The Day After

I'm writing this blog during Election Day 2026 even as I don't intend to publish it until the day after. Why? Because no one will listen to it as we vote. Likely as not neither will they afterwards, but such is life.

The key mistake we make in politics is in making our politicians heroes. They are not, nor can they be. At least, not the great many of them. In my life I would count only Ronald Reagan in that category at a national level, though I am fond Margaret Thatcher too. I do like Javier Milei in Argentina based on what he's done so far. Yet it's too early in history to foist a crown upon him. Sorry, Trump supporters. I've been happy overall with him, yes, but he carries a lot, an incredible amount indeed, of baggage. It is a challenge to support him let alone think the man heroic.

To the point. Our politicians are human beings besieged by hundreds of others in their milieu. Can we expect heroism? Should we? Every candidate asserts in one way or another that they will make our lives better. Will circumstances let them? And why should we believe they're so damn much better for us than the folks we meet in our everyday lives anyway? 

The people I meet day in and day out treat me better than any politician ever will. I offer the grocer money and he gives me food. I pay my power bill and get electricity. Conversely, customers give me money, and I give them a chance to make a living. So begins a tremendously long list if I should choose to write it all out. But the point is this. We do not need the government for it to happen. We simply need people free to pursue their interests.

Government cannot provide that. Yet it can provide for a society in which it may happen. It can get the hell out of our way. No one I saw on the ballot seemed particularly interested in that, although I will be vaguely partisan and argue that the Republicans are generally better in at least talking the talk. But not by much. Not enough to get excited about it, anyway. Talk, as always, is cheap. That's why politicians deal in it.

But, whatever. Reagan is right, and Mamdani in New York emphatically wrong. Government is not the solution. It is the problem. Until we start voting with that thought paramount, we get what we deserve.

Young At Heart

I was talking with a young man yesterday and the subject turned to music. I'm not much on rap, but he liked it. That wasn't unexpected, considering the age difference.

What turned my head when he began talking about older rappers. He remarked, "Eminem was very popular, I know, but he was before my time."

That didn't make me feel old. Not at all. Why should I feel my age when a thirty-year-old man opines that an entertainer who my kids listened to in high school was before his time?  There's no reason for it. None at all.

And I will keep telling myself that. With a smile, as I stare into the distance in blissful ignorance.

Sound Falling

The answer to the question is: yes.

When a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear, it makes a sound. 

Sound is the waves which are caused by the fall. 

Our ears are only the receptors of sound, not the sound itself.

Annnnd go. I've stirred the pot. Let the debate begin!

Plastic Saw

Young kids, especially around 4 or 5 years old, can be very literal. It makes sense. They aren't old enough to appreciate nuances such as jokes.

As I sat on the bottom step of my porch handing out candy this past Halloween, a small boy in a serial killer costume approached. He was holding a clearly plastic chainsaw. "I'll give you candy if you please don't hurt me with your saw," I teased.

He stopped and pulled his mask onto the top of his head. "I won't hurt you," he told me with complete sincerity. Holding the chainsaw up for me to examine he continued, "See? It’s just a toy."

"Ahhh," I responded, trying to sound like I was comfortably reassured. It might have been the cutest thing I heard all night.

People Being People

Wednesday, I received a text asking whether I had four-foot-long drain snake cable sections. Responding yes, I was asked if they could be picked up Friday (yesterday) and at what time? I answered that Friday was fine and added that I was available from 10-3. I'm open longer than that, but have learned you have to corral folks. Availability can always be 'expanded' if and as necessary.

You will notice that I told the man 10 until 3. That information in the text I sent is time stamped 11:14 AM this past Wednesday.

Would you believe the guy texted me at 2:59 Friday afternoon asking when he could pick up those cables? I am not kidding, and I am not adding such detail to sensationalize the story. The text is time stamped 2:59 PM, Friday October 30. "Can you be here in one minute?" I wanted ask. Because, correct me if I'm wrong, being available from 10 till 3 means I am not available before 10 AM nor after 3 PM on a specifically given day.

Instead, I gritted my teeth and replied I could meet at 4. He answered in turn good, that his GPS said he was 42 minutes away. I said fine. He immediately returned, 'I'm not sure when I can be there though'. Then why in the hell were asking me to begin with?

Honestly, starting a text thread sixty seconds ahead of a deadline which I had given you two days before, being offered another time as you requested, then adding you really did not know when you could make it anyway? What. The. Hell. If it were me, I wouldn't have even bothered texting that late myself to begin with, knowing what he theoretically knew, and I'm not that much smarter than a trousered ape. But he still figured it was okay to ask, and at that not actually knowing his own availability.

In what universe can that possibly make sense? Or did Trick or Treat come early, and I'm being pranked?

The Cosgriff Dock

Wednesday, October 28, marked the end of a personal era. After 55 years, Cosgriff Sales made its last pickup at Electric Eel Manufacturing in Springfield, Ohio. The company is moving production to Niles, Michigan. 

No offense to Niles. I'm sure my upcoming journeys there will bring their own enjoyment. There's even a truck stop restaurant in that direction which Dad liked and to which I will surely make routine visits. But I'm going to miss those Springfield trips. I've been making them myself or with me brother Phil, and occasionally with me son Charlie or me son Frank, at least once a month for 13 and a half years. Before that I was there regularly with me Pops, and even a few times with me Grandpa Joe way back (way, way back) when I was a teen. It was almost like old home, seeing the workers there who became friends.

Time marches on. I did allow myself to be a bit sentimental, taking about a dozen pictures in and around the Springfield facility and which I intend to make into an album. Here's one of the last pick up being made in my new old van. 

I've often thought of that as the Cosgriff Dock, though I know others have resupplied at that door as well. 

I'll miss the place. I'll miss the people. I'll miss the stops along the way. It was a good run.

Who Pays the Tab

It's always great to deal with folks who have a sense of humor.

Yesterday I paid a bill over the phone. I had my invoice and customer number right in front of me. After I rattled the numbers off to the woman who answered the call, she pulled everything up on her computer. "So, let's see. We're paying $738.19 today?"

"We are?" I replied with purposely too much enthusiasm. "Thanks!"

 The agent burst into laughter. "It is right we get things straight, isn't it? You're paying $738.19 today."

"If you insist," I answered with a chuckle. But she thanked me for giving her a laugh.

I figure the money's due no matter what. Have fun with it.