Got Sign?

Not long ago I was standing in the checkout line at Target when I noticed a man and two women in front of me that were using hand sign language to communicate to each other. I was amazed at the ease with which they did this. I assumed they were deaf since they were not speaking at all.

In this world of noise pollution where the rest of us live, this seemed like a refreshing alternative to verbal communication. There is something soothing and graceful about it, like dancing with your hands and fingers. I have always been fascinated by signing and have always wanted to learn to do it.

The cashier rang up their purchases and announced the total. The man smiled and handed her his charge card. She put it in the card scanner and frowned. “Your card’s been rejected”, she said loudly. The man turned toward the two women and signed something. He could read the cashiers lips, but had no way of communicating with her. The cashier then threw the card down onto the counter and said even more loudly, “Your card is no good”! She became rude and impatient with them.

Obviously spawned in the shallow end of the gene pool, the cashier had no idea why these people were silent and just waved their hands in the air. If it had gone on for a few more minutes, I suspect she would have called security. The man picked up his card and they left. Humiliation and anger were clearly written on their faces.

I stepped forward and placed my item on the counter. I did not speak to the cashier. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth she would have a really good reason to call security. I don’t know if I was angry with her or angry at myself for not being able to help those people.

Recently I shared this experience with a friend of mine who was raised by deaf parents. He had witnessed this scenario many times growing up. He told me that people who are hearing impaired frequently appear to by angry and frustrated in pubic. They are often ignored, shunned, and treated badly by people that have hearing, but don’t sign.

I finally decided to learn this beautiful language. I have four friends that are my mentors. One is deaf, one is a translator for the deaf, and the other two are fluent signers. My wife, upon seeing my commitment to this, has decided she will also learn to sign. Since she is a natural hand talker anyways, I expect her to zoom right past me.

My goal is to be proficient at signing by the end of 2010. Gracefulness and fluency may take a bit longer. Maybe someday I’ll be in another situation where I can help someone who does not hear.

Am I a great guy or what?

Please Sir, May I Have Some More?

My Social Security statement arrived last month. Even though I’ve been getting them for years I’ve only recently begun to actually look at them. I was surprised to learn that my account was up to $253,000.00. Of course that represents my and my employer’s contributions over the last 45 years.

To me that’s a lot of money. But, I can’t help but wonder what it would have been worth had it been deposited regularly into some type of compounded daily interest bearing account or into a mutual fund that averaged 12% annual growth.

Had this been done for me by my Uncle Sam, I suspect I would have already retired and be lounging on the beach in Hawaii, at a fabulous resort….that I owned. Thanks uncle.

However, because anything done in Washington is done completely void of any logic, I will consider myself fortunate to receive a pittance of my forced investment in the Social Security System.

Mind you, I’m not complaining; when I retire I can always get a job greeting you at Walmart or taking your order at McDonalds. In my spare time I can peruse the local dumpsters for a pair of modestly worn sneakers or shop for deals on cat food at PetSmart. Hey, that Meow-Mix Tuna and Crab Delight is to die for. Slap a little on a Saltine and you’re in heaven.

Since the “Change You Can’t Count On” by our current Marxist regime will probably fail me, I can always sneak into Mexico as an illegal alien. There, I’ll be well taken care of by President Felipe de Jesus Calderon Hinojosa. I speak a little Spanish (un poco) so I’ll just blend right in.

This morning someone sent me a forward of a letter to our Messianic Overseer. The letter contains what may be the most logical plan to properly take care of us (the unwashed masses), ever devised. It’s brilliant. I wish I could take credit for it.

You're not likely to see it in the mainstream lapdog media, so here it is;

Dear Mr. President,

Please find below my suggestion for fixing America 's economy.
Instead of giving billions of dollars to companies that will
squander the money on lavish parties and unearned bonuses,
use the following plan. You can call it the
"Patriotic Retirement Plan":

There are about 40 million people over 50 in the work force.
Pay them $1 million apiece severance for early retirement
with the following stipulations:

1) They MUST retire. Forty million job openings.
Unemployment fixed!

2) They MUST buy a new AMERICAN CAR.
Forty million cars ordered - Auto Industry fixed!

3) They MUST either buy a house or pay off their mortgage.
Housing Crisis fixed!

It can't get any easier than that!!

P.S. If more money is needed, have all members in Congress
pay their taxes...

Mr. President, while you're at it, make Congress retire on Social
Security and Medicare. I'll bet both programs would be fixed pronto!

So Long, Soupy!

A good friend of mine died last week. Actually, I never met him in person, but since he came to my home 5 times a week I did consider him to be a friend. If you were lucky enough to have been a kid back in the 50's, you would rush home about noon each weekday to have "Lunch With Soupy".

White Fang and Black Tooth were his constant companions. You never actually saw more than their large paws, but Soupy made you believe that the large unruly, doglike creatures were there.

Mom would have the black & white TV turned on and my lunch ready on a small table in the living room. I would rush in, throw my coat on the floor, kick off my boots, take my seat, and wait for Soupy to come on.

He would always encourage us to eat our food, drink our milk, and take our vita-minees. He had us all saying, "Over the teeth and through the gums, lookout stomach here it comes".

During the show he would get a least one pie in the face and even though I new it was coming, I would always laugh. During his long entertainment career, he claims to have had over 9,000 pies thrown in his face.

Soupy was 83.

Flying Beneath The Radar

When I was a student pilot long ago, I enjoyed hanging around the office at the small airport where I was learning to fly. After scaring the B’Jeezus out of my flight instructor, he would hop out of the aircraft, take his heart medication and lay down in the grass beside the runway. After parking the plane I would head back to the office to get some coffee and chat with the other pilots. On the wall near the big map of the U.S. was a poster that I looked at every time I went in there. It said; “There are Old Pilots. There are Bold Pilots. BUT, THERE ARE NO OLD-BOLD PILOTS”!

Combat pilots know that by skimming the treetops they can avoid being detected by most enemy radar. The objective is to get in there, do some damage, and get out safely. Getting a fireball enema from a SAM (surface-to-air missile) could be the penalty for becoming a blip on the radar screen.

A number of years ago I saw an old black and white movie about the WWI war hero Sergeant Alvin C. York who single handedly killed 28 enemy soldiers and captured 132 with just his rifle. He likened his battlefield success to shooting turkeys. “Ya just have to get ‘em to pop their heads up, then shoot”!

Early in the movie Alvin (played by Gary Cooper) was shown as a young Tennessee backwoods boy competing in a Turkey Shooting contest. That turkey was acutely aware that people were shooting at him and did his best to keep out of sight. That crafty critter just refused to be a target and kept hiding behind a tree stump. No one was able to get a decent shot at it.

When it was Alvin’s turn he stepped forward, licked his thumb and wiped off his front sight. Once satisfied that things had quieted down a bit, he let out an ear-splitting gobble. The turkey popped its head up to see what was going on and Alvin shot it off.

I’ve decided that life is a lot like a turkey-shoot. It’s good to know when to pop your head up and when to lay low. There are times when it’s good to be noticed and other times when it’s best to just blend into the scenery.

During my hot-rod days back in the sixties I had this uncanny ability to attract every cop within a 10 mile radius every time I got behind the wheel. At the time I just thought it was bad luck. It all came to a head when my dad received a notice from the insurance company that we were being cancelled because of my horrific driving record. I still have that letter.

Dad explained to me that my problems had nothing to do with luck; it was just about making myself highly visible with my stupid behavior. Being a pilot and an ex-Marine he would frequently explain things in military terms. He said; “Boy, you need to learn to fly beneath the radar”! It took me a while to figure out what he was talking about, but when I did it made good sense. He was talking about a sensible way of living rather than a set of rules to follow.

I must have taken those words to heart. I have not received a moving violation, had an accident, or even been stopped by the police since 1973. According to my calculator, that’s 36 years. My driving record is so clean I think AAA should be paying me to be their customer. I could be their poster boy for safe driving. I contacted them about this possibility. They told me that anyone could be classified as a “good driver” if they haven’t killed anyone on the road for at least 6 years or gotten a ticket in three years. So much for playing by the rules.

The strange thing is I pretty much drive like everyone else. If there are any differences, they are very subtle. Even though I frequently drive over the speed limit, I keep it reasonable. If the limit is 40, I might do 44. If it’s 45, I might do 49, etc. If I’m in a School Zone, I will drive exactly the speed limit.

If someone wants to get ahead of me at the stoplight, I’m happy to let them run interference for me. If I’m driving a high performance car and I’m feelin’ “the need-for-speed”, I will take it out to a country road where there is little or no traffic and it’s safe to digress to my teenage driving behavior.

I have never owned or even used a radar detector. Oddly enough, most radar detector aficionados that I’ve known seem to get a lot tickets. I am always aware of what the speed limit is and I frequently use the cruise-control to keep me at a reasonable speed.

But, living beneath the radar doesn’t just apply to driving behavior; it can apply to many things in life. If you complain too much about something, you will be made Chairman of the Committee to Fix It. If you get too creative when filing your income tax return, you will get flagged by the IRS.

These days, identity theft has become a huge problem. If you have 6, 7, or more charge cards you are at risk. If you are having credit problems and you have collectors calling, you are at risk. The more credit activity you have going on out there, the more you are at risk of having your identity stolen. According to Dave Ramsey (the personal money-makeover guru), once that happens you will have a new hobby. You will spend several hours every day for at least six months trying to get your life back.

I’m certainly not implying that one should live their life in obscurity and not take any risks. Since I have spent much of my life taking risks, I could write a book on the subject of “What Not To Do”. I have learned that common sense, planned effort, measured response, and integrity usually wins the day. And, if you’re going to take a risk, make sure it’s worthwhile.

Black Monday

A Day That Will Live In Infamy!

For Whom The Bell Tolls!

The Day The Earth Stood Still!

The Thing That Ate Detroit!

Where Have All The Car Guys Gone? Long Time Passin’!

I know, I know, that’s just a bit melodramatic. You already knew that Government Motors (formerly General Motors) had formally declared bankruptcy. But, it’s still a spectacular event any way you look at it.

Growing up in the shadow of the Big Three, I believed the auto business to be the most dynamic, stable, and exciting industry in the world. In the 60’s and 70’s GM produced 1 out of every 2 automobiles on the road in the U.S. Since then their market share had slipped to 19% and their debt to equity ratio had climbed to more than 2 to 1.

That reminds me of the old cowboy movie where the guy gets shot again and again. But, he just keeps staggering on and on until he finally collapses in a heap. GM had become a walking corpse, but no one at the top of the Ren Cen seemed to know it. The world changed, but GM didn’t. The old culture within just wasn't flexible enough in this fast changing world.

GM will probably stagger out of bankruptcy a pathetic shadow of its former self. Despite CEO Fritz Henderson’s scripted optimism, GM will have a huge stigma to overcome in the eye of the public for quite some time. Full recovery, if ever, won’t be quick.

With the government running GM it’s unlikely that future profits will ever provide an ROI on those billions of (our) tax dollars being poured down its gullet. It certainly isn’t Washington’s job to run companies and as we all know, the government shouldn’t be running anything.

In the current administration’s rush to Eurofy us and with encouragement from the militant environmentalistas, GM will be pumping out tiny little gas-sipping vehicles before you can say, “No thanks, I don’t want one”. But alas, that will not discourage them. Your government will just slap a $5.00 per gallon additional tax on gasoline and you will have no choice except to buy one. "You will be assimilated"!

Oh, I’m sorry, what’s that you say? You thought Washington was working for you? Yeah, that’s right. Silly me, I must have forgotten.

When Being Right Is Wrong

I’m sure at least once in your life you’ve heard the expression, “Discretion is the better part of valor”. I’ve long since learned (the hard way) that being right is OK, but pointing it out slowly and thoughtfully will serve me well. That is, if it even matters.

Whenever my wife and I have a disagreement, I always get the last word in! “Yes, Dear”. Of course, I smile when I say this and whatever the issue was seems to deflate. If it’s something that warrants further discussion, I’ll wait for a more appropriate time to bring it up again.

A few years ago I attended a specialty printing trade convention in San Diego. It’s held each year in a different location around the country. At these gatherings there is always an obligatory round of golf to be played. Actually, even though I’m not much of a golfer, I enjoy these outings just for the social aspect. A lot can be learned at the meetings and seminars, but the real education happens on the golf course.

If you attend these gatherings long enough, you get to know the other participants on a personal level. When people are comfortable with each other they are far more likely to share information and “trade secrets”. These relationships can be extremely valuable for building your business.

On this particular trip in October the weather was beautiful, except on the day we played golf. About an hour into the game the temperature dropped about 20 degrees, it began to drizzle, and the wind picked up. Most of us were ill-equipped for these conditions and it became rather miserable.

I was playing with a couple of guys that owned printing companies that were similar to ours. I had known them from previous conventions and had a good rapport with them. The fourth player in our group was the marketing vice president of a multi-national corporation that was a major supplier to our industry.

This younger guy was somewhat full of himself and didn’t do much to hide it. He was obviously foreign, but had mastered English quite well. His clubs were expensive and his game was pretty good. He was a stickler for playing by the rules and kept a close eye on us sloppy Americans.

Even though he had risen quickly through the ranks of his company and knew much about our industry, he obviously had no concept of how the “Bubba Network” functioned here in the States. It has nothing to do with nationality, ethnicity, race, or religious persuasion. It’s all about relationships that you cultivate over time.

By the time we finished the game it was almost dark and we were all cold and soaked with rain. All we could think about was getting a table near the fireplace in the pub and ordering some Irish coffee. As we were coming off the 18th green this young foreigner turned to one of my friends and said, “So, how is our product working for you”? Caught off guard, my friend said, “OK, I guess. I haven’t heard any complaints”.

“You’re not even using our product. You’re using another brand”, said the young man, practically shouting with anger. He might just as well have slapped my friend across the face with his glove and called him a liar in front of everyone. The effect would have been less damaging.

As it turned out, my friend was not a micro-manager and had turned production over to some very capable people. This freed him up to concentrate on growing the business. By then he didn’t know or even care what brand of product was being used in his plant. But, I do know what brand will NEVER be used in his plant.

I was reminded of this incident recently while attending a meeting. One participant corrected another participant over a trivial statement that was made on a subject that just didn’t matter. This was done in front of others. I could see that the person who had been corrected felt humiliated and angry by this.

This isn’t the first time the person doing the correcting had done this. This person doesn’t realize it, but by being “right” too often they are undermining their own ability to lead others in the future.

Growing up I heard the phrase “constructive criticism” far too often and was frequently the recipient of this malignant device. All criticism is destructive, Period!

I can tell you from personal experience that being right is not all it’s cracked up to be. I have learned to be wrong occasionally and I think others appreciate that about me.

Respect is something you earn and return. There are no shortcuts. You can drive cattle, but people prefer to be lead by someone they trust.

"Cogito, ergo sum"

I Think, Therefore I Am!

Jake, the consummate hunter, sat at the back of the yard by the English garden staring straight ahead. Occasionally he would ever-so-slowly turn his head in one direction, then the other. His eyes were wide with anticipation. A long glob of drool hung from his mouth almost touching the ground.

He was scanning his domain, patiently waiting for a squirrel, a rabbit, or a bird to trespass. And if they did, they would be severely punished for the infraction. He would sit like this for hours on end. To passersby he probably appeared to be a statue, but Jake was totally alert and ready to pounce. He was there in his own little world.

As I worked at the desk in my home office, I would occasionally glance out the window to see if he was alright. He had not moved one inch since I checked on him thirty minutes ago. I couldn’t help but wonder, what in world is going through his mind. Was he contemplating the possibility of a parallel universe, or perhaps how many angels can exist on the head of a pin, or maybe just his attack sequence on the next hapless critter to wander by?

When I have to sit in one place for hours at a time, I’m usually deep in thought or I’m sound asleep. Since I’ve found that deep thought makes me sleepy, I try to avoid it whenever possible. Over the years, I’ve cultivated the ability to sleep in meetings with my eyes open. This has proven to be especially helpful in church. I can sit upright during the most boring of sermons and have a wonderful nap. Even my wife isn’t always sure.

I finally decided that there was absolutely nothing going on in his head. His mind was completely blank. Because of our ability to think and create, we humanoids tend to think of ourselves as the dominant species on this planet. But I have come to believe the dog is.

Consider these facts. Jake does not worry about where his next meal comes from. He doesn’t worry about trivial matters like wealth, poverty, mortgages, car payments, utility bills, insurance, civil rights, weather, property taxes, time, credit rating, politics, spiritually, war, peace, crime, 401K, speed limits, personal appearance, public image, hygiene, family relations, career, or even the draconian Internal Revenue Service.

To some degree, I find myself envying him. He lives “in the moment”. He doesn’t care what happened yesterday and he’s not worried about tomorrow. Food and water are regularly supplied to him. He lives in the house where it is cool in the summer and warm in the winter. He can sleep in his doggy bed, his kennel, or on the rug. He has a companion (me) to play with and a mother (Christine) to love him. He doesn’t have a single concern in life.

But, the “fait accompli” occurs each evening when Jake takes us for a walkabout in the neighborhood. Rather than do his business somewhere in our yard, he saves it up for the journey. After he’s found a spot down the street that meets his specific criteria, he drops the goods.

At this point I don the latex gloves, go down on one knee, and proceed to place his donation in the plastic bag. He’s happy to watch me do this and wags his tail with approval. However, I suspect he’s not the least bit grateful of my involuntary servitude. I am further obligated to carry this prize for the rest of the trip. What was that I said about the dominant species?

I’m not a believer in reincarnation, but if I were I’d be pleased to return as dog.

There was a farmer had a dog,
And Bingo was his name-o.
B, I, N, G, O!
B, I, N, G, O!
B, I, N, G, O!
And Bingo was his name-o!

P.M.D., ...R.I.P.

In July of 1983 Clark Griswold (played by Chevy Chase) decided to take his family out west on vacation in a brand new (light green) station wagon. The car had been cosmetically altered to mask the brand’s identity. However, with my x-ray vision and my in-depth knowledge of all things automotive, I was able to tell that it was either a Chevrolet or a Pontiac in disguise. Their cross-country trip was fraught with improbable calamity from start to finish. ‘Tis a very funny movie.

The first time I saw the movie it was 98 minutes of déjà vu. In July of 1960 my father Bob Utley (played by Bob Utley) decided to take his family out west on vacation in a brand new (light green) station wagon. It was a Pontiac Catalina station wagon. It did not have air-conditioning. In the month of July in the Mojave Desert, when the temperature hits 120 degrees you really, really, really need air conditioning. The locals probably thought we were visitors from the Middle East when they saw us racing down the two-lane road with water soaked towels wrapped around our heads.

We didn’t have nearly as much excitement as the Griswold’s did, but overall it was a great vacation. We all liked the new Pontiac wagon. It was big, roomy, comfy, powerful, and wasn’t bad lookin’ either. Thus began our family’s affair with Pontiacs.

In the summer of ’63 Dad came home one night with a new Pontiac Grand Prix (see photo above). In those days the Grand Prix was just about the sexiest car on the planet. To me, about to get my drivers license, this was a very big deal.

The two-door Prix was long and sleek with a Naugahyde (pleather) interior. The chrome shifter for the auto trans sat atop the console between the bucket seats. A large chrome tachometer sat up and stared back at you from the front of the console. Sporting a 389 CID-V8, a big thirsty quad carburetor, 3.90:1 rear end, and a limited slip differential this car was “street-ready” right out of the box. It was also a chick-magnet when cruising through Ted’s on Woodward.

By 1965 I had fallen madly in love with the Pontiac GTO, “The Goat”. For a year all I could think about was getting a GTO. (Just for the record, I also thought a lot about my girlfriend and future wife Christine.) My favorite song at that time was (of course) “Little GTO” by Ronny and the Daytonas. I think I sang it in my sleep.

When it was time to get my first new car in ’66, Dad and I went shopping the Pontiac stores to get me a GTO. Since I was only 19 at the time, Dad would have to sign for the loan and the car, and I would have to make the monthly payments. I was working full time as press operator at Utley Brothers and going to Macomb Community College at night.

It just so happened that the Rinke brothers in Warren, MI had exactly the GTO I had envisioned. Before hand, I had made a pact with my dad that we would not spend over $3000.00. But we couldn’t get the salesman to go below $3200.00 on this car. We left the dealership with my dream of driving a new Goat in shambles.

A few days later I found a new Chevrolet Malibu SS-396 that I liked almost as much. It had virtually the same amenities and performance as the GTO and we got the Chevy salesman down to $2900.00. On the street, the GTO and SS-396 were considered archrivals for drag racing. I had a lot of fun with that Chevy, but I’ve always had a special place in my heart for a ’66 GTO, even to this day.

Back in ’77 I bought a Pontiac Catalina station wagon to haul our three small boys around in. It was a great car and we had it for 11 years. It even had air-conditioning

Pontiac has been around since 1926, but it’s roots go back to 1893 when the Pontiac Buggy Company was building horse-drawn carriages in Pontiac, Michigan. In 1907 the Oakland Motor Car Company was formed to get in on the automobile business as the demand for carriages was decreasing.

A few years later General Motors bought Oakland and it eventually became the Pontiac division. Over the years millions of Pontiacs have been sold to the American public. Pontiacs have always been especially popular with performance enthusiasts.

It’s been painful to watch the Pontiac Motor Division decline to its present state. Now that GM has publicly gored it, let’s hope they give it a more humane death than Oldsmobile got a few years ago. It will soon be part of history like other auto brands that have been put to rest.

I think what GM has been forced to learn is something Ford has always known. If you have too many brands and too many models the view gets blurry in the eyes of the consumer. When the consumer quits buying, it’s time to go back to basics and get a new vision.

Pontiac Motor Division, …..rest in peace.

Little GTO, you're really lookin' fine

Three deuces and a four-speed and a 389

Listen to her tachin' up now, listen to her why-ee-eye-ine

C'mon and turn it on, wind it up, blow it out GTO

You oughta see her on a road course or a quarter mile

This little modified Pon-Pon has got plenty of style

She beats the gassers and the rail jobs, really drives 'em why-ee-eye-ild

C'mon and turn it on, wind it up, blow it out GTO

Mixture: Gonna save all my money (turnin' it on, blowin' it out)

and buy a GTO (turnin' it on, blowin' it out)

Get a helmet and a roll bar (turnin' it on, blowin' it out)

and I'll be ready to go (turnin' it on, blowin' it out)

Take it out to Pomona (turnin' it on, blowin' it out) and let 'em know

(turnin' it on, blowin' it out), yeah, yeah

That I'm the coolest thing around

Little buddy, gonna shut you down

When I turn it on, wind it up, blow it out GTO!

Canis Latrans

“Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone? Oh where, oh where can he be? With his ears cut short and his tail cut long. Oh where, oh where can he be?”

One summer night a few years ago I was jolted out of a sound sleep by loud screaming in the back yard. It took several moments for my brain to engage, but when it did I recognized the sound as that of a rabbit that had become fatally trapped in the jaws of a coyote. The sound was identical to the sound made by the predator calls that I use for hunting coyotes.

Since I moved to Rochester Hills, a northerly Detroit suburb 16 years ago, I have seen just about every kind of wild animal that used to live in the wild. Now it seems they live in my neighborhood.

It’s quite normal to see as many as 10 deer in our yard at one time, day or night. We’ve pretty much given up planting flowers. We haven’t found any yet the deer won’t eat. We’ve seen bucks fighting over does and does giving birth. One fawn was born right next to our patio. They are so common that Jake (our dog) completely ignores them. And they ignore us when we try to shoo them away.

Part of the animal problem is the “green belts” that exist in place of fences between the houses. These “mini-forests” make great places for the animals to live. They are virtually infested with deer, squirrels, rabbits, woodchucks, raccoons, opossums, skunks, chipmunks, hawks, owls, and who knows what else. So far, the only critters I haven’t seen in our yard are black bear, bobcat, wolf, and coyote. But, I may have to scratch coyote off that list before long.

A big part of the problem is the misguided neighbor that feeds wild animals “cause they look hungry”. Why should an animal scrounge around in the woods looking for food like they’ve been doing for millions of years when they can just go to someone’s back porch and get all they want. Before long, instead of one squirrel outside your window you’ll have twenty of them demanding a meal. Most of these will have been born within 200 feet of this neighborhood restaurant. Folks like this should be publicly flogged, or at least educated.

There is one animal that benefits greatly from this nouveau hodge-podge of critteria in the neighborhood. Mr. Coyote has come to town and brought his family with him. Why should he work hard in the wild to catch the occasional animal to eat when he has a smorgasbord to choose from in our backyards?

The coyote (Canis Latrans) is a fascinating creature. It’s highly intelligent, clever, resourceful, and adaptable. Nose to end of tail, the average size is about 3 ½ to 4 feet in length for an adult and will weigh 25-45 lbs. They are supreme opportunists and will eat anything from mice to deer to carrion. Coyotes can be found almost anywhere in North America. Because they are nocturnal and so elusive, you may never actually see one in your neighborhood, but if you know what to look for you’ll know they’ve been around.

Occasionally after a fresh snow I’ll see coyote tracks where they’ve wandered through my yard on their nightly forays. While raking out the greenbelts around my yard I’ve found the remains of small animals and the telltale coyote scat (feces).

One day last fall my next-door neighbor told me he saw a wolf trotting across the back of his yard with a rabbit or something in it’s mouth. Knowing his idea of spending an afternoon in the great outdoors was going to a baseball game, I knew he had no idea what he was talking about. The nearest wolf was probably 200 miles north of us. I asked him if perhaps it could have been a fox. He said no, he had seen a fox at the zoo and this was much larger. Besides the fox he saw was reddish colored and this was kind of a gray/tan color with a long bushy tail. What he described to me was a large healthy coyote.

In most suburban areas hunting is not allowed within the city limits. Because of that there is nothing to keep the coyotes in check. With the abundance of small animals around they prosper in this type of environment. They also provide a service by keeping the small animals from overpopulating. But, they’ve also developed a taste for domestic animals as well.

Not long ago there was a story on the local evening news about a woman whose small dog was snatched by a coyote. As usual each evening she let her dog out to do his business while she stood at the door and watched him. The dog became agitated and began to bark at something in the bushes. When the dog darted in to investigate the lady heard one loud yelp and then silence. She got her flashlight and went looking for him. There was no trace of her little dog to be found.

In the spring when the coyotes have lots of little mouths to feed they become especially active in their hunting. One of their favorite prey is the deer fawn. It is easy to catch and provides a substantial meal for their family.

The coyote is here to stay and caution should be observed when letting pets out at night. Even a large dog can easily be taken down by a pack of coyotes and smaller pets are just a quick snack.

We’ve all seen those signs tacked to utility poles offering a $25.00 reward for finding their Fluffy the dog or Boots the cat. As sad as it may be, if they’ve been missing for more than a day a car has probably hit them or they are now just a hairball in some coyotes scat pile out in the woods.

The Z Lives!

In 1969 Datsun (later Nissan) brought the 240Z to our shores. Less than a year later demand for this little sports car was so high that even used ones were selling for more that the stickers on the new ones. Since then the Z’s have worked their way into our hearts and into racing legend.

I was in love with that first Z car and have been fascinated by the evolution it has gone through over the last 40 years. I couldn’t begin to mention all of the stages of that evolution or the accomplishments it has achieved, so I’ll just fast forward to the latest offering.

The Nissan 370Z is the 4th generation Z and it’s what’s new for 2009. Under the bonnet is a 3.7-liter V6 with 332 H.P. and 270 lbs of low-end grunt. To quote Kramer, “That’s a lot of giddy-up”! Even without all that growl it looks like “sex on wheels”!

It’s also got some cool stuff going on with the tranny. According to Nissan’s hyperbole it’s got the “World’s first SynchroRev Match manual transmission technology, available on the Sport Package, monitors the 6 speed’s clutch pedal operation, shift lever movement, and vehicle speed. Shifting to a lower gear automatically “blips” the throttle to the ideal engine rpm for a smooth downshift. Smoother shifts help keep the chassis balanced, meaning this transmission delivers handling and power.”

Anyone that’s ever done some slalom racing and downshifted a gear too low going into a tight turn can appreciate that. Not only can the mis-shift slow you down too much, it can throw off your concentration trying to regain a productive balance between engine, transmission, speed, and handling. It can also be pretty hard on the car.

I confess I want one. I want one real bad. If I go to test-drive one I will have to take my wife, Christine with me. She knows I will be like a 4 year old in a candy store. She will remind me of the last time I tried it on my own and came home with a new sports car.

It wasn’t totally my fault though. The dealer had it parked out on the grass in front of the store knowing some fool like me would drive by and become void of any ability to resist. I was just driving by, minding my own business when I spotted it. I swear, it called to me like a siren of the deep. I stopped, jumped out of my car and walked briskly over to it. After inspecting it for a full 3 or 4 seconds, I wiped the drool off my chin, put on my toughest negotiator look and walked nonchalantly into the dealership. The salesman had been watching me. He already knew the questions and had the answers.

“May I help you, sir”, said the spider to the fly. But, I tricked him. I had no questions. Not wanting to look eager I just smiled and gazed intently at the ugly sedan parked in the showroom. He persisted, “You really like that MX-5 parked out front don’t you? You know we’ve only got two of those M-Editions and we won’t be getting anymore. I expect both will be gone by 5:00 p.m. today.”

I was trapped! Mustering all my strength, I said, “I’ll take it! Right now”! “But, don’t you want to take it for a test drive? Don’t you want to know how much it cost”? he said with a sly grin on his face. “No” I said. “I want to buy it right now and drive it home”! I thrust my Amex card into his hand and before I knew it I was power-shifting down the road with the wind in my hair and bugs in my teeth. At last, I was BMOC!

Once I got it safely into the garage, I quickly set up rules for the family to observe. For Christine the rules stated she might drive it, but only on sunny dry days and never on a gravel road. If she took it to the mall, it had to be parked at least 100 feet away from any other cars.

For my teenage sons the list was a bit longer. It went; don’t ask if you can drive it, don’t sit in it, in fact just stay out of the garage unless you have a good reason to be there. But, the most hated was the “3-foot rule”. If you have to walk through the garage, stay at least 3 feet away from the car. With their backpacks, hockey sticks, and other things they might accidentally scratch it. Our youngest son, David, came to hate the car.

I sold it almost ten years later, sight unseen, to some guy out in Las Vegas. When it was backed off the truck the guy couldn’t believe his eyes. It was immaculate. You could have parked it in a showroom and people would have mistaken it for a new vehicle. With only 37k on the odometer and at least 50 coats of wax on the paint it literally sparkled. The guy called me at midnight to tell me he was just ecstatic with it. I had successfully passed the curse on to someone else.

Back to the Z. I do digress, don’t I? The new 370Z can be had for a paltry $30k for the base model and about $38k for the gussied-up model. That’s a lot of bang for the buck these days. It ain’t gonna beat a Lambo, Ferrari, Vette Z06, or a Viper in the straight-away, but it won’t limp home in shame either.

The Eye of the Beholder

My perception is my reality. It’s the same with all individuals and societies. So, if we all believe the same thing, it must be true. Right?

What do you see in the photo above? What is your perception of it?
A. Smug rich guy gloating beside his Lamborghini.
B. Thief about to steal a Lamborghini.
C. Senile old guy waiting for his 401K to recover.
D. All of the above.
E. None of the above.
F. I couldn’t care less.

It’s common knowledge that the American Auto Industry is in a heap o’ trouble. There is some talk that the formerly Big Three automakers may even go away. Therein lies the real danger. If enough Americans, Canadians, and others stop buying vehicles from GM, Chrysler, and Ford because they’re afraid they won’t be around in a few years to handle warranty problems or provide service, then that collective perception could become reality.

Being the optimistic fool that I am, I choose to think otherwise. I believe our domestic auto industry will rebound. To put my money where my mouth is, I decided to invest what little money I have left in one of these companies. For some very unscientific reasons, I chose Ford. Those reasons are:
1. It’s an old family company. I can relate to that.
2. It’s been around since my grandfather was in diapers.
3. They have not taken any handouts from the government.
4. I have always liked Mustangs.
5. They actually have cash in the bank.
6. My wife loves her Mercury Mariner.
7. The stock is temporarily in my price range.

After watching my 401K slide into a black hole, I decided to take matters into my own hands and do my own investing. I noticed that Ford stock had sunk to $1.01 per share back in November. By the time I got around to buying some it had gone up to $1.50. I bought 1500 shares. I emptied my piggy bank and continued buying all the way up to $2.50 per share. It closed today at $1.98.

Last April Ford stock was going for over $8 per share. The 5-year high was over $15 per share. Over the next 5 years I expect Ford stock to skyrocket up to over $20 per share. Then I will sell and reverse my modus operandi of buying long and selling short.

I encourage all of you to scrape up any money you can to buy all the Ford stock you can right now while the share price is easy pickin’s. This will help to ensure that my retirement will be comfy. Thank you very much.

Oh yeah, about that Lamborghini. I wish I could tell you it was mine, but that would be a fib. It belongs to a very bright young man who decided to skip the “work ‘til you’re old and get a pension thing” and go straight to “millionaire by age 25 thing”. It seems he came up with something that competes with something else called Craig’s List. I don’t know what that’s about, but it seems to be working for him.

Well don’t just sit there reading my silly blather, go buy some Ford Stock!

Get Over It!

My guy lost the election. Boo-hoo, what will I do? On November 5th, I walked around all day in a fog of depression. But, then I got to thinking this may not be such a bad thing after all.

I consider myself to be an American first, a Republican second. I don’t think of myself as a hard-nosed conservative, maybe a soft-nosed one at best. Among some of my conservative friends, I’m now considered a turncoat. But, that’s OK. It’s been my experience that people either love me or hate me. The others don’t quite know what to do with me.

In just a few moments, Barrack Hussein Obama will become the 44th President of the United States. And I’m excited about it. I believe our country (and the world) is in desperate need of change. I don’t believe Mr. McCain could have brought that to the office.

It isn’t that Mr. Obama is qualified to be president. No president-elect ever truly was. But, that will quickly change. He faces a vast array of problems to solve from the very moment he says, “I do”. Wisdom comes only from experience and wisdom will come to President Obama.

I am especially happy for Afro-Americans. This inauguration is testament to the fact that the civil rights struggles of the last fifty plus years has been worth it. We have finally arrived as a truly “free nation”. Only the narrow-minded and stagnant of spirit could feel otherwise.

It’s time for all of us to set aside our partisan politics and get behind our new president. For two hundred and thirty three years the United States has been a beacon of hope to the world. Let’s keep that light shinning.

President Obama, we salute you. Do us proud.