Simple truth makes for the best humor. Check out today’s strip from the web comic chainsawsuit. (Be warned, some of Chris’ stuff is PG-13.)

Clicky clicky

I installed a skylight in my apartment. The people who live above me are furious!
– Steven Wright

What a nutty day. Let me tell you about it. (Hold on tight. You know how I get when I tell stories!)

Last Friday, I was working in the office. (Yeah, I know, weird, huh? I had traded remote days with another guy in the office.) The office is pretty much a ghost town on Fridays now that so many folks work remotely once a week. The big boss sent out an email at about 10 AM saying that, due to the economy and everyone being down in the dumps, he wanted to cheer us up. Everyone, even remote folks, was instructed to quit working around 2 PM and go see a movie on the company’s dime. He invited the folks in the office to come with him to see a “comedy” (his word) that few people had heard of by this Bill Mahr guy. Yyyeah. Well, I had heard of it and really had no interest in seeing my faith bashed for two hours no matter who was paying.

To be honest, I was in the groove with my code and getting things done and didn’t really want to stop short. I told my boss I promised I would leave early, but I wanted to stay for a while.

When I gave Tammy the news, she was understandably jealous and asked (for about the hundredth time) if she could come work for Alt-N. Shortly after that she called to ask me for a favor. Her sister and brother-in-law live over in Fort Worth now and they are subsisting on one car that is in “serious condition.” The old car was kaput at the brother-in-laws work and they needed a taxi service.

Funny how God works. I was already cleared to leave early, I just had to resign myself to putting away my code for the afternoon. I drove across town, picked up the in-laws and got them where they needed to be. Then I headed home, figuring I could get a nap in before Tammy got home.

Right after I got home, before I could settle in, my sister called from Amarillo. She was at the Amarillo airport with her son, Caleb, in a serious quandary. Caleb was about to board a flight to go spend the weekend with his dad. However, the flight had a stop-over in Dallas in which he’d have to de-plane. Caleb is 11, one year too young for Southwest Airlines to allow him to change planes unaccompanied. They where steadfast, no-way, no-how would they let Caleb on the plane unless a family member could meet him at the gate at Love Field.

Tammy works in Dallas, about 20 or 30 minutes from the airport. I was at home, about 45 to 60 minutes away what with rush hour traffic. I wasn’t sure they’d settle for Tammy and I was sure she wouldn’t want to make the drive to and from Love Field in Friday rush hour traffic alone. And besides, if I could meet her over there, we could have our Friday date night in Dallas. Bonus!

We had an hour and half before Caleb landed. I figured I could take the train to Dallas, meet Tammy, drive to the airport, and get to the gate just in time. What an adventure!!

The train was 10 minutes behind schedule. Ookay. No problem. We can still make it. When I was a few stops away, I called Tammy to coordinate her leaving work and picking me up at the down town station. Tammy called right back. Her car wouldn’t start. Dead battery. ACK!

She got her car jumped and beat me to the station, but had to drive around the block for about ten minutes because there was no where to park and she couldn’t turn the car off. No problem. We met up and I dove into the traffic snarl headed for the airport.

We got to Love Field with a little time to spare, parked in the garage (No other option thanks to the terrorist… grrr.)  hoping the “rigorous” drive was enough to recharge the battery. The curb-side-check-in lady was polite and friendly. She knew exactly what to do when I said “unaccompanied minor” and took my information. Only one of us could go in, but that was no big deal. She printed out something that looked like a boarding pass and then looked up Caleb’s flight that should have landed at 6:15.

Then things got complicated.

“No, that flight landed at 5:45.”

Huh?! It was already 6:00! That can’t be right. Sabra told me he wouldn’t take off until 5:45-ish. I asked her if they had planes that could travel at the speed of light, but she didn’t laugh. “Oh, yeah! Sabra said the flight was late. That makes sense, right?”

No response. “I can’t find a Caleb here. Hmm.” Type-type-type-type. “That’s odd.” Type-type-type-type. “Hmmm.”

Finally, I said, “He’s got a connecting flight, I’ve got to get in there!” Curb-side-check-in lady was nice and gave me my pass and said, “Good luck.”

We hurried in and I got in line for security. Now, I haven’t flown in ages, so I’m behind the times.

“Hey! Nice uniforms. When did you get those?”

“MmHmm. Gate pass and ID.”

“Sure. Here you go. I’m just meeting an ‘unaccompanied minor.'”

“MmHmm.” Waved on in. Get in line for the conveyor belt. I was empty handed, no problem.

“No sir. You have to take your shoes off.”

Ookay. Stinky old Vans in a plastic bin, get back in line.

“Beeeeeeep!” Dang. I forgot about the cell phone in my pocket. Back to the conveyor belt, $400 in a plastic bowl, cross fingers, get back in line.

“Beeeeeeep!” What now?! The tiny metal rings in my belt, that i’m confident are not actually metal, are enough to set off the machine. Cheap canvass belt in a plastic bowl, fingers in belt loops to keep my shorts above my ankles, back in line.

No beep! Alright! Waddle in stocking feet. $400 safely back in my pocket. Shoes tied. No time for the belt. Jog to the big TV screens holding pants up and belt in hand. Hey! These only show departures! Gates 1-30 to the left, 31-60 to the right. Umm. Three people walk past me to the left, only one goes to the right. Left it is!

Running down the concourse, trying to thread my belt and text message Tammy at the same time. “Look up what gate plz!” I start passing gates scanning for “Amarillo.” By the time I’m in the low 20’s, Tammy texts back, “Gate 11. Hurry!” Sweet! I guessed right by going left! It’s now 6:18.

I sprint (Yes, I am capable, but it’s not pretty.) to Gate 11. There’s a smiling, friendly gate lady helping another customer and a grumpy, grumpy gate lady fiddling with stuff in a drawer trying not to make eye contact. Oh, and by the way, there’s a line of people slowing herding down to an airplane bound for Austin. I try to look desperite, but grumpy gate lady continues to avoid eye contact. Happy gate lady looks over her customer and asks if I need help.

“Did that plane just arrive from Amarillo?”

Grumpy gate lady makes eye contact. I regret it. “What? This flight is going to Austin.”

“Yes, I see that, but did this flight come in from Amarillo? Around 6:15?”

“It’s going to Austin. It departs at 6:20.”

*Sigh* Seriously?

Happy gate lady chimes in. “Are you here looking for a little boy?”

If I wasn’t in such a hurry, I’d have an awesomely funny retort. “Yes!”

“He’s in the office across from gate eight. Just ring the doorbell.”

“Thank y..” I sprint away.

Found the office, rang the doorbell…. again…… again……. Phone’s buzzing in my pocket. How could I have missed a call? (Oh, yeah, the xray machine.) Trying to check voice mail and get text massage from Tammy at the same time. “They’re trying to call you. Caleb is here.” I hear a click behind me. Some guy entered the office. “WAIT!!” I catch the door and hurry in. The guy looks none to pleased with that.

“Is Caleb in here? I need to pick him up. Minor! Minor!”

Laid back office dude enters. (Read his lines verrry slooowly.)

“Are you looking for Caleb?”

“Yes!”

“Sure he’s right back here. We’re watching a movie. Can I see your pass?”

“YES!”

There’s Caleb, looking every bit like an eleven-year-old who knows he’s probably missing his flight should look.

I fist-bump him. “Awesome! Do you have your ticket?” *nod* “Do you know what gate? Do you know when you take off?” *confused stare* I turn to laid back office guy. “I need to know what gate and when. He’s got a connecting flight!”

(Remember, slooowly.) “Sure. Nooo problem. I’ll just look it up here. Let me see that ticket, little man.” Type…. type…. type…. “Looks like….” Type…. type…. type…. “He’s pulling out at 6:20 from…. Gate 11.” Slowly looks at watch. “Whoa….” (It’s now approaching 6:25.)

Grab the ticket, grab the nephew, bolt out the door. At this point it occurs to me that he arrived at Gate 11 and was departing from … Gate 11. GAH!!

Happy gate lady has vanished, possibly murdered and eaten by grumpy gate lady for being so helpful only moments ago. I slide up to the counter holding out the ticket franticly. “Here he is! We’re here!”

Snarl, ignoring the ticket I’m waving at her. “What flight.”

Again, seriously?! I point out the window at the large metal thing with wings just outside and steal a line from John McCain. “That one!”

Grumpy gate lady snatches the ticket from my hand. Type-type-type-type. “He’s an unaccompanied minor?”

…. “YES!”

“Where’s his forms?”

I look at the papers she’s already holding. “Uh. In your hand?”

“He needs his forms filled out for this flight. Is someone picking him up in Austin? We’ll have to call and confirm that someone’s going to be there.”

I look over the counter at the paper in her hand, where I see the name and phone number of his step mom on the form.

“I can see the number from here, do you want me to call her?” Grumpy gate lady does not enjoy my witty banter.

At this point, mildy irritated male flight attendant comes up the ramp and to the counter. Grumpy gate lady doesn’t make eye contact with him, but indicates that “this kid” is booked on that flight and “I hafta fill out all his forms” and “Are you gonna hold the flight for him?”

Mildly irritated male flight attendant snorts, “No!” as if you just asked him if he was wearing frilly panties.

Grumpy gate lady, not making eye contact with anyone in particular says, “Well, he’s not going to make it, I have to fill out all his forms.” Type-type-type-type.

Ugh. Mildy irritated male flight attendant reports that we’ve still got a five minutes or so. People are still filing onto the plane. Then he heads back down the ramp.

Long, uncomfortable silence as grumpy gate lady types. (None to fast, mind you.) I attempt more witty banter, but it only makes her type slower. I lean over to Caleb and make note of the fact that “They don’t seem to like my jokes.” Caleb laughs, she doesn’t.

Flight attended returns, a bit more irritated than before. Says nothing and, again, without eye contact, grumpy gate lady says, “He’s not going to make it. Nobody filled out his forms. Why didn’t anybody fill out his forms.” Type-type-type-type.

Flight attendant says we got a couple more minutes tops, then heads back down the ramp. I’m thinking, from the way she’s talking, that it will take grumpy gate lady at least an hour to fill out all those forms. And after that, she has to make a phone call to Austin. Who knows how long that could take. I literally will her to type faster.

She looks up, which startles me a bit. “Okay, now you’re going to have to sign a bunch of forms now. Where’s a pen. Where’s me pen?”

I pick up the pen that’s sitting on the counter. “I’m ready, you point, I’ll sign,” expecting “a bunch”, meaning more than four, right?

She puts a ticket stub on the counter. There’s no place to sign. I ask, “Do I just sign this anywhere?”

As if I’m an idiot, “NO! You don’t sign that!” Then she puts three papers on the counter. “Sign here, here, and here.”

“Done!” Awaiting next solvo.

Type-type-type-type. Are you kidding me? Flight attendant returns, clearly irritated. We all watch grumpy gate lady type. Finally she looks up and waves a hand in the direction of the flight attendant. “Yeah, he’s good.”

I shake nephew’s hand. “Stay longer next time!” Off he goes. Whew!! I thank grumpy gate lady for her help and speedy form filling. She growls and drools a little. (Okay, I made that up.)

Moments later back in the parking garage, relaying the story to Tammy and thinking about where we want to eat in Dallas, we get in the car. Kah-rur… ruurrrr… click-click-click-click. Oh yeah. The battery. Nuts. No problem. This is an airport. There are people everywhere. I’ve got cables. Surely someone will give us a jump.

First guy I see, walking away from me, deeper into the garage, with keys in his hand. I ask him for a jump and without turning around he yells, “I’m not driving.”

….

Next, I see a smartly dressed young couple getting into a Lexus. “Hey, would  you mind giving me a jump? Dead battery. I’ve got my own cables.”

Gelled hair, $400 shoes guy says, and I swear I’m not making this up, “I don’t know where the battery is.”

I pick my jaw up off the ground and ask, “Do you know how to open the hood, cuz I’m pretty sure I can find the battery for you.”

By now Mr. Crunchy Hair is already in the car. Mrs. Crunchy Hair gives me a look over,  says, “We’re late for dinner,” and shuts her door.

I take a look around and confirm that they cars are all licence for Texas and not New York City. Wonder if this is a bad episode of “The Outer Limits.”

Finally, I see a hispanic mother and her son getting out of their car. I hesitate, because if they’re getting out, they’re going into the airport, and are probably in a hurry.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“What?!”

“Well, I need a jump, but if you’ve got a plane to catch, don’t worry about it.”

She looks at her son, ponders, then smiles and says, “Jou has…” and then bumps her fists together in the international sign for jumper cables.

“Yes! Are you sure you’re not in a hurry?”

“Jes, hokey. No prah-lem.”

What a nice lady!! We start the car and offer her $10, which she refuses. Huh. Take that, Mr. Crunchy Hair, showed up by Spanglish speaking woman!

Finally, we’re back on the road and decide not to risk turning off the car in this neighborhood.  Never thought I’d refer to Uptown Dallas that way. We drive to a Long John Silver’s and figure out how to lock the car with it still running (without having to crawl out the sun roof) and have a quick bite before heading home… where we realized my truck was still at the train station.

Awesome.

The funny thing about a free market economy, driven by consumer confidence, is that dire predictions can be self-fulling. The more the media tells you that the economy is bad, the more you believe that the economy is bad. And when you believe the economy is bad, you spend less money, hording your pennies for the “bad times” to come. And when you stop spending, retailers make less money and in turn order fewer products and are forced to cut jobs. Manufactures sell less and in turn order less raw materials and are forced to cut jobs. Materials producers (farms, mines, mills of every sort) sell less raw materials and are forced to cut jobs. Naturally, this cycle takes a while, sometimes years, but the result is the same.

It’s even more striking in the stock market. It can happen in hours instead of years. When someone says, “Ooh, look out! The market is going to drop,” everyone wants to “sell high” and get out. But when everyone starts selling at the same time, the price does drop, not because of the bad news, but because of the selling itself.

Here’s another interesting trend. Democrats (and Liberals in general) fair much better in elections when the economy is bad. I can’t say for sure, but my guess is that it’s because the Liberal, socialist mantra is comforting to those who don’t know how false it is. “We will take care of you. Don’t fear. Let Papa Government care for you. Fall into the loving arms of Papa Government.” It’s easy. It doesn’t require any critical thought or economic knowledge. Just feel the warm embrace of big government. It’s no coincidence that Bronco Bomber’s slogan (in fact the bulk of his campaign) is “Hope” and “Change.”

But if you stop and think about it for just a minute, do you really want your bank or your health insurance to be run by the same beaurocracy that runs FEMA, or the IRS? Ask anyone who’s served in the military how efficiently and intelligently the government runs things. (I can wait for Uncle Robert’s and Nephew Dustin’s comments on that one!!)

My point is, the next time you feel that burning sensation in your gut while the news tells you how horrible your life is, take just a minute and think for yourself. Is your life really that bad? Is there really any reason for you to sell out of your 401k and cancel your vacation? Or are you just falling victim to a Liberal biased media’s campaign of fear?

One last thing. This morning as I ate my cereal, Good Morning America was doing a heart rending story about a new industry in Souther California. There are now companies that are paid by banks to clean out foreclosed homes. They showed these guys dumping family pictures into garbage bags and tossing furniture and big-screen TVs into dumpsters. They talked about how awful it must have been for these people to just leave their whole lives behind because they didn’t … sorry … “couldn’t” pay their mortgage.

Then, I opened my Bible and God showed me this from I Timothy chapter 6:

We brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that.

People who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.

But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called…

Amen.

I think we all need to take a moment to laugh. You know the old saying, “If you never laugh, how will you be able to appreciate your tears of sorrow, streaming from your bloodshot eyes as your retirement fund evaporates and realize you can’t even get a job scrapping gum off of the parking lot at Wal-Mart and you begin to contemplate selling your major organs on the black market to save your children from starvation and a life of prostitution.” Or something like that, I’m just paraphrasing here. Boy, I sure am glad the congress passed that big bail-out bill and saved us all from the stock crash that could have been. Oh. Right. Never mind.

Seriously, though, clicky clicky for a good chuckle.

Hang tough through the first two minutes of Bush bashing. It get’s MUCH better. Funniest Barney Frank impression EVAAAR!

I’d like to pose a question. Now, I’m completely serious here. I know I don’t have 300 million readers on this blog, but I do know that there are many more readers than usually comment. You lurkers, you know who you are. Well, I need to you stop hiding and comment on this one.

The end-of-the-world credit crisis that has sprung on us in the last week, according to all the people who are supposed to know, is primarily due to the failing credit market. That is to say, the trillions of dollars* that are about to be spent** are supposed to recapitalize the lending market. We (doing business as the US government) are going to give all that money to banks, so that those banks can keep lending money (for cars, houses, tuition, Christmas presents, and pedicures) and if we don’t bail-out the banks, they’ll quit loaning money and the economy will collapse, because, we all know, Americans can’t live their lives without credit.

Today on Rush Limbaugh’s radio show, about half a dozen callers said that they had recently received loans, some in the tens of thousands of dollars, and most with no down payment and very reasonable interest.  I personally talked to a mortgage broker last weekend, asking for advice about my own plans to purchase a home next year. He said that business is brisk, virtually unchanged in the last few years. No one is having problems getting loans.

So here’s what I need you, my faithful readers, to do: Please find someone (anyone) who, despite being gainfully employed with good credit and a reasonable expectation to repay, has been turned down for a loan in the last month. Shoot, I’ll even give you the last six months. I want specifics. I want to know the name of the lending organization, the name of the person turned down, the type of the loan, and the reason given for declining the application.

I predict that I will not get any responses that meet these requirements. So, why, pray tell, is this bail-out bill so direly necessary? Did you hear that? Did you hear someone just crying, “Wolf?” I’m pretty sure I did.

* Yours and mine
** As much as I am against this bail-out, I have to be realistic, it’s going to pass eventually.

It’s midnight on Tuesday night. What better time to post my Work-From-Home-Friday video, right?

In my opinion, this is not my best work. There’s a lot of footage from last Friday on the proverbial cutting room floor. But there was just too much. I talked at length about nutrition, serving sizes and weight watcher points, but I just couldn’t make the pieces fit together. I’m going to save the nutritional stuff for a later episode.

Still, this should be worth a chuckle or two.