Saturday, May 9, 2015

Justification for homeschooling


From our local Superintendent of Schools:

Developing educational programming that supports the learning and success of all students remains a major focus.  Teachers are developing and improving instructional strategies, while alternative education programs provide students a variety of ways to meet standards. District principals and math and literacy coaches are facilitating instructional rounds in which teachers study teaching practices to fine-tune their work.  Coaches are helping implement workshop models of instruction in which teachers meet with small groups of students to work on specific topics while others practice new skills.
What a load of crap.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Escalator Ride

Living through debt is like walking up the down escalator.
Living without debt is walking up the up escalator.

What happens on your escalator ride when you stand still?

Saturday, March 14, 2015

Fundamentals

At the core of human liberty is the right to property. 

Social/economic systems can be easily judged by their recognition of human dignity through the respect of personal property.  What is yours may not be taken from you.

At the root of human salvation is the concept of a higher power: God.

In reconciling these concepts of human liberty and human salvation, the individual must recognize stewardship.  All belongs to God, yet the individual has a responsibility for it.

The State is not God.  The State is not a higher power. 

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Single Bypass Surgery: Closing her up

Oil cooler in.  Alternator back on.  Air box and new air filter in.  All spark plugs replaced (first time ever??).  New serpentine belt.  New oil filter.

Front end reattached.  Fender reattached.  All the plumbing in place.  Oil added. Some coolant added as a test.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

WTF?

I went underneath, looked at my oil cooler and there it is:

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Coolant.

I went upstairs, sat down and talked with Mrs. Toadroller.  "This might be the end of it. I mean, it might be the water pump; the oil cooler might have a crack, I don't know."  Plans for another car.  Plans for next week when I need to go to the airport and leave the family with only one car and two people with places to go.

I took a break, ate some lunch, and determined to look around one more time.  Flashlight, mirror, poking around all the places that are impossible to reach.  Nuthin.  Back underneath and it's all coming from somewhere up there and accumulating on that lowest bolt and dripping.

That lowest bolt.

Wait.

That's the bolt for draining the coolant out of the oil cooler in the first place.  Is it tight?  I doubt it.  It's a chance.  10mm socket, ratchet. fingers crossed.  Turn. Yep, it's loose.  Snug, wipe, watch.

As Tortelvis* says, "Hot damn tamales Charlie!"  I got it.

Back to the checklist.  More coolant in.  Battery connected.  Pray the new spark plugs work.  Turn key.

Familiar and reassuring Audi V8 catch, engine swell, and settle into a surprisingly quiet idle.

She's back, baby!  Gentle ride up the road and back, then further around and about, adding coolant as it needs, consuming and getting it pulsing through its veins.

The engine loves the new plugs, belt, and air filter.  Drop from fourth to second and 300 German horses call upon 300 German lb-feet of torque and they combine to achieve warp speed.

reader-engagement-make-it-so.jpg

My renewed man card arrived in the postthe next week.

Thousand dollar car repaired for roughly $90 and, oh, 14 hours of personal labor; hopefully happy for the next year.  We'll see what 2015 brings.

*Gosh I love those first two Dred Zeppelin albums

SIngle Bypass Surgery: Exploratory

Post two in the series about removing and replacing a small plastic tube between the engine and the oil cooler in the beast that is my 1997 Audi A8:

Step one, Remove.

A healthy dose of patience paid off on this one.  After removing the front end of the car, I methodically got the serpentine belt off, then took another session and got the alternator out of the way, then drained all the oil out of the bottom of the engine and the oil cooler itself.

The next step was to get the oil cooler itself out, which involved loosening an engine mount, jacking up the engine just a few inches to get me access to three allen-headed bolts at the top of the thing, hidden under the exhaust manifold and holding the oil cooler onto the engine block.  The first bolt was the bastard.  You need a hex-head socket plus a three inch extension pus a universal plus a breaker bar plus some contortionist leverage to turn it.

Hex-Head-Sockets-Metric-Standard-Length.

Trouble was, in trying to get the hex socket into the bolt head, I never felt like I had a good connection.  And if I screwed this bolt up, I might as well throw the car away.  It's not worth paying to fix; I could buy another.  It's a thousand dollar car.  Anyway, with my mirror and flashlight I could tell the bolt looked a little mangled.

I gave it time.  I sprayed it with liquid wrench.  I tool an awl and poked around, trying to clear maybe some sand from the inside of the bolt head.  I tapped it as best I could in the small space I had to work.  All the usual bolt-freeing techniques.  Until I remembered heat.  How in the heck am I going to get any heat way down in there?  And without setting fire to all the oil on the engine?  Can't use a propane torch.  Can't imagine a soldering iron convecting enough heat back there.  Convection!  That's it! Cue Mrs. Toadroller's manly heat gun:

PC299427_zpsce734514.jpg

I got the socket and extension onto the bolt, then blasted away at the extension for about five minutes, letting the socket and extension conduct the heat up into the bolt.  I got what felt to be a good grip on the bolt and slowly, steadily applied pressure until ping! It gave way.  Good or bad, I was committed.  I ratcheted it up a few more times and it felt like a bolt turning.  My mirror sure seemed to indicate it was.  And so it came free.  Bolts two and three were in view and much easier to access and remove.  Down below for bolts four and five.  Ten minutes of wiggly-wiggly and voila, the cooler and the culprit:

PC299428_zpsd385a39f.jpg

PC299432_zps06ddd4a2.jpg


She found her spark

It's still February and it's still friggin' cold.  My garage, which has a heat blower in it, isn't warm.  The heater keeps it mid thirties, which is good enough for the cars and melts the snow off of them.  To work on the car, though, I put on an old pair of snow-pants, an old ski-jacket, a pair of boots and a winter hat, and then putter around with work-gloves and tools.  Good times indeed.

In diagnosing what feels like an engine problem on a big old Audi, the internet proves be a scary place.  All sorts of crazy theories about engine breather hoses and pumps, oxygen sensors sending bad data, throttle body sensors messing up transmission control modules; it's frightening out there.  But then there's the "what's the simplest possible explanation?" approach.  The simplest possible explanation was that it was mis-firing, hitting on seven of the eight. 

So in I went.

The very old computer I keep around for the sole purpose of plugging into this car once a year as it’s the only computer I have with a serial port for my cable to connect to the car’s diagnostic port, this very old computer which will boot once out of every three tries and whose password is written in sharpie on its side so I don’t forget it, this very old computer for which I don't have a PS2 mouse but  do have a PS2 keyboard, this very old computer without a working internet card, this one, well, I managed to get her talking to the car and to dump all her fault-codes into a text file and onto a usb stick to print upstairs on the newer computers.  Without a mouse, windows is a prestidigitous combination of alt-tabs, shift-tabs and tab-tabs to fire through menus.  Difficult.

Among the numerous codes warning of low voltage here, bad sensors there, was listed "misfire in cylinder 4."  Ooh, I liked the sound of that.  So off I went swapping out coil packs and plugs from cylinder 4 with cylinder 3 to test but then, lo and behold, the battery died.

I mean died.

I couldn't even jump the car, it was so dead.  Sure, the battery was eight years old, but come on, it had to choose this exact moment in time to give up?  Was the problem the alternator not giving enough juice to spark well?  If there's something sinister broken in the engine, is it worth it to risk $160 for a new battery to find out?  Back to the internet, back to work for a week.  Back to crazy theories.  Could there be bad compression in a cylinder?  How do I do a leak down test anyway?  Do I need to buy a compression testing kit?  Will AutoZone lend me one?

Mrs. Toadroller knows how to cut through the crap.  "Buy the battery.  If the car's gone, it's only $160 bucks.  If the car can be fixed, you'll need it anyway."  I headed off to Auto Zone.  And came back with the battery and a borrowed compression tester. After forty-five minutes I'd wrestled the battery into its snug little compartment, cursing some German engineers along the way.  I fired her up.  The alternator was putting out as it should.  The car was still mis-firing.  Back to diagnostics.  It's only cylinder 4.  Swap out the coils and plugs and it's always cylinder 4.  So my problem was upstream of the coil packs.  Could it be the wiring harness? Internet, what's the deal?

I found a thread on one of the Audi fan forums where someone had the same issue as me.*  Solution: Ignition Control Module (ICM), which seems to act as a modern-day electronic distributor from the engine control module to each cylinder's coil.  $150 from Auto Zone or $42 no-name with positive reviews from Amazon Prime.  Diagnosis requires a digital multi-meter.  The analog Radio Shack ohm-meter I've had for the last 25 years just couldn't handle the range.  Fortunately, Radio Shack was having a going-out-of-business-sale and I got their mac-daddy digital multi-meter for $40.  Sweet.  The thing even has a temperature sender, a decibel meter, and will plug into your USB port with software to operate like an o-scope.  I have no need for an o-scope, and I've never used one (shame on me), so I should learn to do that. 

I pulled the ICM and tested it with the new digital multi-meter.  One of the prongs read open when it should have read 2.5M ohms.  Okay Amazon, send me the new part, let's take the chance.  Two days later a brown truck stopped at the house.  I ripped open the package, took a cold look at the replacement ICM, dressed up for the garage, opened the hood, screwed it down, plugged it in, and had one of the little Toadrollers turn the engine over while I checked for spark by laying the plug against the block while holding it into the spring-loaded coil pack with thick rubber gloves. 

Boy, it’s quite the journey for a V8 to cycle through all of its cylinders twice before you get to the spark on the ignition-stroke.  “Wheedidee, wheediddee, wheedidde, PING!”  Yep, that’s a spark where before there was none.  Thrilled, I put everything else back together, plugged the fuel-pump relay back into place, and opened the garage. After a quick prayer I turned the key, Vroom! I placed her into reverse, scuttled up the ice covered driveway and, with horn-a-honkin’, took her up and down the street for a test ride.

She's back and should be good for another year. 

* I almost never start a new thread anywhere about anything when trying to solve a problem.  Someone has very likely been there, done that before me and documented the fix.  Usually on YouTube.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Single Bypass Surgery


The next few posts document an adventure I went on to get my Audi running in December 2014, only to have her develop the shakes and shudders in February, a problem still under diagnosis.

Enjoy.

Since aught-two* my main drive has been a 97 Audi A8. I had a 94 Audi 100 before that,** but some bitch hit me and that was that.  I picked up the A8, a $65K sticker car, five years old and a spry 73k miles on the clock, for $18,900.  It was either that or a new 4-banger Accord with cloth interior.

Having enjoyed $(KGrHqEOKpwE1q0Fg0g7BNlUnHe63w~~_35.JPGsince my 83 GTI, I went with the Audi.

It's further depreciated in the last twelve years, to the point where it's worth a whopping $1000.00.  To make the impact of its throw-away status more visceral, I recently stopped to check out a snow-mobile for sale by the side of the road.  It too was a '97.  They wanted $1500.00 for it.

Ouch.

A few weeks back, the low-coolant indicator played its little animated dance for me and I topped up.  a week later, low again.  By a lot.  Huh.  Well, that explains the puddle under the car.  I guess it wasn't melting snow.

So here we sit with 239K miles on the beast, good tires, all major systems functioning, new tie rods and drive shafts, new brake pads and rotors all around,*** and a weepy cooling system in a thousand dollar car.

Shit.

But I'm a sucker for a lost cause and, though I'm not cheap, I am frugal.  I floated the idea of selling the car for its $1000.00 value past Mrs. Toadroller who, before I could finish saying "...and buy something else," strongly suggested fix it.

And so over the next few weeks, an hour or two at a time, I dug into the front end of the car - bumper, radiator, engine-belt covers and more - on an epic journey to what I hoped was the broken $20 part (internet wisdom, experience, and guidance point this way) to remove, replace, and re-assemble in order to gain another year or two of service from this fine automobile who has given me warm buns, great winter traction, and an amazing driving experience over this last decade+two, from Colorado to Maine and around points throughout the northeast including NJ, upstate NY, NH, Montreal, CT, MA, NH and more...

Wish me luck, though I do tend to enjoy this sort of challenge.  It instills confidence and helps me tackle other deeds.  Experience is knowledge and all that.

Here she was after day one of my efforts. 
PC159117.JPG
























*man, I miss the aughties
** and a Subaru SVX before that, and an Audi 90 before that...So I like weird things.  What of it?  The SVX was fun. Fast, quiet, unique.  The brakes sucked.
*** guess what I did last year during Christmas season?  It's okay, I got a great car jack and some other good tools from the experience.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Well, that was an adventure

Of a Thursday afternoon I headed down to Portland on my way through to Trumbull, Connecticut, a 300 mile drive, to spend Friday with a customer.  Along the way I'd agreed to help a friend and stop in at Portland Percussion in pursuit of a rare Dean Soltero model electric guitar, USA-built, in korina. A Dean Soltero is an interesting spin on the classic Les Paul single-cut style.  I'd never heard of a Soltero myself, and as Dean guitars tend to have a pretty radical V shaped headstock to match their radical V-shaped models, I'd never much cared for them: 


But a Soltero is a different story:

That's pretty.


It was cold and snowy, for which Maine has a penchant in January and February.   ...And December and November and March and friggin' April too.  Sometimes October but rarely May.

I followed my GPS-phone's guidance to Portland Percussion and parked up against a snowbank, stepped out into the surface street's crawling evening traffic near the location my phone felt I should see my destination on the right, and was unable to find it.  Portland Percussion is back behind the buildings that front the road, down near water, and is hard to see.  I had difficulties finding it on my previous visit a few years back.  This time proved no different.  I eventually walked into a bar looking for help and the lady behind the counter looked up at me as she laid down her pack of Newport Lights.

Me: "can you tell me where in the world I'll find Portland Percussion?  I know it's here."
She: "Oh, he moved.  Got flooded out in August.  Now he's in the park near Riverside."
Me: "Where's that?"
She: "Oh, go through the big intersection, follow Warren Avenue,  past two, no, three sets of lights.  Then under the over-pass.  Then a right.  Just beyond the Harley dealership.  I think."
Me: "So they've moved?"
She: "Yeah.  Oh, you're parked the wrong way.  Saw you walk past a few times." 
Long Mainer story short,* they'd moved.

But I have a phone and, as has been mentioned before, it has a GPS.  I called, listened patiently as they explained about flooding in August, moves to new locations, underpasses and overpasses, right turns and Harley dealerships, asked finally asked for their new street address.  I punched it in.  It's 470 Riverside Street, Portland, Maine, in case you're ever up for a scavenger hunt.  Three miles and fifteen minutes of surface streets away.  I'd be getting in to Connecticut later than desired, but ah, well.

Along the way, as I waited at a traffic light, the last car not to make the previous red, my trusty old 1997 Audi A8, with 239,539 miles on it and a recent recipient of a serious operation over Christmas break, decided that she was unhappy with current events and the long drive ahead and started to shudder.  Significantly.  An "I'm misfiring on two cylinders" shudder.  Or perhaps a "my transmission, which you so kindly replaced 130,000 miles ago, is just effin' tired of life and I give up" kind of shudder.  Anyway, wizened and experienced fool (a German word meaning Audi owner) that I am, I tossed her into neutral to begin best-I-can-do-sitting-in-traffic diagnosis, turning off the radio, rolling down the windows, raising the revs, and listening hard.  She continued to shudder. "Not good.  Nope, not good, Mr. Toadroller."** So I continued on my short, extended and extensive journey to Portland Percussion's new location.  What choice did I have?
My phone and I couldn't find it to save our lives.

I'd twice passed the point where my phone blissfully announced that I'd arrived.  Back and forth, shudder, shudder.  In frustration I pulled into a long industrial park driveway to sit and sort it out, engine rumbling and shaking away to put Shakira to shame.

I called again.

Me: "Where are you?"
Them: "Where are you?"
Me: "On Riverside Street.  I can See Shrietner Construction and Mulberry Avenue."
Them: "Gosh, I don't know those places. Do you see the Harley Davidson dealership?"
Me: "I did see it, but that was half a mile back.  Which side of the street are you on?"
Them: "Well, I'm not sure which way you're coming."
Me: "??"
Them: "??"
Me: "Wait. are you at the end of a long industrial park driveway?"
Them: "Sorta."
Me: "Am I sitting in your parking lot flashing my headlights?"
Them "Let me look."
Me: *flashes headlights*
Them: "You're here."

So in I went and admitted my consternation and frustration, told them, in fact, how recently I'd been disappointed to discover that they'd moved from what had been, to me, a difficult to find location into what was, to me, a significantly more difficult to find location, and proceeded to marvel openly at their ability to stay in business when customers couldn't actually get to their storefront (even with personal or blissfully happy GPS-phone assisted guidance ) in order to try their products and, were they so moved, give them money for their goods and services.  "Just how do you stay in business," I wanted to know.  "We got flooded in August," they said. "You might have heard."

I couldn't argue.  Truth to power and all that.

I told him I was on a quest.  A quest for a rare Dean Soltero a friend from outs of state had seen advertised and was checking it out for him.  So we went into their (temporary, it would seem) used guitar room filled with Deans, Ibanezes, G&Ls, and the like, and he pointed out to me two Dean Solteros, neither of which looked much at all like the one my friend had seen on Portland Percussion's their internet photos and advertisements.  I sat and plucked and we chatted about the Dean (Korean, $699, nice enough, but more of a $350 guitar by my estimation) and Ibby Firemen and Paul Gilbert and so conversation went;

He: "Ibby's your main guitar?"
Me: "Ibby? No.  Don't get me wrong, I love it. great Christmas gift from my wife, but I'm more of a Hamer USA man."
He: "Now you're talking my language!"

And so we proceeded to talk about the 4 digit Standard cherry-burst he'd once had, the Daytonas and T-51s and Specials and Artists I have, his 79 Sunburst and the Steve Stevens signature model he'd got the previous summer for a steal ($150, but a busted neck, well repaired and playable) and the Monaco III he and I both would love to have.

But I digress.  Mainers do that

Anyway, I expressed that the Dean Soltero I was after was supposedly made from korina, USA, you know- the one on your website. 
He: "No shit, bub? That's mine!  I bought too much stuff and need to move a few pieces.  I did put that up on Reverb, yeah!"
Me: "Driver McGyver!"
He: "That's a nice one.  Yeah.  But it's not here.  Don't want to leave too much personal stuff here in an industrial park,"
Me: "Why not? It's not like anyone can find it."
He: "??"
He: "It's wicked light, has a pretty serious v-shaped neck; not as serious as that import there, but it is a v."
Me: "Well, maybe I could play next time I'm on my way through."
He: "Sure thing, bub."

And so we exchanged names and numbers and I went out to my lame Audi to see if she'd forgiven me for whatever I'd done to her and decide if I wanted to continue the next 240 miles of my quest.  I started her up and she continued to rumble and shudder.  I was still in her doghouse.  So I pointed the compass north, back home, to surprise Mrs. Toadroller and our kids on our 21st anniversary*** by being home for a change.

The Audi may have seen her end.  Her problems, beyond mere temperament, appear to be ignition, engine management, fuel-system, vacuum, transmission, or simply age-related in nature.  I'm not sure which, but each of them means money.  More money, probably, than an eighteen year old car with 239,539 miles deserves.

Sigh.

It's still February and it's still friggin' cold.  12-24 inches of snow expected in the next 36 hours.


*I'm not a native, I'm "from away" as they say, but believe me when I tell you it's a long story.  Mainers do go on.  She might as well have just admitted "you can't get there from here."
** Her time may have come.  No!  I've had her for twelve years and 165k miles! This can't be the end!
*** and you thought this story couldn't get any more strange.  But 'tis true.  Married in Denver Colorado, January 29th, 1994.  Six kids later...

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Everything is Broken


Broken lines, broken strings
Broken threads, broken springs
Broken idols, broken heads
People sleeping in broken beds
Ain’t no use jiving
Ain’t no use joking
Everything is broken


          -Everything is Broken, Bob Dylan

Christmas break on the garage's frozen floor, seven hours in and seven hours out to replace a two-inch plastic pipe between the engine and oil cooler.

40 degree thaw and driving rain through the night in January floods the garage and seeps into the basement.  2:30 AM,  wading through flotsam, dragging hoses, plugging in pumps, praying.  Dash to catch a 7:00 am flight.

Cold kills the battery on the van.

Gray.
Broken bottles, broken plates
Broken switches, broken gates
Broken dishes, broken parts
Streets are filled with broken hearts
Broken words never meant to be spoken
Everything is broken


Seem like every time you stop and turn around
Something else just hit the ground

Moving the plasma television from old room to new, it refuses to turn on again.  The internet explains this as a common issue with this model.  Superbowl Sunday.
Four feet of snow,  temperatures rarely above ten, more often below zero. Another foot on the way...  the oil tank sinks visibly and danerously close to empty.  Oil co will be here Monday.

Tweak the back shoveling.  Spend more time with the snow-blower than the motorcycle in summer.

February's first week of torture.  Three to go.

Broken cutters, broken saws
Broken buckles, broken laws
Broken bodies, broken bones
Broken voices on broken phones
Take a deep breath, feel like you’re chokin'
Everything is broken

Every time you leave and go off someplace
Things fall to pieces in my face

Idling in Portland traffic become a rough idle, then a full-on shudder.  Shit.  Business trip to Connecticut is scuttled and the the Audi limps home, shaking itself for fifty miles at sixty an hour.  Diagnosis?  Undetermined.  Prognosis? Uncertain.  Future? Bleak.

Snow on the roof becomes dangerous ice-dams and icicles.  Snow on the deck melts from the warmth of the house and drips through the shit-ass wooden windows in the basement.  Mold invades in the new roof sheathing from the great renovation of '08, because the ventilation didn't, doesn't do its eponymous duty.


Old dog can't walk, struggles to stand, deranged, and falls down.  Barks, goes out, shits, falls down, balances to a stand, barks, comes in.  Ten minutes later? Lather, rinse, repeat.
Broken hands on broken ploughs
Broken treaties, broken vows
Broken pipes, broken tools
People bending broken rules
Hound dog howling, bullfrog croaking
Everything is broken


Customers bitch.  The message is wrong.  The products don't work.  Late nights, early mornings, full days on the phone.  Rude.  Unreasonable and unachievable expectations.

Lent around the corner.












Spring's renewal, where the hell are you?






Sunday, November 2, 2014

Tuesday

He didn't even notice.  He didn't notice much these days.  But then again, how much can you pay attention to? Between the infinite and ongoing parade of stimuli and the finite you can achieve you have to economize, rejecting some, and focusing on others.  There you are.

Simple, solid; out of his hands.

And so the wipers' squeak-and-thump cycle was lost on him.  The pine needle under the blade smeared the passenger's half of the windshield, happily drawing its intermittent arc throughout the journey.  The wind would spar and sometimes gain a small victory against the car's own steady momentum, knocking it ever so slightly off course, corrected, of course, on course again and continuing as one jostled on the subway.

He did notice the occasional opportunity to send a tidal wave breaking against the side of the road through the collected puddles deep enough to be ponds and long enough to slalom a curve on a water-ski.  Sending a parabolic flume to the front, side, and now behind, his thoughts and the the wheel in his hands seemed to nod briefly, tipping their hats in synchronicity as if to a lady en passant.

But even this small pleasure was brief, unconscious, a joy from a simple thing like the water draining back through the tub's spigot from the the shower head, a small child who smiles back at your own silly-face.  Yet the wave failed to carry him away from his focus on...

Nothing really.

He was simply driving home.  It had been a day at the office; it would be an evening at home.  Unremarkable in every way.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Leave in the dark, drive west through the rain complacently ignorant of the imposing mountain shadow to his right on the way in, return east in the evening with its fading shadow lost in the mist on his left, the day's tasks done, the page pulled from the desk calendar, the meetings attended, the small talk left to its own misplaced sense of wonder about this incessant weather, again, as emails slowly filled the tub of his inbox, waiting for the 'morrow to be attended to.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.

October, November, December.

1998,  2005, 2014.


Monday, September 23, 2013

How 'bout you just pay for it yourself?

Grumpy curmudgeon Toadroller here.

I don't have enough webbed fingers and toes to count the number of examples that have passed through my experience in the last week alone where something a person or group of people wanted had a cost to and their initial (and only) reaction was to find a way to get others to pay for it, subsidize it, bankroll it, get it for free.

  • In the local kids recreational soccer league where, for $20, you get practice fields, a team bag of balls and cones, pinnies, a shirt, and the mandatory medal of mediocrity.  A parent complained that each player should have their own ball.
  • The local school wants to take one of their sixth grade group on a bus trip to Bar Harbor.  Car Wash!
  • A thespian group is putting on a play; they asked the parents to fund-raise through finding corporate sponsors at a pace of two each, $25 per.
  • Parents bitched that there weren't enough porta-potties at the athletic events.  Can every town contribute?  Emails, estimates, strong-arm tactics, guilt, high-fives.  Total price of a rental? $95.
  • Much hand-wringing locally, but the property taxes went up by $400 this year.  Co-incidentally, each schoolchild now has an iPad.
  • I'll be hosting a course on personal finance at my parish.  It has a $93 cost associated with it.  Well worth it; cheaper than dinner and a flick.  "Is there anyway we can help the people pay for it?"
  • Buy an energy-saving (insert appliance type here) and get a $50 rebate check from the government.
  • Let me subsidize that conspicuous consumption Prius for you in the form of tax deductions.
  • Would you give our special interest group tickets to your sporting event?  It's for the kids.

It's not the concept of fundraising that bothers me.  It's the mindset of having to get someone else to fund the endeavor, no matter how small it is.  Why do we need a car wash to gather funds of $30 a head?  Why would you expect the soccer league to provide a ball for every player?  They're $15 for the fancy ones. 

How about you just pay for it yourselves?

I've always joked with Mrs. Toadroller that we should set up a car wash or magazine drive for our own family's "Spain Trip!" and see how far we get.  I've had enough friends and family ask me to support their child's dream of touring haunted castles in Ireland; it's time for them to fund mine.

Friday, June 28, 2013

A little excitement

It's been a long time coming, but I'm excited about the newest internal-combustion-engine-based transportation at the Toadroller homestead.



Friday, April 19, 2013

Warren Buffet? Really?

I received this forwarded chain email from Warren Buffet.  Really?  Warren?  Wow!
I couldn't resist responding.




 
Warren Buffet is asking each addressee to forward this email to a minimum of twenty people on their address list; in turn ask each of those to do likewise.
 
In three days, most people
  in The United States of America will have this message.

This is one idea that
  really should be passed around

*Congressional Reform
Act of 2013
 While I understand the emotion behind this message, anger over the fact that Congress fails to do its Constitutional duty, fails to represent its constituents, passes bills without reading them, engages in conflicts of interest (crony-capitalism, crony-environmentalism), and statism, a reform act is not necessary.  This email chain is cute and good for a chuckle, but uninformed and reactionary. Voting Congressmen and Congresswomen out works well when the voting public takes the responsibility to educate themselves on the issues, on our catholic morality, and on what Congress is truly doing.  Failure to educate ourselves and hold representatives responsible has led us here.  It is our fault.

The term “reform” is heard quite often, and I believe it is used in a very misleading way.  When we hear the word reform, we think of un-complicating things, bring them back to a simpler time, back to common-sense understanding and plain-English interpretation.  But to reform literally means to re-form something; change it, form it again in a new way.  We’ve witnessed quite a bit of reform in this country over the last five years, with calls for more, and I don’t think anyone could honestly say things have become more simple, more common sense, with plain-English interpretation.

This document also has a tone of envy, of do-unto-them, of get even.  I understand the sentiment, but the items below are vengeful, wouldn’t accomplish much, and reveal an ignorance of the liberty available to us in this exceptional and unique country in the history of the world.  Is America perfect?  No.  But it’s better than the alternatives.
 
As is attributed to Abraham Lincoln:
You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift. You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong. You cannot help small men up by tearing big men down. You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich. You cannot lift the wage-earner up by pulling the wage-payer down. You cannot keep out of trouble by spending more than your income. You cannot further the brotherhood of man by inciting class hatred. You cannot establish sound social security on borrowed money. You cannot build character and courage by taking away a man’s initiative and independence. You cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they could and should do for themselves.

We won’t solve the problem of our congressional representatives by tying them to devices which are bad for us as human beings, no matter how much fun that might appear.

1. No Tenure / No Pension.

A Congressman/woman collects
  a salary while in office and receives no pay when they're out of office.
 There is no tenure beyond the fact that congressional representatives are re-elected term after term.  This can be fixed by not re-electing them term after term.
2. Congress (past, present & future) participates in Social Security.

All funds in the Congressional retirement fund move to the Social Security system immediately. All future
  funds flow into the Social Security system, and Congress participates with
 the American people. It may not be used for any other purpose.
 A nice symbolic gesture; I’d be surprised if Congress wouldn’t do it on their own for votes.  Our president just took a voluntary paycut himself. 
It would be better for all Americans if Social Security were made optional or disbanded entirely.  By taking 12.4% of an individual’s income (you pay 6.2%, your employer pays 6.2%), you’re robbing individuals of money they could invest or save, and of the compounding growth that income could have through the decades they work in exchange for a pittance, a fixed distribution from the government when they retire.  Educating someone on the time-value of an investment can be done in ten minutes, can be done in a high school course.  Instead, many spend their adult lives living in financial ignorance and discovering in retirement that they have fixed incomes.  When an individual saves 10% of their income through their lives, they will do better than what Social Security provides.
3. Congress can purchase their own retirement plan, just as all Americans do.
 You don’t purchase retirement plans.  You save for retirement.  You prepare for retirement.  You retire from wage earning when you can affor to, not when you’re “old enough.”  As Americans, we are responsible for our own retirement. Be it through corporate pensions, tax advantaged retirement accounts like IRAs and 401ks, stock purchases, owning business or other assets that return income, or just stuffing money into jars, you’ll need income when you’re no longer earning wages.  It is not difficult, but it might require sacrifice or thrift.

Should congress get a pension?  I could care less, other than I pay for it and that it is a very sweet pension.  Other government employees get pensions at the federal, state, and local level.  Shall we envy them as well and remove their pensions? They have sweet pensions too, although some states and municipalities are discovering that they can’t afford them.  They’ve spent too much.  How will they fund these obligations? 

In the private sector, pensions are few and far between because employment doesn’t often last the 20-30 years it has in some industries in the past.  And it’s less costly for a corporation to match contribution to retirement plans than have the liability of pension payments for decades.  It’s also less risky and better return for individuals to own their own retirement moneys rather than depend on a corporation that may disappear.
4. Congress will no longer vote themselves a pay raise. Congressional pay will rise by the lower
  of CPI or 3%.
 It does seem a conflict of interest, doesn’t it?  But we can always vote them out if they do something we don’t like.  Although we don’t seem to be angry enough.  As the CPI (Consumer Price Index) doesn’t include the cost of gas or food, it’s not a very good indicator of inflation of the cost of living. 3% sounds nice, but what if we experience inflations of 10%?  15%  It’s happened in my lifetime, in America.  Back to that Social Security thing.  A fixed income isn’t very good when the price of things goes up.
5. Congress loses their
  current health care system and participates in the same health care system as
  the American people.
The American people don’t have a health care system.  We participate in a highly regulated yet open market of health care providers.  Competition in this market keeps the prices down a little and keeps the service quick.  Businesses, in order to attract employees, have through the decades offered more and more compensation in the form of health insurance benefits. 
Costs of health care have risen due to regulations on the nature of the health-care itself (everything sanitary, everything documented, nothing can ever be permitted to go wrong …gets expensive) and to the over-coverages of health insurance in general.  Over-coverage?  Yes.  When a service like a doctor visit is “free” because it’s covered by insurance, people tend to use more of it.  When a service costs you something out of your own pocket, you will be wiser and more conservative with how much you use.  How much wine moves at the wedding reception when it’s an open bar compared to the guests buying their own drinks? 
Insurance is to insure you financially against catastrophic and rare events.  It’s not meant to pay for expensive services every time your child has a runny nose.
6. Congress must equally abide by all laws they impose on the American people.
 … Congress doesn’t have to abide by laws?  That they get away with transgressions of the law and are derelict in their responsibility (their oath) to uphold and defend the Constitution is both a moral and a public problem.  This also can be resolved by voting them out. 

Where does the mindset come from that we must do as we’re told by Congress, that they can impose laws on us?  The American government is one of representation and the consent of the governed.  These people are not our leaders and they certainly aren’t our rulers; they are our representatives, our servants, and must be reminded of this, held to this.  If a Congressman or Congresswoman told you to pick up their dry cleaning, I do hope that you would laugh at them and taunt them with a childish “you’re not the boss of me. Pick it up yourself.”
7. All contracts with past and present Congressmen/women are void effective 12/31/13. The American people did not make this contract with Congressmen/women.
I really wonder what this means.  Does it suggest that all Congressmen/women should be out of a job January 1, 2014? 
Congressmen/women made all these contracts for themselves. Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career. The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, so ours should
  serve their term(s), then go home and back to work.

If each person contacts
  a minimum of twenty people then it will only take three days for most people
  (in the U.S.) to receive the message. Don't you think it's time?

THIS IS HOW YOU FIX
  CONGRESS!

If you agree with the
  above, pass it on. If not, just delete.
I chose neither to pass it on nor to delete it.  I chose to read it, think and send it back for further consideration.  I am an individual with a brain, dignity, and liberty, with Catholic moral guidance, and am not a serf of a government or ward of the state.  Our representatives have ignored their responsibilities and over-extended their reach.  The way to keep liberty is simple, it is clear, and it does not require reform.  It requires review and renewal of fundamentals and recognition that mankind, and its governments, are constrained by, as Thomas Jefferson so eloquently put it, inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
You are one of my 20 - Please keep it going, and thanks.
And I encourage you to send this back down the chain so that Americans come to realize that they already have the power to fix Congress.  Vote with your head.  Now click your heals three times, Dorothy.  There’s no place like home.  There’s no place like home.  There’s no place like home.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

NOYFB

In addition to being floored that I saw NOYFB as a vanity plate a couple of years ago...

I got a letter from my local bank today informing me that

...recent activity on your account does not meet with federal requirements for that account type.  Federal regulations require us to limit the total number of specific withdrawal (demit) transfers that can be made from a savings account per monthly statement cycle to six (6)... During the most recent statement cycle your transfers totaled 13.  If you think you will regularly process more than six...
Poppycock.  It's a savings account.  I put money in there so that I can move it into place for strategic payments like, say, the four payments of extravagant size and proportion I made to the Federal and State governments for my annual taxes last month.  Who should care how many transactions I make with it?

Do tell me, nanny-staters, that this is somehow for my own protection.

What I choose to do with that portion of my money I'm permitted to keep is NOYFB.



Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Intimidating

Doctors, teachers, priests, bureaucrats, politicians (the list goes on and on... managers, cashiers, mechanics) are apparently used to the authority that comes with their position.

Through my life I've been eager to please and respectful of authority. Polite.  I've bent to make the transaction easy.

It's true that you can negotiate best when you can walk from a deal.  You can walk from a deal when you're in control and know what you want. and, better yet, know that you can live without the deal.


When authority is complacent, merely counting on respect and ignorance (theirs are the expert opinions we must trust and follow, aren't they?), they are in a position of weakness.  It's amazing to watch their faces when you take control of the situation by weighing their input and politely telling them "No, I'm not going to do that."

It's like a cat with a mouse.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Possessed

The Toadroller family home schools.

Our main connection with the local schools is through our eldest tadpole who plays on the golf and baseball teams. 

It's a bit of an extra-normal experience to swing by the school and drop the boy off.  There they are in the parking lot, the many parents I know, waiting to pick their kids up.  There I am, letting my child go.

I wonder why someone would do that- give their kids away every day (in many cases, from the time the child is a few weeks old) just to go and get them back. 

Do they look at me and wonder why I would do what I do- just bring the kid by for the sports and then spirit them away again, out of their society, their group, their normal, back into mine?

If possession is nine tenths of the law, where do your children spend most of their waking hours?  To whom do they belong?