Twenty or thirty years of community service, working at an animal shelter.

   

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I’d  get the housing, transportation, education,  and  medical care that my family needs, and give the rest  away.  No one needs that much money.

   

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I haven’t written about any of the gun shows I’ve worked for a while, mainly because they were lackluster–not very lucrative,  and a paucity of the cheapie handguns I favor.  This latest one, at  Anchorage’s  Sullivan Arena , was extraordinary in several ways.  I sell mostly knives, and I sold quite few–plus a few shuriken, four swords, a  set of brass knuckles, and an AK-47 bayonet, among other things.  I grossed over $1300 for the weekend. But when I left, I had more knives in my van than I had when I arrived.  How did I manage such a feat?  Read on. 

I like this show because I can drive in the night before to set up, and the place is so big–it is used for sporting events and rock shows–I could drive in fairly close to my tables to set up.  This means driving a total of 300 miles over the weekend, but it is well worth it.  This was one of three AGCA (Alaska Gun Collectors Association, of which I am a member) shows, and I like them the best, mainly because a fellow member is a coin dealer, and I  almost always buy something from him.  This time, his bargain box had a bumper crop, and I grabbed nine coins–the marked price for the lot was $80, but he took $65, which pleased me.  Except for an 1858 flying eagle cent and a Barber dime with a New Orleans mintmark, the bunch was nothing special, but I intend to resell most of them.  I was feeling a bit of buyers remorse, though, having planned to buy an early 1800′s silver three-cent piece, one of the most bizarre-looking US coins  ever minted (in my opinion).  After I got home, though, my remorse vanished when I looked up the catalog prices–which added up to $130–exactly twice what I paid for them.  Sweet!

I always get to shows early to cruise the tables and pick up a cheap, unregistered handgun.  My eye was caught by a small  derringer-ish revolver–the tag said “Blue jacket  1871″–the price was $50. The dealer told me it was functional–took .22 short ammo–and was a seven-shooter.  I jumped on it.  (Okay, I didn’t really jump on it, that would have been destructive and dangerous– but I did char the fifty slightly as I whipped it out of my wallet.)  It is a lovel little thing with much wabi–chrome-plated, walnut bird’s-eye grip.  A later websearch told me it was manufactured in the 1880′s, and the value was $50-$100.

Satuday, the day started out with–not a bang, quite, but a skirl and a boom.  For no apparent reason, a Scottish bagpipe and drum marching band when parading around the arena, making an ungodly racket–I wasn’t the only one with fingers in my ears.  When they were finally done and I could hear to start  start doing business, it  started out brisk–I sold one of my most expensive knives within the first hour.  By the end of the day, I had grossed over $700, one of the best Saturday takes ever.  Most of it was in cash–only $65 in credit card sales.

Sunday started slow–I did $143 in the first two and a half hours.  Then, BOOM–I did $248 in the next hour.  Towards the end of the day, I sold my swords–and  then I fell into one of the best deals I have ever made.  I am one lucky puppy–the fact that I am still alive, and have only done minimal jail time, despite the many stupid, dangerous, and felonious things I have done in my life proves this.  Anyway, this other knife dealer comes up with a small (roughly six by 12 inches) plastic box full of knives, asks if  I want to buy them.  I didn’t catch all he said,and asked him to please tell me–slowly and using one-syllable words–exactly what he had to offer and what he wanted for it, since I wasn’t tracking too well by that time.  He comes back with ten more boxes full of knives and said he wanted $50 cash and one of my knives– one which I was desparate get rid of anyway, it having turned into a white elephant–for the lot–all eleven boxes!  Trying to contain my glee, I agreed and threw in another knife , which surprised the heck out of the guy.  (I enjoy being generous–it freaks people out.)

When I got home that night, I did a rough inventory–one box had seven knives, which I can sell for $20 each.  Another box contained 38 small ones–I could get $2 or $3 for them.  The other boxes which I checked had anywhere from eight to twenty-two knives in them.. I am estimating I got around 200 knives, which I will sell for between $2 and $20 each–not a bad return on my investment.

There were two spots of unpleasantness.  One, they renovated the men’s room–installed those heinous sinks with automated faucets–which ran cold water.   I got a bunch of  Cosmoline on my hands from a bayonet–ever try washing off grease with cold water and that sissy foamy hand soap?  Where is the bar of Lava when you need it?

The other thing was my neighbor.  Now arms merchants tend to be laid-back, mellow sorts–we have nothing to prove and are comfortable with ourselves.  But the trade seems to attract folks with NPD–narcissistic personality disorder–and my neighbor was a prime example, showing several of the symptoms. (That is, inappropriate disclosure of personal life details, insatiable need for attention, and  the firm belief that everything he might say would be of great interest to anyone.)  I followed the best professional advice in trying to deal with him–that is, I ignored him a much as possible.  Still, it was a helpful reminder of how I was before going through about four years of intensive therapy.

I anticipate keenly the next show–October 17-18.  Stay tuned!

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Okay, I’d  dump the laundry basket on the floor, and toss in  the jewelry box containing my coin collection, my Leicas, my guns, and the small case and cardboard  box containing my meds.

Scientists need help sorting though digital pictures of about a million galaxies.  To be more specific, they want volunteers to help classify them, estimating that if they can get 10,000 or so folks to help, the job should take about  a month.

To sign up to help–you do it all on-line–see

http://www.galaxyzoo.com

CORRECTION:
That should have been DOT.ORG

When my mother died the other year, I immediately started thinking of how I might spend some of the modest inheritance, and decided to up-grade my TV viewing system–which originally consisted of a 13″ JVC TV/VCR.  Over the years I added a $20 low-end DVD player  (duh!!–as opposed to a ” $20  high-end DVD player”?) and a $40 Durabrand home theater speaker system from Wal-mart.  It worked well enough, and in a tiny cabin (roughly 3×4 meters in area), I had to sit close to the TV anyway.

(Oh, and don’t waste your sympathy–mom was sick, depressed and demented–death came as a blessing)

After spending about a year learning the lingo and comparison-shopping, I got a check from the lawyer doing probate for $2000–$1500 went to paying down a credit card bill, which left me with $500.

I saw a Sony  upconvert DVD/VCR   at Fred Meyers for $99, bought it, got it home and discovered it wasn’t what I thought I had gotten.  The shelf tag said model 570–the box contained a model 370, which didn’t upconvert–so back it went.  Turned out, the floor model was indeed a 570, and as the last one–so I got it (sans box, but with instruction book and remore) at a huge savings–$79.95–they list for over twice that.

A guy at Fred’s  told me I could use a computer monitor, so I got one, took it home–and the instructions were on a computer disc.  So it went back.  The manager of the same store assured me I could indeed use a comp monitor, so I got ANOTHER one–turned out, I  coldn’t use it after all, so I  returned that one.

Then I went to Wal-mart and got a 20″ Emerson that had been a floor model–had no remote or instruction book.  That was a total fiasco, so I returned it, and got a 20″ Phillips at Fred Meyers.  That was okay but it didn’t have a digital receiver.  So I took it back to Fred’s, returned that one, and got a 20″ Sylvania.  It had a low contrast ratio, though–and what’s more, it didn’t have an HDMI input–the DVD/VCR upconverts but only puts out the upconvert signal though the HDMI output–the S-Video and component outputs only put out the 480i signal.

So I returned that one, and went up to a 26″ Sylvania.  It was  awesome–digital broadcast signal blew me away.  I never realized the anchor on KTUU-TV had such a bad complexion.

However, the one I got was all black, not the silver one I saw in the store– it looked like something from Darth Vader’s rec room.  But I lived with it for exactly one month–and then the digital  tuner puked.  So I returned THAT one, got another one, same model but in silver.

Whew–I am finally done–and the last one I got was on sale at almost half off the list price of $799.95–so I got my Sony upconvert DVD/VCR and the hi-def LCD digital TV for amost exactly $500–my original budget.

Was it worth the trouble?  Heck yes–I watch a lot of videos–I have about 150 videos in stock for my business,  most all of which I got because I wanted to see them–besides, sometimes when I want to lay on the bed and read (I have a folding chair to sit on when watching TV or eating, and the bed for reading–like I said, it’s a small cabin)–and when there are seven cats on the bed–as there were last light–I just don’t have to heart to move them all.

Besides, I don’t lose the bonus points on all the stuff I returned to Fred Meyers, so I will get a huge rebate check in a few months. 

I had a vivid and memorable dream last night about going to a Mensa convention–I went to dozens in the seventies and eighties.  I joined in 1976, was elected to the local  (Central Pennsylvania Mensa chapter, covered most of the state) executive committee the next year, took over the chapter the year after, and was appointed to national office around the same time.

The most notable thing about members is how normal most of them seemed.  Narcisstic Personality Disorder is probably more prevalent than among the genpop, and lots of boozing and sex took place at the conventions, but this is, I think,  “conventional” for conventions in general.

There was the usual schmoozing and banquets and self-congratulations.  Best thing, for me, was the workshops–everything from movie FX to stress management.  Next best was meeting celebrities–Isaac Asimov (who I once really seriously annoyed–I was drunk at the time); Margo St. James, head of the national hooker’s union ; the woman who made some headlines at the time by teaching women how to masturbate.  And memorable members, like Monica, the witch from Connecticut.  And the drop-dead gorgeous teacher from Boston, who made big bucks on the side as a high-class call girl. And the dwarf from Cleveland with progeria–she ran around at cons in this skimpy silver lame bikini.

One thing about Mensa–forget the hype, it isn’t that hard to join.  They accept one person out of every 50; Intertel takes one out of a hundred (I joined that, too), and I qualified for Triple Nines (one out a thousand qualifies).  I am kept humble by virture of the fact  that I am the dumbest member of my family, next to the dog and Muffin–the cat who ran under the bed once when our trailer caught fire–the other cats ran out the door.  My wife darn near qualifies for Four Sigma (one of of 20,000 qualifies) and her son’s IQ is simply off the charts.

Heck, my cats outsmart me on a regular basis.

My girls had fourteen kittens

Inside a single week.

I love to watch them jump around,

And hear them purr and squeak.

My cabin’s full of laughs and love,

We’er such a happy troop.

But One thing I could do without

Is tons of kitten poop.

Ohhhh–there’s KP on the carpet,

There’s KP on the floor.

There’s KP on unwary feet

That stumble through my door.

But yesterday I lost it,

And had to sing the blues–

There was KP in my coffee cup,

And KP in my shoes.

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It amazes me that people who claim to support our troops want them to remain in Iraq, where they face death and dismemberment–after which they will be at the tender mercies of the VA and the horrors it perpetrates.

The war was founded on lies, and prolonged on what is at best, insane optimism.  At worst, cynicism and arrogance.  Oh, and greed.  But in case you hadn’t noticed, Bechtel pulled out some time ago–they were supposed to restore the infrastructure, and failed miserably–and expensively.

I now join the millions of peole who say, end the war and let the Iraqis sort it out for themselves.  We have no business there.

And while we’re at it, let’s impeach a few of the war criminals in the White House.

Ahem.  Now that I have your attention, by “boner,” I mean as in goof–error–floater, if you will.  And Bono refers to the highly-esteemed Irish musician, not the late mayor of Palm Springs.  Now that we have that all sorted out, let me continue.

Bono recently wrote the end-of-issue Time magazine essay, and what a corker it was.  He displayed the sense of history and mastery of the King’s English that the Irish are justly noted for, and when I got to  “Our humanity is dinished when  we have no mission bigger than ourselves,”  I was captivated.   I almost stood up and cheered, but that would have disturbed the calm and serenity of the Mr Lube waiting room I was occupying at the time, my beloved Mazda MPV being in need of lube.

Sadly, I read a bit farther and hit “Looking inward won’t cut it. . . . We discover who we are in service to one another.” He lost me there.

For one thing, in my philosophy, looking inward will, indeed, “cut it.”  All the love and compassion and strength and hope we need now and shall ever need are within us,  right now–we have only to go in and find it, own it, and use it.  Verily has it been written–if you do not go within, you will surely go without.  But wait, there’s more. . . .

Discover?  Sir, Mr Donne noted that no man is an island, and Grace Slick pointed out that he is, in fact, a penninsula–but he is not some sort of Lost Continent.  We do not have to discover who we are.  We create who and what we are, and having created ourselves according to our greatest and grandest conception of who and what we can be, we express and declare this to the world.  Then we love ourselves for the wondrous and spiritual creatures that we are, each of us being an individuation of the divine.  The next step is to love our neighbor as we love ourself.  The step after this–and it is a biggie–is to grok that at the Highest reality, our neighbor is ourself.  This is what Jesus was getting at, when he said that however you treat the least of men is how you treat Him.

Eividently Bono has not evolved this far.  He still seems to think that “we” are separate.  Ironically, this notion of separateness is at the root of much of the mischief in the world.  (You know, stuff like wars and pogroms and torture and rape.)  It is still another manifestation of the dualistic fallacy, which ignores and/or denies the highest truth–unity consciousness.

It has been pointed out, again and again  and again through the years, that we are All One.  Every shaman and mystic and guru and mad holy man who ever drew breath knew this.  Among the Christians, the Gnostics knew this.  Among the Jews, the Hassidim, and the followers of Kabbala knew it.  Among the Moslems, the Sufis knew it.  And pretty much  ALL the Hindus know it.

And now you know it, too.

And now, what do you do?