Thursday, I went to that place I inaccurately refer to as The Big City. Mostly it qualifies as The Big City only if you’re used to places like Chicken, Alaska, or Rabbit Hash, Kentucky.
Still, despite not being as cosmopolitan as Casper, Wyoming, or as bustling as Pocatello, Idaho, our Big City has its metropolitan moments. Not all of them good.
To wit, we were at a stoplight, third in line to make a right turn, when an elderly gent started hobbling across the street with the aid of a cane. He was moving at a pretty good clip for a bent old guy. But that wasn’t good enough for the jerk whose truck was first in line for the turn.
Honk! Honk! Honk!
Said cretin laid on the horn. Hoping to accomplish what, I can’t imagine. Did he expect the old guy to hop on his cane and fly the rest of the way across the street?
My friend L. and I were indignant and feeling very bad for the harrassed octogenarian. But he didn’t need our sympathies. As he stepped to the curb, he raised an arm high over his head and gave the truck jerk an emphatic “friendly finger” before striding onward.
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Bad good attitude
The occasion for the Big City expedition was birthdays. Two friends are about to have them and a third missed hers a few months ago because she was in the hospital wishing she were dead.
So I told the three I’d take them to lunch at a lovely winery near the Big City. We’re blessed to have a gorgeous winery in this otherwise dreary working-class area and it’s always a treat to go there.
I became a writer by accident. For two years, I wouldn’t admit I was one because in my experience, they were mostly a bunch of drunken ne’er-do-wells. But maybe that’s a good thing.
This focuses on what will trigger the next stock market mess. Implications (about triggering effects) go way beyond that. You’ll see what I mean.
David Gross (a longtime reader and quiet contributor to this and my earlier blog) has just published his new book on successful tactics for tax resistance.
I read an early draft of the book and contributed a blurb. I haven’t yet had a chance to read his final edit. The draft I saw was primarily directed toward groups who may use, or contemplate using, tax resistance as a form of protest. But even us lone wolves can take heart, inspiration, and ideas from the many, many historic examples of successful tax resistance campaigns Gross writes about. His book is a goldmine of research and is very readable, besides.
Another good work by a guy who’s been living as a legal tax resister for years and who has an intriguing background as a trickster, besides. His database of tricksterism (aka culture jamming) is a hoot.
99 Tactics of Successful Tax Resistance Campaigns is available in Kindle and print versions. (NFI on my part.)
First thing: Thanks for your patience. Thanks for your support, both moral and material. Thanks for keeping the conversation going while I was away. Thanks to you most awesome people for fixing Joel’s eyeballs (even if he’s not feeling so good about it at the moment).
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Now, that said, I’m afraid I have to go ahead and have my existential crisis right in front of you. Which is, as I say up there in the headline, embarrassing.
It’s embarrassing having the crisis at all. It reminds me of my senior year in high school during which I was not only in a perpetual E.C., but pretentiously name-dropped Sartre and Camus to illustrate just how Deep and Profound my teen angst was. (I won’t do that on you now, I promise. Nevertheless, if you hate maundering confessionals, you might just want to skip this post.)
It’s even more embarrassing having an E.C. in public now that I’m a grownup. But I’m a writer and I find that the process of being a writer sometimes involves dumping out the contents of my brain in print.
This week I’ve got an article due. I’m halfway through it. But I’m not going to be able to finish until I empty all the brain junk and sort out what’s worthwhile and what’s not.
And another sign of the times. Great one! College shooting ranges are on the rise. (Tip o’ hat to L.A.)
The president of Uruguay. No matter what else you may think of him (or not think of him, since I’m guessing you spend a very, very small portion of your life thinking anything about Uruguay), he is poor, humble and leads an admirably simple life. (Lord Obama: Take note!)
And let’s close with 33 goofy dogs. (With big H/T to fellow dog lover and dog rescuer, MLS.)
