Battery Power

Buying batteries is a rip off and it is time that the government gets involved in retailing of portable energy storage devices (PESDs). A recent poll by the Americans for Just Energy Supplies, a nonprofit group based in Wasilla, Alaska, sites anger and distrust of residents towards the sales and marketing of AA, AAA and D sized batteries. “It is a shame that the Obama administration has allowed Eveready and Duracell to monopolize the battery market at the expense of public safety,” said Todd Palin, the founder of the group. He added that, “When I am out drilling oil wells and riding my winter sled, I depend on reliable and inexpensive batteries for my iPod, flashlight and wireless keyboard to surf the Internet. With the rising costs of batteries, and runaway corporate greed seeking nothing but profits, I am forced to use smaller devices while practicing my trade. The government needs to act now and get involved before there is a revolution.”

The Obama administration has shown interest after reviewing the battery industry. In a statement released today by Press Secretary Robert Gibbs it was acknowledged that, “The president is confident that a takeover of the battery industry through fiscal stimulus, a new Battery Czar, and immigration reform was possible if republicans would get onboard.” He also added that, “The president would not rest until the matter was resolved.”

Notes from a Wise Man

A wise man once said:

"Getting laid is not a big deal, but not getting laid is a VERY big deal."

Don't shoot the messenger!

It's William, to You

William hated it when strangers called him “Bill.” He hated being called Bill more than he hated being called Buddy or Billy. Bill was too common and it was too absolutely ordinary for William’s taste. His grandfather would call him Bill, and he hated his grandfather. His grandfather was common. Grandpa Joe was a farmer, whose clothes smelled of animals and grease. Grandpa Joe gave William the creeps.

But William felt like a farmer now. He was in a field, anyway, and farms were fields. William stood in the remote and abandoned tobacco field, shovel in hand, starring at the fresh earth he had just toiled. He could smell the earth, and it smelled like shit. It smelled like Grandpa Joe, and that infuriated him. His blood pressure was rising again. He could feel his heart begin to race, and his already infuriated state doubled in intensity over a period of only a few seconds. “Fuck you, Joe,” he muttered as he threw the shovel blindly over his shoulder. “Fuck you, and all your redneck fucking friends and family.”

William didn’t know where he was exactly, but he did know where he was by the display on his GPS. He drove to this particular field by happenstance. He was off highway 313 in the middle of god-awful hillbilly farmland about an hour southwest of Richmond. The terrain was rugged, except for the occasional field cleared for farming. He was, he thought, in the middle of nowhere. His Italian suit and BMW contrasted with the scenic landscape, but didn’t notice the contrast. He only smelled the shit of the earth, and the shit on his shoes. He laughed at the pile of crap he had stepped in, and he laughed as he got to his car, unlaced his $300 Forzieri leather shoes and tossed them in the nearby drainage ditch. They landed peacefully next to an ancient and rusting one gallon gas can.

“That fucker will never call me Bill again,” William said as he slipped on his Nike tennis shoes. “Nope, as a matter of fact, he’ll never call anyone anything ever fucking again.”

William smiled as he drove home that late afternoon in November. It was a peaceful November and the leaves were ablaze in full color. He smiled as his GPS gave him verbal driving directions to his home in Norfolk. He even smiled at the service station cashier where he stopped to gas up and buy a fresh pack of Camel Lights. Smoking was so pleasant after hunting, he thought.

“Anything else, buddy” the Hindu looking clerk asked.

“Buddy? My name is William, and I’m not your fucking buddy. Nothing else, buddy.” William said as he smiled a toothy Wall Street grin.

The clerk looked stunned and shaken, and William enjoyed the power of the moment.

“Yes, sir, thank you, Mister Bill,” he respectfully replied as he bowed slightly to William.

William twitched slightly, and in that moment he could smell the stench of Grandpa Joe, shit and grease. William’s hunting trip would have to be extended.

Haiku

I robbed this haiku....


haikus are easy
but sometimes they don't make sense
refrigerator

Holiday Wishes

Well, as the holiday season accelerates into high gear filled with parties, friends, gifts and family--It is important to back away from the madness and mania, and reflect on the opportunities this season brings to us all. Not in the way of dinners and drink, or reconnections with family and friends; but with the willingness of your heart to be with and assist those in need. Extend your hand with warmth to those in need, and expect nothing in return. Your reward is the blessing of humanity. Extend and give with warmth, and the rewards will be a better world.

As a boy, my father would tell me, “I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet.” He would recite that to me when I would whine and complain. That pretty much sums it up!

Wise men see past words
Actions of goodwill prevail
Charity good works

Balloon Boy Admits "We Did This For The Show"

Very strange, but they did achieve their mission objectives.

NYC and the Gadabout

Quick note from the Gadabout. I am currently residing at East 52nd and 2nd in Manhattan, NY, preparing for my 1 month film school program. I have been drinking beer and watching football all day.

My apartment is spartan-like, and if I was not drinking beer all day I would have taken a photo of it and posted it. But I was drinking beer all day.

Airplanes are Cool--very cool!

This is a video of Gadabout practicing short takeoffs and landings. That statement is a lie.

Cash for Clunkers [from the spam filters]

Clunkers...Here are the numbers:

A vehicle at 15 mpg and 12,000 miles per year uses 800 gallons a year of gasoline.

A vehicle at 25 mpg and 12,000 miles per year uses 480 gallons a year.

So, the average clunker transaction will reduce US gasoline consumption by 320 gallons per year.

They claim 700,000 vehicles so that’s 224 million gallons / year.

That equates to a bit over 5 million barrels of oil.

5 million barrels of oil is about 1/4 of one days US consumption.

And, 5 million barrels of oil costs about $375 million dollars at $75/bbl.

So, we all contributed to spending $3 billion to save $375 million.

How good a deal was that???

Obamanomics at work, or is it the NEW math?

A True 9-11 Hero: A roommate story

The "Roof"


Sally


9-11 heroes come in all sizes and shapes, ethnic backgrounds, ages and gender. My hero is a size zero, 5 foot 4 inch, female roommate with considerable spunk that often includes a healthy dose of in-your-face-itis. Yes, tiring at times, but selectively hysterical at others. Yesterday, on 09/11/09, Gadabout’s 107 pound roommate, Sally Hemp, demonstrated a level of tenacity and fearlessness not normally associated within the realm of roommates. Sally was a hero this past 9-11 and deserves recognition for her bravery, skill and remarkable goodwill.

This is a story of fearlessness, but I am getting ahead of myself, so allow me to start at the beginning. This beginning begins with rain and wind and a leaking roof. It is about a leaking roof that had leaked before, and had been repaired before. It was repaired four years ago after a nameless nor’easter had slammed Virginia Beach for days with high winds and rain. It was repaired at a cost of $150 (which seemed very inexpensive at the time because this roof is three stories high, and I would not personally climb a forty foot ladder and climb onto any three story roof for less than a cool grand).

Anyway, the roof appeared repaired and in good order until last week when the rains appeared. These were significant rains, but not hurricane force rains. It was just, well, just rain and wind. But it was a rain that formed a water spot on the ceiling of one of the upstairs bedrooms and also found its way down the hot water heater vent. Actually, it did more that drip down the water heater vent, it cascaded down the water heater vent. It cascaded on Labor Day, and labor would have to be preformed to maintain good order in Gadabout’s humble home.

It may not come as a surprise that the roofer that roofed the house in 2001, and had repaired the leak in 2005, had closed up shop and went out of business. This truth was discovered after dialing the roofer’s phone number and being told that the number was no longer in service. Drats! Well, this is the fun part, picking a service provider by simply pulling out the yellow pages and making a decision based upon a full page ad. Rather simple, really. Let fate guide and gentle you—surrender to the cosmos, let God provide, the infinite plan and all of that.

The roofer had the Christian “fish” symbol on the ad. Yes, we would let God determine the outcome. The plan was solidified. A roofer would arrive on Friday, 9-11, and Sally would meet said roofer and coordinate repairs while I was at the office providing for the family. At precisely 9:07 AM Sally called to notify me that Darrell had arrived from the “Christian” roofing company. Sometime around 10:00 AM, Sally called and informed me that the repairs would cost $1,970. “$1,970,” I gasped, “are you f#@king kidding me?

“No, I am not kidding you.”

Bruce, my cubical mate, had been listening in and suggested that a 10% military discount was deserved. “Ask for it,” he said staring at me, “just ask for it.”

I nodded and told Sally to ask for the seemingly unattainable 10%.

Sally negotiated and worked Darrell down to $1,850. I could hear the conversation in the background. “$1,850 is the best he’ll do,” she said adding, “I trust this guy.”

“Why do you trust this guy?”

“Well, I was up there looking at all the damage and there is a lot of work to do.”

“Wait, hold on, are you telling me YOU were on the roof?”

“Yes, it was exhilarating….”

The point is that Sally, 107 pound Sally, climbed three stories using a forty foot ladder and personally inspected and surveyed a damaged roof. She scaled a mountain that I would never consider conquering, and she thought nothing of it. Sally went above and beyond the call of roommate duty, and she saved me $120. Sally did this on 9-11. Sally is my personal 9-11 hero.