars (at Walmart, 98 cents for two; that’s $1.47 for three)
carrots: 69 cents a bunch (BLS estimate: 55 cents a pound, which would probably be about $1.10 a bunch)
asparagus: $1.46 a pound (on sale at Safeway in 2011 for $1.28 a pound)
potatoes: $3 for 10 pounds (in 2011, the federal government estimated you’d pay about $6.50)
corn: 38 cents an ear (in 2012, $1 for 6 ears at Safeway; 17 cents an ear)
onions: $2.23 for two pounds — about $1.12 a pound (last week I bought onions at Safeway for 88 cents a pound)
oranges: $6.84 for two dozen (today’s price: 88 cents a pound; for 24 that would probably be about $10.55)
bananas: 77 cents a pound (55 cents a pound, Safeway)
bacon: $6.07 a pound (BLS estimate, 2013: $5.23 a pound)
Crest toothpaste: $3.84 per tube ($3.67 at Kroger; $1.67 with a coupon)
Tide laundry soap: $4.54, unknown quantity (2013 price: Costco, $17.49 for 170 ounces, high efficiency)

Let’s compare. In the comparison, though, let’s drop the laundry detergent, since we don’t know how much that inflation-adjusted $4.54 bought and since the new HE version would wash many more loads than 1962’s Tide would.

What would they have paid, in the same dollars we use, for their products, and what are we actually paying for those products today:

1962 vs 2013 prices

I swear: I’m not making this up!

If you express the amounts they paid in 2013 dollars and then compare what you and I would pay for the same products today, the total is…just about the same!

So no. Their day-to-day expenses were not a lot less than ours.

What about utilities?

Well, the average residential cost of electricity in 1965 was 2 cents per kilowatt-hour; adjusted for inflation, that figure would come to 15 cents per kilowatt-hour. In 2010, the average cost for residential users was 11.53 cents per kilowatt-hour. No bargain for our parents there.

Most homes had no air-conditioning, although we did have swamp coolers and window air-conditioners, which, like heating systems, were inefficient and expensive to run. And of course no one had ever heard of a DSL connection.

Average cost for cable TV: about $50 a month; in 1962 dollars, this would have been $6.50. But it’s moot: there was no cable TV in 1962 — television viewing was free. There was less advertising, too, we might add.

After much Google and Yahoo searching, I haven’t found a reliable figure for the base monthly cost of a residential land line in the 1960s. Today’s basic cost for cell phone service of $30 to $50 compares favorably with the  $45 landline cost claimed by Wiki Answers (there were no cell phones, of course), except…$45 would equate to $331 today, plus you had to pay extra for toll calls. Highly unlikely. If memory serves, I think the base residential cost was $8 or $10 a month, but any call to another area code, including one just a few miles away, would result in a long-distance charge, which could be pretty expensive. When we lived in San Francisco, my mother had to pay long-distance charges to call her grandmother in Berkeley, a 20-minute drive across the Bay Bridge. Assuming you rarely made toll calls, though, a $10 bill of 1962 would be $76.88 today — about what I pay Cox for a DSL connection and a landline.

If we moderns dispense with the land line, we can get cell service for a much more modest rate. We’ll have to pay for the phone itself — but that’s a one-time hit. And besides…the “phone” is not really a phone: it’s a tiny computer connected to the airwaves.

In 1968, a 23-inch color console TV cost $349; a quick conversion indicates this was the equivalent of $2,328. A 60-inch high-definition flat-screen color TV will set you back only 980 of today’s dollars at Costco. And you won’t have to deal with the recurring visits by the repairman that we enjoyed during the 60s.

The average salary from which our parents paid costs that were the same as or higher than the prices we’re paying today was $4,659 in 1965 — $31,082 in today’s dollars — and most households had only one salary: the man’s. Today’s intact families usually have two earners. In 2012 the average starting salary for new college grads (those who could get jobs…) was $44,259. For all earners, the average salary in 2011 was $42,980. But bear in mind: in many households today, two adults are working. In 2012, the average U.S. household income was $63,091 — twice what a typical married couple in my father’s generation could expect.

Think of that. They were paying the same or higher costs — sometimes much higher — for the same products and services we buy. But in many cases those products and services, such as automobiles that were unsafe at any speed and clunky hard-wired phones with extra fees for long distance and TV sets prone to snow, static, and spinning images, were decidedly inferior to ours. Overall the cost of living was not a heckuva lot less, when the monetary units consumers paid with are inflation-adjusted.

Did our parents make far less than we do? Yep. In general.

Did they have fewer expenses than we do? Not exactly.

Should we have our expenses? Well, sure we should. Most of them buy the same services and products our parents had, only better in quality and lower in real cost. The only indulgence I can see in the expenses shown above is cable television — and many American TV fans have canceled that in favor of cheaper, less wasteful entertainment such as Netflix.

Maybe there’s a reason we live in bigger houses than our parents did, collect electronic gadgetry that would have been science fiction to them, and park two or three cars in the garage: we can afford them.


 

You Get What You Pay For

Have you seen Mrs. Accountability’s latest post, the one contemplating the glories (or not) of Fiverr? It’s pretty interesting.

She’d mentioned that site over the phone a while back, shortly after the episode with the friend of the “who needs enemies” variety. So naturally, I shot right over there to see what it’s about.

What you find when you arrive at Fiverr is a list of offers of services and small products for five bucks a pop. Some of these (like graphic design) actually could command a decent rate, and some (like images a computer program can toss off in 10 seconds) ought not to. Based in Israel, Fiverr is an international enterprise, and presumably many of its vendors are living in countries where $5 will buy a week’s worth of food.

A similar program (presumably owned by the same outfit, given the identical site design) is called “Twenty Fiverr”; people who think they’re worth more offer the same kind of services and products for twenty-five bucks instead of five. Here’s a guy, for example, who promises to provide seven “quality” articles in less than 24 hours, using a program that generates pap-filled, verbose, redundancy-laced, and vacuous squibs, and he’ll do it for a bargain $25.

I have a lot of beefs with this model.

First, as a self-employed skilled worker who has nothing to sell but skill, experience, and time, I highly resent being undercut by people who are willing to work, it seems, for little more than an ego trip. This is something that for years has kept rates down for writers and for graphic artists, especially those who do business within the publishing industry. Publishers know that some people who can construct a basic article will do it for less than minimum wage — some will do it for nothing — just for the joy of seeing their names in print. The result usually has to be completely rewritten, but that’s what the assistant or associate editor is for. At both of the magazines where I worked full-time, a large part of my job entailed sitting down at a computer and, starting at Word 1, rewriting articles by freelance “writers” from beginning to end.

Many magazines have two or three contract pay scales. Unemployed or moonlighting journalists who actually do know how to research and construct a competent article are paid a living wage. Everyone else gets crumbs. Some publishers simply will not pay a living wage to anyone, because they know plenty of amateurs will do the job (or something like the job) for next to nothing.

It’s the intellectual equivalent of off-shoring. In the case of Fiverr and Twenty Fiverr, it probably is literal off-shoring, too. As an individual buyer of services and products, my sense is that those of us who resent corporate off-shoring of American jobs have no business doing the same to American contract workers. Buy American. And pay something more than slave wages, if you expect to see your country’s standard of living remain above the Third World level.

When one person does a job, even a poor job, for less than fair pay, that person drives down pay for five, ten, or twenty other people for whom work is a living, not a hobby. In my book, that’s wrong.

Second, you really do get what you pay for.

Let’s take a look at the “high quality” article that squib-generator built, using a set of key words relating to weight loss. Here’s its  lead:

Weight loss is a confusing topic. There are so many different people and articles telling you so many different things, it can be quite difficult to wrap your head around them all. This article will aim to lay down the essential and necessary basics of weight loss in hopes to clear the fog that surround it.

Does that make you want to keep reading, as a lead should? It makes me want to run away…but let’s stand our ground and take a hard look at the thing.

“Weight  loss is a confusing topic.” No, it’s not. Weight loss is a process, not a topic. In any event, as statements go this one adds nothing. Right off, we know we’re dealing with a writer who is either a moron or an amateur. Or, in this case, a machine. Even machines can beat around the bush.

“So many different people…so many different things.” Nice use of redundancy to pad space! Is it likely that a person would say “many identical people telling you many identical things”? If the inserting opposite term creates an absurdity, then the adjective in question — “different,” in this instance — is probably  redundant. Here, it is redundant to the power of two.

“Difficult to wrap your head around them…” I should say so, unless your head is made of Silly Putty.  Our electronic author first coins a cliché and then turns it into a grotesque image. Note that it injects another cliché (“to clear the fog”) in the following sentence.

Cliché is the least of the next sentence’s offenses, though. First, instead of telling us anything significant or intriguing, the electronic author vows to try to give us a few fundamental pointers on the mind-numbing topic of weight loss, with no promise — only “hopes” — that whatever follows will enlighten us. This kind of pap a lead does not make. Then it ends with a faulty idiom (“in hopes to clear”: a native speaker would write “in hopes of clearing”) and a grammatical error (“the fog that surround”: subject-verb agreement).

Come to think of it, the entire article is replete with grammatical, punctuation, logical, and idiomatic errors:

“Easier” used as an adverb (Electro-author meant “more easily”).
“Change subtle habits that will increase the amount of walking one has to do”: if the habits increase the amount of walking you do, why would you want to change them? Possibly Electro-author meant “develop” or “build”?
No comma after “but” used as an introductory word (some people think it’s bad form to use a conjunction to begin a sentence, but that rule doesn’t apply much in journalistic writing).
Lettuce that’s “more green”…heeeee!

Writing style is, to put it kindly, nonexistent:

Neither the second nor the third section shows any sign of paragraph transition.
Verb mood jumps from declarative to imperative in paragraph 5, for no discernible reason.
Complex ideas are touched upon and sometimes given a cursory example, then dropped with no clue to how the advice might be interpreted or used.
The final paragraph regurgitates the first one, adding nothing except another hilariously grotesque image: “too many hands in the soup.” Careful not to choke on those knucklebones!

At Twenty Fiverr you get seven such “quality” articles for $25…not a bad price, to make yourself look like a moron to whomever reads one of the things.

My momma always used to say that you get what you pay for. But it wasn’t until I moved into the first house I bought by my little self, as a single woman, that I truly came to appreciate that old saw.

The house had washer and dryer connections, and it must be said that one of the chores I hated most in life was schlepping my laundry to a coin-op laundromat. First order of business was to install a new washer and dryer.

Being the naturally submissive type, though, and hooked up with a very dominant gentleman, I allowed myself to be persuaded to buy a low-end Monkey Ward washer and dryer. The two machines looked good at the outset: extra large, nothing fancy but evidently serviceable.

The dryer lasted about a year. Soon as it went off warranty, it crapped right out. Annoyed (and by then wise to the fact that boyfriend was pushing me into doing things I knew better than to do), I had to go buy a new one at Sears.

The second model was far from top of the line — it was a mid-range Kenmore, well liked by Consumer Reports. Twenty years later, it’s still out there in the garage running well. From the day I tossed the first load of wet laundry into it, the thing worked better than the Monkey Ward cheapo ever did, and it still works.

By purchasing a piece of junk first, I caused myself to pay significantly more than it would have cost to have just ponied up a reasonable price for a reasonably good product in the first place!

If I’d replaced the junk with another cut-rate product, I’d probably be on my fifth or sixth dryer by now, to the tune of four or five times what a single decent appliance cost.

The personal finance message? Bully for you if you can get a generous  mark-down on a good product that started out at a fair price. The blade cuts two ways: paying a lot more doesn’t always buy a lot better quality. Paying a fair price — not the lowest though not necessarily the highest, either — is likely to get you services that do the job well and products that work and hold up over time.