Hobo Jack

One of the nice things about cable television is that occasionally when there is nothing on the regular channels or you've already seen the show, you can flip channels. Usually you come up with Gossip Girls or a religious show in Spanish but occasionally you come across a real gem. Monday night, for example, I discovered American Pickers, which was featuring an old codger named Hobo Jack. Hobo Jack lives "off the grid" in the woods, surrounded by collectible junk. Signs, old carburetors, 19th century lamps, etc. They are in barns that are hard to get into or scattered around the countryside.

Like many people we know, he is reluctant to part with anything. He always has plans for an item he is "going to use". Of course, we know that he will never rebuild that motorcycle or build a house out of elk antlers but he thinks he will. They do give him good prices for what he is willing to part with. He's not dumb, just a bit countrified.

The world needs more people like Hobo Jack. At least cable tv could use more of them.


Editor's note: I'm waiting for someone to tell me that Hobo Jack is a phony. He lives in a condo in Springfield and is really a retired professor from Cornell. He made a fortune in private equities, and sells stuff on E-Bay under a different name.

It's Granparents Day

So today is Grandparents Day. Did you send your grandparents a card? Did you send your grandparents a gift? Did you visit your grandparents? Did you call them?  What about people you know who are granparents (if not yours)? Did you remember them?

I am sorry but I didn't know about it and I missed the whole thing. Sorry Grandpa.

I ran a small business

I watched pieces of the the Republican convention. I learned how a woman with a child with Alzheimer's husband started making upholstery. Her family built that business, so they say. If you listen closely you might notice they sold to the Defense Department (government) the Little League (municipal government) Israel (had to be coordinated through the State Department) but they did it on their own. Well they wold have gotten a tax break if they had a handicapped child. Anyway, I began to think that  I have never run a small business. Then I remembered Tasty Maid.

My one experience of operating a small business occurred when an older guy on my block came up to me with an idea. "Look", he said, "the kids around here love Lik-m-Maid but they can't buy it on their own."  This was because they, unlike us, were not allowed to go on Essex Street, the commercial boulevard one block over.  "We can buy it at Breslow's and sell it to them at twice the price!"

My contribution to the business plan was twofold. We would put a cute label over the Lik-m-Maid label and call it Tasty Maid. We would also take the names of all the purchasers and put them in a contest. At the end of the month we would have a drawing and pick out a prize. I don't remember what the prize was.

On the fateful day, we put all the names in a jar and pulled out two names. The first was random and the second I cheated because my mother wanted to make sure one of the girls who had bought too much Tasty Maid would at least win a prize.

Here I learned the basic rules of business. Have a product people want. Repackage it to make a profit. Market the product. Keep your landlord happy. I wonder how my story would have gone over at the Republican convention.

Editor's note: The Republican convention had that pseudo patriotism that reminded me of the Art Linkletter show. That's what we all want. The return of Art Linkletter.

Spam and the Unconscious

I have just been cleaning out my spam or junk mail files in my e-mail. I do browse through the titles to make sure a long lost girlfriend or a publisher wishing to buy the rights to my blog hasn't been trying to contact me. Doing this I have discovered something. Spam is the secret to the subconscious mind.

If you secretly are worried about going bald or are searching for something in your life or have secret health concerns you probably did a search at some point. Advertisers are notified of your searches and they are reflected in your spam. Spam is like the Freudian inchoate subconscious. Read through your spam. It is talking to the real you. The hidden you. Your private red room of pain. Spam is the secret to the unconscious. There's a doctoral thesis lurking somewhere in my discovery.

Paul Ryan

August 13: Irma is cutting hair at the beauty salon:

Obama, I don't want to hear that word. My son in law has been

out of work for a year. Obuma I call him. Give me that new guy any day. Romney is getting my vote.

August 22: I'll tell you. I need my Medicare. I have a heart condition. I hear that Ryan guy wants to cut my Medicare. I'll hold my nose but Obama is getting my vote. 

Closing ceremonies

The closing ceremonies had their moments. The Ray Davies bit, not shown on NBC, was nice. I also like Eric Idle. If he had sang "Always look on the bright side of life" hanging on a cross it would have been great but perhaps controversial. Liked the Spice Girls too. In general, though, it was too long for me. Too many people I didn't know, overproduced, singing songs I didn't know. Like most of the events, NBC should have had it on live and then shown that show they wanted to promote, followed by a "best of presentation" starting at 9.

Fifty Shades of Grey

Recently I came upon a copy of EL James, "Fifty Shades of Grey". The hot book of the decade so far, called by critics "Mommy porn" and "bondage and discipline for corporate types". So far, I've read the first two hundred pages. Not bad, it reads well. The writing style reminds me a bit of English chic lit writer Marian Keyes. Somehow the fact that the author is British seems to have influenced my reading of the book. The author sounds British to me, rather than like a writer from the West Coast. 

It is a fun book, at least so far. I like the contract. The billionaire good looking guy into domination wants the poor virginal protagonist to sign a legal contract before he begins his kinky doodlings in the "red room of pain". Writing a contract seems like a wonderful idea for people entering into a relationship. I wonder if our parents had contracts like that when we were growing up. "If it becomes too painful say yellow" for example. 

Poor Anastasia seems to alternate between loving her times with Christian (was he a Christian?) and hating herself for the whole idea. Christian is the over priviledged billionaire of the book. The thing he has that I admire most is his loyal servant Taylor. I wish I had a Taylor. Someone to bring my clothes to the cleaners. Someone to do my shopping. Someone to stay home waiting for the air conditioning repairman. Ah Taylor, so crisp and helpful.  

The book has brought a mini boom to the construction industry as men build "red rooms of pain" extensions to their garages. I can see a reality show here. The real submissives of Seattle.   

Editor's note:  A nice podcast on the book is available here.