"Hot damn I have beaten Bernanke;
I beat Ben Bernanke today."
---
It's a lovely morning, cool, light overcast, pleasant breeze. So I assigned myself to dawn patrol, just for the delight of being out in the country side. On my way back to Rally Point J I stopped to make a small purchase. On arrival here I tossed the change on the table, one nickel, four pennies. Then, a fresh cup of coffee at hand, i examined the coins of the realm. The nickel automatically went to the nickel jug, repository of coins worth the government advertised price, or nearly so.
Leaving four pennies on which I beat the odds. Three of them were pre-1982, mostly copper, hence worth 2.2 cents each measured against the fraudulent zincs foisted on us early in the reign of the Keynesian Ronald Reagan.
The commodity value bonus on the $1.78 purchase was thus 3.6 cents (.012x3) or slightly more than 2 per cent. And before you start laughing at me, let me state as a fact that the 2 per cent is 20 times greater in one day than Ben is paying for a full year on my savings account. (Yes, Ben. He's just using my bank as a middle man.)
The zinc went into a larger container with dimes and quarters, The Cup of Despair. Periodically it is emptied into a bank account, my Certificate of Concession. (Nominal return is as low as 1/10 of 1 per cent, translating to a loss of about 1.9 per cent per year in purchasing power -- even accepting the official lies about the inflation rate.)
---
Sorting pennies is not something about which a guy should get obsessive, but it's one manner of idling away a minute or two when there's nothing good on the internet. And, over time, it gives you a gloatable feeling of investment wisdom.
Why, just last week I weighed my stash of copper pennies and nickels and discovered I own coinage containing more than eleven pounds of copper. Even in the temporarily depressed metal market that amounts to a whopping $35. Next time I see a cute babe at the end of the bar I'm gonna sidle up and ask her what color car she wants.
.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 28, 2012
I don't exactly feel sorry for John Boehner, but there is a little twinge of something like sympathy. He just left a podium where he attempted to explain to a group of media personalities that:
The Supreme Court ruled that the health-care law was constitutional. The court did not rule that it was a good idea.
If you can somewhow get a dollar for every time that distinction is made between now and election day, you'll probably wind up with enough money for a Big Gulp and pack of Twinkies.
The Supreme Court ruled that the health-care law was constitutional. The court did not rule that it was a good idea.
If you can somewhow get a dollar for every time that distinction is made between now and election day, you'll probably wind up with enough money for a Big Gulp and pack of Twinkies.
...a fine time to leave me, Lucille
I call my giveadamner "Lucille." In the dark of night she left me, heedless of the demands of this "Momentous Day."
Will the Supreme Court maim Obamacare and guffaw as the bodies pile up outside emergency rooms across this great nation?
The prevailing AmSoc notion is that my health is your responsibility. It is bipartisan. We're quibbling only about whose turn it is to buy this round of lime-flavored hemlock.
Will the Supreme Court maim Obamacare and guffaw as the bodies pile up outside emergency rooms across this great nation?
The prevailing AmSoc notion is that my health is your responsibility. It is bipartisan. We're quibbling only about whose turn it is to buy this round of lime-flavored hemlock.
Jun 27, 2012
Cultural Literacy
The 10 a.m. temperature at Camp J is 80 degrees. We'll hit the predicted 99 in a walk. It is as though all the politically ambitious, seeking all the offices in this great land, had turned to face me, as Muslims to Mecca, and begun delivering their stump speeches.
I am doing the kind of work which should be done in less heated circumstances, so I welcomed a chuckle from my pal John in the GMA, even though it mentions heat, even though he doesn't know where it came from. We salute the author, where ever he or she may be.
---
“Several commenters mistook my use of the microwave as the way all Americans heat water and clucked their tongues in disapproval. I’m happy to report to any of those who’ve returned to the site that I’m quite atypical in this regard.
The standard American way to heat water is to take a pot of water out to our pickup truck, open the hood (what the Brits call a “bonnet”), and lock the pot onto the engine block using a set of latches readily available at any Wal-Mart.
Then we drive around at high speed, reciting the Gospels and firing our shotguns out the window. After reading the Gospel of John for three minutes and sixteen seconds, the water is ready. I hope this puts to rest any confusion.”
I am doing the kind of work which should be done in less heated circumstances, so I welcomed a chuckle from my pal John in the GMA, even though it mentions heat, even though he doesn't know where it came from. We salute the author, where ever he or she may be.
---
“Several commenters mistook my use of the microwave as the way all Americans heat water and clucked their tongues in disapproval. I’m happy to report to any of those who’ve returned to the site that I’m quite atypical in this regard.
The standard American way to heat water is to take a pot of water out to our pickup truck, open the hood (what the Brits call a “bonnet”), and lock the pot onto the engine block using a set of latches readily available at any Wal-Mart.
Then we drive around at high speed, reciting the Gospels and firing our shotguns out the window. After reading the Gospel of John for three minutes and sixteen seconds, the water is ready. I hope this puts to rest any confusion.”
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