Names Are Much Better

I've been accused of knowing everything there is to know about cars.

That's not true.  I don't know everything.  I know a whole bunch, but not everything.

I used to know everything, but that was back when cars were fun.  Back before the 1990's.  Back when they were all redesigned each year.  Back when they all looked different.  From each other and from last year's model.  Back when you could tell them apart from 50' away.  Back when every 10th car was a convertible and every 5th car was a station wagoon.  Back before there were "SUV's" (pickup trucks with sedan bodies), and back before pickup trucks were bought by folks as pavement princesses.  Back when Detroit owned 92% of new car sales.  As opposed to today's 44%. 

There's an old Arab saying:  "Never let a camel get his nose under your tent.  Pretty soon you'll have a camel in your tent."  Detroit has a camel in its tent.

Detroit should be ashamed of itself.  Their executives sat back, collected $Millions, and watched the Germans and the Japanese and the Koreans and the Italians and the English eat our lunch.  

And they're on their second desert. 

Back when cars had names like Impala (Chevy).  And Bonneville (Pontiac).  And Belvedere (Plymouth).  And Galaxie (Ford).  And Saratoga (Chrysler).   And Azure (Bentley) and Golden Hawk (Studebaker) and Starfire (Oldsmobile).  And not numbers.  Ahhh, numbers!  Maybe their marketing departments have run out of creativity.  They're no longer able to come up with neat names.  I'm so bummed!  This number thing really sucks, and I'll bet you agree with me!

I'm addicted to cars.  Some people are addicted to cocaine, or heroin, or alcohol, or crack.  Or porn, even.  I'm addicted, on the other hand, to cars.  I've owned 127 of them.  From 409 Chevy's to 911 Porsches.  From  Rolls-Royces, to Volkswagen Beatles.  From Cad Eldorado Biaritzes to Corvettes.  From Monte Carlos to Mercedes-Benz's.  From Bentleys to Oldsmobiles. And I loved every one of them.  And I wish I had all of them back again.

I even owned 5 of them at one time while I was in in the Army in Germany.  It only provided me with 2 license plates and I had to keep juggling them between the cars to keep the politzei from towing them.  Ahhh, the problems of owning so many cars.

I have memorized everyone of Detroit's "Big Three" car models and engine cubic inches, torque and horsepower ratings from 1955 to 1990.  And if that's not enough, I have every paint color of every one of the "Big Three" from 1955 to 1990 all memorized.  And their interior color options, too.  Why?  Why not?  As I said, I was addicted.  Example:  It's okay to have a strange hobby, right?  My 1962 Chevy Impala Super Sport 409 cubic inch, 409 horsepower Impala was painted a beautiful Honduras Maroon with black bucket seat interor.  Oh, and a 3:70:1 "Posi-Trac" rear end gear ratio.  

I owned it while the Beach Boys' record was on the charts, BTW.  "Giddy Up, Giddy Up 409!"    

As I said, I would still own them, except I had no place to store them.  I owned 11 of them at one time back in the '90's.  Four car garage, four car driveway, and 3 on the street out front.  And they were all beautiful, even the 2 slow ones.  Some of them are true collectors items today.  The 427 Corvette with all 4 off-road options is worth a cool $250,000 today.  The 409 Chevy is worth at least $100,000.  The '53 Mercedes-Benz 300D Cabriolet ganster wagon I owned in Germany is worth at least $200,000.*  The '54 Bentley is worth at least $60,000.  The '66 Porsche 911 is worth at least $50,000.

I'd be a multi- multi-millionaire if I still owned them.  I have ongoing nightmares over having to sell them.  Oh, to have owned a warehouse to store them!  And enough $Cash to hire a mechanic to look after them.  While I moved all about the country and raised a family and grew my career and businesses.  And that's exactly why I had to sell them.  So I don't hate myself too much for letting them go.  A little bit, but not too much.   

I'll provide this unassuming little blog with a full listing of all the cars I've owned in a future posting.  But for today, I'll just provide my opinion as to why I think cars have ceased to be fun.  And "fun" is a major part of why people buy cars.  Or at least they used to.  And realizing they're not fun anymore is why fewer are bought.  Example:  Detroit sold 22 million cars in 1966.  It will sell fewer than 11 million this year.  

It has to do with them being called by "numbers" instead of "names."  Numbers, I believe, have no soul.  No heartbeat.  Unless they have to do with the size of the motor or the horsepower rating.  They don't elicit excitement.  They don't cause you to break out in a cold sweat when you hear their names or think about how they look. They used to.  And here's my proof.

There are 19 separate models in the Mercedes-Benz lineup, as an example.  Expensive German cars.  Known to everyone as the pinnacle of the car market.  On everybody's list to buy when they win the lottery or graduate from medical school.  Yet, nobody knows anything about them.  Especially what they're called.  I'm about to change that.  You just won the lottery, let's say.  You call your M-B dealer and ask him to tell you about his new car inventory.  He says, "Sure!"  And proceeds to do so.  He provides a complete run-down, from least to most expensive, along with their prices.  So as not to bore you, here's a partial listing of them, along with their base pricing: 

     -  GLA         $45,825

     -  GKV         $49,235

     -   "C"          $52,850

     -  CLA          $53,475

     -  EQB          $61,467   

     -    "E"         $67,040

     -  EQS          $88,973

     -  EQE          $91,230

     -   "SL"       $118,520

     -    "S"        $135,180

     -    "G"        $216,460 

Back in the good old days you would call your brother-in-law and tell him you just bought a new Pontiac Catalina convertible.  "Mahogany" brown with the Saddle bucket seats and matching color top.  Optioned with the 4-speed transmission and Posi-traction.  With the top-of-the-line 389 cubic inch motor and 3 x 2 barrel curburetors.  348 horsepower to get your heart started.  And your brother-in-law would be drooling over it.  And be asking you when he'd get to drive it.  

Today?  You call you brother-in-law and tell him you hit the lottery and just bought a new, top-of-the-line Mercedes-Benz EQS.  $90,000 worth of M-B luxury.  And he'd say, "What's an EQS?"  

Exactly...

*          One of the cars I owned in Germany at the same time was a 300D Mercedes-Benz Cabriolet.  A 19' long 4 door convertible.  Near perfect condition.  Collectors item.  I also owned a 1965 Porsche 911, a  1969 Volkswagen Beetle, a 1955 Volkswagen Beetle, and a 1967 Alfa Romeo Guilia Spyder.  A good friend and fellow G.I. really liked the 300D and wanted to buy it.  I was shipping the Porsche and the '69 VW.  As he was getting out sooner than I was, I offered to sell it to him if he'd pick up my Porsche in Bayonne, N.J. and drive it to my home in Missouri.  He agreed.  Even though it was worth a lot, I sold him the 300D for $100.  I signed over the Porsche, gave him the keys, he picked it up in N.J. and drove it to my MO home.  Some 1,200 miles away.  He handed the keys over to my Dad.  It was there when I got home.  And I never saw or talked to him again.  That's what's called trust.  And honor...

We're Doing it all Wrong.

We're born, we go to school, we graduate.  Then go to work for more than half our lives.  At a job or career we may dislike.  Then presumably play golf at the Villages for a decade, living off our retirement.  Then we die.  Is that it?  Is that to be our lives?  I'd say we're going it all wrong.  Let's see if you agree with me..

My Dad was a modern day Will Rogers.  He offered up sage advice on a recurring basis.  He once said, "Boy, you got to do a lotta' stuff in this life if you want to be successful.  That which works, keep on doing.  That which don't, stop."

 I've been thinking that it's wholly unrealistic of us to expect a kid in his late teens to choose a career path and then stick to it for his whole life.  

Just because you enjoyed the Indiana Jones movies doesn't mean you should be an archeologist.  Maybe you won't enjoy endless hours digging in the dirt.  In the heat.  Sweating like a Turk.  But you won't know until you try.  But by then, you've got that expensive degree and a gigondo student debt.  Too late to change careers.

Most of us need a job when we get out of high school.  To pay for the rent and the Mustang.  The Post Office is hiring.  They offer you a job.  And you start delivering somebody else's mail.  For 30 or 40 or 50 years.  Day in and day out.  Driving that uncomfortable little car.  Putting mail in peoples' mailboxes.  You hate it but can't quit.  It's no surprise to me that some folks wind up shooting up a pizza parlor.

And it's the same for Iowa farmers.  And Detroit automakers.  And Mississippi furniture builders.  And pharmacists.  And police.  And doctors.  Who are, BTW, our Number One group to commit suicide.  It seems being a doctor isn't quite as wonderful as it sounded when our kids went to medical school.  I've known 10,000 doctors and I can tell you for sure this is true.

I'd say we're doing it all wrong.  I'd say we should have our yout (what's a yout?) go to college only after a stint in the military.  And then a job or two after getting out.  Maybe don't go to school until they're in their mid- to late 20's.  I'd say doing that would help our young people have a better idea of what they want to do with their lives after growing up a little.  Seeing the world.  Having a few different jobs.  They'd do better in college, and be laser focused on what job they want, and happier in their lives.  

I did.  And still decided to become a salesman.  After a tour in the Army and visiting 37 countries.  My best friend worked with me in sales for several years before deciding to become a lawyer.  And he never looked back.  Happier than a clam. 

Not everybody is Josh Gates.  He decided to become an Indiana Jones lookalike and has made a fabulous career doing so.  Maybe you'd do the same.  But I'm advocating for America doing what 33 other countries do: have our youth spend at least 2 years in the military.  Or at least in Americorp.  Or working with the blood bank.  Or painting yellow stripes down the center of the roads.  Giving something back to the Country that birthed and protected them.  But not heading off to an expensive college or university to become a ___ without knowing, for sure, that this is what they want to be.

Our society is set up on what's called "Golden Handcuffs."  You become that mail carrier and you're lashed to the Post Office by your 401(k).  Forever.  That retirement is not portable so you'd lose it by quitting.  The same with being a teacher.  Every career job is the same.  They don't want to keep recruiting all the time so they make it desirable for their employees to stay where they are and painful for them to leave.  Garbage men, included.  

Don't let your children get caught by those "Golden Handcuffs."  Don't let them hate their lives because they weren't smart enough to make an informed choice when they were 19.  Their marriages might suffer, their job performance might suffer, their mental health might suffer.  And you're in a position to stop it.  

My Dad also once said, 

"You work 8 hours a day to pay for the 8 hours you're not working.  Then sleep for 8 to get ready to go back to work.  For decades.  Don't settle for a job or a career you hate so much it gives you insomnia..."  

Escalade!

While you and I weren't watching, Cadillac started putting eeeenormous prices on their Escalade window stickers.  And their dealers started selling them like crack.

As in, $91,439 for the base, unloaded, no luxury model, to $93,332 for the base with the luxury package.  Up 30% in just the past 5 years.    

I didn't stutter.  For what is today's station wagon, Cadillac thinks it's a good idea to sell Escalade's for near $100,000.  Except they do.  Next step up is the Escalade with the high-zoot luxury package at $120,455.  And if you want the super desirable "V" model, with the 620 horsepower Corvette motor, the window is...ready for it?...$172,223.  That's the price of a house in Salina, Kansas.  Where I used to live.  Or in 40 of the other 50 states.  

Oh but wait!  Since there's "only" 556 of those "V's" nationwide, the Cadillac dealers are routinely putting a "market adjustment" on top of the Manufacturer's Suggested Retail Pricing," or MSRP.  And the average of all "market adjustments" nationwide is now $25,000!  It goes from a paltry $10,000 for the lesser models, to upwards of $50,000 for the "V" model.  So, for a "V," with the average $4,000 of dealer add-ons, for window tint, interior treatment, paint protection, door edge guards and nitrogen in the tires, et-friggin'-cetra, we're talking $200,000 for an SUV.  That immediately loses an average of $50,000 in depreciation the very instant you drive it off the dealers lot.

(Note:  The average price of a 5-year old Escalade nationwide is $25,000.  Much less if its a "miley."  As in, more than say 50,000 miles.  And as little as $15,000 if its a bit rough.

And oh by the way, the dealers will tell you that since these add-on items like window tint and alarm and door edge guards are already installed in every car they have, they say, they cannot be removed (!).  So you have to buy them.  Too bad, so sad.  Of course, you can negotiate them out of those items, but you have to work at it.  And it's painful to do so.  That's why people hate dealers so very much.

(Note:  There's a company called "Deliverd" that will negotiate a deal for you for an all-inclusive price of $1,000.  They'll find the car, get the best price, arrange the trade-in and handle the documents and shipping, if necessary, at no extra price.  Flat fee.  That's all they do.  Keeping you from having to do business with these miserable slimy deaers.  Sounds like a deal to me!)

Sometimes car manufacturer's will make and sell cars that are instant collector's items.  Cars that hold their value, or even increase over time.  Cars like the original 1960's Ford Mustang or the newer "Dark Horse."  Or the Corvette "ZR-1."  Or the Toyota 1990's Supra.  Or the Ford Bronco.  Or the Toyota Land Cruiser.  But you almost never know which new car will attain that status until time passes.  

For those that don't know, an "SUV" is nothing but a pickup truck with a Givenchy suit of clothes.  A station wagon body on the back of a pickup truck.  Folks like me who've been around for awhile know that pickup trucks used to sell for $20,00 or so.  And then somebody in their marketing department said, "You know what, if we put a high-zoot interior in them, and a special sound system, and a big-ass motor, we might be able to get another $20,000 on top of the usual price."  And so it began.  From $20,000 to $200,000 in a very short time.  

That's why I spent my career in marketing.  Where the rubber meets the road.

So I'd suggest if you really, REALLY want an Escalade, for whatever reason, buy or lease one used.  The depreciation will have already done its dirty deed, the "dealer add-ons" and "dealer market adjustments" will have been lost in the wash, and the usual updates and new car whoopsies will have been handled.  And you can then buy one with a few thousand miles for $50,000 or $60,000 or $70,000 off MSRP.  

And again, much more off if you don't have to pay the "market adjustment."  

Excuse me, my fingers wouldn't type those numbers without a lot of work.  I had to try several times in order to get them down on paper without throwing up.  But I did.  Don't thank me.  That's why God put me here.

It never ceases to amaze me that folks will buy the second most expensive item in their lives like they'd buy a cup of ice cream at Baskin-Robbins.  They drive into the dealer with a smile on their faces and a fat wallet, not knowing they're going to get taken for an expensive ride.  The dealer knows every trick in the book to remove the maximum amount of bucks from their wallets, yet they still buy.  So they can turn heads as they drive home.  So they can look over their shoulders at their shiny new trophy as they walk into their homes.  Without knowing they've been screwed to the wall by the professionals whose job it is to do that.  And it's all legal.  Legal theft.  What I would call a scam, but that's just me.

You're an idiot if you go for this.  If you buy one of these expensive toys when a Chevy Tahoe, or a GMC would do just as well, as they're on the same truck platform, you're the guy the car salesmen are trained to skin like a beaver.

And they do it.  Every. Single. Day.

  

A Quick Drive Down Memory Lane...

I just got back from the discount gas station.  I filled up my car for a nice, round $92.00.  Or, roughly twice as much as my previous record for a fill-up.  And not in a muscle car.  Making California the place where people go broke who don't wish to walk.

And while there, I stuck a credit card in the pump, took out the nozzle, put it in my car, pumped it full, and then took the nozzle out and returned it.  Oh, and checked my own oil and washed my own windows.  Mine was the labor that served me that day.  Making me wistful for the "Good Ol' Days."  And giving me cause to write this blog posting.  So sit back, grab an adult beverage, and take a quick drive with me down Memory Lane to learn what it was like in my storied yout ("What's a yout?")

I hate those people who start their blog postings with, "Back in the good old days."  But I'm going to start this posting with, "Back in the good old days," because the days were good back then.  And simple. And enjoyable.  And inexpensive.  And fun.  Unlike my visit to the local gas station I recalled above.  Which was expensive, noisy, smelly, and required of me to work for myself without pay.  In other words, awful.  

When I was young and dumb and a little bit crazy, I lived in a little Midwestern town where the only source of fun with our pants on was driving our muscle cars up and down the 4-lane highway.  We had two fat cops in 6-cylinder Plymouths, and one State Trooper named Dick Defreece in a light blue Dodge.  And when things got dull we'd do a burnout in front of one of them where they could see us, they'd chase us, and then we'd outrun them.  

Just for fun.

The 4-lane in our town was about 6 miles long.  And we'd go from one end to the other, flashing our lights at our friends, and maybe giving them a little beep from our horns.  And God help us if we failed to flash or honk.  They'd think we didn't like them anymore, and it could end in a fistfight.  We'd then turn around, rev our engines, dump our clutches and lay a yuuuge strip of rubber as we ran up through the gears.  Getting some scratch each time we power shifted. And then we'd do it all over.  

And when we ran out of gas, we'd pull into the local Phillips 66 station or Citgo station or Sunoco station or Mobil station to get some more.  Push juice.  Motion lotion.  And it was a pleasure.

Because back in those days, there was an old guy in a denim jumpsuit who'd come out to serve us when he heard that ding-a-ling from the hose.  The one that occurred when you ran over the ring thingie.  He'd ask how he could help us.  We say, "Fill 'er up!"  He'd then start the gas flowing.  Alway Hi-Test, 93 octane to be sure.  (Which is no longer available, BTW).  He'd then check our oil and the air pressure in our tires, and wash our windows.  All around.  By then he'd be finished pumping gas.  We'd give him our credit card  or tell him to charge it to our account, and then make our way back on to the 4-lane to do it all over again.  

Happily.

Because back then there was a "GAS WAR."  The various gas companies were in competition with each other for market share.  Mobil was trying to undercut Sinclair, and Shell was trying to undercut Phillips.  The essence of capitalism.  So they'd each keep on lowering their prices to capture our business.  They'd keep doing so, a penny at a time, until they reached Rock Bottom.  I recall the least I ever paid when that bottom was reached.  Are you ready?

            $19 CENTS A GALLON! 

Imagine filling up a 409 Chevy or a 427 Ford or a 426 Plymouth for, ummm, $4.00?  We did it.  And thought nothing of it.  I'm so sorry those days are behind me.  Be advised "change for the sake of change" is not necessarily a good thing.  No, not at all.  Not when you're filling up for $90.00.

Sometimes we'd fill up two or even three times a night.  Our driving only broken up by an occasional trip to the Dairy Queen.  Where we'd back into a parking space next to one of our friends in some other delicious car, and then open our hoods so everyone could see our massive motors.  All dressed up with a cromed this and a chromed that.  Boy, were we proud of ourselves! 

I remember we had a farmer named Terry Smith.  He had a 1963 1/2 Ford Galaxie Lightweight.  Its fenders and hood and trunk lid were all fiberglass and its windows were so thin they were barely there.  This was all done to make it so light he could win drag races against the hated Chevy 427's.  He'd drive into the DQ with his car on a trailer and then park it so all could drool.  I wish I knew then what I know now as that car is now worth a cool $250,000 on the collector market.  

But then again, my 409/409 Chevy Impala Super Sport, 4-speed, posi-trac, honduras maroon with black buckets, would bring a nice $100,000, too. 

We'd get ourselves an order of tater tots and a cherry coke which cost $0.25 cents.  And by the time we were finished somebody had arranged a drag race.  To be held at the "Old Highway."  The highway in Bear Lake Bottoms.  And then all the cars would peel out and head to the drags.

BTW, I had a friend who worked at a printing company.  We printed up a bunch of "BLBTA" stickers and sold them for a nickle so we could put them on our bumpers.  It stood for the "Bear Lake Bottoms Timing Association."  Or some said, "Better Leave Betty's Tits Alone."  I liked both.

The New Highway 36 had left the old one unused and growing grass between the cracks in its concrete.  But it was good enough for 30 or 40 of us to head that way nearly every night and proceed to race a little bit.  We even had radios for the designated spotters to wait at each end so the highway patrol couldn't snag us.  Our spotters would let us know if Dick Defreece* was on the way so we could all jump into our cars and make like a bananna and split.  Otherwise, we'd race for at least an hour or two.  Bonfire raging, beer guzzling, tires burning, the smell of burnt oil hanging blue smoke in the air.  Winter or summer, no matter.  Drags almost every night.  Was it dangerous?  Sure.  Did anyone ever get hurt?  No.

And then we'd go fill up again, get our oil checked and air pressure checked, windows washed, and another $4.00 worth of gas to get burned up.  Sweet 93 octane out the tailpipes.  Yummm!

Just for a change of pace we might go to the Highway 65 Drive-In and watch a movie or two.  And then go park out in the weeds with our girlfriends.  Then go home for some much needed Zzzzz's to get ready for tomorrow night.

Then we'd do it all over again.  And it was amazing!  I might mention we had 11 American Hot Rod Association record holders in our town of less than 10,000.  The fastest cars in every class.  Everyone was smitten with speed!  We loved it!  I still love it! 

Now?  We all drive 5 mph under the speed limit 'cause we cannot afford BoyGuv's 87 octane "summer blend" gas.  And also because there's jillions of cops on the road just lusting to take us to the slammer.  The Gray Bar Hotel.  And tow our cars.  And steal our money. The money we worked hard for.  The road pirates we hire with our tax money to rob us blind!  

We can afford the gas in Oklahoma, BTW, and Texas, and Kansas, and Tennessee, and Arkansas, and all the other states not named Taxifornia.  Where it's $4.00 a gallon.  But here we can't.  Too bad, so sad.  Gas is like a precious comodity, to be priced like gold.  It should be sold to us by the c.c. insted of the gallon.  Only those who've been born and raised here, and know no better, are immune to bitching about it.  They think this is normal.  Like the Uyghurs in China who are held as captives.  Robbed of their organs and made to work as slaves.  The rest of us know we're being taken for a ride, and not in a good way.  

I sure do hope you feel better having read this.  As for me, conjuring up all these memories from "way back when," I feel worse.  Mucho Worso.  That's Spanish, I think.  Please just forget you read it and I'll forget that I wrote it.  And then like the guy with a feather up his ass, we'll both be tickled... 

*     Dick Defreece was our one and only resident Missouri State Trooper.  He'd arrested me so often for traffic crimes he had my driver's license number memorized.  Including twice on my 19th birthday.  It seems driving 140 mph in my brand new 1962 409 Chevy Impala Super Sport was not acceptable.  It was a birthday present to myself and I thought opening it up just a bit seemed reasonable.  I'd gotten a total of 23 speeding and careless and reckless tickets in the preceding year, so I was expecting to get the notice from the State my driving priveledges were suspended.  Except, Kelsey Reeter, the Sheriff, had failed to send the State its copy of my tickets (and everybody else's, too!).  Thus causing the statute of limitations to run out on them.  So oopsie!  Tickets all cancelled.  

It seems Kelsey was too busy romancing his Black hooker girlfriend to do his day job.  And we know it's true, 'cause the State inspectors who'd come to check on him found her bare footprints on the inside of his patrol car.  I wonder how that happened?  Another big oopsie, I'd say...

"First, Kill All the Lawyers,"

We all remember this quote from Dick the Butcher, now don't we? (Henry VI, Part 2).

It occurs in Act IV, Scene 2.  It is meant as a tribute to attorneys by Shakespeare, noting that the character who spoke this line wished to cause chaos, and to do so he first had to eliminate all the lawyers.  They serve as the "glue" that holds a society together, Shakespeare believed, and Dick also thought, and only by eradicating them can true chaos occur.  And true chaos was the his goal.  

Flash forward to America today.  Did you know we have 1,366,000 lawyers in America?  That compares to the same number in India, which has one billion more people.  And 300,000 in China, which has one billion more people.  I'd guess you need permission from the State to sue in China, BTW.  And only 144,000 in all of Canada, with 44,000,000 people.  Those Canadians are super nice people, doncha' know.  Eh?  

In short, we've got one serious bunch of lawyers.

I often wondered back when I was in business when we'd reach the tipping point.  That point where there were so many lawyers they'd have to sue each other to make their rent.

Did you know the average salary of a lawyer today is $155,000?  The lawyers I know work hard for every penny they earn, so I'd say they're underpaid.   And they went to school for 7 years to get that license to practice.  Did you know that UPS pays their truck drivers $176,000 a year?  And a college degree is not required?  And Amazon starts their long-haul truckers at $16Ok a year?  Again, no college degree necessary.  And ferriers (horse shoers) earn about $250,000 a year, playing with horses and breathing the fresh air all day long?  Just thought you'd like to know.  

Did you know that 48 of the 100 Senators in our Congress are lawyers?  And 35% of all the Congressweenies in the House of Representatives are lawyers?  I sort of feel sorry for all our legislators who AREN'T lawyers.  I'm guessing the lawyers all sit at the same tables in the cafeteria, making non-lawyers feel like second class citizens.  Members of the same club, doncha' know.  Kinda' like it was back in high school.  The jocks all palled around together and the braniacs were personna non grata.  That last bit is Latin, doncha' know.

I'd like you to think about this:  We elect legislators to go to Washington to do what?  Make new laws!  We don't need no more stinkin' laws!!!  We've got so many we can't even comprehend them!  And the lawyers we send to Congress to make new laws generally don't know squat about business.  All they know is the law!  So they write laws that may in fact be in conflict with the best interests of business.  And the public.  Which is what keeps the turnstyle turning!  Please tell me you know this makes no sense at all!

Did you know that the only colors that look good on lawyers are black and tan (the colors of doberman pinchers)?

Do you know why sharks never attack lawyers?  (Professional courtesy.)

Did you know what they call 100 lawyers lashed together and marched into the sea?  A good start...

A good divorce lawyer charges about $800 or $900 an hour.  Or even more.  In fact, were God to give me the chance to do it all over, I'd actually study in school the 2nd time around and become a divorce lawyer in Hollywood.  The current divorce rate is 50%, and the average marriage lasts but 7 years (same as my first one), plus all those actors are rich.  Imagine snagging a JLo and Ben!  So I'd just get a nice office, hang out my shingle, buy a billboard on Hollywood Boulevard, and wait. 

Or perhaps a criminal defense attorney.  You can charge an arm and a leg, or at least a leg.  And if you don't get the perp off, he goes to the slammer, and can't hurt you.  Better even than a plastic surgeon.  They charge more, but you might have to perform do-overs.  Or deal with their husbands.

Did you know Taxifornia has 366,000 laws on its books?  66,000 more even than the Federal Gubmint.  Twice as many as New York State, and three times as many as Illinoway.  You'd think they'd take a law off the books each time they wrote a new one, wouldn't you?  Except they don't.  They just leave them active, festering, awaiting some crafty lawyer to dig them up so they can beat the crap out of a city or a prosecuting attorney for their client.  

Even though beauticians must go to school for two years, cops only go to school for 28 weeks to get certified.  And much of it isn't even on the law.  They're only trained on the laws that bring in the major bucks.  Like DUI's and speeding and such.  Does that make sense to you?  Not to me!  

So lawyers are necessary to know the laws the cops don't, and neither do we.  The lawyers know that but the cops don't.  The cop arrests you for a non-violation, or violates your civil rights, and the lawyer gets you off.  All's then great in the Land, except you're out the $5,000 for the lawyer.  And the cop doesn't even get his hand slapped (indemnity, doncha' know). 

BTW, my best friend is a lawyer, so I don't paint them all with the same brush.  He's a great guy and I don't think less of him for choosing this profession.  Don't hold it against him at all.  I forgave him a long time ago.  In fact, I learned from him to be afraid, very afraid, because anyone with a law degree can sue anyone else at anytime for just the $125 filing fee.  And they do.  Often.  

I'd suggest you make sure at least one of the girls in your family marries a lawyer so you get a discount on your legal fees.  I'd say to try and get the help for free, except lawyers don't do that.  A plumber or electrician just might, but never a lawyer...

Through my lawyer buddy I learned a bunch about business law, and actually managed to practice it for my own company for 40 years.  During this time I sued 13 hospitals in small claims court and won them all.  Hospitals do not as a rule pay their bills on time, or sometimes at all.  They believe Net Payment - 30 Days means Net Payment - Never (their Chief Financial Officer's are chosen from among the top used car salesmen, where honesty is considered a personal failing), so they need a good suing every now and again.  They need slapping around a bit.  And not enough folks do it.   

I personally suggest that everyone go to law school because our society is so litigious.  Or perhaps an associates degree from the local junior college.  Everyone threatens to sue everybody else these days, and some do.  So if you intend to do business, and unless you have the means to hire lawyers (or have one in your family), it's best to know all about the law.  Or have an Only-Fans girlfriend to provide you with the cash to keep an attorney on retainer.

On the way out the digital door, my advice is to try and avoid cops to the maximum extent possible.  Keep your head down and don't make eye contact.  The same as gazelles tiptoeing among the lions on the Serengheti.  But when one of them gets you in his crosshairs, it's a great idea to have an attorney on speedial.  One who'll rush right out and save your butt.  Only by so doing can average citizens like you expect to keep your money in your pocket, your ass out of jail, and lead a happy, uneventful life... 

   

"Look Ahead"

The aircraft carrier John C. Stennis, CVN-74 as it's known, is one of our largest nuclear powered ships.  It's 1,088' long, 244' tall, and weighs in at a yuuuuge 103,000 tons.  To give you a comparison, the famous Titanic was 880' long and weighed in at 46,000 tons.  In short, the Stennis is One Big Ship!

It's powered by two Westinghouse nuclear reactors, making it possible for this ship to run around the clock full speed at 30 knots for up to 30 years.*  That's impressive!

The Stennis is staffed by 3,500 personnel whose job it is to keep this enormous floating weapon of war running.  They take care of everything necessary to keep the Stennis humming along.  Think of them as the folks who run the hotel.  Plus, another 2,500 pilot and maintenance folks who man (and woman) the (up to) 90 aircraft on board.  The pilots and maintenance personnel fly in from 7 separate air groups stationed around the nation.  Making this ship the home while on maneuvers for up to 6,500 seamen.  

Think of that.  I come from a place where there are towns with fewer citizens than that.  And even though my neighbors were armed and considered dangerous back home, they're nowhere near as dangerous as these folks.

Why do I tell you all this?  Because a few years back my wife and I were invited to join a select few corporate leaders and tour this giant ship.  We met at the Navy's North Island in San Diego to be prepped for our trip out to the ship.  We spent a few hours being briefed for the flight, and then boarded the C2-A "Greyhound" twin engine transport for the flight.  This plane serves as the "gofer" for the Stennis.  It takes people to and from the ship, as well as bringing up to 10,000 pounds of parts and supplies on each trip.  These planes have no insulation to protect your ears, so when the twin engines, and their 10-foot long propellers get going, you definitely need ear protection.  

We strapped ourselves in, as did the two dozen other "VIP's," for our flight.  They included the CEO of the Golf Channel, the Bishop of Phoenix, the Exec. V.P. of Verizon, and others.  We were to meet the Stennis after flying about 125 miles southwest of San Diego.  Each of us were invited to the cockpit to visit with the pilots on the way out and be briefed on the flight.  Very soon we could see the Stennis out the cockpit windows, way off in the distance, preparing for our arrival.

We slammed down on the flight deck in what can only be considered a controlled crash.  We went from about 150 mph to a complete stop in about 100 feet.  That's about 7 negative "G's."  The arresting cable did its job and we were safely aboard the Stennis.  We were then met by Captain Brad Johannsen and our tour began. 

Darkness came upon us quickly.  There was no moon that night so we were treated to what's called "night ops."  That's where they plan for an assault or defensive maneuvers by turning off all the lights and running dark.  Only pencil thin red lights shined straight up from the deck to illuminate the operations (you can't see red at night).  We went to the catwalk some 244' up and got to watch all the F-18 Hornets and Super Hornets get launched into the air.  They departed every 30 seconds, and then after flying out 20 miles and back around, landing one each minute.  This was exhilirating!   It also provided us with proof our Navy knows how to manage the toys we give them to play with.  And filled me, and I presume the others, with a great sense of pride in America.

After a sumptous dinner hosted by the Captain, our other meals aboard were provided in their mess halls.  You could eat pretty much whatever you wanted, as the ship operates 24 hours a day.  So breakfast to dinner is always available.  And each of the three mess halls can host more than 500 seamen.  Ever watch 400 eggs being fried at once?  I have.

We were able to walk the flight deck the next morning as operations don't begin until 10:00 a.m.  So we got to see all the staff jogging the deck while we walked it.  It's covered with something like the bottom of your tennis shoes to keep the planes from sliding off during maneuvers (more on this later!).  

We toured the hanger deck next.  It's situated right below the flight deck, and that's where the planes are stored when not parked on the deck.  It is yuuuuge!  It's about 800' long, 200' wide and about 80' tall.  It will hold 90 planes!  It could also host a football game with 2,000 people watching to give you a size comparison.  There are 4 elevators to bring the jets to the flight deck when needed.

Did you know they can completely rebuild a jet engine while at sea?  They do so in the aft workshop staffed by 20-somethings who surely have a top-paying job waiting when they get out.  They test the engines once rebuilt by strapping them to frames and cranking them up while pointed out the back of the ship.  I'm guessing they could also help push this ship and save electrons.

The anchor chain for this ship is 1,000 feet long.  Each of the links in the chain is the size of a washing machine and weighs in at 388 pounds.  The anchor is 15 feet tall and weighs 4,500 pounds!  We got to watch it deployed and it is LOUD! 

We met and spoke with the pilots of these hot rod F-18's while aboard.  They are all about 25 years old and make Tom Cruise look ugly.  These are the guys who'll be piloting your airplane someday after they gete out as you go to visit your Aunt Maude.  

The steam catapults that sling these planes into the air are managed by several seamen directly under the conning tower.  There are two of them and they're enormous.  They launch the planes from a dead stop to 180 miles per hour in only 100 feet in just slightly more than 3 seconds.  It's a remarkable thing to watch.  There are two of them and they can work simultaneously from each of the two flight decks.

The arresting cables are the diameter of your arm and are maintained by these same folks.  There are four of them situated every 50 feet across the deck.  That gives pilots something to aim for.  They hope for their arresting tail hook to hit the second one.  When they slam down they immediately hit the gas and go into afterburner.  That's because the arresting cable might break and for safety's sake they don't want to wind up in the drink.  These cables must be rebuilt every 200 landings. 

We toured almost all the ship's inner workings.  It has four barber shops, a grocery store, a chapel, 3 doctors offices, 5 day rooms for reading and game playing, a laundry and dry cleaner, and billiard room, of all things.

One of my favorites on the tour was the four "C3-PO-looking" gatling guns positioned at each side, both forward and aft of the ship.  Should any missile or drone or enemy plane make it through the multi-layered defenses of the Stennis, these 7-barrel electric machine guns will start laying down 6,000 rounds per minute of .50 caliber fire.  A "wall of lead" no enemy weapon can penetrate.  Serious stuff. 

Toward the end of our tour we met the captain where he works.  That's up in the pilot house where the controls of the ship are located.  He began to tell us about how the ship operates when all of a sudden he got an emergency call.  He cut short the tour, excused himself, and immediately ordered the guy controlling the ship to make a hard shift to starboard.  As is, a 30 degree turn.  Over on its side it went.  Enough of a turn that several of our group were thrown out of their chairs and onto the floor.  He then told us they were in a planned maneuver and being pursued by a Danish submarine.  It was trying to "kill" us, he said, and that they were doing their best to do so.

CPT Johanssen said they'd met the Danish sub captain in a bar some days before and agreed to buy them a "tank of gas" if they'd try and do us in.  So they plotted to sink the Stennis while the complete floatilla of 10 ships supporting the Stennis tried to keep them from doing so.  Two cruisers, two submarines, two support supply vessels, two destroyers and a helicopter landing craft.  It seems the Danish sub had managed to sneak in and crept to within 8 miles of the Stennis.  That, we learned, is within torpedo range.  That caused the emergency call to CPT Johanssen and the excitement we all got to witness.  Just imagine an aircraft carrier so far on its side the planes might slip off were it not for the material on the deck.  Just imagine the ship trying not to be destroyed and you've got the idea. 

He gave us each a baseball cap when it was over, plus a coffee mug and a complementary book to take home as sourvenirs.  The "almost" dying from a Danish sub was my favorite souvenir of the trip.

After tours of many more parts of the ship (except the Combat Operations Center, which is secret), all too quickly we prepared to leave.  We gathered in the ship's airport lounge (what it's called) just like you'd do if you were on land.  And when our Greyhound was gassed and ready we made our way single file and up the rear of the plane.  It cranked up its engines to prepare for take off, and when ready, pushed the throttles forward.  The catapult snapped and just like that we were jolted from a dead stop to 140 mph.  The noise was enough to break your eardrums were we not wearing protection.  And thank God for that, as I was screaming every swear word I knew at the top of my lungs as we lifted off in the 6 positive "G's."  Nobody heard me, of course, and I'm happy to say so. 

We landed back at North Island, made our way to our cars and drove on home.  I have to say this was the trip of a lifetime.  As a military veteran I can tell you I was in heaven.  My wife, being from New York City, was lukewarm to the idea of this trip.  I forced her to go knowing she'd be impressed.  Being a red-blooded patriot, she was.  She couldn't stop talking about it, nor could I.  How many civilians do you know who've had the chance to visit an aircraft carrier while on maneuvers?  I'm guessing zero.  But I have, and I'm in debt to the U. S. Navy both for the invitation and for the tour.    

Oh, by the way, "Look Ahead, and Stay Ahead," is the Stennis' motto.  Stennis was a Senator from Alabama and mainly responsible for the amazing radar systems these ships now sport.  They can see a danger coming from more than 120 miles away, way past the curvature of the Earth.  So they're certainly "looking ahead." 

These ships are worth the $4.5 Billion Dollars they cost, as far as I'm concerned.  As people live on average within 70 miles of the ocean around the globe, these floating airports can bring America's strength to every part of the Earth.  Be happy they're here to protect us... 

*  The Stennis is now in for a complete update.  It's berthed in Newport News, VA, and is undergoing a five year rebuild there, including a recharge of its reactors.  This refurbishment is expected to cost some $1.8 Billion Dollars.  We have 9 other "flattops" keeping us safe while this is going on. 

Reimagining Modern Medicine

You may not know it, but I spent more than 50 years in the medical field.  

First as a guy selling the newest and the most amazing technologies to doctors and hospitals.  And later on while starting and running a company bringing acute dialysis and related treatments to hospitalized patients throughout Los Angeles and Orange County.  The very first such company of its kind to do so, treating more than 10,000 patients over its 40 year history.

So this qualifies me to offer up an opinion as to how we might remake our entire our medical system.  To make it less expensive and more responsive and more competitive.  Because, Fellow Patriots, it seriously needs remaking.  I'm pretty sure you'll agree with me on that.  So here goes:

First, instead of students spending $200,000 of student debt to become doctors, I suggest that the Federal Gubmint choose to be the payor of first and last resort.  I propose that we, you and me, the Taxpayers, underwrite that expense.  I suggest that we send students to medical schools that we select and pay their entire cost of education.  And when they graduate and are ready to become practitioners, I propose that they work for us to pay off their obligations.  By working in gubmint sponsored clinics for 7 years.

We should provide a nice, new Cadillac, all their malpractice insurance with premiums paid, and an attractive $150,000 a year salary to keep them warm and fuzzy.  Insuring that there's no disincentive to taking part for them in such a plan.  Similar to those whose medical education is paid for by the military in exchange for a multi-year commitmemnt.  And keeping them from having to go to work for HMO's because they can't afford the malpractice insurance.

Right now there's a law that specifies hospitals may not refuse to treat patients (Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act, 1986).  They HAVE to take anyone who shows up in the emergency room.  Whether they're illegal aliens or not.  Whether they're poor or not.  And whether they have the means to pay their bills or not.  They must stabilize patients without consideration of their ability to pay.  And keeping the hospitals from dumping patients to offload their obligations.  And the cost of that treatment must be borne by the hospitals.  The hospitals then have no choice but to raise their rates and force others who have insurance to pay those costs of operation.    

Making an aspirin cost you $10.00.  Making a gall bladder operation cost you $20,000 or $30,000.  Making a obstetrical baby delivery cost you $15,000 or $20,000.

Now we all know those services don't cost them that much.  But the hospitals have no choice but to boost their rates to make up for those who cannot, or will not, pay.  They admit to this.  But they will not tell you what you'd have to pay if this law were not in force.   

But if there were a Gubmint clinic next door or a block away from the hospital, with all the costs of treatment borne by the Federal Gubmint, that the indigents could visit instead of the emergency room, staffed by Gubmint doctors, and nurses, the cost of health care would drop like a stone.  Patients would still have to pay, but only fees deemed reasonable for the area.  Sort of like an actual Gubmint NGO (Non-Governmental Operation).  The treatments they'd offer would prove to be quicker and cheaper all around.  

A broken arm?  $50.00.  A knife wound?  $100.00.  The flu?  $50.00.  Removing unpaid patient care from the nearby hospitals.    

Second. allow citizen to develop their own Medical Savings Accounts.  Right alongside their 401(k)'s.  With the Gubmint and their employee health insurance serving as the backup.  The citizen could shop around, like they do for their cars, or a new roof, trying to find out which hospital offers the most cost-effective surgeries.  And CT scans.  And obstetrical services.  In advance of need.  This would certainly lower prices almost immediately by forcing hospitals to compete with each other.  

Doubt me?  What did your last CT scan cost?  $500?  $1,000?  $2,000?  Or your last baby?  $1,000?  $5,000?  $10,000?  You don't know, do you?  All you know is your insurance paid for it.  You should know.  And you could.  By putting YOU in charge of your health care.

Why do patients go across the Border to Mexican providers?  My suggested changes would eliminate the need to do so.

Third, require all health insurance companies to pay the patient, YOU, rather than the healthcare provider.  You negotiate the arrangement with your doctors or hospitals.  YOU decide where to go and how much you'll have to pay.  And then have YOU, the patient, write a check to the hospital.  Or the doctors' clinic.  You pay them out of your Medical Savings Account.  Sort of like a PPO, except you're also the payor.  And the incentive to save would let you keep what's left and unspent out of your MSA.  Such an arrangement would put YOU in charge of your health.  Not the insurance company.  Not the hospital.  Not your doctors.  

All of these changes are based upon "Enlightened Self-Interest."  You negotiate what's best for YOU and your family.  Nobody else.  The vey essense of capitalism.  The very same way you negotiate to buy a new car.  Or a house.  You're smart enough to do those things, right?  Whose to say you're not smart enough to manage your own healthcare?  

Talk to your Congressman/woman/other.  Talk to your Senator.  We need all of you to bang the drum or your voice won't be heard over the noise made by the hospitals and the health insurance companies.  They like it exactly the way it is.  That's because they created it.  That should tell you all you need to know...