Getting Rich, Explained.

In the digital world of the 21st century adjustments need to be made. Old ways of helping each other through hard times are no longer valued. When was the last time your neighbors participated in a barn raising? How often have you had to help the guy at the end of the block drive his cattle to market? Speaking personally, I can’t remember the last time I had to help the townspeople repel Visigoths or Saracens at the town walls. These are the things that used to bring communities together. No we drift into the seduction of streaming television or the magic of short videos on the internet.

Community might be the wrong word for the loose assemblies we live in today. It might be more accurate to call the knots of people that drive home from work, park in their garage, close all the doors, windows, and drapes, and relax in front of an electronic umbilical cords that keep us attached to the things we find important. We live in hundreds of tiny villages containing one to five people. Tiny, self contained municipalities scattered along the streets of our cities and towns. Our doorbells are the modern version of Pavlov’s bells. When it rings we run frantically to retrieve our dinner, packed neatly in disposable plastic. 

How do we help each other, what steps can we take to enrich the inhabitants of the tiny towns surrounding our little village?

We can give our neighbors, the sovereign citizens surrounding us, cryptocurrency. The perfect gift for the modern recluse. Buy enough for everybody in all the tiny, self contained hamlets surrounding your kingdom. We recommend putting them in Amazon boxes or packs to make sure they bring them inside. 

If you don’t understand bitcoin, that’s fine, nobody does. It’s a modern alchemy transforming small amounts of cash into dreams of untold, decadent wealth. It’s like the Powerball only everybody wins.

 

We, here at Life Explained, want to help you. We want to make it easy for you to spread the joy. 

Introducing the LifeExplained Forever Coin.© A beautiful, hand crafted monetary unit suitable for framing. Not only is it attractive, its value increases exponentially with every breath. Soon you and the people, whose names you don’t know, will be raking in money so fast your arms will begin to ache, and your house will be too full to carry in an order of beef lo mien, with a side of crab rangoons.

 

Here’s the secret, and what a secret it is, when you buy some, the value goes up. When you buy more, the value climbs higher, when you buy all you can afford the money will start pouring in. You can never have enough, even though a little is more than enough. 

If you order now, we’ll throw in a LifeExplained Bit Coin Wallet, like your grandfather, or your dad, depending on how old you are, used to carry. A perfect companion for your LifeExplained Forever Coin.©

Act fast, or wallow in regret, it’s up to you.

Yellow Springs and the Power of the People.

This weekend my wife and I are loading up and going to Street Fair in Yellow Springs, OH. Yellow Springs is a fantastic little town. There is a liberal arts college there which pours a little extra soul into the streets, shops, bookstores. Street Fair is the festival that focuses all of the energy into a point. Admittedly it is a point that is about 4 blocks long and two blocks wide, but, it needs to be that big just to hold the power.

And it is power. It is the power of a lone sax player standing on the corner, right in front of the burger and beer place, just ripping through jazz riffs until the sensual drift of the rhythm pulls you along. It is the magic of the lone musician with a guitar made from a cigar box and amplified through a tiny speaker just plucking a blues melody in front of the Speedway station, because they let him use their electricity. Blues music can really soothe the soul, a simple progression in the hands of a master can move you to a place of such intense feeling. Even when it is played, or maybe especially when it is played, on a small wooden box guitar built by hand. It is magic.

So much magic. It is the magic of the local historical society trying to preserve the beauty of those simple streets, despite government cutbacks and apathy,  by selling homemade cookies, brownies and pies. There is a magic buying street tacos from the elementary school booth, trying to pay for a new swing set, staffed by volunteers flipping carnitas filled with pork, chicken and steak. A special magic when a child's smiling face, missing a tooth in front asks you in all seriousness "do you want it really hot?" "I want it to make me cry." and they laugh and douse it with mild sauce, smiling the whole time. You have to throw a few dollars in the tip jar for that kind of service. Tacos made with love.

You have to love the festivals in small towns, the community, even when you are not part of the
community. There is a flow, even when all movement stalls, and it does, often. The small streets are crowded with booths, back to back down the middle and on both sidewalks, which makes traffic rely on cooperation. Sometimes, though, something calls to you, some bauble, some piece of art, some exquisitely tie dyed shirt, and you have to stop and admire the love and talent that went into it's creation.

And really, that is what it is all about, creation, a community has to be a creation of all the inhabitants. It doesn't matter if it is a small town, a Facebook group, a circle of friends, it needs the life of the members. I have always been kind of an outsider, and at least when I got older I learned to pretend it was my choice. Which makes things like Yellow Springs Street Fair so wonderful me. I can go and be part of a bigger community without ever risking trying to be a part of anything. Or maybe I just like the tacos.

Spring, a time for rebirth.

Spring is a special time. If the intoxicating fragrance of flowers, the antiseptic smell of freshly mowed grass, the dizzying rainbow of greens don’t move you something is holding the lover inside you hostage. There is such an abundance of life and joy budding on trees, clawing up from the dirt, scurrying through the undergrowth, singing the happy song of life. Listen to the birds, singing, cawing, screeching in every tree, every bush, screaming a litany of joy at just being alive. Spring is the season of hope, and love.

Last year our lawn mower died, and we had to replace it.  I wanted to buy a simple reel style mower, three blades rotating around a circle, slicing against a striker plate cutting the grass in a delicate, gentlemanly way. Powered by me, zero emissions, a machine that leaves more than it takes. My wife said “no, you will hate it.” In all fairness to my wife, everybody said “you will hate it.”  So, we went and bought a gas powered monster, strong, loud and terrifying. It was self propelled enough that you could probably ski behind it.

But, the truth is I hate gas mowers, they are noxious, and unforgiving, tearing the tops off grass with ferocious velocity, hurling sticks and rocks like bullets. I cringe every time that cord is pulled, every time that engine roars to life, spitting exhaust fumes. The awful noise of thousands of explosions every minute, the rumble of internal combustion vibrating all the way up the handles and into me. Shaking my bones, my joints, my organs, shortening my life. Last year, shortly after we bought the beast it stopped working. Sears said it would take four weeks to fix the problem, no matter what the problem was, it actually took five weeks to fix and three weeks to tell us it was a plugged carburetor, and then they wanted to charge us to fix the mower. I will never buy anything from Sears again.

Anyway, while our almost new mower was off being repaired at the Sears Reeducation Camp my friend, John you can read about John here) loaned me a reel mower, it was old and he didn’t use it. John just collects things. But, I used it, and I loved it. It was everything I hoped for in a mower, quiet, efficient, and friendly. I can plug in my earbuds, and rock and roll through my whole yard. If I want to mow early in the morning my neighbors don’t even know, or care. It was the best possible solution. The whole neighborhood quiet, just the barely audible swish of blade against Mowing my lawn with Bob Dylan, even the haunting, intense, painful Time out of My Mind.

I would be crazy if I took you back
It would go up against every rule
You left me standing in the doorway crying
Suffering like a fool.

Early in the morning we walk together, greeting the day, making the grass a uniform height, enjoying the quiet of the early morning, the sun weaving odd shadows on the lawn as it peeks at us through the trees. Almost with a knowing wink, as if he were saying “don’t you two make a cute couple.” We wave, snap a photo of the diffused light reflecting off the leaves and branches and mow quietly away. A symbiotic relationship, working together we mow the yard, I get some exercise, and we are doing our part to save the world.

Even my wife has begun to understand the deep, spiritual relationship we have developed. Last week we were at the Anderson’s going out of business sale (you can read about that here), and as we were leaving she saw a new version of my old mower at 20% off and asked if I wanted it. Of course I did, I grabbed the lovely little machine, and went to stand in line, smiling, humming to myself, happy to be alive. Behind me was a woman, her shopping cart filled with garden decorations, planters and pots, little spades and rakes, a couple of small bags of potting soil asked “how much grass do you have?” Her tone led me to believe she didn’t think I would like the mower. But I do.

One of the things I used to hate about spring coming was the arrival of mowing lawn season. Now, I look forward to our little stroll around the yard, me and my friend, listening to music, cutting the grass and getting some exercise, and saving the world.

That was fun, While it lasted.

Recently one of my coworkers gave us a note pad. It was on a little pallet. It was a nice gesture, but how do you move a tiny pallet of paper around on a desk? A forklift was out of the question, and a pallet moving device (pallet jack) is too big. Fortunately Dr, Dawg had a device to shrink things. Now we are set, as soon as we have a volunteer to shrink to a size that fits our needs. Interested?

Having a brand new notepad is a liberating experience. No longer are you shackled by the requirements of polite conversation. Unbound by social mores and values that have been in place since the days of dueling you are able to tell people what they need to hear.

Finally, we can tell the other people how we truly feel. "Nice tie, Joey, did you get it at the Big and Tasteless Shop?" That guy is a slob. "Nice presentation, Alicia, next time maybe you could use a megaphone and really cause some pain." Alicia can drone on for hours, and has a voice once used at Gitmo, but it was too inhumane. "No, Bob, nobody wants to hear about your head cold, or your asthma, or your wet, recurrent cough, sprained ankle or the wart looking thing on your foot." That guy is a walking bag of disgusting ailments and symptoms.

Finally, we were freed of the restraints, the chains had been cast aside. The Company was going to be a much happier place, thanks to our little notepad. People would begin to understand the jerks they had become. It was power, a gift, and we were not going to waste it.

Yesterday we came in and our notepad was gone. In its place was this greeting card.

Well, that stinks, now we have to go find a way to have a nice day without our notepad. Trust us, when Becky tells you to have a nice day, you have a nice day, no matter how much is sucks.

Good news, no great news, maybe

All right, I have taken the leap, right from edge of sanity into the smoldering morass of electronic lunacy. I have walked to the edge of common sense and leaped, willingly into the desperate pit of "what have you done?"  I started my own webpage. I know, brash, foolish, possibly suicidal, but it didn't seem too bad.

+Jeremy Crow told me I should take the plunge, and so far he has given me solid advice on blogging, so what the heck, here it is. My Own Web Page. What Mr. Crow probably didn't realize was incompetence and potential failure have never even given me pause. So, now I have a website, and "a burgeoning online business" without ever making a small amount of progress towards any real knowledge or understanding.

I am selling blog posts. If you want a blog post, check out my web page, it says it all. Or at least it says something, and will say a lot more, as soon as I figure out how to add stuff. Which is a lot harder than typing a blog post about starting a website. And I have done both today, so you can trust me on this.

Right now we are celebrating our "grand opening" with a "BNGO" (buy none get one free) offer. That's right folks, you just tell us what you want to blog about and we will do the rest. With pictures and a video, and words, lots of words.

Check out our site, buy our stuff, and send us your money. This whole capitalism thing might not be such a bad idea after all.

Today's post was bought to you by Schmicks Market in Broken Bow*















And today's musical guest is the Michael Stanley Band singing "Let's Hear It." If you can listen to this and not be happier you and I have much different musical taste. We don't blame you, though.

*Not really, but it could be pretty cheaply, Mr. Schmick, with our website and blogging knowledge and your grocery store we could build an empire together.

Soccer, oh ok Football Explained.

Today we are going to discuss the World Cup, Life Explained, Explains Soccer, or Futbol, or Football, it doesn't really matter, it is all the same game.  Soccer (I am just going to call it soccer, if that is alright with everyone) is a game played on a big field, called a pitch.  Which is kind of nice, because it is a term that makes most Americans comfortable.  "Pitch, you say, well I remember when Dwight Gooden, (Good ol' Dr. K) would mow down batters, on his way to Rookie of the Year.  Sigh"  So, you see we are more comfortable already.

While it does seem odd to most Americans that soccer players are not allowed to use their hands most of the time, it does not bother the rest of the world at all, in fact they love it.  Sometimes, violently so.  Soccer is played, talked about and watched almost everywhere.

Of course, it does raise the interesting question, why?  Why did someone dream up a game where you were not allowed to use your hands?  And the question, who.  Who thought that was a good idea to play a game and not use your hands.  And the question, where.  Where did the person who thought is was a good idea to play a game that last 90 minutes without being allowed to use your hands live?  And, as long as we made it this far, what.  What, in the name of God, was he thinking?


Let's be real for a minute here.  Pretend you are on a team, playing in the baking heat and humidity.  And, you are running around a "pitch" the size of New Hampshire.  Chasing this tiny ball, trying to kick it into a relatively small goal, past what appears to be hundreds of hostile opponents, one of whom is going to grab the ball with his hands when you begin to close in, and boot that thing about a mile and half down the grassy continent you have just dribbled across, avoiding collisions, and theft attempts, and angry enemy combatants, armed only with your shin pads, and sweat soaked clothing.  Soon you look up and it is at the 88 minute mark (the two minute warning, for you football fans, the football played using your hands, that is) and the score is tied zero to zero.  You are almost out time, what do you do?  You pick up the damned ball and run it into the goal, that's what you do!


Then you spike the ball into the grass, and bust a few dance moves right there in the goal, and you go play defense.  That is how American Sports are played.

But, we are learning to love this game, football, and its odd beauty, and raw athleticism.  There is something magic in a sport that has not changed to add more scoring, something powerful in the way the game reveres its past as much as embraces the present. Americans might be able to love this game, but we will need to learn some new phrases, instead of "wait 'til next year," we should say, "wait until 4 years from now!"

Luck be a youtube video tonight.

Life is difficult to understand, and often it seems the chances for success and opportunities for happiness are distributed disproportionately among jerks, that wealth and power are becoming the new version of royalty in the world, either you are born into it, or you learn to do without.  Scraping by on subsistence wages, and hoping to break even before you give up the ghost.  Or as Ian Anderson sang so prophetically;

"And you place your final burden

On your hard pressed next of kin;

Send the chamber pot back down the line

To be filled up again."

Occasionally, though, you find the pot o' gold at the end of the rainbow, the golden ticket, the goose that lays the golden egg.  If you are lucky.  Or, ingratiate your self with someone who might get wealthy, and powerful, which is the path I chose.

Fellow blogger, +Mike Raven who writes the very funny Blog of Thog has decided to pursue a career in performance art, and here is his latest masterpiece.

Wow, Is That Powerful, Or What?!?!

I am not sure how many views it takes to make "viral" but this video has at least enough to be "bacterial." which is a good start.  Plus, it is about Clash of Clans, a gaming sensation that is sweeping the nation, and a good thing, too.  This nation could use a good sweeping.

This guy is headed for the big time, and has asked me to manage his first world tour. 

Mike is not an old man, but, he is not too young (like a certain train wreck teen idol whose name we will not mention) he is what we call, in the entertainment biz, "just old enough to make me rich and not need a full time babysitter."

So, buy your tickets to the "Song of Thog."  Get your "Thog" tshirts, and baseball caps, and sun visors, and videos, and action figures, and bumper stickers, and CDs.  Plus, as an added bonus for you old timers, and as tribute to stars from days gone by, we are going to release the first album on 8 track tape, too.

In an unrelated question, which gated community for filthy rich entertainment moguls is rated highest?  I was just wondering.