How a +6 was parlayed into .25

I experienced another semi-infrequent lunch and round of golf with Dickey the Peap yesterday. At this rate, I am not sure that the FTI legal defense fund won't be replenished in approximately 10, 000 years or so. And I am not sure that the little miser still won't be around at that time insisting that the cost of death is simply more than he is willing to pay and that he will find a cheaper option. In the meantime, the George Jetson's of the future will be curiously studying the visitor from another time with the short arms.

In fairness, for the record, there was no static regarding whom had the responsibility to host yesterday's lunch. We alternate each time and yesterday was his turn to pay. I did find it curious, however, that upon seeing us, our host waiter, turned over to the bar and bellowed, " I need 16 ounces of beer in a 12 oz. glass!". Obviously, he has dealt with this character before. Good service by waitstaff at a restaurant includes knowledge by the staff of what the customer prefers and to try to accommodate the wishes of the guest. The successful business model of some restaurants do include promotional vehicles such as , "all-you-can-eat", "half-priced happy hour", "Taco Tuesday" and the like. I am unaware of any financially solvent operation employing the practice of negotiating menu prices with the customer before the order is taken. I know of only one individual that could systematically, individually, take down an operation by himself: Mr 16.oz of beer in a 12 oz glass.

Anyways, we had a good round of 9 holes of golf on a warm, later summer afternoon. At the end of hole 3, I was up by a score of 3 strokes and mentioned that I predicted I would probably win by 6 strokes at the end of our round. (For the infrequent reader: I am not a good golfer; I play approximately 5 times a year. My game is such that 90% of the time I flail about and move the ball 25 yards in the wrong direction. The other 10%, though, encourages me to keep playing and think I might have a chance to be actually good. It doesn't matter though; I do it just to have some fun.) The little miser immediately picked up on this and said, "I'll remember that, I'll remember that!". I wasn't trying to insult him, rather, just get inside of his head because he is actually as lousy as I am and each round is basically a coin toss as to whom will emerge the victor. We played even golf up to the last hole, where the wheels finally fell off for the Frugal One and he lost the hole by 3 strokes. Adding these 3 strokes to my prior 3 stroke advantage equaled the previously predicted 6 stroke advantage. Quietly and immediately, he handed me a well worn, aged, shiny from the repeated rubbing by oily fingers, uneven around the edges due to repeated handling while counted, payment for the loss of our standing bet when we play golf, quarter. "Ya know what really pisses me off?" he said. "Now I have to buy beer, too." "Look on the bright side." I told him. "They only sell 16 oz bottles in the bar."

Never Forgotten. Ever.

The usual mirth, merriment, and silliness associated with our normal observations will be suspended today in honor of the over 3000 lives lost 11 years ago today.

Regardless of your political leanings, interpretation of cause, or assignment of blame, the cowardly acts of that day were despicable. May their be a special place in Hell for those involved with the planning and carrying out of those acts.

Jukebox: They say it's my birthday

Gee, what's a few days among friends?

True to form, I have once again had to  reset the money countdown clock an additional 21 days due to the legal system.  The judge ruled today that due to the crushing caseload assigned to him, his earlier opening to hear our round for increasing our long over due bond has been supplanted by a pending  12 day criminal trial and, as a result, has now been pushed back to the 12th of October as the earliest date for adjudication. This is simply unbelievable.

Here is some free advice (and it is really good, trust me): If you ever, EVER, contemplate a lawsuit, turn and sprint away like your bank account depended on it. Because it does.

Where are those damn earbuds?

I wish I could think of this kind of stuff on my own:

Authorities say a New Hampshire woman has been arrested four times in 26 hours for blasting the AC/DC song "Highway to Hell" and other loud music from her home and for throwing a frying pan.

Police first issued a warning to Joyce Coffey on Tuesday afternoon at her home in Epping. They say they were called back an hour later and arrested her for the loud music. She was released on $500 personal recognizance bail, but police returned to her home about five hours later -- again because of a report about loud music and arrested her again.

Police say Coffey was arrested again five hours later. This time, she was released on a $1000 bond, but four hours later was arrested again, this time over  more loud music and a domestic violence charge by her nephew who alleged he was hit by a frying pan thrown by the woman while trying to  remove some of his belongings from her house

Coffey was jailed Friday and couldn't be reached for comment.

Reportedly,  a judge has recommended she use headphones.

Well sure, wouldn't you know?

The eagle eyed reader will note that the "Example of Greed" countdown clock has been reset by adding another 15 days. Apparently, the local justice system, in it's infinite wisdom, will not consider the request to grant us more money for the bond we hold while the idiot deadbeat's appeal moves forward. Instead, this Thursday will only be consideration of a procedural motion and then the money date is set for the 21st. Of course, I am disappointed; of course, I am disillusioned. But, I am not,defeated. We will have a hearing and dipshit will have to offer up more money. There simply is no alternative.

Wow, What a deal.

Well he's back! This guy just doesn't give up. And he now has a new bribe offer to top it off. You have got to admire his tenacity. Ladies and Gentlemen, ol' A. Berry Rand from AARP does not take "NO" for an answer. And this time he means business.

As determined ever to gain some type of beachhead here at FTI as a remote outpost for his efforts, ol' A. Berry sent a letter to Mrs. Kfred dangling a cool insulated travel bag for a mere $16 a year membership fee to join AARP. In exchange, she would receive an insulated travel bag that "helps you stay organized on the go. It will keep drinks cold, snacks fresh and has enough room for everything you need." Hmmm. Let's examine that one for a moment, shall we?

This bag must be particularly special because people are actually complaining that what they received is not what was offered. Seriously!? I found an online complaint whining over the fact that the bag is basically a small camera bag and not large enough to hold anything of value. Another commenter was actually conversing with AARP to get the correct bag in exchange for the one pictured here: " I like their magazine, but I'm not happy with the way they communicate things to their CUSTOMERS - and I still want the other bag. I've offered to send this bag back to them."

Now, I have never met ol' A Berry in person, but, I have got to figure he wants you to send something in alright. And it isn't the wrong insulated travel bag. He wants your money, moohlah, scratch, dough, cake. And he, AGAIN, is not getting any from us. As for the travel organizer, I don't need it. Mrs. Kfred is in charge of that. Snacks, keys, passports, water, pen. She knows where all of that stuff is. On occasion, after one of our "misunderstandings" she even tells me where to stuff the map. I think ol' A. Berry offers medical insurance that deals with that as well.

Jukebox: Here's an appropriate bonus

Jukebox: Great Advice

With a name like this...........

I was able to schedule some time in the FTI commissary over the weekend to attempt to produce some jam as a result of the fine gift I received a few days ago. All in all , it was a fairly easy process and I look forward to sampling the results. It was a fairly simply operation with only a minor hiccup.

Key to making jam is having some type of thickening agent to add to the fruit. I scoured the voluminous FTI resource library and found the "Cooking and food Preparation; Frozen/Preserved; Jams, jellies, compotes" section to determine the best method to follow in producing my project. The recipe included the need for commercially produced pectin. Not wanting to run to the store as I know we didn't have any on hand, I noted that the book mentioned that apples are a high source of natural pectin. You peel two tart apples, finely grate them, boil them with a little bit of water and gradually the pectin will be produced into a liquid form that can be used for my purpose. I thought "perfect", here is my answer. I dutifully followed the directions and began to boil my apple. For minutes. And minutes. And more minutes. At some point, I realized this maybe wasn't working the way I thought it should. The rolling, boiling stuff I had on the stove had changed from a clear brothy liquid to a brown foamy mass that didn't seem to be doing much. Thinking that, perhaps I should test this concoction, I took a small spoonful of it and dropped it into a cup of water. It immediately turned into a strand of caramel. This ladies and gentlemen, is the "hard-ball" stage when making candy. Though it is desirable when making homemade toffee for Christmas gifts, it is not beneficial when preparing a thickening agent for homemade jam as I had long since surpassed the point of viability in this process. I thought it might be a bit odd, but I will try it this way anyway. I dumped the mess into a strainer to remove the bits of apple and that is where a slight glitch occurred. Upon immediately hitting the dry cool area outside of it's boiling environment, it immediately turned to hardened caramel. The edge of the strainer, the sides, the sink, everywhere. What a mess. To top it off, the stuff is as hard as cement and would certainly chip a tooth if you tried to eat it. I did taste some and, though it definitely tasted like caramel, it was so hard and solid that there is no way you could chew it. Fortunately, Mrs. Kfred was yakkin' away on the phone to someone which provided me the nearly 15 minute cover to clean the mess up without her even knowing of my issues. I realized I had suffered a crop failure, threw the first batch out, and decided to go to the store the next day, get the pectin, and follow the recipe to the letter. I did so and now have regular jam. Whew. What a relief.

I'm not sure all of my efforts were worth it. I probably should just fork out the $4 for the jar and buy some Smuckers off of the shelf. I wonder if they have ever considered a toffee jam. I have a great recipe.

Jukebox: Not me. Troubles.

OH!, It get's better

Our two faithful readers will note an update and change to the Example of Greed countdown clock located at the side of this page. How does that saying go: It's darkest right before dawn? I think we are approaching that point. The ongoing Dopes trial has been one of great frustration and disappointment. As admonished here many times previously, if you ever, EVER, consider entering into a lawsuit for any reason, either as a plaintiff or defendant, immediately phone your local mental health crisis line and schedule a visit for a complete check-up. There is obviously something wrong with your thinking. Do everything possible to avoid any such action. 

In a nutshell, due to the dragging of feet by the judicial system, our victory in Superior court, and now on appeal, has languished in the halls of Appeal court scheduling and was referred back to Superior Court for a particular motion to be addressed. Like most venues around the country, the courts are clogged with criminal matters which take precedence over civil matters. Amazingly, Shifty's assistant was able to cut through the fog and actually camped outside the office door of the original Superior Court judge's office and was able to speak with him for a few minutes yesterday, explain the situation, and talked him into adjusting his calendar to an earlier date to address our case. As a result, our September 21 hearing to determine the amount of mo' money to be placed in the court registry has been moved up to September 6. Additionally, he will also sign an order that day compelling the other side to pay for the full transcription of the record to support their assertions in their appeal. Cost: Around 10K. Additional monies needed to be going into the court registry: Around 50K. Total: Nearly 60K. Ouch!

To top it off, Shifty, our lawyer, announced he would like to host a barbeque in late September with us, his staff, co-counsel, etc. As he states: "A family affair would be nice. My treat." Of course, the fact that we have already paid him approaching 200K for this whole affair shouldn't preclude him from offering unlimited Ballpark Franks for our enjoyment. After all, everyone knows, they plump, when you cook 'em. All kidding aside, it is a nice offer.

We are all anxious to get this affair over, collect our judgments, and move on with our lives. We all have other matters to attend to and Shifty has other cases to work on. I can't speak for the idiot judgment debtor developer. I am not sure he will ever learn a lesson from this whole matter. It doesn't matter. He's not coming to the barbeque, anyway.

Wait until your Father gets home

I note that the Rich Dad, Poor Dad series is coming to my area in the near future.  It is a wealth accumulation seminar series based on the best selling book of a few years ago that costs absolutely nothing to attend, but, of course, they will  strong arm you into buying their additional books, CD's and other materials once you get there.   Their radio ads include come-on statements including this one which I really had to listen to twice:   "Why you will never get rich saving money".    I thought this is kind of silly, but, oh well. To each their own;  there is always someone out their hustling other people to make a buck.  I, on the other hand, sleep soundly knowing I have access to our own financial guru here at FTI.  

We here at FTI draw on the knowledge, wisdom, and experience of our own Dickie the Peap who used to run his own series, Cheap Peap, Cheap Peap until repeated complaints forced the entire operation to shut down. Apparently, the complaints did not come from the few attendees bussed in off of skid row to give the appearance of popularity on the promise of free food (only to each get a package of saltines accumulated from repeated orders of Wendy's chili), but rather, from past attendees. The strategy of advocating little to no tipping, "grinding" down the amounts of presented invoices regardless of the amount, and failure to disclose the potential medical liabilities of the repeated classic "short-arm reach for the tab" move added up to be just to much. The gig was up.

Ill bet Dad wasn't too happy about that.

Best Wishes are in Order

Recent page maintenance and analysis of this blog's readership has uncovered the fact that our loyal readership has now doubled, and yes, we are back to two faithful readers! This is a milestone event! Congrats to all of us! Let's have some cake and ice cream!

Though we have an ample supply of ice cream in the FTI commissary, due to staff layoffs, I recently had to let our FTI baker go. As a result, I directed Gummo, The Balloon Boy, to go out and get a store-bought celebratory cake marking this event. I felt a little positive reinforcement for our hardworking staff would be in order. As our budget is a bit tight here at FTI, I instructed him to be wise with the limited funds allotted for this purchase and to pick up "something nice".  Upon his return, Gummo excitedly told me that not only had he found a nice cake for use at our celebration, but, that it was a lavish creation that was cancelled at the last minute by the mother of the intended recipient and that he had bought it at a steep discount to it's original asking price.  This immediately caused me some concern as  I knew that Gummo had been listening to some of the crazy financial philosophies of Dickie the Peap earlier but felt that, under these circumstances, no further harm or embarrassment would be showered upon the FTI Brand.

I was obviously wrong.

Jukebox: ...and it's a good one

Mmmm...."Beeries"

To our lone faithful reader:

I apologize for the pending Old-person post in advance, but this truly is something that gets your correspondent fired up.

I got a phone call last night from Andy Capp announcing he had something for me and would like to bring it down.  I had no idea what he was talking about, but figure, that if someone is willing to give me something, I will take it.  If I like it, great.  If not, I will give it away without their knowledge and no harm is done.

An here is what he brought to me:

To the uninitiated,  these are fresh blackberries picked off of the thorny, prickly, bush about 30  minutes earlier.  They are rampant around my area, but not specifically on the grounds of the compound. When I moved in 6 years ago, I specifically cleared these way back as they have the ability to overtake all vegetation in the area and can get quite dense and troublesome.  They grown vines that can reach 20 feet and are as sharp as a needle when you run into them.  The trade-off, however, is they offer some of the sweetest, most wonderful fruit in all of nature and are truly a treat to eat by the handful when in season let alone to use as in ingredient for cobblers, pies,  jams, or syrup.  In fact, I plan on being in the FTI commissary later this weekend to attempt to make some jam while Mrs. Kfred has promised me a fresh cobbler for dinner tonight.  

Currently in the store, pints of these are $3.99 each. At that rate, I have approximately $75 worth of fruit! Ah, Summertime and the living is good.

How I Spent my Summer Vacation

While originally thinking it entertaining to write through the eyes of an incoming 4th grader in describing my recent 4 day sojourn, I realized what an insult that would be..........to incoming 4th graders. Their writing and descriptive abilities are far superior to the comprehension of our staff and most of our readers (save our single faithful reader). As a result, I will attempt to recap my small adventure in the most succinct terms with as much effort as our faithful reader can appreciate. Painstaking planning, careful calculations, and a large dose of "where haven't I been lately that would be cheap and cool at the same time" landed Mrs. Kfred and myself in Oregon's Crater Lake National Park this past weekend. And what a wonderful spot it is!

The lake is over 1900 ft deep and is the deepest freshwater lake in the US. The blueness of the water is breathtaking and (in your humble Executive Director's opinion)every bit as blue as Lake Tahoe. Since it is inside an old volcano, there is no development, homes, cabins, boat launches or any type of commercial activity save for a pair of boats operated by the Park Service that tour the lake. We were remiss in not having reservations, so couldn't enjoy the lake from the water, but did drive the nearly 33 mile loop around the lake by car that includes about 25 turnouts where you can stop and take pictures and just admire the grandeur of it all. This loop is every bit as challenging and potentially scary as the Going To The Sun Highway in Montana's Glacier National Park. I can confirm this small tidbit of information as evidenced by Mrs. Kfred's constant reminders of "Look Out!, Slow Down!, and Watch It!' on the very same type of continuous rotating audio loop that played when we were on that trip years ago. My gentle reminder to her that she was no longer acting in official capacity as the FTI Safety Director during this time, was no longer "on the clock", and would probably best enjoy the tour without the repeated  safety warnings, earned me an approximate 30 mile loop of solitary thought as the cone of silence immediately descended over her area of the front seat. For what it is worth, I used the time during this remaining 30 mile jaunt wisely by examining my actions. I soon discovered the faulty logic in my thinking, realized the errors in my ways, and to avoid any further need for further re-education, decided to  admit my obvious mistakes and beg for forgiveness as, certainly, I did not understand the true ramifications of my actions. Only upon the completion of that soul cleansing process, could I fully appreciate my experience in the park.

Anyways, should you ever find yourself in the Pacific Northwest and wondering about the true meaning of life, take a moment, kick back in one of the rocking chairs at the lodge, order an  India Pale Ale on a warm summer's day, and take it all in.  You won't be disappointed.

Jukebox: OK, I Know. But, there's just something here.......

Just so there is no misunderstanding.....

If you think there truly is nothing here of any importance and still came to check, I commend you: You really do need to get a life and obviously aren't afraid to admit it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. Writing this in advance 12 hours ago, the power of the internet allows me to schedule this to publish at a predetermined time. I am currently off on extended weekend for 4 days and am feverishly collecting and observing life to share with you later in new, stupid ways. In my absence of original thought, let me share these pilfered "Man Rules" as forwarded to me by Marv the Neighbor.

The Man Rules

We usually hear 'the rules' from the female side Now, here are the rules from the male side. These are our rules! Please note.. these are all numbered '1 ' ON PURPOSE!

1. Men are NOT mind readers.

1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!

1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 Days.

1. If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us.

1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

1. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

1. If it itches, it will be scratched.. We do that.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you say 'nothing,' We will act like nothing's wrong.We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle. 1. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to hear.

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

There. I think that covers it.

Ya got nothin' else to say?

A slow period of renowned summer thinking and policy analysis, so, lets get down to some simple observations:

No longer suspected, instead, now confirmed: Justin Bieber is an idiot. Some guy that wears a Little Richard, comb-up, girly hairdo, spouting off about Prince William's receding hairline and then passing it off as a "joke" is, well, not very bright. Get back to us in 15 years Pretty boy. You might be surprised what you look like as well.

The increasing personal attacks in the Presidential race affirm my dislike of either of these guys. And the media doesn't understand why Americans are so disillusioned with politics. Would it be too much to ask either guy to tell us what they truly intend to do to help us than snipe about the other guy's shortcomings? (Editor's note to our lone reader: The preceding was the only grumpy, old guy, rant in today's contribution. We now return to the inane and meaningless).

Though multi-functional, some kitchen appliances have limitations. British firefighters say they saved an apartment from destruction after its domestically challenged resident tried to dry his wet socks and underwear in a microwave oven. The fire destroyed the appliance along with the two pairs of underwear and socks inside it, and caused smoke damage to the apartment in Weymouth, a town on England's southwest coast. The fire safety message here is to never put clothing of any kind in the microwave or an oven to attempt to dry them. Leftover lasagna, though, tastes great when fresh out of a dryer run in fluff cycle mode.

I am scheduled for a personal leave of my duties here shortly and will return with new stupidity, fresh idiocy, and updated pointless observations at that time.

Jukebox: And I Found Him

Disappointment, do you know no shame?

Word that, once again, the patience of the good guys is constantly tested was confirmed with the recent acceptance of the idiot developer's appeal brief and argument by my state's Court of Appeals. The fact that is was 5 days late and 45 pages over in length conflicts with their own administrative rules, yet somehow, "Justice" is being served. Now, it's Shifty's turn to succinctly and punctually refute the gibberish offered by little Pinocchio and set me and my fellow plaintiffs up to collect the moolah as it steadily mounts.

 It truly is not about money any more. I just want his to end , but, I will never give up.  Ever.

Hey Heloise, I got your household tips right here

Certainly giving credit where credit is due, a tip of the 'ol pointed FTI cap goes out to Dickey the Peap for these remarkable insights:

Avoid cutting yourself when slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold the vegetables while you chop.

For high blood pressure sufferers - simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure on your veins. Remember to use a timer.

If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives. Then you'll be afraid to cough.

And, surprisingly, my personal mantra which I actually live by on a daily basis as evidenced by the fact that the FTI toolbox solely consists of 2 hammers: one big, the other bigger;

If you can't fix it with a hammer, you've got an electrical problem.

Jukebox: Hoping yours is cooling you

Thanks God for the Jackson's

Running a very close 2nd place (and I mean it's a razor-thin margin) to the population of Misfits here at FTI in the category of Oddballs, Weirdo's, and well, Strange Ducks,  I offer the Jackson family. As in Michael Jackson's family.  Their latest adventures typify what seems to always go wrong when money is involved.

The fact that one side was left out of the estate which is now approaching one Billion dollars creates the conditions for strange lawsuits, family squabbling, and just plain bizarre behavior. Of course, none of this is new to the Jackson's, but, you would think they have enough dignity to keep it a bit more private and not to play out in public.

We all have family members a bit different. We all sometimes think that our family is a bit strange. None of us, though, experience or come close to approaching the type of behavior of the Jackson's. They truly are the standard.

A discovery of some good

Due to their tireless efforts, unending perseverance, and avoidance to blame failure because "we're out of Mountain Dew", I have now decided to refer to the FTI IT department (formerly known as the most hated and reviled department here at FTI) now simply as the "FTI IT department (the most hated department) here at FTI".  Their efforts over the weekend resulting in the clockdown count feature in the "An example of Greed" section to the right of this post is of their creation.  For that, I commend them.

During our periodic visit to Superior Court, the judge this past Friday ruled to increase the bond level necessary to guarantee that our judgment is satisfied.  He failed, however, to set an amount by setting the matter over until September21 to allow a ruling by the State Court of Appeals whether this whole mess is even going to advance at all.  If so, he will determine a number and rule accordingly.  If not, this whole mess is over and we collect what is in the kitty and get an order for the rest.  Either way, more money is  on it's way.  The graphic to the right summarizes this in an eye pleasing way.

I wish there were no need for any of this; I am so tired of this whole matter.    It really does wear a person down.  The one plus, though is that our IT department has garnered some new respect from me.  I, for one, would not want to be both hated and reviled.  I think "most hated" has a nice ring to it.  

Jukebox: By all means, play on

I guess the motto doesn't have to change

The recent approval by the FDA of a drug to be released for consumption by the general market to fight obesity caught our eye here at FTI. We have a remote connection in regard to this issue.

Earlier, a bashful connection of ours, Mr. X, was a huge supporter and major investor in this small, fledgling company. Many hours, tears, and promises for assured returns were spent on the premise that "this thing is going to hit. Soon. I think". Our immediate attention turned from confidence to uncertainty to outright questioning whether X knew what in the hell he was doing or not. (Earlier investigation of noting a primate connection is detailed in the link above.) Regardless, now that Mr. X's choice has been validated by the governmental overseeing body, congratulations are certainly in order.

UPDATE: Apparently X abandoned all hope in this venture approximately 16 months ago and sold his major stake in the company. As a result, any wildly, fabulous gains will not be enjoyed by X or his front operation, Anchorline Investing. There is an upside, however. The need to re-market Anchorline's tagline motto is not as urgent as one thought. They are safe to continue to use "We drop immediately and never get off of the bottom".

OK. That's not bad.

Our remaining eagle-eyed reader will note the addition of the new "Example of Greed"  feature posted in the right hand sidebar adjacent to this posting.  Congratulations to the idiot IT dept. (the most reviled department here at FTI) for their diligent work over the weekend.  It's not perfect, it's not quite the national debt clock with it's spinning numbers, and  it's not quite what I had expected, but, it certainly relays the message and stands as a beacon to the greed that one person would practice for their own gain.  It really is kind of sad.  Regardless guys, good job.  

Now, today, I sit on pins and needles.  This should all come to an end.  I am hopeful, I am optimistic, I am anxious.  I am not, however planning on getting a nickel.  I have been so disappointed in our justice system many times in the past.  Time will tell.       

I can think of nearly 250,000 reasons to be happy

Though not finished, the end is in sight. Hmmm. That thought sounds familiar. Maybe it is because I thought that over a year ago and still haven't collected a damn nickel! But, today it's different. Yesterday, was the fourth "final" deadline for the idiot developer to submit a brief to the state Court of Appeals to submit his case for review in response to our victory in the Great Dopes trial of 2011. Like all of the other past chances, it was met with this. But that's Okay. Shifty is now leading to believe that they are finally running out of bullets. And I can start collecting. I certainly hope so.

In celebration and as a gift to our one remaining faithful reader, I have assigned the idiot FTI IT dept. (the most hated and reviled department here at FTI) to post a counting meter on our sidebar adjacent to this page to track the money  I am supposed to collect.  Of course, I really don't think I will see much of any significance, but, it is fun to dream.   To date, the techno geeks have been stumped on this assignment  and currently, I see no results of their efforts, yet.  Typical.  But, rest assured:  No sleep will be enjoyed,  no food will be consumed, and no vacations will be authorized until the damn meter is in place.  I may even have to spend some of my new found gains to hire additional staff to perform this task.  Of course, by then, I will have the money and have no need to have a meter running.  Seems a bit odd, doesn't it?      

Jukebox: And never parted

Can you hear me now?

Rapidly ascending my list of screw-up companies while simultaneously dropping from  the top of  my corresponding  "Can't miss" list, the good folks at Verizon Wireless are about to momentarily step into  the blinding glare of the FTI Hall of  Shame spotlight. Like the long running advertising campaign using the clever slogan that title's today's post, I would like to ask their upper management this same question.

I went in to one of the Verizon Wireless stores the other day to get a new car charger for my cell phone.  No big deal.  The old one has lost it's tight connection with the phone such that I don't get a good connection to consistently receive a charge.  As a result, sometimes when I think my phone should be charged, I am at the same place I started 2 hours earlier: a near dead battery powered phone in my hand.  Anyways, normally you are met at the door by a Verizon greeter who, it turns out, is supposed to get your name and put you on a list to be helped by the next available salesperson.  Somehow, I  apparently accidentally engaged my personal cloaking device (I didn't even know I had that ability, but, I must have) and made it over to the charger rack undetected by any of the  employees.  I found the charger I wanted, but, was somewhat stymied as there was a locking device on the rack.  Further investigating, I found a lone wolf charger off of it's wire hanger of the rack and claimed it as the one I wished to purchase.  I  stepped up to the counter to make my purchase, eager to trade my hard earned wampum for the shiny gadget, and be on my merry way.  No such luck.   2 of the tie wearing, bearded, computer monitor staring drones, promptly ignored me for the first 30 seconds  as I stood at the counter.  No acknowledgement, no eye contact, nothing.  They then  both stroll away from the counter leaving me by myself with no "I will be right back", or "we'll ring that up in a minute", or anything else.  As I was pressed for time on that day, I thought to hell with it, left the charger on the counter, and walked out.  Yesterday, I go to a different location thinking I will swoop in and chalk up my previous experience  to bad luck.   This time, however, I obviously have all of my identifying features  as a "customer" working as I am pleasantly greeted by a smiling young woman who addresses me and asks me how they can help.  I tell her I just need a car charger for my phone.  She asks me for my name so that the next available salesperson can help me.  I reply I just need a charger; do I need  a salesperson to help me for that?  "Yes, and the next one available will be glad to help you with that."  So, I give her my name, and wait.  And wait.  There are 3 guys with  customers at the counter and 2 out on the sales floor with shoppers.  2 people are ahead of me  waiting in line and I just want a damn phone charger and get the hell out of there.  After 10 minutes of weight shifting standing from leg to leg making me to appear as if I am imitating a 5 year old who can no longer "hold it",  I decide the wait is not worth it  and vamooose out of the store.  Screw it.  

I am certain that neither of our 2 faithful readers here are connected to Verizon wireless.  As a result, today's whining effort is nothing more than a written catharsis for me in dealing with this issue.  I understand the idea of customer service, and prompt personal interaction with the customer.  Sometimes, though, the customer does not ask for that.  I am ok with self service when I know what I want, can go get it myself, pay for it in a reasonable amount of time, and be on my way.  To inconvenience me so they might be able to sell me something I hadn't originally intended to buy by interacting with me doesn't seem to be a good way to operate.  It leaves me thinking that perhaps the coverage is a bit spotty.  

What junk science?

Having been accused of being nothing more than a division of the assortment of do-nothings, stooges, and useless idiots on a regular basis, our FTI scientific division has always labored under a cloud of suspicion.   Their past work has been regularly questioned, vilified, and yes, outwardly mocked by the rest of the scientific community.  The research they conduct  bears the mantle of  being "not quite as good" as some of that conducted by their brethren with better reputations within the scientific community.   That might change now. A game changer has been found.  

While studying the global warming issue and trying to discover ways that our small population here at FTI can help the world community at large cope with the phenomena, our crack team of researchers and scientists decided to look at the issue from all angles.  One of the methods of study and query was to examine the habits and lifestyle of wildlife to determine if a clue existed among them.  A startling new revelation might actually have been uncovered.

Our team started out with the premise of  why there are no dead penguins on the ice in Antarctica.  Where do they go?

It is a known fact that the penguin is a very ritualistic bird which lives an extremely ordered and complex life. The penguin is very committed to its family and will mate for life, as well as maintain a form of compassionate contact with its offspring throughout its life.

If a penguin is found dead on the ice surface, other members of the family and social circle have been known to dig holes in the ice, using their vestigial wings and beaks, until the hole is deep enough for the dead bird to be rolled into, and buried.

The male penguins then gather in a circle around the fresh grave and sing:

"Freeze a jolly good fellow."
"Freeze a jolly good fellow."

Then, they kick him in the ice hole.

Don't bug me

Having recently been vindicated of all charges of dereliction of duty at a secret FTI tribunal conducted by the nitwit/misfit population I oversee, I am fully back and ready to take on all challenges moving forward.  This kangaroo court literally had  one of the marsupials in attendance as the Misfits thought this would add an air of authenticity to the proceedings.  Regardless, I am back and you had better lookout.

I had an experience yesterday that still leaves me a bit confused.  The details are too numerous and,  are actually, meaningless.     More importantly, it's the circumstances that I find interesting.  I contacted a colleague on the other side of the country about an issue which we share a common interest.  I do not personally know this person, but rather have had email contact with him on a couple of occasions.  He has always been a bit "prickly" (to that I mean "crusty" or "grumpy"  as opposed to the term with which I refer to one D., the Peap) most of the time, so, I basically handle with him with kid gloves.  I know it is nothing about me, rather, how overworked and under great pressure that causes this reaction.  Anyways, in the course of our exchange,  he cops an attitude via his written word that truly is uncalled for.  Now me, with my magnetic and engaging personality, never wanting to back down from a good insult-fest, immediately prepared to move into retaliation mode.  On reflection, however, I realized that  such a move was probably not in my best long term interests.  I need this guy a lot more than he needs me.  No use stirring up the pond for the rest of the time I have to work with him.  (I could have devastated him, though.)

I don't understand why some people arrive at work and immediately proclaim, "I am in a bad mood today".  Apparently that gives them the right to abandon all sense of cooperation and have an excuse for their surly and don't-give-a-shit-attitude for the day.   It's too bad your attitude is grumpy today, but you had better check it at the door because now you are at work.  And you aren't paid to be a loner.  You are expected to cooperate with all to get your job done.

There.   I feel better already.

It's not about a barbeque

Jukebox: Truly, the Last Dance

A witness to a rarity

I lost. There it is.  I have been remiss in not congratulating Dickie the Peap for having won our latest golf grudge match this past Friday afternoon. After a spirited back and forth on the course, we walked away with me being down 2 strokes to the little miser. As a result of suffering this humiliation, the consequence was one of typical Dickie the Peap: me having to lay out a whole quarter (a quarter!) to the triumphant victor. Along with my quarter I offer heartfelt congratulations. You were the winner. You were the victor. You were the better player. For that day.

It's funny, though.   My prize, however, was much greater. What I took away was well worth the cost of the contest. Like witnessing an unsuspecting, majestic, African lion in the wild; the splitting of a cell under the eye of a microscope, or the pause of a hummingbird in mid flight, I witnessed an event of such epic proportion that I am sure I will carry with me for the rest of my life. It truly was a memorable moment.  You see, one of our rituals during this periodic battle of lousy golfers is that we first have a lunch and a couple of pre-golf beverages to relax the nerves in advance of  the pending battle.  One of the caveats is that we alternate the hosting duties for these lunches.  This particular day's responsibility fell upon the shoulders of the resident Big Spender.   Everything was going well; the food delicious, the conversation varied, the beverages satisfying as usual.  Our waitperson came by and  picked up the bill along with the barely used, like-new condition, 3 year old credit card   from El Cheapo meant to satisfy our responsibility to the restaurateur.  Upon her return, she placed the completed bill and card in front of me.  What happened next was truly a rarity. Imagine a frog that snares a bug with it's tongue from 12 inches away; a serpent that strikes a mouse with almost invisible swiftness, or the force that a machine spring exhibits after losing it's resistance.  That same type of reaction time, force,  and motion was what I witnessed by the exhibition of the arms of the little miser flying across the table to secure his card.  Any inanimate object in the path of flight would have surely been damaged, broken, or I am confident, possibly destroyed.  It was that quick.

For the price of a quarter, I know now what I am dealing with:  the raw, unharnessed, power of nature.   I just hate to think what happens if we increase the wager on our golf game .    

Jukebox: It is if you don't like this

Twee-da-la-dee-da-la-dee

I am currently engaged in  a battle with an unwelcome neighbor  whom is making my life quite unpleasant due to their habits.  We have now escalated to a point where I think some sort of weapon may become involved.

The neighbor in question is identified by their Latin name as "sturnus vulgaris", we know them as English starlings. They are not a particularly cooperative neighbor as I have had a couple of interactions  with them to keep the noise down and clean up after themselves.  They have subsequently ignored me and have kept on their noisy, dirty ways.  Now I do try to be neighborly with everyone and can overlook habits of others I don't care for. But, I draw the line on the constant bombardment of birdshit all around the compound  and am getting tired of the nuisance.  Some one told me that Starlings are basically flying rats and I am beginning to believe that.  They simply are not a pleasant type of bird. They are not particularly attractive and their song is not that melodic.  Anyways, I was on the roof of the compound last night with some bird wire to block the entrance under one of the dormer sections where a family has taken up residence. Mrs. Kfred is a bit sympathetic to the newly born: "What are they going to do?  Just starve?  That seems a bit cruel." I remind her she is the one complaining the loudest about the white spots all over the ground and pavement as a result of their actions.  " You're right.  Kill those bastards".  Your orders are my lifestyle, dear.

I will persevere to evict these unwanted vermin.  I am normally one that is fairly accepting and tolerant of others.  (Dealing with the short-armed One and the Rat Bastard for years has strengthened my level of tolerance.)  However, if the birdwire fails to do the trick, I am prepared to move to the next level. I am contemplating having Gummo, the Balloon Boy, sit on the roof in the peregrine falcon costume I recently had commissioned. He actually has experience with flight.

I am getting too old for this stuff

The FTI Landscaping and Maintenance team, Beauty And Restoration Keeping section (BARK),  which members are solely myself and Mrs. Kfred, spent the entire weekend moving 12 yards of material around the compound here.  And I am feeling every damn wheelbarrow full of it today.  

It has been 3 years since I purchased materials previously and it was beginning to discolor and rot into the ground.  Not to mention, it is very effective at holding down the weed growth in areas I don't want weeds, I decided to this year add some more bark.  I probably should have had the bark blown in off of the truck like the smart people do, but, I actually don't mind the work.  I like how the pile slowly goes down one shovel at a time while the beds are, suddenly and slowly,  brightened and brought back to life.

Looking at my progress so far, I am happy.  The compound looks refreshed, new, and very springlike.   The downside is that I still have a pile of bark has as big as when I started.  There are still more areas to cover.  Any my back isn't ready to go another 2 days worth right now.  I guess I will just have to appreciate the old look for a bit longer.  

An example to follow

I note that a 2 year old Canadian boy has recently been inducted into the Mensa Society.  2 years old!  Apparently, the kid can recite the alphabet both forward and backward, and count to 1000, among other accomplishments.

The FTI talent acquisition team is targeting individuals such as this for our FTI mentorship program.  The reasoning is that with childlike prodigys like this as an example, our group might be able to advance beyond shoe lace tying basics and tackle the really hard tasks.  Like being able to wake up with dry big boy pants in the morning.

I'm out of here for the weekend

Well, you think it would be able to identify something

Long realizing the significance of having the need for some type of evaluation of compatibility and  measurement, thereof,  I assigned the Misfits the task of developing a type of evaluation test that would measure the character, intelligence, and general overall fit-in-ed-ness of any prospective candidates for our population here at FTI.  It was decided we needed to recruit more "cool" people as positive role models for the losers currently housed here.  

Unfortunately, the example displayed here is below the personal goals I have set for our organization with regards to excellence, but like the coach of the perennial losing Washington Generals against the Harlem Globetrotters, I bear the burden of never winning after all of these years.  I share this as an  indication of the best of anything generated.  My apologies in advance to any test-takers who may feel their own level of competency is higher than this actual test indicates.  

COOL PERSON TEST

The King has fallen

I happened into a Burger King Restaurant yesterday for a quick lunch. It has been a long time since I have eaten at Burger King, and, based on my experience, it will probably be a long time before I return.

It was around lunchtime and decided I should get a quick bite. A lot of times, I like to drop into Wendy's for a side small salad and a glass of water. $1.39 for a healthy lunch which tastes good and I can get fairly fast. I see the BK and figure I will visit "the King". I remember I heard a few weeks ago that Wendy's had finally overtaken Burger King among the big 3 in sales even though Burger King has more physical locations. I can see why.

Starting with my entrance, I notice the store is a bit shabby in appearance; dirty tables, chipped floor tile, faded posters advertising their specials, but, they do have a plasma or LCD order board. I guess they are in the 21st Century. The woman taking the order is either Middle Eastern Indian or some type of Persian and obviously has some sort of difficulty speaking and understanding standard American English. After relaying twice that my order is not to go and for eating inside the restaurant, I am given my receipt and the mumbled announcement that my order number is "duh-bruddy-tour". I have no idea what that means. Waiting approximately four minutes while NO ONE ELSE ENTERS THE STORE, I am across the counter from a surly Hispanic girl who repeatedly checks the order screen, grabs a to go sack, and crams my Jr. Whopper and Value fries into it before yelling across the counter "Jr. Whopper and Fries"! There is no one else waiting. I figure I will just take the sack and sit down. I go over to the condiment bar to get some napkins and ketchup and notice that the small portion cups are missing from the condiment station. I go back to the counter and mention to the Latina princess that the cups are missing over at the ketchup station and I would like to have some in order to get some ketchup. The astute reader will notice that the key word in this last thought has been the word "ketchup". Apparently the help at Burger King realized the same because she grabs four small to-go packets, throws them at me, and goes back to scanning the televised order board. So much for having it your way.

I really am a forgiving and tolerant type of customer. We all have bad days or days where we are overwhelmed. Mistakes happen. I get all of that. To consistently leave an unfavorable impression with the customer from the time they walk in the door until they exit, though, just doesn't seem to be the foundation of a successful business model. It's gonna take more than new Fresh Wraps and Mango Smoothies to regain 2nd place.

Jukebox: Let's have some fun

Let's climb into the Wayback Machine

I heard a news story on the TV the other evening about the government releasing the Census data from 1940 for public inspection.  I went to the website and have had a fascinating journey through both time and my memory. It's all here.

With just a bit of basic information of locations (and if you are really fortunate, street names,) you can find records indicating income, occupation, education, birthplace. etc. of your ancestors and old neighbors from when you were a kid.  It really is a lot of fun to recognize some of the old names and make some discoveries that will surprise you.  I know I did.  Depending on  whether it was a rural area at the time or not, name of streets may have changed or not even existed.  Regardless, with a little patience and a a lot of determination, you can find info on people from long ago.

It's a more educational way to spend 2 hours than wasting it away on Facebook.  

Enter the Dragon

I spoke with Rat Bastard G yesterday. It was another dimwitted conversation that we normally engage in on a periodic basis. Nothing of any real value except one nugget of information I gleened that I thought was a bit ironic.

It turns out that at the beginning of the year in the wee hours following his New Years Eve celebration, he had made a commitment to the year as one of the best he would ever have, a memorable milestone year in his life, a year upon which to look back and reflect upon and think, "Wow. what a year of accomplishment". I asked G what he was doing to facilitate and help himself to reach this designation and he replied, "nothing". He was simply going to let life come to him, hand him whatever it would, and them close the books on it December 31st and declare that 2012 was the year of the G. I thought that was a bit odd as I thought you have to live life fully rather than taking what life gives you, but no, G assured me that he was going to pull up his chaise lounge and just watch things parade past. He even told me that like the current Chinese lunar Year of the Dragon, he had taken it upon himself in his own vain manner to refer to it as the "Year of the Rat" and compose a song similar to one of our earlier Friday selections.

It will be interesting to see.  For the record, G was actually born under the Chinese symbol of the Rooster.  Before political correctness, this was always referred to as the Cock.  Dragon, Rat, Cat, Rooster, Cock.  I hope he doesn't get his symbolism mixed up.

Jukebox: That Lady could sure sing

We're hiring

It is with bittersweet feeling I write today's post.  My able bodied Assistant/Resident Trustee, Giacommo, has accepted a position outside of the area and will no longer be able to fulfill his duties here at FTI.  Of course, I hate to lose him as he has become, over the months, a trusted confidant of all things abnormal.  Generally, the little knucklehead has proven to be a reliable individual, though, persistent questions remain concerning his involvement in  this incident a while back and his ability to keep some matters confidential.  Regardless, I conducted an exit interview with him last night and wish him nothing but the best in his future endeavors. He has been a fine apprentice and is certainly ready to fly on his own.

My only question of his abilities are that I am not sure he is fully developed in the matter of keeping some subjects confidential. Last night was a good example. Somehow, some way, Gosh,-I-just-happened-to-be-in-the-neighborhood, -got-thirsty, -and-didn't-know-you-guys-were-here, Old Short Arms swoops in and joins us during the out-processing meeting. I didn't bring it up with Giacommo as it would be pointless at this juncture of his affiliation. True to form, however, the little miser was able to mooch a glass from the bartender, share in the pitcher of our ceremonial sacraments, score another round from a generous stranger, skillfully time his need to use the restroom just as the conversation lulls while the glasses are empty, and accomplish all of these tasks while only parting with $2 for a bowl of peanuts. In some ways, I am in awe. I don't know how he consistently does it.

Giacommo, I wish you good luck. I know you have the foundation, skillset, and where-with-all to succeed in you new endeavor. Just learn to discern what you share with some people. Especially those with Short Arms.

Hey kid, you are bit old, aren't you?

I note that a kids  Easter Egg hunt in Colorado has been cancelled this year due to the behavior of  aggressive  parents during last years event.

Sadly, this hits a little to close to home as it reminds me of a local charity event where cash and prizes were to be distributed that was also cancelled due to the rowdiness, pushing, and, in the case of one individual,  insistence of rights to "remuneration".  The only memorable identifying trait is that this person had unusually short arms in relation to the coat he was wearing.

This is an odd description.  I can't think of anyone I know who fits it...................

Jukebox: Hey I know this one!

That exercise and shower thing doesn't work

I received word from Gummo, the Balloon Boy, yesterday alerting me to the fact that he suffered a potential serious injury that would prevent him from participating in Institute events for a short time. As it turns out, he was lucky to escape with minor bruising and a cut, but, it could have been much more serious.

Like countless days before, Helium Man practices his daily grooming habits of a first-thing-in-the-morning shave and shower. Running a bit late, Gummo decided to save a bit of time and combine both his shower and exercise regimen into one. Gummo's normal workout includes one morning rep consisting of full arm extension twirls, reverse arm twirls, 180 degree full body helicopter pivots, and ending with a full speed front face lunge. Doing all of this in a bathtub, however, is inadvisable. In this case, the lunge was aimed at the bath faucet and resulted in a minor gash and goose-egg on the forehead. This self-developed regimen appears to be a bit silly at best and, in this case, highly dangerous. After all, one would think that if your are going to engage in this type of high impact aerobics, you would at least do so on a padded carpet or workout mat.

After mopping up the blood and his forehead looking like a windshield that had just been hit by a golf ball, Rocky Balboa was good to go and soldiered on through the day. I have alerted the FTI maintenance staff to install an alarm much like the one picture above in Gummo's dormitory room. It will tell us when he is exercising.

Oops! My Mistake.

No truer commitment to excellence, truth, and support for both our readers and staff  can be found anywhere in relation to our efforts to produce this endeavor.  With the help of the Truthometer Deluxe on a semi-periodic basis to use as the true arbiter of Truth, the shining light of veracity guides us on a daily basis.  When a mistake or slight is made that results in casting some one or thing in a negative light, I will immediately correct or retract any statements made here on behalf of the FTI collective groupthink. Today is such an example.

Yesterday's insinuations that the little miser had been watering down the beverages at his annual St. Patty's bash was met with an immediate and belligerent phone call of protest that as a true-blooded, generous, authentic descendant of Irish lineage, Dickey the Peap would simply never, ever, absolutely not, cheat or inhibit anyone's rightful privilege to liquor of any type on any day for personal financial gain. Especially St. Patrick's Day. It simply was not true. He may have a a reputation for creative ways to raise revenue, but, short pouring drinks at a social event was simply not one and he demanded an immediate apology and retraction.

Upon further reflection, I have examined my thoughts in the last 24 hours and come to the realization that I have, indeed, been wrong and that an apology to our 2 faithful readers is in order. I personally know the Peap and realize that though he is a bit, ahem, "stingy" when opening his wallet, I could ask him anytime for a drink and he would willingly and cheerfully give me all that he had and wouldn't think a thing about it. Loss, cost or value would simply not enter into the equation. Financial advantage would not be a consideration.

For the record, I faithfully and dutifully acknowledge my error from yesterday's posting and apologize for any confusion or hurt I may have caused or any damage I may have cast upon the character of our resident Darby O'gill. To summarize: HE WOULD NOT SHORT POUR DRINKS FOR FINANCIAL GAIN.

I am however, still trying to understand the need of a $20 per head "seating fee" for an event at a private residence. That seems a bit excessive.

Stretchin' the green

While spending the weekend of St Patty's doing absolutely nothing close to approaching any type of celebration in honor of the Irish Saint (including drinking of any sort), I happen to turn on the local news. It's the same weekend stuff: sport scores, the weather, fluff baby animal pieces, mindless chit-chat from the B-team news reporters,etc.,  but, do catch a snippet of a teaser comment that catches my ear. Apparently a party over the weekend was broken up that got a bit too out of hand resulting in the detainment of one senior citizen for out of control noise, fighting, and general disruption of the neighborhood.  Now, this gets me to thinking because I know the Frugal One had made a passing comment that he was planning a get together over the weekend.  I figure I will wait for the report after the commercial and listen to the story.  As it turns out, one of the revelers got into an argument over the fact that the little miser had filled Jameson Irish Whiskey bottles with colored water, pouring a generous splash of it into a glass coffee mug, filling with coffee, topping it off with whipped cream, and then trying to portray this concoction as an  Irish coffee drink.  All of this effort to save money when throwing a party.  Unbelievable.

I think it would be better if our boy had thrown a St. Seamus day.  At least the Scotch admit they are "thrifty".      

Jukebox: Is this really 37 years old?

Men have no idea

Following our weekly staff meeting yesterday, I assigned a small thinking exercise to the Misfits in order to measure what little of their actual functioning minds actually produce. Giving credit where credit is due, I thought this example by Dickie the Peap was noteworthy. Not useful, but noteworthy.

Women always say that giving birth is way more painful than a guy getting kicked in the nuts.

Here is proof that they are wrong:

A year or so after giving birth a woman will often say "It would be nice to have another kid".

You never hear a guy say " I would like another kick in the nuts".

I must say, perhaps the little miser isn't as much a lost case as I had originally thought.

Jukebox: No, there's always a reason

You just have to have the right equipment

Though I avoided any embarrasing incidents as we did not have any guests over the other night, I have been still under pressure to repair the icemaker in the FTI commissary as detailed in  the previous posting.  Failure simply was not an option, something had to be done.  I knew that swift, decisive, meaninginful action needed to be taken.  Enter the FTI maintenance staff.

A related branch division of our heretofore mentioned FTI IT dept. (the most reviled department here at FTI), I had an inkling of some possible success as they promptly responded to the maintenance requisition  I had placed earlier in the day, neatly attired in their coveralls and shoe booties ( to keep Mrs. Kfred from complaining about wearing the shoes in the Executive living quarters), and ready to go.  It truly was a marvel as they rummaged through their toolkit to perform their own form of life restoring surgery to the icemaker and leave everything in like new condition.  At one point, I did note I thought it odd that having  a turkey baster, old bicycle seat,  and a single colored Rubik's cube among the collection of wrenches and screwdrivers a bit puzzling, but hey, these guys are the professionals.

In the end, the icemaker was brought back to life and all is well. Before they left, though I had to ask,"what's with the single  colored Rubik's cube? They have 6 colors.  Why only one?"

"Inspiration.  Whenever we get stuck on a problem, we go to the cube, twist it a couple of times and get all sides to be the same.  We figure if we can do that, we should be able to fix anything else."

I know not to question this type of logic.    

Sure, it's nothing that $200 can't fix

I have been informed by Mrs. Kfred that the icemaker on the refrigerator in the FTI commissary is non- functioning and not producing any type of ice presently.  Of course, this type of situation calls for direct action by me that consists of much like my snap analysis of any car engine trouble when stranded along the roadside.  The similarities are striking:  1) opening door to inspect said unit; 2) wiggling  dispenser bar repeatedly, 3) unplugging and replugging the electrical cord back into wall outlet, and 4) pronouncing, "There. That should do it".

I have a distinct feeling that tonight's scheduled happy hour will explore a new trend by serving guests refreshments at room temperature.  

Now, c-c-c-c-cut that out!

I just returned Friday night after a few days out of town on non-Institute business in support of activities in Dilbertland.  They always do a nice job in these types of meetings and give  us lots of information to go and do what is needed to be accomplished.    Normally, we always have conducted these meetings at very nice locations with the finest of service, food, and entertainment.  Everyone looks forward to it and this year was no exception.  I did, however, have one unsettling experience.  The hotel that served as our headquarters is an old hotel built back in the late 1880's.  It is a magnificent property with numerous amenities, and, also has a reputation for housing a ghost.  I think I met it.

After a full day of meetings and presentations on Thursday, we had dinner that evening and a few cocktails to socialize with everyone.  Since this is a luxury hotel and the good folks in Dilbertland constantly remind us that budgets are tight, we were each assigned a roommate in order to  afford to stay in a place of this grandeur.  Anyways, as my roommate does not drink and I had had plenty of fun and games the night before, we thought Thursday night would be a good night to call it an early evening.  I know I was asleep within 3 minutes of hitting the pillow.  I was tired.

Later, as it turned out, around 2:40 in the morning, I was in a state of semi-consciousness, halfway between sleep and still aware of where you are (Does that make sense?  It's that point where you are sleeping but really don't want to open your eyes.  That's where I was.) when the inside of my eyelids flashed.  I am a big fan of lightning.  I love it.  I have always been fascinated by it and thought there was an electrical storm going on.  Remember, during this time I am half asleep.  Opening my eyes, I realize that the light is coming from the bathroom that my roommate failed to turn off after using it in the middle of the night.  Collecting my senses and thoughts, I look over in the adjacent bed and see my roommate with his arm under his head, face up on the bed, nose pointed to the ceiling, deep asleep.   I thought, "how could he forget to turn off the light?"  About that time, the light clicked off and the room was dark.  Now this is a bit weird, but, I figure the light is off, so we are no worse for the wear.  It must be a short in the wiring.;  it's an old hotel.  About 20 minutes later, after getting  settled in, I hear a distinctive "CLICK" noise.  The light is on again.  This time, the hair on my neck is on end and a shiver goes through my body.  My mind now recalls the conversation in the lobby during check-in that this hotel is haunted.  I hadn't thought of it before.  Now this is a bit freaky, I am definitely uncomfortable.  The light is on in the bathroom, no one went in their since the last time and, yet, there it is blazing away.  I am not sure whether to pull up the covers a bit tighter around my neck or get up and turn the damn thing off.  After about 2 minutes it goes off again.  10 minutes later, it goes on again!  Now I am concerned. I say out loud "What the hell is going on?" loud enough to wake my roommate.  He rousts awake and is saying "Huh?  What's going on?  Did you forget to turn out the light?"  I explain this has happened 3 times and all of a sudden he is awake.  Fast.  I get up turn of the light manually and that is the end of it for the rest of the evening.  

Now, in fairness, I must disclose that the switch in the bathroom is a motion activated switch on a timer; it's not a standard toggle switch.  I guess something like an insect or flying bug could have activated it.  I am unaware of any type of light switch that has that kind of sensitivity connected to it , but hey, I will give it the benefit of the doubt.   I just know what I experienced  and I never saw a fly, butterfly, bee, or any other winged creature in that room.  I do not believe in ghosts.  But I do believe there are things that can't be  explained.  And I think this was one of them.

We have contingency plans

I am out of town for the next 3 days on  non-Institute business attending a meeting along with my peers from Dilbertland.   We get together once every year or so for yearly kickoff meetings and I am looking forward to making re-acquaintances with some old chums.  It should be fun.

As a result of my absence, I once again have to invoke the emergency vacancy clause of our bylaws in order to keep Institute business running and legal.    This single act broadens my powers to act decisively should any emergency occur (up to and including imposing martial law here at the compound) while I am not in actual physical presence at the FTI Control Center. I undertake this act solemnly and understand it should never be taken for granted. Such as it is with leadership.  Power has it's burdens.  

With this single act accomplished, I only have one final task to complete before my departure:  Ask Mrs. Kfred to sign my leave request.

Giving back to the Community

As Executive Director here at FTI,  I wear many hats.  Though Mrs. Kfred primarily acts as Director of Institute Safety, she is, in reality, our Chief Financial Officer for Institute purposes.  Basic accounting and day to day financial transactions are handled solely by her.  For our personal responsibilities, though,  when it comes to taxes, that's my baby.

As noted in the About FTI tab above,  our endeavor here is to offer policy analysis, event commentary, and recount observations.  Any financial gain along the way is secondary.    Accordingly, by listening to the investment advice of one D., the Peap, investor/extraordinaire, who's can't miss, sure-fire, investment picks include such industry stalwarts as Enron, Washington Mutual, and most recently, Kodak, our tax liability is, has been, and continues to be, ahem, negligible.  (Investment tip to our 2 faithful readers:  Ignore any advice if given by an individual who regularly develops temporary blindness everytime a lunch check is presented at the table. His memory of can't miss stocks seems to be affected in the same manner.)    Anyways, after reporting and accounting for the personal compensation as Executive Director I receive here, scouring tax code for every possible deduction I can find, and arguing that I should be eligible for hardship pay, it looks like Mrs. Kfred and I are going to receive a whopping $185 refund from the government.  Big deal.

In reflecting over how to best give back to the  FTI community with my modest windfall, I am torn between adding to the funding for our annual membership drive or buying a folding chair to create interest for our upcoming 2nd FTI "Western Hemisphere Relations Forum /Auto Parts Swap Meet".   Our first outing was, ah, disappointing.  It is my intent and fervent hope that with the additional seat available, someone might actually attend and participate.

Chevy parts are over there.

An embarrassment of Riches

Well, now isn't this a quandary.

I am exploring a rival Institute's offer to join their organization. My dilemma is over the fact that our succession plan has never been fully developed or adopted and that is a problem. As discussed a few years ago, the glacial pace at which our plan is developing is troubling. Oh sure, I have my able-bodied Assistant Director/Trustee, Giacommo, waiting in the wings to take over the wheel on a split second notice.  I do note, however, that befitting our membership, the wheel  is rusted shut due to the inactivity and lack of any creative output emanating from our assembled brain trust.  As a result, Giacommo might not be prepared to deal with the normal day to day headaches I confront each day.  For example, Gummo, the Balloon Boy's, repeated requests for swimming lessons are not easy to repeatedly deny.  I deny these, not so much to spite Gummo, rather, to save the instructor the frustration and heartache of knowing  no matter how hard you try to prove otherwise, Archimedes principle is really a hoax.  So it is with Gummo.

Our weekly staff meeting/Valentines party later this morning, may give me a clearer indication if I can find a worthy successor. Based on the gifts I have received to date, though, I am a bit concerned.  After all, how many dyed, hard-boiled eggs can one eat?        

Jukebox: Leon, where did the years go?

It's gonna cost ya

The economic upheaval we have all experienced for the past 4 years  has produced a number of nasty surprises.  One unfortunate consequence  I have increasingly  observed from all of this is the practice of various businesses to gouge their customers with bullshit fees and charges.  Today's case in point:  the good folks at Charles Schwab bank.

I am currently in the process of refinancing the FTI compound.  Due to the vastly superior intellectual endeavors and policy position's emanating  from our nerve center, we have been in the enviable position of maintaining an assessed value that helps us to qualify for a variable rate mortgage of fixed 2.875% for the first 5 years of the loan with no appraisal necessary.  In my mind, that is a pretty sweet deal!  Of course, I know of the pitfalls of an ARM, but only plan to use it as a vehicle to eventually have the compound itself mortgage free which will allow for a free cash flow to pursue our ultimate goal: developing an FTI taxidermy studio.  But, I digress.  One small detail has held me up, however.  I do have an open line of home equity credit which acts as a second mortgage held by Schwab bank.  And there is the rub.

My line of credit is worth $90,000, but, has a $0 balance owed.   I have never used it.     I merely opened it as a method to have some available cash if I or Mrs. Kfred ever need it for some type of emergency.  The limit, however, is figured into any refinance equation and acts as another debt against my house.   The good folks I  am refinancing with  (Everbank in Jacksonville, Florida) were OK with this open limit and had finished all of my paperwork and merely needed Schwab to sign off on the subordination to hold second place on the mortgage.  Schwab got a little nervous about this and insisted that now an appraisal would be in order even though they currently are in second position anyway.  In a nutshell, the only thing changing are the terms with my first lender.  Schwab is not involved.  To make a long story short, I chose to close out my line of credit and informed Schwab bank of my decision.    Schwab was "sorry to lose me as a valued customer" and confirmed that I owed nothing on the line, but, would need to generate a payoff statement just the same.  I need this document to give to the first lender.  So far so good.  Here comes the complaint: They could put it in the mail to arrive in 3 days or they could fax it to me for a $20 charge!   $20!  For a fax!  With unlimited long distance minutes, I know it is no longer phone charges.  I can't, for the life of me, figure out the labor involved to send a fax.   I guess labor must be expensive.  I told my customer care representative to drop it in the mail.

 I have learned from this experience.  I am contemplating making this site a members only/annual membership, paid access type of forum from this point forward.  The revenue generated would be nothing but bottom line revenue to apply to the Misfits vacation fund.  On deeper analysis, however, perhaps our 2 faithful readers might balk at our anticipated $3000 annual assessment.   I might have to think of some alternative methods.  I guess I will talk to Chuck.    

  

What better way to kick off the New Year?

I've been neglectful, I've been lazy, I've been remiss, but, I sure as hell haven't been asleep.   I found this image and immediately thought of  Dickey the Peap.  Somehow, I think it just fits the recipient to a tee.    

It's not an event; It's a lifestyle

I had my annual Christmas lunch with Dickey the Peap yesterday. Though the content of our meeting was highly enjoyable, it did not have quite the explosive revelations as last year.  That is not to say, however, that I came away disappointed. Hardly.

While sitting over lunch, enjoying a  sandwich and a couple glasses each of some fine, handcrafted ales, we discussed various topics that invariably end each time with the relating to the Frugal One's propensity to rarely make any type of spontaneous financial outlays.  Under any circumstances.  Oh sure, the little miser tries to turn it around on me and accuse me of some worse type of behavior, but, I accept that as the price for being able to bash him on this forum on a regular basis.   Anyway, we are sitting and laughing and acting like a couple of 12 year olds making fart jokes when a woman approaches out table.  She stops at our table and asks, "Are you Dickey the Peap? You don't know who I am, do you?"  Now, at this point, our boy instinctively reacts with the same deer-in-the-headlights look he displays whenever a dinner check or repair bill is presented anywhere near in his vicinity.  I could sense  that Dickey was now rapidy mentally going through the faces in his mind of every bill collector  he had ever known.  "I am not going to tell you my name.  We went to high school together. But, I thought it was you.  You haven't changed any."    Suddenly, the light clicked and recognized her as a girl he had taken on a couple of dates in high school a million years ago.  Nothing serious, just  a girl from his past.  "I've been looking for  you for a long time."  Now, at this point, I figure I have a front row seat to some good stuff.  I couldn't wait for the rest.  "We went out one time for burgers and milkshakes and I had to use all of my baby sitting money to pay the check because you had forgotten your wallet.  You told me that you would pay me back and I shouldn't worry about it.  I always thought you were such a nice boy and one who would keep his word.  You never did pay me back and,  as a result, I didn't have money the next day to ride the bus crosstown to where the  admissions test were being given and I missed out on being accepted into college. I ended up  getting married, had 2 kids, divorced, went broke, and am now stuck in some dumpy apartment. I figure if you had paid me the lousy $1.85 at the time, my life would have been completely different.  I just wanted to come over and tell you I have never forgotten you Dickey.  I would recognize you anywhere!"

Needless to say, our joyous event ended on a bit of a bummer.  While the frugal one used the restroom, I noted that the woman and her party were preparing to leave.  There was just one question I had to ask her.  "I hear you say that Dickey hadn't changed any in all of these years.  What gave it away?  His weight, body build, hair color?  What was it?'  Without a beat, she replied, "He's always had one simple identifying feature.  I knew right away it was him".  "What? What? Tell me what it is",  I asked.  "Two words", she said.  "Short arms".

An Identity crisis

Ah, Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday.

Sitting here pounding out this message, I have Pandora tuned to playing Thanksgiving songs softly in the background as I plan the logistics for our Thanksgiving Day feast. Kfred Jr. 1 and Goldilocks will be joining us along with Marv, the Neighbor, and his wife as well. The plan is to barbeque a turkey this year while Marv, the Neighbor, plans to augment the menu with a deep fried bird as well. There should not be a shortage of food.

I am having a bit of dilemma though as my black knicker pants and black top with the white contrasting cuffs and collar did not get finished by the cleaners in time this year.  My entire holiday mood around this day is heavily influenced by my  attire and, now, I only have my Pilgrim hat available for use.  This is  more than a bit troubling as I may have to resort to the true and tired Indian get-up.

I just don't know the connection Ghandi had with our forefathers.  

This is more than a little junk in the trunk

I have taken a brief break from my duties posting here, but, am back and what better way to return.............

A woman was arrested in Florida for injecting another woman's buttocks with a mixture of cement, oil, a tire sealant, and super glue as a means to enhance her buttocks in order to work in a club in south Florida. The apparent victim wanted to have a "curvier" figure and figured paying this "doctor" $700 was a cost effective way to get the look she was hoping for.

The good doctor had actually injected herself earlier as a demonstration of her prowess. As pictured by the good doctor's photo here, I would tend to think that any prospective patient would run the opposite direction upon seeing the results.    This is an actual booking photo and  WAS NOT PHOTO SHOPPED.

I wonder if anyone is discussing this expense and type of procedure as we debate health care options.

Jukebox: With Greatful Appreciation of our Veterans

It's Sunday Brunch

Hey c'mon, it's Sunday and I am tired.   We get a day off too, you know, so,  I'm taking the staff out to Brunch. Every time one of the Misfits say, do, or think something stupid, they have to put a dollar in the jar. We call it our Brunch fund. And as far as I can forecast, there's going to be a lot of Sunday meals.

Just like Sunday Brunch, most of the stuff here is overvalued, pre-cooked, and have already been sneezed on  by some snotty 6 year old kid.  But, go ahead:  take a look here and see if any of these days old items are to your liking.  Like most places, our admonishments are the same:  "Take as much as you want, read all that you take".

See you tomorrow.