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.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl, “Will you marry me? The girl said, “NO!” After that the guy lived happily ever after and rode motorcycles, went fishing and hunting, played golf a lot, drank beer and scotch to excess, had tons of money in the bank and left the toilet seat up and farted whenever he wanted.

Then one day he met another girl. This girl was wonderful in many ways. She had red curly hair, a great body with firm abs, a stable job and really nice parents. She was the total package. She was even more desirable than Amy Adams, which is a mighty high hurdle to clear. He loved and cherished her with the very essence of his heart and being. The intimacy shared between the two was deep, meaningful and sincere. His love for her was only seconded by the love she held for him.

In the end, he found another chick to treat like a rag doll and moved on to greener pastures.

The End

(A note from Gadabout: This short story was based upon spam email that intruded my mailbox. I simply stole the idea and used it as my own. The End)

Austin Powers Doctor Evil Talks About Himself

An important aspect of American culture.

Show Off

The authenticity of this video cannot be determined, but it is pretty cool.

Governments are Evil

Simple Math

Cyrus is a drug dealer who specializes is selling crack cocaine (substance A) to high school students. Cyrus usually sells his crack uncut to keep his clientele happy, but he is behind on his monthly Escalade payments and needs to collect additional capital as soon as possible. Because of these circumstances, he decides to cut substance A with substance B. By blending substances A and B, the resulting substance C in created. The resultant weight of substance C is 10 percent greater than substance A. If Cyrus makes a 50 percent return on investment selling substance A, what was his initial investment in substance A if substance C sells for $1000?

a) $1011
b) $909
c) $606
d) $667
e) $505

The correct answer, complete with mathematical proof, will earn the reader 1 Gold Star.

A Focus Group

With all the contention over health care reform, cash for clunkers, and cap and trade; maybe it is time to sit back and take stock of our collective American blessings. There are blessings to feel blessed about and to prove it I have transcribed recordings of a focus group I organized. The group consisted of twelve individuals (4 liberals, 4 moderates, 4 conservatives, and Gadabout the Independent) and was held in a modest conference room at the local library.

Gadabout (I): Okay, let’s count our collective American blessings. Let’s talk about what is RIGHT with America.
Bruce (C): The 2nd Amendment. The right to bare arms!
Kimberly (L): Fuck you, Bruce, you pathetic hillbilly.
Bruce (C): [brandishes his 9mm] How about I shove this down your suck-hole, bitch! Then you can start counting your blessings!
Gadabout (I): Whoa, let’s put the weapons down and get back to business.
[Bruce reluctantly holsters his 9mm. Kimberly stops shaking and realizes she has peed her pants. Kimberly excuses herself.]
Kimberly (L): Fuck all of you people.
Charlie (C): Well, I feel blessed that we have a country were I can ride my motorcycle. Ride it clear across the fruited plains!
Lance (L): Fuck you, Charlie, you homophobe. You prick!
Charlie (C): What? I just like riding my bike. What is wrong with that?
Lance (L): It is an expression of excessive wealth, you fuck!
[Bruce produces his 9mm, and Lance faints and shit's himself]
Gadabout (I): FUCK!
Joe (C): Now that is funny! I fell blessed just being here and watching all of this go down.
Tiffany (L): You would feel blessed, you pompous prick. Lance had a tough life. He grew up with an overbearing father. You think it is funny that he just shit himself?
Joe (C): Well, yes. I find that hilarious, to be honest.
Tiffany (L): Fuck you, Joe. All you white middle class guys get all the breaks, and you have all the wealth. Fuck you.
Joe (C): Lance is a successful screen actor. He is worth millions.
Tiffany (L): Fuck you.
Dan (L): Yeah, fuck all of you...you fuck faces.
Gadabout (I): FUCK!

[The Moderates never had a chance to talk]

Short Skirt-Long Jacket

Yes, I want a girl in a short skirt and a long jacket. Oh, and she should also be gifted with the ability to bake delicious cakes as well. Is this too much to ask? Amen, to you I say, amen.

Lego Darth Vader Canteen Incident

This is most likely accurate.

Using it All

Commuter Airline Safety

The Continental Connection Flight 3407 that crashed near Buffalo has prompted the Senate to initiate changes in the commuter airline industry to improve safety. Gadabout wrote a piece that was published in Military.Com that addressed the inadequacy of pilot experience in the industry and it is reprinted below for reference. Your best bet in the never ending quest for survival when taking to the skies is to fly Southwest – an airline without a commuter partner.

Youngsters at the Controls:

Forecasts are grim for qualified pilots to fill empty cockpits for the airlines. A major shift in pilot hiring practices during the next 10 years is likely as newer technologies are incorporated into aircraft cockpits and as the military pilot production continues to decline and flatten.

In the past, seeking a career in aviation has always been influenced by timing. Hiring by the major airlines is usually cyclic. An applicant lucky enough to be hired at the beginning of a hiring cycle generally enjoys an uninterrupted career and takes home some serious dough. Those who come in on a downward cycle or hire on with a carrier that goes belly up risk personal and financial hardship.
But times are changing. There is a serious pilot shortage looming with age 60 mandatory retirement age limitations. Many pilots will be leaving over the next few years.

Until about 10 years ago the military supplied over half the pilots for the airline industry. Today, that number is about 35%, with the remainder coming from civilian universities, academies, and smaller flight schools. The military, as it continues to reshape its workforce and mission areas, has significantly reduced its aircraft inventories thus reducing the number of pilots required. Increased incentives (hard cash) offered to retain pilots has helped the military to keep qualified pilots, resulting in lowered initial pilot training demands.

Airline pay scales have been slashed during post 9-11 era industry turmoil, and military pilots have chosen to stay the course and enjoy the financial stability supplied by Uncle Sam. Since these pilots remain in the services until retirement, fewer of them seek aviation careers once they finally do walk out the door and hang up their uniforms for a last time. The age of these retirees range from 42-55 years, and after 20 to 30 years of active duty assignments, kids in college and a refined golf swing, the prospect of climbing into a cockpit as a first officer is not appealing. With anywhere from a $40,000 to $80,000 annual retirement income under their belt, why would our freshly retired pilot take a job starting out at the bottom of the food chain taking orders from some young punk captain? Most won’t, unless they possess a deep rooted desire stay in the air and don’t mind packing a suitcase and living on the road 15 or more days a month.

So where will the airlines find replacement pilots? Well, they reduce flight hour, experience, and educational requirements. No, they don’t mess with FAA minimum requirements for certification, but they are hiring pilots with surprisingly low flight hours and throwing them in the right seat of regional jets (RJs). You have flow in RJs, those cute smaller jets that are operated by airlines with “express” after their corporate logo.

“Regional” airlines have always represented a stepping stone for civilian trained pilots to hone skills and accrue flight hours before moving up to the majors (very much like professional baseball). Since major air carriers are under pressure to replace retiring pilots, the regional airlines have become bountiful harvest grounds. These fields are now over harvested, to the point where gleaning has begun, leaving smaller outfits with few choices for replacements.

Today, a young aspiring pilot, if trained in aircraft deemed desirable, might be hired on with as little as 500 flight hours. Ten years ago, 2,000 hours was required before consideration, and pilots had to pay for their own training (training that sometimes exceeding $10,000). I mentioned “training in aircraft deemed desirable” above and that is key to this discussion since civilian training aircraft are rapidly changing to support hungry industry demands. The regional hunger is for pilots that are proficient in aircraft cockpit designs that incorporate integrated multi-function displays and instrumentation. Airlines (and the military to some degree) no longer fly aircraft with dozens of dials, switches and levers. Today’s cockpits have been upgraded with high tech equipment with moving maps, advanced autopilots, integrated GPS and so forth (often referred to as Glass Cockpits) -- really fantastic stuff.

The problem is that many flight schools still operate older aircraft, and pilots trained using antiquated equipment are less desirable than those trained in newer aircraft that have converted over to “like” cockpit layouts used by airlines. The number of training aircraft with updated cockpits is accelerating to keep up with demands, but new aircraft are expensive. A glass cockpit Cessna C-172 sells for over $250,000 -- cost that’ll directly affect the price of flight training (per hour).

The solution for the industry is simple; hire glass cockpit trained pilots with fewer flight hours. This is all very well and good to fill empty cockpits, but there may be severe safety implications with these hiring practices. Ten years ago a traveler could take some comfort knowing that the two pilots sitting up front were fairly well trained and possessed broad experience levels. Not today. The pilot in the right seat could very well be the kid who bashed in your mailbox last year. The pilot in the left seat? He bashed in your mailbox three years ago. College degrees? They are desired, but not mandatory.
I’m not saying the airlines are wantonly jeopardizing flight safety. I’m just saying . .

Well, I told you so.