I spent most of July and August in Tucson, Arizona. Not to be confused with Tucson, Anywhere else. Before I left, I bought some gas in Boise at 2.89 a gallon.
After getting off the plane in Tucson, I rented a Dodge Avenger. As I left the airport area, I saw a gas station sign that advertised gas at 2.45 a gallon. Over the course of the last month, oil prices lost 7%. I know this because I am a watcher of all things news.
Upon arrival back home in Boise, I noticed gas prices had not budged one bit even though the price of oil suggested it should be around 2.70. But alas, there it was at Flying J, still priced at 2.89. Yesterday they raised it to 2.93. I checked Tucson this a.m.
http://www.internetautoguide.com/gas-prices/87-int/arizona/tucson/index.html
I have noticed this phenomenon for the past 35 years. Apparently Idaho is exceedingly difficult to get to. One of those stand alone states, like Alaska or Hawaii. And every few years, just before elections the Attorney General will talk some smack about an investigation into the price fixing thing which always ends in some gobbledegook about how suppliers are forced to gouge us for some unknown reason that the Attorney General can't even explain. Because he is busy with important things.
In Arizona they charge nearly 8 bucks for a pack of smokes. I see a free enterprise opportunity here. We can haul smokes down to Arizona and bring bootlegged gas back home. What's not to like? The truth is, as states begin to tax the hell out of everything trying to find new resources to tap- these opportunities are going to become more frequent. Perhaps a complete bootlegging renaissance will occur.
Just like the good old days. When we actually had a free market system minus all the laws that prevent one.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
The Deer Slayer Faces Great Humiliation on the Bench
I call him "big ol dummy." His real name is Jack. Jack the dog.
Jack is a ten year old golden retriever. Blessed at birth with a head that is nearly the size of a bread box, spotting Jack is not difficult.
Now Jack isn't your typical dog. Oh sure, he has four legs. He has to pee on virtually everything we walk by, he refuses to eat most vegetables, and he passes gas that causes instant room evacuations. He likes to stick his head out of the Jeep window and smell the 8000 things that dogs smell. Oh and he hates cats. But more on that in a minute.
What really separates Jack from other dogs, is his dislike for dogs. He could care less about them. He allows other dogs to sniff him and once in awhile he does some sniffing himself but the reality is, is that Jack is simply very refined. Jack simply goes through the motions of accepted canine etiquette. The truth is, Jack doesn't even look at other dogs. Hardly a glance. But he notices other critters and Jack has special feelings that he reserves for cats and deer.
One of the fondest memories I have of Jack occurred one morning several years ago when I woke up and attempted to exit the bed. As I put one foot on the floor, I felt something I will describe as wet, slimy, and corrugated. When I looked down to see what it was that I had just stepped on, I observed one half of a deer's bloody ribcage next to the bed. As I gathered up the ribcage and proceeded down the stairs, I found two deer legs on the staircase. Thankfully, Jack could not find a way to drag the deer's skull through the doggy door and thus he had to settle for a breast and two drumsticks. I should tell you one other thing. When deer die, it is best not to ask questions. Or tell the snoopy neighbors.
Jack has always hated cats. He chases them. He stands motionless, the predator-prey thing going on in that breadbox of his. Silently, he launches his attack and you cannot bring him back until complete mission failure occurs. Every cat has gotten away. Until tonight, that is. Tonight at the ripe old age of ten, Jack finally got a cat. Kind of.
Jack spotted the neighbor's cat Opie, laying on the sidewalk. I instantly saw that frozen posture of Jack's and I nervously glanced down the sidewalk. There was Opie, languishing on the sidewalk like a lion, head turned and looking at the big ol' dummy. Jack launched his silent attack. Opie stood up, arched his back, and stood his ground. Jack didn't know what to do. This was the first cat who hadn't run. It was as though Opie could care less. In fact, I don't even think Opie bothered to hiss. Now all of the neighbors were outside watching this. And of course, they were rooting for Opie. They were telling me how tough Opie was and what a pussy my dog was as the two circled each other a couple of times. I was in a lose-lose-lose situation. I felt fairly certain that some combination of leash law, vet bill, or perhaps exile from the neighborhood were all pending at that very moment. I did the only thing I could do.
I yelled at Jack. That allowed his face saving exit. It made me look like a responsible pet owner. The gamble worked. Opie did not launch a counter attack. Jack returned to me wagging his tail with a relieved look on his face.
It's tough going from great deer slayer to a big ol dummy that doesn't know what to do with a cat once he finally catches one- this after ten years' worth of tries. This episode tonight could not have been too satisfying of a conclusion for Jack. I wish that damned cat would have just run like he was supposed to. Jack could have chased him, failed of course, and returned with some dignity and tail wagging. Opie stripped him of his dog hood. Maybe tomorrow, we can find a different cat- a running type of cat and restore some of Jacks' dignity and doghood. It's not always smooth sailing, living on the bench.
Jack is a ten year old golden retriever. Blessed at birth with a head that is nearly the size of a bread box, spotting Jack is not difficult.
Now Jack isn't your typical dog. Oh sure, he has four legs. He has to pee on virtually everything we walk by, he refuses to eat most vegetables, and he passes gas that causes instant room evacuations. He likes to stick his head out of the Jeep window and smell the 8000 things that dogs smell. Oh and he hates cats. But more on that in a minute.
What really separates Jack from other dogs, is his dislike for dogs. He could care less about them. He allows other dogs to sniff him and once in awhile he does some sniffing himself but the reality is, is that Jack is simply very refined. Jack simply goes through the motions of accepted canine etiquette. The truth is, Jack doesn't even look at other dogs. Hardly a glance. But he notices other critters and Jack has special feelings that he reserves for cats and deer.
One of the fondest memories I have of Jack occurred one morning several years ago when I woke up and attempted to exit the bed. As I put one foot on the floor, I felt something I will describe as wet, slimy, and corrugated. When I looked down to see what it was that I had just stepped on, I observed one half of a deer's bloody ribcage next to the bed. As I gathered up the ribcage and proceeded down the stairs, I found two deer legs on the staircase. Thankfully, Jack could not find a way to drag the deer's skull through the doggy door and thus he had to settle for a breast and two drumsticks. I should tell you one other thing. When deer die, it is best not to ask questions. Or tell the snoopy neighbors.
Jack has always hated cats. He chases them. He stands motionless, the predator-prey thing going on in that breadbox of his. Silently, he launches his attack and you cannot bring him back until complete mission failure occurs. Every cat has gotten away. Until tonight, that is. Tonight at the ripe old age of ten, Jack finally got a cat. Kind of.
Jack spotted the neighbor's cat Opie, laying on the sidewalk. I instantly saw that frozen posture of Jack's and I nervously glanced down the sidewalk. There was Opie, languishing on the sidewalk like a lion, head turned and looking at the big ol' dummy. Jack launched his silent attack. Opie stood up, arched his back, and stood his ground. Jack didn't know what to do. This was the first cat who hadn't run. It was as though Opie could care less. In fact, I don't even think Opie bothered to hiss. Now all of the neighbors were outside watching this. And of course, they were rooting for Opie. They were telling me how tough Opie was and what a pussy my dog was as the two circled each other a couple of times. I was in a lose-lose-lose situation. I felt fairly certain that some combination of leash law, vet bill, or perhaps exile from the neighborhood were all pending at that very moment. I did the only thing I could do.
I yelled at Jack. That allowed his face saving exit. It made me look like a responsible pet owner. The gamble worked. Opie did not launch a counter attack. Jack returned to me wagging his tail with a relieved look on his face.
It's tough going from great deer slayer to a big ol dummy that doesn't know what to do with a cat once he finally catches one- this after ten years' worth of tries. This episode tonight could not have been too satisfying of a conclusion for Jack. I wish that damned cat would have just run like he was supposed to. Jack could have chased him, failed of course, and returned with some dignity and tail wagging. Opie stripped him of his dog hood. Maybe tomorrow, we can find a different cat- a running type of cat and restore some of Jacks' dignity and doghood. It's not always smooth sailing, living on the bench.
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