Coffee heat rising

Blogging: It takes over your life

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Do you believe there’s such a thing as an addiction to the Web? Personally, it’s the kind of nonsense I discount as pop-psych woo-woo. These folks, for example, claim Internet addiction is “a growing epidemic,” pretty alarming considering the whole concept stems from a satire. Dubious as the idea seems, sometimes I wonder. There’s no question I’m spending way too much time blogging and way too little time living real life.

It can’t all be blamed on blogging. About 99 percent of my work is done online, whether it’s editing or teaching. Last night I worked until 12:30 a.m. trying to finish the course prep for the English 101 class that starts next month. Got to bed around 1:00 and then, naturally, awoke at 5:30.

I’m getting fat because I’m not getting enough exercise, and I’m not getting enough exercise because I’m parked in front of the computer from dawn until the middle of the night. Day after day after day. To some extent that’s abetted by the heat: it’s just too darned hot to go out trotting around the park or the desert. But the truth is, this was going on a long time before summer arrived.

Normally I stumble into the office and start blogging the minute I roll out of the sack. This means starting some time between 3:30 and 5:30 a.m. Write from one to three hours. Then get up, feed the dog, feed myself, in summertime water the outdoor potted plants. Then it’s right straight back to the computer for editing, teaching tasks, Internet cruising, or more blogging. Stuck there till around 2:00 or 3:00 p.m. Get up, grab a snack, sit back down in front of the computer. Come 8:00 or so, realize the dog hasn’t eaten. Feed the dog. Maybe grab another snack; rarely fix a real dinner. Back to the computer until I can’t hold my eyes open, a state that usually occurs around 10:00 or 11:00 p.m.  Sometimes when I get up I’m so stiff from having sat in one position for so long, I can barely walk.

Socializing with my friend KJG for a day and a half, I learned that she spends most of her at-home time on her feet. Her house is spotless and her acre of land is immaculate because she’s busy attending to it. My house—the parts you can see around the clutter—is awash in dust and dog-hair dunes because I’m too preoccupied with the computer to clean, and my yard is overgrown and tired-looking because I never bother to trim the plants and my idea of weeding is dribbling a few drops of Round-up here and there.

This. has. gotta. stop.

As I reflected a while back, too much of my supposedly entrepreneurial time is being spent on highly unprofitable endeavors. The teaching makes the most consistent return on time invested, but it’s not returning much. Blogging? Today I made $3 and change; that works out to about a dollar an hour. Editing pays $30 to $60 an hour, but only when there’s some work coming in, which just now is not the case because I’ve been too busy sitting in front of the computer to market myself.

This morning I decided to get up and do something instead of padding into the office. Even though the four-hour nap (these cannot be called “a night’s sleep”) left me struggling to keep my eyes open, I started in on the neglected yardwork. Repotted the long-suffering hibiscus and lashed it to a standpipe so it won’t blow over in the next monsoon wind. Dragged a bunch of pots whose plants have fried in the heat back to the yard-gear storage. Dragged the hose to various plants. Stuck a number of succulent cuttings into the pockets of the murderous giant strawberry pot, probably to be pulled out soon by The Yanker, a curved-bill thrasher with a fetish for small, juicy plants. Washed down the deck, after a fashion.

Then it was back to work on the 101 class, whose “couple” of remaining small tasks expanded to fill all available space. Midafternoon, I fell asleep on the sofa and stayed out till 5:30. Back to the computer; remembered to feed the dog around 8:30. Finally finished—finished!—the course prep and got the entire, endlessly time-consuming BlackBoard lash-up ready to go.

So it is that I write this at 11:19 p.m.

It’s time to consider whether this blog should continue at all, and if so, in what form. Next semester is going to be hectic. Each of my classes is just eight weeks long, and so students will be turning in stuff in every class meeting. Even if I succeed in controlling the time spent reading student papers—which you can be sure I will not—the schedule does not lend itself to spending two, three, or more hours a day writing and cruising the Web.

One option is to demonetize the site, so it no longer feels like a job, and so it doesn’t really matter much whether something gets posted every day.

Another is to change my work habits so as to spend evenings sitting in a more comfortable chair in front of the TV and writing on a laptop, instead of in a bone-crushing desk chair in front of a desktop. This is how Funny started: it was an idle hobby to cut the boredom of the awful, violent and mind-numbing fodder that is prime-time television. After shifting the blog-writing time to early morning, I stopped watching television altogether (because I’m now working into the night, every evening).

And a third is to stop blogging altogether.

I’d be sorry to do that. Funny about Money has become part of my life (obviously) and part of my identity. But I’ve got to get up from in front of the computer. If I can’t find a way to do that in the very near future, some major changes will have to take place.

What do you do to keep this occupation, such as it is, from becoming a preoccupation?

Interesting Day…

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Last April my friend KJG’s almost-new RAV-4 was totaled when a speeding chucklehead ran the signal at an intersection as she turned left. Fortunately she was not gravely injured, although she spent a couple of nights in the hospital.

The police found witnesses who said the other driver had run the red light, and KJG was exonerated of any fault in the wreck. Her insurer proceeded to go after the perp.

So she was surprised to receive a subpoena for a court hearing in Peoria municipal court. The perp, it appeared, was contesting the ticket!

Because she was a bit unnerved by this, I volunteered to go with her to provide moral support. Meanwhile, she reported the development to her claims adjuster at USAA, who, upon looking into the matter, discovered that the guy who got the ticket for running the red was appealing on the grounds that he was not the driver, but that his brother had been behind the wheel. KJG already knew that the car’s owner had not reported the accident to his insurer, but this new twist was as surprise.

It turned out to be a pretty entertaining afternoon.

A witness to the accident was also subpoenaed, and the cop who wrote the report, a razor-sharp woman who reminded me vividly of Deputy Jo Lupo on Eureka, showed up. She was startled to learn, in the course of KJG’s testimony, that the witness got the story wrong and had her driving in a different direction from where she was coming from, but fortunately that proved to be neither here nor there.

The defendant alleged that his brother was driving the car, which belonged to his father, and that he—defendant—had not seen a police report and didn’t even know where the accident had occurred. When KJG and the witness said that despite a strong family resemblance they didn’t think he was the driver, the judge gleefully dismissed the charges against him.

Deputy Lupo The officer, with evident relish, announced she was going after the real perp, this time for the felonies of misleading an officer of the law and stealing his identity.

So a good time was had by all (except, presumably, for the brother, believed to be on the lam). KJG was not challenged on the issue of her innocence in the accident. The alleged driver was proven not to be the driver at all. The judge was grinning like a Cheshire cat at the details of this little drama. And Deputy Lupo got a new perp to chase.

Aren’t you glad he’s not your brother?

When Is a Splurge a Good Thing?

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Not, one could argue, when the Splurger is supposed to be pinching pennies to get through a ridiculously tight time.

That bit of logic notwithstanding, today I blew $400 out of my monthly diddle-it-away fund, reducing the balance to just over a thousand bucks. After the glasses and the clothes episodes, this might (one could argue), just might not represent the highest pinnacle of wisdom to which I have ever aspired.

But it’s not bothering me. Here’s why:

Today’s purchase is a new gas grill, a Weber Spirit E-210, which sells here, there, and everywhere for $399. It’s small—only two burners—but it comes highly recommended by reviewers on several sites.

I love my charcoal grill, which replaced the last gas grill. But…it’s just enough extra work to make me not want to fire it up for dinner. Even when I feel like hassling with it and then scrubbing charcoal dust out from under my fingernails, at this time of year it feels unsafe. During monsoon, a stiff wind can come up with no warning; the hardwood charcoal I favor shoots out hot sparks and cinders with the élan of a magnesium sparkler. In a stiff breeze, they blow into the shrubbery and trees, and frankly I’m concerned about starting a fire in these hot, dry conditions.

Meanwhile, cooking in the kitchen also creates a hassle. Every time I get that darn stove clean, I end up splattering more grease all over it. Last night I cooked a piece of steak and, craving a little enhancement, poured in a few drops of wine to deglaze the pan. Even though I’d turned the heat off under the pan, the wine and hot grease exploded all over the kitchen!

So with dinner congealing on the plate, I got to break out the de-greasers and scrub down the walls, counters, floor, and even the counter all the way across the kitchen from the stove. That was fun.

When I’m tired, which is most of the time, I just don’t feel like making another mess to have to clean up, like having to scrub a frying pan and at least one or two other pans if I make side dishes.

The result is, I’m not eating well. Sometimes I’m not eating at all. I just don’t want to be bothered with the mess.

Half the time I snack on cheese and crackers, often washed down with a beer or two. If I feel energetic enough to cook, it’ll be a pot of pasta, because I can prepare the pasta and a quick sauce in the same pan. As a result, despite not eating much, I’m getting even fatter than I was.

This isn’t healthy.

When I had the gas grill, I usually tossed meat and vegetables onto the grill to cook. All that had to be washed was a dinner plate, a glass, a knife, and a fork. The stove never needed to be scrubbed more than once a month, if that often. I ate well because it was easy to eat well.

Now I’m eating badly—when I eat at all—and I’m getting fatter and fatter.

You see where this is going? I regard that $400 as an investment in my health, not an extravagance. I have got to get back to eating properly!

This little grill, which actually cost a bit more than I planned, is just about the right size to cook one or two portions. The big charcoal grill can be reserved for when guests come over or when I have enough ambition to cook up something that tastes smokey and good.

I think I got a pretty good deal on it: commenters at Amazon revealed that the version sold at Home Depot comes with cast-iron grates; most Weber Spirit models have sheet metal grills, far less desirable. Went over to Lowe’s and found the Weber Spirit there, and sure enough, theirs had the chintzy grates. Lowe’s was having a sale on a larger, fancier model, but the $500 asking price was more than I could afford. On to Home Depot: yea verily, for the same price, their Weber Spirit 210 has nice, heavy cast-iron grates. Not only that, but the Depot will assemble the thing for free.

So I think this is a case where a splurge is not a splurge.

♦ Did I already have a charcoal grill? Yes. But because it’s charcoal and not gas, I use it less and less.
♦ Did I need a gas grill? Probably not, given that a perfectly fine charcoal grill is standing out there in the backyard.
♦ But really, do I need a gas grill? Sure, if I’m going to get back to eating healthy again. Or eating at all.

Cheese & crackers vs. meat and veggies? No contest. I really do think this is not a splurge but a wise move, in spite of the bad timing.

Have you ever had a splurge that was not a splurge? What did you not-a-splurge on?

Yakeziites in Action

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This morning I was pretty entertained to find that the ineffable Evan, my favorite conservative PF blogger at My Journey to Millions, created a lively stir with a provocative post, “Why Teachers Anger Me.” He got quite a rise out of Budgeting in the Fun Stuff, another of my fave PF bloggers, who replied with verve in a whole post at her own site. Both posts elicited a terrific series of reader comments—33 comments at BFS and 56 at Journey, for a healthy total of 89 responses between the two writers.

Both are members of the Yakezie Challenge. Evan has risen to the 55th slot in Wisebread’s Top 100, with a current Alexa ranking of 89,759, and BFS’s ranking of 85,392 puts her in the 49th place.

Not bad, folks! Keep up the good work.

Meanwhile, Financial Samurai, the instigator of the Yakezie Challenge, has risen to the 19th spot with an Alexa ranking of 40,237. His most recent post will will give you something to think about: he reflects on some startling figures about the ratio of elderly to teenage workers.

Quick Summer Break…and maybe many more

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Yarnell-Frog
The Yarnell Frog at the base of Yarnell Hill, where the road begins its steep two-lane climb up the rim.

Yesterday my friend KJG and I decided to pile our dogs in the car and drive up to Yarnell, the quaint old mining town and wide spot in the road that I covet as a weekend getaway. Perched on the edge of the Mogollon Rim, it’s up out of the Valley’s heat, which at this time of year becomes oppressive with monsoon humidity.

Naturally, we picked the only day of the summer when it decided to rain in the morning. But that was fine: we welcome rain. It cuts the heat.

When we got up there, we went straight to the shady, peaceful Shrine of St. Joseph, retreat center with a religious diorama sculptured into the granite boulders at the top end of the town’s most picturesque road. This provided a place to park so we could stretch our legs and walk the dogs through the adjacent residential area.

Interestingly, the house that I think is absolutely the prettiest little dwelling in town is for sale. Here it is in more halcyon times. Isn’t that the sweetest and best little stone cottage? Probably assembled and mortared, rock by rock, by some miner back in the late 1800s.

It’s abandoned and gone to seed now, but still standing. If I wanted it, it’s there for the asking. In today’s market, the bank or whoever owns it would probably give it away.

Before long we got rained on and had to run uphill to return to the car. Soaked to the skin, we started back down toward the main drag, passing the coveted cottage. A Salt River Project lineman was parked in front—we had waved at him as we were walking around and so stopped to say hello. A Wickenburg resident, he also coveted the little house as a weekend cabin.

I asked him what he thought of the electric service; he said it looked OK to him, probably safe. The panel was relatively new, he said, and the air conditioning system on the roof was new. He remarked that it was a gas pack.

There’s no natural gas service in Yarnell. “Gas” is trucked-in propane.

“So that means the thing runs on propane?” said I.

“Hm,” said he. “Propane’s pretty expensive.” You can tell a native Arizonan by his gift for understatement.

The cottage has only two bedrooms; one of them, KJG noted, is about large enough to accommodate a camper’s cot. I suppose a single person could convert it to a walk-in closet, though.

The big problem with the house, though—other than the fact that it is a house, a white elephant to be renovated, maintained, cleaned, and gardened—is a large structural crack running from the roofline down to the ground. Whoever installed electric service (no doubt as a retrofit) cut a small nook into the stonework near an opening to the low crawl space beneath the structure, evidently to accommodate an outdoor electrical outlet. Though they spanned the opening with a short steel lintel, evidently this did not suffice to bear the weight above it.

So whoever buys the little house will purchase not only a great deal of charm but an expensive repair job. Assuming a repair can be made at all.

Moving on, we dried out over hot coffee (surprisingly good!) and home-made sweets at the Cornerstone Bakery, a favorite of locals up on the main drag. Residents like to pass the time in the charmingly decorated old shop, where everyone knows the proprietors and the proprietors know everyone.  I had a peach strudel wrapped in what tasted like real puff pastry and KJG said her cinnamon roll was the best she’d ever tasted.

Strung mid-town along route 89A are clusters of antique shops, galleries, and gift stores. I happened to know that the next-door Yarnell Emporium carries some interesting hand-designed T-shirts, among many other things. Although my clothes were no longer soaked thr0ugh, I craved a dry shirt and so steered us in that direction. On the way, though, we were waylaid by Behind the Door, a sweet little consignment gallery occupying an old house. Proprietor Carrie Brandenburg carries everything from original oils, acrylics, and watercolors to hippy-dippy bead jewelry of the kind I make myself.

There are some pretty interesting pieces in this store, among them a clever found-art sculpture, a lamp (of sorts) fashioned from old bicycle handlebars. Being the sort with a taste for the near-representational, I enjoyed the only slightly abstract  pictured images here, of pueblos and more recent Southwestern architecture. Click on the photo for a larger view.

We weren’t in the market for big-ticket items, though—or even for mid-ticket items. However, there was no chance either of us could get out of there without at least one of the attractively priced artsy-craftsy jewelry pieces. I picked up these; I couldn’t have made them myself for the amount the crafter asked, and they’re ideal for casual everyday wear.

YarnellJewelry
YarnellEmporium

KJG was in the market for yard art a cut or two or three above the painted plaster campesino slumbering beneath his umbrella in the shade of a saguaro. So she was delighted when we made our way to Yarnell Emporium, which among many other things specializes in some very entertaining and often charming outdoor decor. Just now owner Ed Williams is carrying a lot of metal designs.

I coveted the sunflowers:

KJG, having raised goats at one point in her misspent youth, was drawn to this little guy:

Frugality being the better part of valor, he’s not peeking out from under the shrubbery in her yard this morning. Alas. Inside the shop we spotted a monumental cast bell hung in a circular frame, very Asian in appearance. That was more like what she had in mind. At $500+, the price was pretty good compared to what you’d pay for it in a design shop or at an artist’s foundry in the city. She took it under advisement and is considering how it might fit in her and DH’s carefully landscaped backyard.

We hit it off with the sales rep, who had no one else to socialize with. Kathleen proved to be a discreet but effective shopper’s assistant. Before long we’d stocked up on hats, shirts, skirts…oh my! KJG found a wide-brimmed hat that looked terrific on her; so taken by it was she that she bought another one for her mother. The shop has a nice collection of broomstick skirts, a fashion long out of date but one that I happen to yearn for because it nicely disguises certain unstylish curves on my body. Fabric colors, which appear to be custom-dyed, are too gorgeous:

The little jacket on the right has turquoise-lined plackets that, when you have it on, open out like a shawl. The effect is surprisingly elegant—it’ll be perfect for church as well as for teaching this winter. Got the whole outfit for 30 percent off.

In the course of chatting, Kathleen unveiled a small revelation: the Emporium’s proprietor, Ed Williams, renovated an upstairs apartment and is renting it to the tourists.

“That so?” said we.

“So!” said she.

Since no other customers were braving the rain, she kindly gave us a tour. What we found was an amazing little gem, a beautifully decorated one-bedroom apartment hidden away on the second floor of the rustic store Ed has built on the ground floor. It has, among other things, a luxuriant leather sofa, a beautifully decorated bedroom, and a full kitchen with brand-new, top-of-the-line appliances. Rustic, this is not. And one of the things you should know about Yarnell: it occupies one of the most spectacular venues you can imagine. Step out on the apartment’s balcony, and you have a view of mountains and wide-open spaces in all directions.

Apparently he only wants about $70 night for this place.

Well. Hallelujah sisters and brothers! I might be able to afford that, especially if the Landlord will allow me to bring Cassie the Corgi. May not manage it during this financially nightmarish summer, but I certainly could do it after classes start. And if my scheme for next summer works, I probably could go up there a couple of times a month.

You could rent a lot of $70 rooms for what it would cost to buy that stone cottage in Yarnell.

§ § § §

We learned something else from the locals: The ranch my ex- and I used to own with a bunch of his law partners is now being operated as a bed and breakfast. Nothing would do, of course, but what we had to drive up there and see what was what. That exploration led to an interesting adventure, which I’ll soon tell you about in a new Entrpreneurs post.