As an investor in GE’s savings&security plan, I commend Jeff Immelt for moving one of GE’s business unit headquarters to China.
As an American, I’m ashamed of him.
Jeff has let the stock market manipulation games begin.
It’s your turn, reader. Can you keep up?
All this talk about maintaining the status quo of the current global business model…
All this worrying that America is not leading us out of a worldwide recession…
What if America is leading the forefront of a new worldwide revolution?
Are you part of the past or prepared for a fantastic future?
Today, the WTO agreed to outlaw rating agencies because the buffoons have overstepped their bounds as government/business puppets.
A thanks to the pay-coms in Huntsville – Marshall Space Flight Center is a special place.
It’s Wednesday, so it must be Tuesdy – thanks to Beauregard’s and other places I’ve fallen behind in thanking for their business and their employees’ service.
I ask the following what your elders taught you:
Were these your inspirational gurus?:
Sunlight captured in decomposed organic material, wind, rain, radioactive rock, steam vents.
Solar power.
Undiscovered, yet-to-be invented energy sources.
“The Life Of The Party” by Bennett Cerf.
The memoirs of Richard Nixon.
Not getting the copy of the nurse response times that my wife asked for and recording other issues here for permanent record.
For my wife’s mother’s health.
Sketches at an inquisition.
Stained glass smiling…rather, beaming in the sun.
Jeff Gordon in 2nd place.
Redirecting the hacking community toward more nonanarchic goals.
Building up rather than breaking in.
The first hacker-launched communications satellite orbiting the Moon, with terabytes of space-hardened quantum computing power far outside international lawmaker infuences.
Last thoughts in this moment of a dying man’s states of energy.
Moving on.
23 and me.
Cloning disc.
Disc golf.
Exclusive news and offers.
Putting seven billion people to constructive use rather than spend all my energy shredding the global banking “industry” into its nonmaterialistically immaterial antiquated pieces.
Making derivatives and commodity futures – any speculative manipulation of basic goods-and-services prices – illegal again.
Either that, or motivate the crowd to foment revolution.
I can go any way I please, all in the name of saving the species for my goal of saving the species from itself and for its participation in spreading life of Earth into the cosmos.
Off the top of your head can you tell me the temperature of Mars 10, 20, or 100 killometers below the surface?
I’m tired and impatient.
Am I supposed to say I’m glad we have VCs who’ve made their gazillions by jacking up the cost of living for ignorant peasantry in order to fund startups that’ll hopefully create the next generation of peasants’ artificially-induced desirables?
[Note to editor: strike “peasantry” reference in the last paragraph and replace with “middle class” – tell business/political leaders’ speechwriters to do the same.]
The elders on the Committee remind me that I need to back off and let people have their dreams, no matter how misinformed or misdirected they may seem to be.
After all, I grew up cheering for Richard Petty – a guy who sat in a metal cage and pointed the output of an internal combustion engine so that the metal cage rolled primarily in semicircles several hours at a time – signing autographs and bringing happiness to people most of the week.
That, in itself, will not get me on a cruise around the Moon, but profits from the sale of idolising gear and spinoff technology will.
Best wishes and prayers for those who suffer ill effects of natural disasters, those who live in violence-prone neighbourhoods and those who face illnesses alone in loneliness.
Time to meditate.
Only 14,193 days left – time’s a’wastin’!
My h0liday of humour moves on – time to get back on the Committee again.
One more set of data points for you before I go, some old and some new:
And to my female friends in the Big Apple – the women in New York City may be smarter but they tell me they’re wealthier in Hong Kong. Smarts ain’t all about money, though, is it?
We were sitting at the hardware store, talking about nothing in particular, when an obvious sales guy showed up.
“Hey, fellas! I’m new in town.”
We blinked in unison, as close to a friendly hello as a bunch of cautious friends will make.
“I see I’m up against a tough crowd. My name’s Wodwin.”
“Wodmin, I’m Smoot, the hardware store owner. What can I do fer ya?”
“I’m looking to start up a business in this town, seeing as how I own a bunch of ’em upstate, and wondered if any of you could introduce me to one of your preachers.”
“Well, now, Wodwin, what kinda preacher are you lookin’ for? Regular Protestant? Evangelical Protestant? Nonspecific?”
“Don’t matter to me, none. Just a fella who has his finger on the pulse of his congregation.”
Rog, our resident critic, stood up. “Wodwin, whot you need a preacher fer? You got sumthin’ to confess that we need hear about afore it spreads all over town?”
“Naw. Nothin’ like that. My daughter’s thinkin’ of gettin’ married and I need to make sure she has a good talk with a preacher before she ties the knot with the ‘man of her dreams.'”
“He somebody we know?”
“I reckon not. He’s from a different country. Smoot, you got any suggestions?”
“Ahh…hmm…boys, you think ol’ Reverend Stalvohl would do, in a case like this?”
I nodded. “Sure. He’d know what to say to a young lady about the proper conduct of mind afore you settled into the married life.”
Wodwin tipped his hat. “Fellas, you’ve been a big help. I’m good with faces so when I see any of you come into my store, I’ll make sure to offer you a special discount. Have a great day!”
A week later, I ran into the preacher. “Reverend Stalvohl, heard you was popular.”
“Yes, indeed. You hardware store regulars have been a’houndin’ me about this new man in town a name of Wodwin.”
“Well, spill the beans. Any good gossip for us?”
“Not yet. Wodwin visited with me and spent a long time inquisitatin’ about my views on the evils of alcohol. I told ‘im I wasn’t sure that alcohol was evil unto itself but the abuse of the firewater led to many a stray soul leavin’ the church.”
“You tell it like it is, Reverend. You wonder if Wodwin is a drinker?”
“No. He ain’t. In fact, he told me he was a teetotaler but that he did own a few liquor stores upstate. I told him I didn’t judge a man by how he made his money but I sure didn’t think his liquor stores would go over well in this God-fearin’ town.”
“That’s a good one, preacher. We shore haven’t had a liquor store in these parts in a long time.”
“Indeed. In any case, Wodwin is sendin’ his daughter over to my place this evenin’, so I’m sure you and the boys will have more to talk about tomorrow.”
The next morning, the hardware store was filled with farmers and handymen. Seems like word had gotten out that Wodwin’s daughter was not only a looker but a regular student of the Bible. News had spread she was stoppin’ by the hardware store before lunch so every fella that could get time away from his job had swung by the store on a lame excuse or two.
Smoot turned the store microphone on. “Boys! Boys! Quiet down. We’ve got a sweet, young lady here who’s asked to speak to ya. Her’s names Selfketia. Ma’am, the floor’s all yours.”
“Good morning, everyone! My name’s Selfketia. My daddy’s name is Wodwin and I think many of you have met him. My daddy’s a wonderful man, God-fearin’ just like you, and he wants to open a brand-new store in your town.
“Now, Daddy, he’s got ideas that not everyone is keen on. He learned from his pappy that alcoholism is a hidden disease that wastes away in even the tiniest communities.
“You’d think Daddy was against the drink. But what he found, if’n you get folks to talk about alcohol, you bring out the disease and help those who are afflicted find a cure.
“So, if’n you’s against the drink, I invite you to come on down to Reverend Stalvohl’s church on Sunday and listen to his wonderful sermon on the evils of alcohol.
“Thank you for listenin’ to me and have a great day!”
We stood there, not sure what to say.
But, sure enough, come Sunday, we packed Reverend Stalvohl’s church, no matter whether we’d never attended his church or never attended church at all.
The preacher was lively that day, quoting many a verse about the proper and improper use of alcohol, how even Jesus, the first Christian, was known to have a drop or two with meals and invited all of us to drink alcohol in his name.
After the sermon, when many of us were cheered up by Reverend Stalvohl’s words and feelin’ a bit thirsty, we followed directions he’d given us and drove to a store at the end of town.
There stood Wodwin, dressed in his Sunday finest, offering us watered-down wine and homemade mead, both, he assured us, fully approved by the church, along with imported cheese and crackers, all of which he promised would be for sale in his new liquor store. “…for nonalcoholic patrons only,” Selfketia added.
When the town council referendum came up for approval of a liquor store a couple of weeks later, there weren’t any nays.
I hear that Selfketia’s fiance never followed her to our town and didn’t show up when she went with her daddy to the next town to open their new liquor store.
And me, I opened a BYOB sittin’ porch next door to the liquor store, where we fellas can drink a beer or two, nothin’ more, and discuss the news of the day in more manly, respectable, even gentlemanly manners. Our wives have gone to servin’ a little wine at their weekly get-togethers, too, givin’ wine-tastin’ parties once a month.
We rooted out the alcoholics pretty quickly, havin’ never noticed the ones who’d sneak out to buy liquor in the next town when we were dry but seein’ ’em stockin’ up here now a lot easier. The preacher’s workin’ with them on their drinkin’ disease.
The rest of us feel a little more sophisticated when strangers stop in, able to offer ’em a soda pop or sippin’ whiskey at their preference.
And a little extra tax revenue for our small town! 😉
Pardon me while I dig a sprout from between my teeth. Sehr gut!
On condition of anonymity, after receiving a hefty bribe, a U.S. government official allegedly told me that the words “France” and anything French have been banned from the official AmED [American English Dictionary]. Further, the U.S. government has retracted its claim to have freed France the country near Spain from Germany during WWII and has ceded the country near Spain to Germany in exchange for Germany extending an unlimited use of the words “twitter” and “facebook” to German language speakers/writers.
Congrats to the Danes, who proved that the Viking spirit is still alive in the name of Tycho Brahe.
I’m a little behind on my big behind in thanking people who’ve interacted with me in business or purely social situations lately, including Dr. Tom, Cheryl, Sandy, Imaria, Kristine, Ray, Kisha, Billie, Dawn, Leonard, Johnnie, Marlin, Jason, Lativia and several who are working on nursing or business management college coursework.
Congrats to Chestney for being the first person on her mother’s side of the family to get her high school diploma – we’re proud of you, young lady.
Welcome to the new era of CV gaps – I miss the old days when employers such as myself readily accepted excuses for employment gaps like: “The period of unemployment from 1969 to 1991 on my resumé? I was following the Grateful Dead.” We had more varied workplaces which enhanced creativity rather than goosestepping employees afraid to take time off for miniretirements.
C’est la vista.
A little bird told me that a rocket team has already secretly launched a small vehicle toward the Moon which will deposit the first Earth-to-Moon food delivery package, possibly containing fresh bread and muffins from David and Cheryl Walker of Atlanta Bread Company. The first humans to retrieve the package will find a winning lottery ticket. Or something like that.
Time to apply a little elbow grease and get back to work.
= = =
I leave you with this spot of humour:
A redneck with a bucket full of live fish was approached recently by a game warden in Central Mississippi as he started to drive his boat away from a lake.
The game warden asked the man, “May I see your fishing license please?”
“Naw, sir,” replied the redneck. “I don’t need none of them there papers. These here are my pet fish.”
“Pet fish??”
“Yep. Once a week, I bring these here fish o’mine down to the lake and let ’em swim ’round for a while. Then when I whistle, they swim right back into my net and I take ’em home.”
“What a line of bull….you’re under arrest.”
The redneck said, “It’s the truth, Mr. Gov’ment Man. I’ll show ya! We do this all the time!!”
“WE do, now, do WE?” smirked the warden. “PROVE it!”
The redneck released the fish into the lake and stood and waited.
After a few minutes, the warden said, “Well?”
“Well, WHUT?” said the redneck.
The warden asked, “When are you going to call them back?”
“Call who back?”
“The FISH,” replied the warden!
“Whut fish?” asked the redneck.
MORAL OF THE STORY:
We may not be as smart as some city slickers, but we ain’t as dumb as some government employees. You can say what you want about the South, but we never hear of anyone retiring and moving north.
Ahh…the house of cards is showing it’s emporial, temporal clothing again. I wouldn’t trust U.S. or Chinese companies, or any international banking/investment groups right now.
I sure wouldn’t allow the stench of auditors in my house.
Should I be mad as hell and not going to take it anymore?
Time to bury the rest of my money in them Mason jars I done drunk all my moonshine out of.
Good thing I got my money out of the mattress afore that there tornado took it away!
DSK has proved the IMF is a joke and the global currency market is full of whoring menfolk that my momma and daddy said to shy away from ‘cuz they ain’t never got your interest in their interest, know what I mean?
Glad I just finished my occasional viewing of “Network” – the Committee wants me back on the job now that I’ve just about got my mother in-law all settled nice and snug in her own instant community.
A nod to that actor/dancer, Kirstie, who lost all that weight, and all them other folk who earn a living in front of bright lights in the big city.
Keeps us country folk happily glued to the boob tube while we count our pennies left over after eating fast food on Googlefied EBT cards next to the cash-checking place that takes our weekly unemployment benefit payout for a small 25% fee.
Life is good, ain’t it?
My satellite in the sky guarantees the only real solar system currency that’s valid on any spaceship – no funny money involved.
Interesting opinion piece about renewable energy.
I’ll sit in a car and drive ten or twelve miles to visit an assisted living facility today.
I sit here now and tap my fingers on plastic keys that translate my thoughts into these black symbols, all attached to the TVA power grid through an AC-DC transformer and electrical cord.
I’m surrounded by plastic boxes, cardboard boxes, furniture and manufactured sunroom components that required fossil fuel based energy consumption.
My only compromise about living a modern suburban life is having no lawn to mow, fertilise or spray with insect repellant.
Otherwise, I’m a full-fledged member of Mass Consumer Consumption, Inc.
Could I have gotten up earlier and started walking to the assisted living facility?
Or pushed a bike up over an Alabama mountain and ridden down the other side to get to the facility?
Sure.
But I won’t.
And if I won’t, who will?
In the current news cycle of natural disasters, can we attribute any of our modern conveniences to creating weather extremes?
Is sustainable engineering achievable and if so, where does it start?
Less blogging, more walking?
Shut up and get on my feet, in other word.
My prayers and sympathies to the families in Joplin, Missouri, bomb-ravaged areas of Afghanistan, Pakistan, Sudan and other places where families and communities face havoc.
Time for me to make another platelet donation to the Red Cross.
treetrunkdings 