The Renaissance Libertarian Shivers

It is a little chillier than I like here in the Commandant's Quarters this morning, too cold for comfortable showering.

That happens from time to time in wicked cold weather when I don't take proper care of my wood burner. It runs far less efficiently when it wants its ashes hauled, and that chore is overdue.

The ordinary solution is technology.  A lazy twist of the propane dial quickly brings things up to a toasty 77 or so. That's exactly what occurred about 5 a.m., despite yesterday's news that propane had spiked to a painful $3 per gallon. Making my regular morning news scan about 5:05 a.m, I learned that the going price is suddenly  $5. I madly twisted the dial the other way, killing the main flame and the pilot.

I turned on some electricity  (expensive, but cheaper than propane at the going Adam Smith-determined price),  stirred the coals, and put on a hat. As I type, the mercury is 70 and rising. Propane sellers weep.

I've modified the daily tactical plan. First light will find a clean firebox and a  hearth full of special emergency high-output cellulose -- thinner splits of oak and even a piece or two of old cedar fence post. Take that propane hustlers.

An hour later the Command Thermodynamic Production and  Control Center will be ready for normal fueling with big billets of hard wood. I shal then resume the grace of normal life, a breakfast of organic,  free-range eggs shirred with hummingbird tongues and Benedictine in preparation for rigorous fencing practice to a background of Vivaldi.

So it's no real problem, just a flurry of inconvenience. That's offset by a timely object lesson in the extreme ludditarian and free-market positions I've been ranting about lately.

(a) The cure for $5 propane is $5 propane. The more people who turn off the valve, the quicker the cure works. (b) Implementing (a) requires an alternative. In this case it is wood and, to a small extent, grid watts. Beyond that, there is the Knipco heater. Further yet (power failure?) the old Kerosun still works and doesn't need electricity.

So I'm several steps away from spending my days in bed, huddled under a blanket, whining about the evil forces of capitalism making me miserable, dreaming of going on network teevee, telling the world of my misery which, of course, ain't my fault no how.


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Footnote 1: If I did decide to tell it to the cameras, I could blame Obama. Or Goldwater. But I suppose Bush would get me the most nods of statist agreement, and a guy can't go wrong reaching for a high Neilson rating.

Footnote 2:  I hope I'm not alarming my family. If worse comes to worst, there's enough gas in the tank to make it to mid-March, at least, when the sun shines warmer and the Invisible Hand tells the propane industry: too much. That gas was sold to me some 13 months ago at c.$1.25 per gallon.

Footnote 3: Betcha my state and local regulators secretly love it. A 300-gallon propane fill at $5 would render unto them $105 in sales tax. Do that enough times and you can build all sorts of neat new bicycle trails and sincere people to adminster them.

The Renaissance Man Knows

Just teasing -- getting ready for one or more really tiresome  screeds.

With a free math application (newspeak "app" -- oldspeak: "program")  on every magic telephone, why would a guy burden himself by memorizing multiplication tables?



And with advanced technology like this:















Why the heck should anyone bother with learning to tie a tautline hitch?

Security code: Unit of Self-Sufficiency

Got change for a nickel?

It has occurred to our masters that one coin of the realm still carries intrinsic value, the nickel, of course.

A five-cent piece is still worth almost five cents. At 75 per cent copper and the rest nickel,  it is a slug of highly-desirable metal which is worth something all by itself, no matter what Janet Yellen decrees next month when she takes over from Ben as the official decree-er of value.

Can't have that. Mommiedotguv is trying to figure out a way to debase it without irritating the nickelodeon industry too much.

Some preppers have been tucking away nickels for years, just as other skeptics squirrel away the pre-1982 pennies (the poor man's Krugerrand)  from their pocket change. Any bets on who gets the last laugh?

Care to be my neighbor?

Pretty nice digs just up the lake. For 15 million bucks you can move right in, and I'll do my damndest to make you feel welcome.

It's called "Peace Harbor," a little twee, but you can change it after your check clears.

The seller is Tom Bedell who was fortunate smart enough to be born to former Congressman Berkeley Bedell who, prior to serving his nation in Washington, pulled off a classic American Horatio Alger act. Berk started tying flies in his bedroom, and years later owned one of the largest fishing tackle companies in the world.

You'll be an easy half-hour paddle from me for those long afternoons when you're bored with your 16 bedrooms, nine baths, and full-size Irish pub (in the basement, I think). You can beach your canoe near my rear door step and give me a hand with the firewood.