Tonight on the news, we heard the announcement that the auto industry says it now needs a THIRTY-FOUR BILLION DOLLAR bail out.  Are you frigging kidding me? 

     We can’t afford to buy a new car, so why should we give them our tax money?  I hate to say it, but most cars today sell for more than what I paid for my house thirty-five years ago and I refuse to take out a second mortgage to buy a car.

     Last January my ancient van gasped its last in the middle of heavy work traffic never to move on its own again.  Did anyone bail us out?  If you consider AAA coming and hauling the old hulk away a bail out, well, then maybe.  Could I afford a new car?  No.  Hell, I bought another used ten-year-old car.  One might consider ten year olds to be youngsters but not when they are cars.

     Maybe if ‘We The People‘ each got our fair share of this THIRTY-FOUR BILLION, we could all buy a new car which in turn would give the auto industry a good shot in the arm.  Gee, wouldn’t that be a better bail out?  Give everyone a check made out ‘for the purchase of a new car’ heck, just for GP let’s make it stipulate ‘a new American made car.’  We’d all have new cars and the auto industry would get MONEY.  Many of the old clunkers would be off the streets.  We could save money on gas with newer gas efficient cars and cut down on air pollution with cleaner running engines. 

     Does anyone see a problem with this?  Tell me, where’s the downside here?

     I have friends who have lost their jobs during this past year that are barely scraping by, some even fear they will lose their homes by the new year.  I know parents who have had to tell their sons and daughters that having beans and rice for dinner several times a week won’t hurt them.  They’ve told their children that their Christmas gifts will be limited to items of much needed clothing; maybe they can get a new winter coat.

     The big news is that we’ve been in a recession since December of 2007.  Wow!  Ya think?  Gee, how long did it take them to figure that out? 

     Heck, we’ve been tightening our belts for more than a year.  Those of us on small incomes have been quite aware of this fact and yet it took until now for the NEWS to come out?  

     I guess for such a thing to be NEWS it takes having the wealthy suddenly discover that their BIG BUCKS aren’t going nearly as far now as in previous years. 

     Goodness, does this mean that instead of scarfing down a filet mignon or lobster for dinner they may have to cut back and have a NY strip steak, or God forbid, hamburger?  Do their darling sons and daughters have to forego one of their yearly Christmas gifts of new cell phones, Ipods, big screen TVs, Xboxes, WIIs, or another new car this year?  What a shame.

     I hate clutter, although to look at my house you wouldn’t know it.  I do try to get ahead of it.  However, when you are married to a packrat who is the son of two packrats, it is a difficult task.

     You know you have a packrat in the family when you throw things away and the next day you find that at least half of the items have magically reappeared.  You know you have a packrat when your attic, basement, and outdoor shed are bursting at the seams. 

     When you find an old, empty card for a tiny light bulb stuffed in a drawer and throw it away only to have your husband retrieve it from the recycling bin to ask you what light came from the pack, you have a packrat.

     If your mother-in-law has paper bags from a store that hasn’t existed in twenty years, all neatly folded in a six-foot tall bundle stashed under her basement steps, you know where your packrat came from.  (We won’t go into ALL the OTHER hoarded stuff.)

     If it took more than five years to put a dent in your deceased father-in-law’s accumulated clutter: yep, your packrat is his son and he brought a ton of it to your house.

     If you could hold a weekly yard sale every week for a year and still have too much clutter, ah huh, there’s a packrat around somewhere.

     I’ve decided that once spring is here, I will start in the attic, work my way to the cellar and throw away, donate, and sell all the clutter.  If it isn’t nailed down, if doesn’t have extreme sentimental value, if we don’t use it regularly, it is gone.

     If I have to, I’ll hog-tie Dear Hubby to keep him from playing junk retriever.

     Are you a packrat?  Do you know a packrat?

     Our electric company wants to raise our rates by thirty percent.  Yep, you heard me right, thirty percent.  Now I probably wouldn’t mind quite so much if in the past three or four years we hadn’t had at least one power outage every month or so.  I probably wouldn’t be quite as miffed if the power outages had only been for minutes at a time.  However, these are constant power outages that have lasted from two to over eight hours at a time.

     Can I bill the electric company for my Koi who died when the pond filters and pumps were off for over eight hours?  No.  How about billing them for damage to my electronics, will they replace my computer?  No.

     Maybe they’ll spring for a cup of coffee so I can warm up while I wait for the power to come back on.  What, not even a cheap cup of coffee?

     You don’t even get the pleasure of bitching to a human being.  No, you phone them and an electronic voice directs you through their obstacle course that is worthy of Special Forces training.

     If I’m going to have to pay them thirty percent more I want a human on the other end of the phone so I can at least vent a little.  It’s better to hear a human voice saying, “I feel your pain and I wish I could help….”  I want someone you can yell at about how your dinner was cooking and now that the power has been out for an hour, it is ruined.  Maybe that person would even spring for a hot cup of coffee…