The recession is over

According to the National Bureau of Economic Research, the recession is now over. Everybody's going to find jobs. No more layoffs. No more furloughs. Back to work everybody! Happy days are here again.

The liberal vs. Aunt Agnes

We all have Aunt Agneses. They are our mothers, our neighbors, our co-workers and in some cases, our Aunt Agneses. At this point in history she is dominating the American political landscape. She has the Democrats as scaird as a turkey in a football stadium on Thanksgiving.

The modern day liberal: All religions deserve tolerance and the Moslems have a right to do whatever they want in New York.

Aunt Agnes: They want to be close to the World Trade Center so they can plot another attack on Americans.

The modern day liberal: Immigrants built this country and illegal immigrants should be treated with compassion and their children deserve an education.

Aunt Agnes: They come over here to get welfare and free health care and the illegal ones should be shipped back from where they came.

The modern day liberal: The school teacher is at the forefront of creating a new generation of American citizens. They should be paid and rewarded for the important work they do.

Aunt Agnes: Schoolteachers, don't get me started. They work a nine month year, and God forbid they should stay in the classroom after three o'clock. The unions have ruined our schools.

Today all the politicians are afraid of dear Aunt Agnes. And she always made such good pies.

Blind man's bluff

I recently went on an expedition to beautiful upstate New York. I took the new car and the latest edition to my traveling ensemble, the GPS, which I affectionately named Jean. I had my route all mapped out in advance thanks to the more plebeian Yahoo maps. Half way up Route 81 Jean announced that I was making a turn onto a state highway. I couldn't figure out why. Being a natural follower instead of a leader, I did what I was told. I spent the next three hours jaunting around on state and county roads. I saw beautiful downtown Ithaca. I passed a farm maze. I passed an octagon house.

Eventually I did arrive at beautiful Canandaigua. Should I have been more assertive and not left the Interstate? Made Jean announce the dreaded word "recalculating"? Did Jean know something I didn't know? Am I sheep and not a man?

One thing I did learn is that, like blind man's bluff, you must either follow Jean like a robot or go your own way. If you suddenly make a decision midway to leave the chosen route you can go seriously out of your way.

Editor's note: I have posted a photograph of this year's balcony garden on my companion blog, Balcony Tomatoes.

Wildwood

In New Jersey people like to go to the shore during the summer. They love to sit in bumper to bumper traffic to go to their favorite shore resort. On a hot humid day in Wildwood you can really experience the Americana that the Jersey shore provides. Thousands of people lining the boardwalk, trying their luck at the pinball machines, eating pizza and having Polish ices.

I got to take the shuttle and saw lots of Wildwood, home of do wop architecture. Sitting on the seat, wishing I had remembered my suntan lotion, we went to the end of the line in North Wildwood and retreated to the hotel bar at the Montego Bay. It had the coldest and most delicious beer I ever had. One of the group wanted to go indoors to see the waterpark. It was incredibly hot and humid at the waterpark. Reminded me of what a class B hotel in Miami would be like. Still it has a great bar.

The flush up toilet

When I was growing up I lived in a house with only one bathroom. In emergencies, I could always use the slop sink in the basement for no. 1 if not for no. 2. My father, when he was thinking of selling the house, decided to put a flush up toilet in the basement. Why did he wait so long? At any rate, because it was below the sewer line, the mechanism had to move the refuse up to the pipe. Home from graduate school and jobless, my father saw an opportunity for us to have a little home project. My father and myself sawed lumber and built a little enclosure. We even built a little exhaust fan. Then he ordered a flush up toilet from an ad he saw in the paper.

One day my mother got a call that the flush up toilet was ready. It was waiting at the Greyhound Station on Polifly Road. I was volunteered to pick up the thing. Sons are handy in that way.

After hours of work, the flush up toilet was installed in a cute little room. My mother did the decorating. Postcards from various family trips graced the walls.

One afternoon my father had some of his golf buddies over. I decided to smoke a j---t in the new bathroom I was just about to light it when my father started banging on the door. I managed to hide the j and chatted with the golfers about all the work I had done on the flush up toilet. We were all happy. Another minute and this story might have had a different ending.

Many young people are living at home now and I suppose similar stories can be told across this great land.

The air conditioning theory

I have a new theory on how globalization affects the United States. You can think of the world as a giant house in summer where the owner can only afford to air condition one room. The rest of the house is hot, humid, and full of mold except for the one room that has an air conditioner. The room with the air conditioner is the developed world. The United States, Canada, western Europe, Australia are relatively comfortable and (until recently) prosperous.
If you open the doors of that room you have the world economy under globalization. The outer reaches of the house get a slight increase in comfort. Most noticeable, however is the one room that had air conditioning. It's conditions deteriorate rapidly.

Dog shifts and automatics

Starting with the first car I ever bought, a 1979 Toyota Corolla and on through my two Ford Escorts, I have always had a manual transmission in my cars. I was a terrible shifter the first two months of the experience but in past years I have become quite good (methinks) at using the clutch. My friends and family have always disputed this fact and long held the belief that I was a terrible shifter. My parents hated when I shifted my car. My female friends have always closed their eyes when I reached for the dreaded gear shift.

Today, partly due to arthritis, I have faced the ravages of time and admitted that I am middle aged. I bought an automatic. I am now like everybody else. Driving is easier, I admit. Still I miss the manual transmission. Shifting is fun, dargon it.

Editor's note: 1999 Ford Escort, manual, in photo.