Pi
Wordless Wednesday
Spreading the Word, North Puffin Style
There exists a photograph of me in a manure spreader, waving to the crowd.
Yeah, there’s a story behind that.
Vermont has a biennial election cycle so politicians show up in force at events like Franklin County Field Days every other year. Vermont politicians also (usually) had a pretty good sense of humor.
That particular photo-op likely came in about 1988 when I chaired one of North Puffin’s two political committees. Every other year, we had a booth at Field Days (the booth lived at the telephone company for a number of years, and then in my barn for a decade, and then on to another good home). That year was Lt. Gov. Peter Smith‘s first run for Congress.
Yes, Mr. Smith went to Washington.
Anyway, Peter was at Field Days, trying to go to Washington, and I spent part of the day introducing him around. That always took a while. He and I both like to talk to people. One fellow told him all about his apple orchard and the little roadside stand his dad ran each fall. In great and glowing detail.
As we walked on, Peter turned to me with that “Why did we spend so much time?” look.
“Oh, Steve is also the president of the bank.”
Field Days has a tractor parade and there isn’t a politician born who can resist a parade. The Field Days committee didn’t want to politicize their event but they weren’t above making a political statement.
“Dick, if you can find someone with a trailer, you can tow all the politicians around together.” I think there was some hope that someone, somewhere at Field Days, was exhibiting tomatoes.
Always ready to rise to the challenge, I found a beautifully restored John Deere ground-drive spreader. OK, it had been swamped out with a fire hose, anyway. We crammed the whole load of politicians of every persuasion and party in there and everyone had a good time.
That’s just common sense.
Common sense seems to have been in short supply since then.
Shades of Chicago, Vermont
This story is from a Town about 75 miles south of North Puffin. A newcomer to politics had hoped to make a difference by running for the Selectboard in his adopted hometown this year. Sadly, he died one day before Town Meeting. That didn’t stop voters from electing him to a 3-year term; no one told them that he collapsed at his home and died.The Town Clerk said state election laws prohibit campaigning or discussion of candidates within a polling place. An announcement about the man’s death might be interpreted as urging voters to cast their ballots in a certain way, she said.
Ya think? Like maybe that they should vote for someone who was, well, alive?
Politics, the art of the possible? Nah. Politics, now the art of the weird.
Fortunately, I was unable to unearth a copy of the photo of us spreading the word.
Wordless Wednesday
Pop Goes the Weasel
First week of the first month of Spring and it’s time for Random Fancies! Today, I’ll link barber shops and movie tickets and inflation, something I am doubly unqualified to do1.
My first real job (it had a paycheck and withheld taxes and everything!) was as an usher in the Warner Theater six miles from home and I whiled away some of my college hours managing the Lee Theater about six miles from school. I have good memories.
I got a raise to a buck an hour when the Warner’s maintenance man retired and the ticket price rose to a buck about the same time. (Minimum wage had jumped to $1.25/hour by then.)
Having Love Story at the Lee for 14 weeks, then getting transferred to the Criterion for the New Year’s Eve premiere of Nicholas and Alexandra was enough for my movie career. I have been to the movies since then but I don’t go very often. I was blown away when I saw that tickets to Les Mis cost $12.50 each.
People may complain more about the cost of popcorn (movie popcorn prices have popped disproportionately to average theater ticket prices over the last almost-100 years) but ticket prices make the better indicator.
My first haircut was, well let’s just say I had pretty, long hair at the time. And not a lot of language skills. And I got a lollipop. My folks believed in the “butch” cut, so the barber never had much trouble performing, other than to get me to sit still.
I rebelled the summer before I went away to school. OK, I told my mom I was too busy to get it cut. At any rate, it had grown out to almost an inch long by the time I got to Hoboken. And it kept doing so.
I haven’t been to a real barbershop since about 1967. One of my roommates taught me how to trim and more-or-less shape it in the mirror. Later, I taught SWMBO how to trim and shape it quite well. Even she stopped cutting it in 2004 when I ripped the kitchen floor up in Renovation, v. 2, the Sequel. I’ve kept it pretty short using the mirror again since I shaved my head for Cap Cancer in 2009. I was blown away when Rufus told me a $15.00 haircut was a bargain.
Those prices have climbed faster than the CPI which Federal Government uses to figure inflation. Or the PCE which the Federal Government uses to report inflation when they don’t like the CPI. Or the Chained CPI which the Federal Government uses to obfuscate inflation when they don’t like the CPI or the PCE.
There’s no hyperinflation if you believe the official statistics.
We need a better indicator.
Youtube is crowded with Quick Belly Inflation guides, most of which use air compressors.
We really need a better indicator.
The fact that hamburger “sale” prices have quadrupled while Uncle Sam tells us inflation is flat shows that Harper’s new Inimitable Impressive Inflationary Indicator is practically perfect.
more about the economy than the BLS’
poke-in-the-eye-with-a-sharp-stick.
Here it is. The Harper Inimitable Impressive Inflationary Indicator, occasionally known as the Dick Stick:
————————— > A GALLON OF GAS
2
1 Unlike, of course, the majority of economists today.
In 1965 a six-pack of your average American beer cost just 99 cents, too.