Know Your Market

Facebook doesn't know I have not been in Utah for some time now, and I am fine with that. There are a lot of things I prefer Facebook not know. But what that means is the random ads appearing on the right side of my page are often, when they are not national or Internet-based, still geared to Utah. (And while I suppose it is nice to know a couple of my friends claim to "like" Walmart, that is not sufficient reason for me to ever set foot in there.)

A few days ago an ad appeared for a local (Utah) mortuary.

Irrelevant aside: "Mortuary," the preferred term of art in Utah, always struck me as being exceptionally cold and clinical, perhaps because I hail originally from New England where we had funeral homes and funeral parlors, phraseology going back to before the Civil War when it was customary to set up the casket for viewing in the parlor at home. Professional funeral homes generally didn't appear until after the war when the  practice of embalming (originally becoming more widely used in order to be able to transport soldiers' remains long distances from the battlefield to home) gained acceptance.

Anyway, aside from the fact I have no need for, or interest in, their services their pitch otherwise seemed exceedingly well-placed.

They were offering a seminar on their plans and options, to be held at the local Golden Corral. I simply can't imagine better demographics than a herd of retirees loading up on all-you-can eat cholesterol. I wouldn't be surprised if they had some business right there before the evening was over.

I hope they appreciate their marketing guy's genius.

Sign of the Times

Pulled up behind a truck towing an enclosed utility trailer at a traffic light yesterday. The back of the dark maroon trailer had a large headline that read, "Ten Simple Rules" across the top with the list appearing below in rather fine yellow print that was difficult to read without tailgating.

At first I thought the trailer might be a rental and the "Rules" were instructions for proper usage. As I eased up closer, however, I could finally decipher that small print and recalled where I was.

Ah, yes. Not "Rules." The Ten Commandments. Written in contemporary ("You must not . . .") rather than traditional ("Thou shalt not . . .") style. The trailer might still be a rental, though. Sometimes this place is south New York. Other times it's just deep South.

Public Service Scare Tactics

Our local public radio station is trying to hawk their (totally useful and really a good idea for when the power goes out) wind-up radio receivers, for which one has to make a hefty donation to the station, by using the line "you know our weather can change from moment to moment without any warning so be prepared."

Uh, no.

This is the most predictable weather I've ever seen (outside of San Diego where they just post "sunny and 68F" and leave it up 360 days a year). The seven day forecasts are accurate. Rainy Season begins within 48 hours of its scheduled start every year. If they say clouds will roll in during the afternoon, the clouds obligingly stay away until after lunch. It may not always be pleasant what with the heat and humidity and general muggy swampiness, but it's virtually never surprising.

Even our worst weather, the stuff for which you'll actually need a wind-up radio, is identified so far in advance that it can be individually named and tracked by computer.

So, yes, get the radio. Be prepared. Stock up. Plan for the worst case. But if you don't, if something goes wrong, no one will believe you if you claim you were surprised.

Sign of the Times

Stenciled on the back window of the bed cap of a pick-up truck driving down one of our major thoroughfares:

99c   tomatoes

                                                                                     per pound

No name. No address. No phone number. No web address.

Nevertheless, I presume it's some sort of (ineffective) promotion for locally grown produce and not a political manifesto calling for reduced prices along the lines of "The rent's too high!" Unfortunately, I have neither the time, gasoline nor inclination to follow him around hoping he'll lead me to a bargain.

Bartleby the Vanguard

Back during the Great Depression when many unemployed men took to the roads and rails, hoboing around the country, they developed a set of mostly uniform signs, a code, they would scratch on fence posts, trees and even porch pillars, advising or warning the next guy to come along where to go, where to stay away from, who to beg from and who to avoid. 

I think the local cats may have a similar system and have placed their code somewhere on our property.

Or maybe it's a coincidence the sign for a soft touch (Kindhearted Lady) is a cat.

We have a new visitor in the lanai room. He (I'm presuming here) is young and sleek, a rich velvety gray except for white socks (knee highs in the back, anklets up front) and a white bib which tapers to a point before opening up again on his stomach making it look very much, when he sits up, as if he's buttoned his jacket. I believe he's at least part Siamese being rather low to the ground and slinky with a smallish pointed face and relatively large ears. He's very handsome.

He's also extremely vocal and cries to come in continuously once he knows there is someone around to listen. And bangs on the sliding glass door, pawing at it as if to show he knows how it works.

My brother has started feeding him. He also put out a box stuffed with a towel which the cat has started nesting in. It is an extremely affectionate and friendly kitty and much more reactive to his surroundings than Bartleby. I warned my brother that this is how crazy cat collectors start but he just shrugged and said he'd had two before. The visitor and Bartleby are aware of each other and Bartleby, at least and in character, couldn't care less.

It's only a matter of time now.

And then a little more time after that, when the gray is well and truly assimilated, before another comes along and sees the signs.

"Camp Here"               "Kindhearted Lady"               "Sky's the Limit"
(O.K.. the gender's off. The result is the same.)

The Place Where I Live

A couple in this county but a few towns over recently had a safe stolen from their home. It contained $100,000 in gold and silver bars that they had just removed from a bank safe deposit box in order to buy a house. I'm thinking either first generation immigrants untrusting of banks due to experiences in the old country (although, why then use a bank's safe deposit box?), or drug dealers trying to keep income off the books (although, I can't imagine customers buying with gold and silver so somewhere along the line cash must have been paid for these bars so there's a record somewhere), or--and this seems most likely to me--idiots.

Considering all of the advertising on TV and in the paper pushing gold and silver hedges against a falling dollar, junk mail touting collectible coins and medallions and right-wing ranters extolling the virtues of hoarding hard metal for the end-times, I'm not surprised someone thought this was a good idea.
______________

On a totally unrelated note, the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commissioners remind people that it's not just a bad idea to hunt alligators with a handgun, it's also illegal. Handguns are, apparently, perfectly legal when hunting Burmese pythons, as long as the coup de grace is administered correctly.

But do not share with bears. Or the feral hogs.

And Random Acts of Retail

My brother complained, after the mail came yesterday, "I just threw out every catalog in my room!" by which he meant approximately three dozen or so recent arrivals (and didn't count the twenty or so still in the living room). He held another even dozen in his hand fresh from the mailbox.

I often wonder from whence the catalogers get our address. It's kind of a game trying to figure out whose mailing list we came from. Sometimes it seems pretty obvious: Wild Wings, purveyor of wildlife coffee mugs, nostalgic animal art and clothing, most likely came by way of the World Wildlife Fund or Birds and Blooms magazine, both of which have had our information for years. Likewise, we know where Wireless (NPR), Signals (PBS), Smithsonian and National Geographic catalogs all come from.

But what about Front Gate? Their publication (I hesitate to call it a mere catalog) is printed on heavy glossy paper bound in a clay-coat four-color-process cover stock more suited to a commercial real estate prospectus. Then again, projecting that kind of image is necessary when your offerings--one-off holiday decorations and full-size pre-decorated Christmas trees--are priced from the low three-figures to the mid (and upper) four-figures. Are these guys, maybe, second generation from the Grandin Road people of life-size Hallowe'en zombie fame?

And then there's Russell's For Men. Apparently, there's an A. G. Russell's with a more general demographic somewhere that has skipped over us in favor of leather wallets, leather vests, leather travel accessories and knives of various sizes, shapes and utility (including, one presumes, scraping hides preparatory to making leather). Neither my brother nor I, are particularly lacking in testosterone yet we can not determine the provenance of this one.

Thanks to FedEx overnight delivery, we have a long way to go before the catalogers stop sending in the realization that is too late for us to order.

Familiar Faces Standing in the Light at the End of the Tunnel

The county Supervisor of Elections sends out sample ballots to every registered voter a couple of weeks prior to the election so we can all familiarize ourselves with what's up for decision this time around. I received mine yesterday.

The good news is: this means we're very close to the end of our two-year-long civic iron man triathalon. I look forward to the return of the overbearing used-car salesmen, ambulance chasing lawyers, screaming furniture warehouse pitchmen and concernedly sensitive hospice hucksters to our local airwaves. The bad news is: that final hurdle at the finish line.

We've been warned for a while now that this year's ballot would be exceptionally long, thanks to our pusillanimous legislature that decided, rather than actually doing its job and passing laws, to kick the responsibility over to us by creating an even dozen constitutional ballot initiatives and then exempting its initiatives from the legal requirements for brevity and clarity that ones proposed by, say, real concerned citizens are subject to*. Our ballot will be seven pages long**.

The first two pages are for candidates for office, the second page being entirely for the election of various judges which is a stupid concept in the first place and a legacy of Jim Crow but constitutional and just the way they do things down here. Technically, the judges are appointed and these are just retention elections but still.

What fascinated me, though, was the first column on the first page which is devoted entirely to the presidential/vice presidential race. In this state, at least, there are ten different tickets running for those offices. At the top of the list, of course, are Romney/Ryan and Obama/Biden (in that order, our governor being Republican thus giving that party top billing). After that, I'm not sure what order these candidates are in. Perhaps by vote total in the previous election? It's certainly not alphabetical by either candidate or party. Speaking of which, the three-letter abbreviations used for the parties are not much help.

The third party listed is "OBJ". Objectivist? After that, I recognize Gary Johnson and the "LBT", or Libertarian. There's Virgil Goode and what I assume from "CPF" is Conservative Party of Florida although it could just as easily be Communist. (O.K. a quick Google search indicates the "C" stands for Constitution. Apologies to all those on the far left and/or right.) "GRE" equals Green and I recognize Jill Stein. I assume "SOC" is Socialist. (And good luck to you, too, in this state.)

I have no idea what the REF, PSL, PFP, AIP, or JPF parties are even though Roseanne Barr (yes, that Roseanne Barr!) and Cindy Sheehan (of camping out in W's front yard fame) are the PFP candidates.

And then, here, at the very bottom of the ballot is a candidate I know personally, who I have met on a number of occasions and spoken to. Ross C. "Rocky" Anderson, former mayor of Salt Lake City, lefty burr under the saddle of the Utah legislature, is the presidential candidate for the JPF and is on the ballot here in Florida.

It is indeed a small, and very strange, world.

*I intend to vote no on all of them. The ones I have been able to read are awful and I have no intention of voting "Yes" on anything I haven't read.
**Some slightly paranoid commentators have opined that the length of the ballot is intentional and designed to discourage voters who may get frustrated at the amount of time needed and the backed up lines and just give up without voting but, as a voter suppression tactic, I don't see how that favors one side over the other. Never ascribe to Evil that which can be explained by Stupidity. For me, it's a moot point since we have early voting starting tomorrow and I intend to get it all over with then.

And a Couple Pounds of Dry Ice Until Delivery

In a case of fortuitous timing, our 25+ year old upright freezer has decided to give up the ghost.

My brother likes to buy meat in bulk, ten pounds of this, five pounds of that, whenever a particular type or cut goes on sale (and sometimes I inadvertently "help" which is how we ended up with seven pounds of bacon last week). Everything not destined for immediate consumption ends up in the freezer. He also, for some reason, really likes frozen waffles, and I put the excess chopped mango in there, too.

Last week he noticed his ice cream turning to mush although everything else remained frozen solid. This week the mango started to soften up. Yesterday he called the repairman.

The repair guy was running late so my brother, before leaving for work, gave me his repair price limits beyond which we would junk the old unit but that proved unnecessary as, when the repairman showed up, he took just five minutes (mostly emptying the freezer and taking off a panel) before calling out, "Time to buy a new one!" Turns out the poor thing was chugging along on 10% of its required coolant. Refilling is not an option, not even a possibility, really.

(Everyone keeps calling the coolant freon but I think that's just a case of the word becoming generic, like Aspirin becoming aspirin. In this instance, however, our machine is old enough that the coolant probably was Freon.)

It is fortuitous timing because, this being Labor Day weekend, a number of appliance stores are advertising nice big sales and we can get a larger version of the same model, brand new, with warranty for $500.

Also, I found a nice big forgotten rack of ribs buried down in the back which I transferred to the refrigerator to thaw (further) for our holiday barbecue. So, now I just need to buy the sides and some condiments.

Sign of the Times

I pulled up next to a flatbed truck belonging to a local stone mason today. Painted on the upright panel at the head of the flatbed under the company name was the slogan

"The Best Customer Service in South Florida"



except that the "ervice" had been scratched or eroded off so the sign actually read

"The Best Customer S in South Florida"

which, if that is truly how they feel about their customers, may be indicative of how they treat their customers which would be excellent customer service. So it's all good, either way.

The Longest Season Perks Up

Of course, as soon as I mention that only one political ad is running in our area five more suddenly pop up.

There's at least one variant of the original attack on Romney's record as Massachusetts governor (which is still running) and one praising President Obama. There's also now an Obama ad warning about distortions and misrepresentations in Republican ads, specifically the AFP PAC ad excerpting the unfortunate "the private sector is doing fine" sound bite. There's also another AFP ad complaining generally about the poor economy.

All of the Obama ads come directly from the president's campaign. None of the ads on the other side come from the Romney campaign. They're all PAC ads from one or the other of Rove's groups. Some of the Rovian ones don't even acknowledge the existence of the presidential race but merely ask people to "support the AFP jobs program," whatever that is.

While there is a bit of sniping and some selective editing going on, they haven't gotten really vicious . . . yet.

The Longest Season

Not Summer, unfortunately.

The political season has started here with an official Obama ad ("I approve this message") disparaging Romney's record as governor of Massachusetts. I've seen it a number of times now on several different stations, but always seemingly on national programs of a political nature so I'm not sure if it's being aired nationally or just locally.

I haven't seen any other ads, yet, which is a little surprising since this is a critical swing state but I'm not complaining, either. I am quite sure before this season is finally over in November we will be saturated from both sides.

(Another) Sign of the Times

I pulled up behind a contractor's white pickup truck over the weekend. The company was named Savior Plumbing.

I can't tell if the name is a pun ("Save Your Plumbing"), a comment on how customers react to the service ("I can flush again! You're my savior!"), or an indication that He has branched out from his original occupation as carpenter.

One Hand and the Other

April, it seems, is Travel Month at the town library.

April is also RMS Titanic, 100th anniversary of the sinking of, month.

The many and various posters put up around the library seem to be working at cross-purposes.

Signifiers

How to tell you are in south Florida:

When the temperature threatens to drop to near freezing in a couple of counties to the north (not an actual storm, mind you, and the rest of the country is already in the icebox), the local news hacks immediately go into "team coverage."

A local medical supply outlet advertises oxygen masks, breathing tubes and heart monitors as Valentine's Day gifts.

A local seaside bar, in addition to the big screen TVs, pool tables and drink specials advertises competitive "Cornhole Volleyball." I do not want to know.

On the plus side, the mango tree has maybe a hundred or more blossoms. The problem is we still have plenty in the freezer from last season. Free mangoes for anyone who stops by this summer!!

Sign of the Times

Pulled up at a stoplight behind a contractor's truck covered in advertising signage describing all the services offered, one of which is "Chinese Remediation." Anyone not familiar with this area might be forgiven for assuming the contractor was offering a sideline in either language classes or a service to deport illegal immigrants.

Anyone who has been here more than three months, however, knows this is the epicenter for defective, formaldehyde-laced drywall originally imported from China. It's a legacy of the housing boom that created the bubble that crashed the market that turned a large number of homeowners upside-down in their mortgages and spiked unemployment. Houses have been remodeled, gutted, abandoned, foreclosed on, and possibly even torched by desperate owners. The lawsuits inch ever more slowly toward resolution. And affected houses are still being found every now and then.

So, here, everyone knows what "Chinese Remediation" is.

The Rising Waters

I don't think we've hit the high water mark, yet, but the flood of political advertising has definitely increased. From my (intentionally) limited exposure I'd say almost one half of all television spots in prime time are now political with half of those being from the Romney camp, either directly ("I'm Mitt Romney and I approve . . .") or indirectly through his Super Pac. The majority of the rest are now from Gingrich with a smattering of others from Santorum. (Almost wrote "a smattering of Santorum." Eewww.)

None of them, as far as I can tell, speak to what the candidate intends to do if elected. They all appear to be along the lines of "Oh, yeah?", "Yeah!", "Oh, yeah?", "Yeah!", "Well, so's your mother!"

The problem is there is so little difference among the candidates, and so little difference between the two major parties, that they are all forced into ad hominem attacks and exaggerations of the small differences that do exist.

Tuesday can not get here soon enough.

The Coming Flood

It's kind of like being downstream from a burst dam. You can see the waters coming, rising inexorably, and know there is no way to escape them. Best thing to do is just climb onto the roof and hope the foundations hold.

The political advertising has started.

We watched it start in Iowa, flow to New Hampshire, grow in intensity in South Carolina and now we're next. Florida's Republican primary is at the end of the month, barely two weeks after SC and the ads (mostly from Romney and Romney's "totally uncoordinated" super-PAC) are increasing accordingly.

The super-PAC is mostly bashing Gingrich. There's a judo ad warning how Gingrich's negative attacks are beyond the pale and then proceeding to negatively attack Gingrich. The pro-Romney ad has him claiming he will determine the worth of a federal program by whether or not the Chinese are willing to finance it. Might it not make more sense to find out if the American people are willing to pay for it?

It's only going to get worse before the month is over. I see no recourse put to take refuge on the metaphorical roof of my local NPR station. And admire the orchids which continue to bloom. And the roses, which have started again. And the tomatoes which are ripening one by one in perfect sequence.