WHY BOTHER?

Hooray!  I got a check in the mail today.  It was my share of the settlement in the lawsuit of Brice Yingling d/b/a Alamo Auto Sports and Andy Scott vs. eBay, Inc.

Before I go any further let me say that I have no idea who Brice Yingling, Alamo Auto Sports or Andy Scott are.  I do know who eBay is, though, and I used to sell books there.  According to the letter accompanying the check my payment was calculated on fees I paid between April 21, 2005 and August 26, 2009. 

I do remember selling some old auto magazines on eBay and it probably was during that time period.

At any rate, I'm glad it's finally over.  Here's my check amount:

Just in case you can't figure that out, here is the amount in the corner of the check.

You've got it - nine cents. 

I got a check for nine cents.

In the mail.

In an envelope with a "First-Class Mail, Presorted" designation printed on it. 

According to the GOOGLE, that cost 39 cents.

To send me a nine cent check.

What a country!!!

BATMAN!!!

All right, due to popular demand and a din rising to a roar of shouts for the story of the bat, here it comes.

As I said in my previous post, I had bought a couch (used) at a thrift store.  My girlfriend at the time, in spite of the scorn she heaped on me for bargaining the price down at a store run by a religious organization, deigned to join me on the bargain couch from time to time.

But this particular night, only a couple of days later,  she was nowhere to be seen.  I had been out at a pub slaking my thirst and trying to recover from a long day at work.  As I opened the door of my darkened apartment, I sensed rather than saw something flit through the air.  I quickly closed the door and switched on the overhead light.  That made the being intensely crazy.  I now recognized it as a bat as it flew frantically from one side of the room to the other.  I backed into my tiny kitchen and seized the first item to come to hand, a large cast iron frying pan.

As the bat flew near, I tried to bring it down by swinging the frying pan at it.  Well.  As anyone who has ever had one of those big black pans in his hand knows - they're damned heavy.  So my attacks on the bat appeared to be in slow motion while the bat was going full tilt boogie.  After a couple of futile swings, I determined that this was not going to work.  So I looked for something lighter to attack with.

Let's see.  The big black frying pan wouldn't work.  So what do I need?  A broom? NO!  What I then went in search of was . . . a smaller, lighter frying pan!  Makes sense, doesn't it?  If the big pan is too heavy, get a smaller pan.

Now, you may be laughing by now.  But my fear of the bat coupled with a certain heightened blood sugar level from my night at the pub had me rising to the frantic level of the bat.

Eventually I brought him down with a lucky swing.  But as I examined him on the floor I discovered that he was only stunned.  (After the saga was over, I was reminded of the comment by the petshop owner in a famous Monty Python skit about a dead parrot:  "He's not dead . . he's only sleeping!")

Well, good creature that I am, I managed to scoop the bat into something with a cover, carry it carefully outdoors and release the bat to the night sky.

Returning to my abode, I tried to figure out how that bat had happened to be in my apartment.  As I looked around my gaze fell on that bargain thrift store couch and . . . whether it was true or not . . . the couch took the blame for harboring the bat.  And I told my girlfriend, that was why I had bargained the price down.  Without knowing of the presence of the nocturnal creature, my sixth sense had intuited that something was strange about that couch.

And that's the story of the bat.

MAGPIE TALES - I'M BACK!

This is a true story.

Way, way back in time . . so long ago that I can now remember the story . . . I needed a couch for my new, dusty, crusty apartment.  But I had little funds and so I found myself at a St. Vincent de Paul thrift store.  And there I found a couch.  A big, red, velvety couch.  They had it listed at $11.  I offered six.  They accepted and I took my couch home.

Later, I exhultantly called my Roman Catholic girlfriend and said "I've got a couch!"  I then told her the story about the purchase.

I expected her to be thrilled with my bargaining power.  She had criticized me in the past for paying whatever price was demanded, usually far in excess of what I should have been paying.  So I was thrilled.  And I expected her to be thrilled.

Instead, she said something like "you did what?"  I replied that they had asked for $11 and I bargained them down to $6.  "Wasn't that great?", I implored.

Her reply.  "You cheated the St. Vincent de Paul charity organization out of five dollars?"

Ice hung on her words.

I had failed again.

Later, I came home one night and found a bat flying around my apartment.  Apparently it came free with the couch.

But that's another story.

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Read more Magpie Tales at this site.

VARIETY

I was looking at the paper the other day and I noticed a "brief" about gasoline prices. They are all listed as . . for example . . $3.16 per gallon.  But the actual price is $3.169 per gallon.  Which is, effictevely, $3.17 per gallon.  So why do the media lie to us.  If it's $3.16 that's one thing.  But if it's really $3.17 per gallon, then why not tell us?  Damn them.

O.K.  Change of topics.

This is about the small percentage of people who still smoke.  Now, truth be told, I smoked for 33 years.  I smoked heavily.  3 to 4 packs a day.  I always try to slack that off by saying I had an  ashtray on my desk and a lot of those cigarettes just burned out in the ashtray.

But, truth be told, I smoked a lot of cigarettes.  And some dope.  Though not much of that.

But now, after 20 years of not smoking, I can afford to become self-righteous.  I see people smoking . . not often . . but men and women with a cigarette in their hand while they're driving . . and I think . . "don't they know what they're doing?"

I think I want to become one of those LOUD performers who try to tell smokers to quit.

But I won't.

They'll just have to learn on their own.

If they do.

Before they . . . .

RANDOM THOUGHTS



I think that path will take you all the way around Watson Lake but I've never found out for sure and probably never will.  Never will walk it, anyway.

I like our Mimosa tree in the front yard although since it always puts out leaves later than the Globe Willow, I kid SWMBO every spring, saying it's nothing but a dead stick and I should cut it down.  But when it finally does get its leaves I think it looks kind of Oriental and I love it.  Until this time of year when it drops all of its leaves in our front yard and across our driveway.  So, because SWMBO told me to, I've just swept the driveway and deposited the leaves in our trash can, nearly filling it.  And I'm beat.

So that's about it for me today.  See you tomorrow.

THANKSGIVING MEMORIES

I have to give credit where credit is due and this time that goes to The Chubby Chatterbox who has posted today on the best turkey he ever ate.

It brought to mind a Thanksgiving tale of our own.  Back in the 1980's we lived in Mexico for several years.  There were many other expatriate Americans living in the area at that time and a bunch of us would gather for parties, probably more frequently than was good for our health.  One Thanksgiving, our good friend L decided to have a party at her house.  She went to a local market and bought about a 15 pound turkey, paying some exhorbitant fee like $2.00 a pound for it.  Only problem: she didn't have an oven.  SWMBO volunteered to cook the turkey for the party.

So, came the big day.  She put the turkey in the oven and turned it on to 475 degrees.  She always does this for the first 15 minutes to sort of sear in the juices.  Then the oven temperature goes down to between 325 and 350 for the rest of the cooking.  So the turkey goes in.  Oven goes on to 475.  SWMBO says "I'll just take a quick shower."

I helpfully poured the first Margaritas of the day.  SWMBO came out of the shower, took a Margarita, sat down, leaned back, and completely forgot about the oven.  Until about an hour later.  She suddenly and violently remembered it and ran to the kitchen.  Pulling the turkey out, it was appearing completely done, very brown.  She tented it with foil and put it back in the oven, now at the much lower temperature.  When it was finally done, she covered it with foil and nestled it into a box with newspapers packed around it.  And we left to cross town to L's.

When we got there, the crowd was pretty much assembled and everyone was enjoying their drinks.  And enjoying their drinks.  And enjoying their drinks.

Judy fretted but what could she do?  Finally it came time for the meal.  The turkey was unwrapped, still plenty warm, and carved.  A miracle!  It was moist and marvelous.  Like the Chubby Chatterbox's memory, probably the best turkey ever.

There's an old expression that says God watches out for fools and drunks.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

THANKSGIVING 2011

So we're finally getting some real autumnal color.