The float will soon be history

“Bottom line for the banks: Instead of it taking two to four days to clear a check, it will take no more than a day.

Bottom line for consumers: If you write a check in the morning, you’d better have the money to cover it in your account that day.

“Bank regulators who come up with these laws are often out of touch with how the everyday person lives,” Gillen says. “A bank examiner doesn’t bounce checks because they would lose their job.”"

Capitol-U Ugly, if you’re a floater. Nice if you’re a Tiny Bidnessman who has checks returned three weeks after my services have been rendered. Fan-freaking-tastic if you’re a salesbot pushing high-volume data transfer products. Two out of three is a win.

Just flew in from Houston, and boy! Are my arms tired!

Kevin, sincerest of apologies for not connecting, or even trying to. 15 hour days precluded any fun that involved anything outside of the customer location or the Courtyard at I-10 and Dairy/Ashford Rd. FWIW, I’m crestfallen that I didn’t get to introduce the out-of-towners to the Beck’s across the street from us — but they were closed by the time we got home every night, the bastards. Two of them did fall in love with the greatness of Whataburger, and one enjoyed the icy Shiners from the cooler at the Courtyard — that’s Texas, certainly. Frankly, though, lunch at Pappasitos sucked more money out of the Amex than anything. Of course, it was as bland as something from a teevee dinner marketed to NYC folk.

Gawd, I’m behind on everything, including, and especially, my drinking and my poker. I’m quite disgusted that I don’t have a rich uncle that fawns over me and trys to buy my love to fill out his childless existence. I deserve that.

Be sure to check out this week’s Carnival of the Capitalists, hosted by DFMoore. Our own Poker Blogger, Intrepid Card Player, made the cut for his great post on United’s customer problems. Plenty of other good bidness writings, too — like Rob’s outlook on Always Be Closing. Good stuff.

The Intrepid Card Player is one of the poker blogger mafia, but he’s also got an ounce or ten of business sense in him:

People riding United and United Express are pissed. I mean, beyond just unhappy that their flights are late and they have to walk 10 minutes with bags and shit to make it to their next flight, down right pissed off!

A jarring illustration of what goes wrong in the airline game all over the US. Reckon any muckity-muck will read it and glean an understanding from it? My money says: DOUBTFUL.

One of the pleasant surprises this week was my comp plan, which as all good peddlers know, is the contract under which you will be paid for the forthcoming year. The at-plan number is very sweet, but it’s that at-plan quota I’ve got to fill that is pretty damn intimidating — given that I will be part of a team that is building a new high-tech market tracking category for the zoomy analyst Big Wheels. Considering that my reason for existence in this world is solely to generate cash money, this here little project will be taking a significant back seat. As in, the very cheapest seat on the very last row on a 777. Doesn’t mean I won’t be posting, just that anything that pops up here will have no purpose whatsoever, other than to entertain my ownself with my peurile typings.

First Sunday night in 10 months without something on the calendar for next week, Tiny Bidness-wise. I’m kind of at a loss as to what to do with my weekends now. Don’t misunderstand…there are a million things that need doing, just none that are as immediate as nextweek. I don’t expect any last minute reservations, what with the holidays upon us, followed by typically crappy Texas weather in January and February. So, barring severe global warming, I’m pretty much done with serving the public for probably 90 days.

As much as I bitch and moan, I really like doing it. Yeah, really. I think it’s important for city people to have a place that is available for communing with nature, even if it takes a $60KK Hummer H2 to get there. Hell, I’m a city people. I spend 5 days a week here, with 60 different places to eat or drink in walking distance. By the end of that week, I’m ready for chirping birds and gurgling brooks and spreading trees.

At some point in the next thirty days, I’ll do the books and I’ll find that I’ve again lost money here in Year 3. Really, the only question is how much. The main drag on the profit is the tractor, and that will be paid off in May of 2004. After that, it’s deciding what I want to do next. Expand? Contract? Re-invent? Advertise, for goodness’ sake? I dunno. After three years, you really have to look hard at what you’re doing, and see if you want to keep doing it. For example, I know that the Luxury Camping is a money-maker. That is a “spend money to make money”, cash-flow conundrum right now, though. Each one of those things costs about $4000 to set up, and loads of time and energy to maintain. The good news is that I know now what it takes, where before we were flying blind, so I won’t be making any uninformed decisions.

The other thing is the personal side. Do I want to spend 36 weekends a year washing dishes and sheets? Making beds and delivering firewood and scrubbing toilets? There’s another “I dunno.” If I was rich and/or retired and not working a regular job, I’d say “sure…why not?” Right now, though, it’s a toss-up. Cattle are looking mighty inviting, since you don’t have to wipe their asses for them.

Anyway — that’s that. The only thing left for a while is the He-Man Woman-Haters Campout. I’ve got to get with Otis to plan that, and when I know the date, I will post it, and it is open to all He-Man readers. Just bring cash — there will be a Hold-Em game at some point. But if you’re in the neighborhood, do stop by anyway. Like I say, by the end of the week I’m pretty tired of Dullass and ready for some Sonic and some Brazos. Look for the Big Red Ford…if I’m in, I’ll stand ye to a beer.

Two nice surprises for me when I got here to el rancho this evening:

Numero Uno, waiting for me in the mail was Cornell’s “Songs of South Austin.” Twenty-three (23) wonderfully wacky and awesome songs, done the way only Cornell and Co. can do them. They’re not all originals like I thought, but what the heck…they’re all new arrangements or whatever the musical types say. I’m already blissed out from hearing the fabulous Miss Marti Brom. Sample lyric from Cornell: “I’m not drowning my sorrows, I’m just taking them for a swim.” And there’s a bonus, too…ol’ Justin Trevino is singing on here. Smooooove, babies Looks like he might be a permanent addition to the band. And there’s the singular Blackie White singin’ and playin’, too. Johnny Bush, too. Shoot, this guy is the Frank Zappa of Western Swing. I deeply feel the need to see and hear the Cornell Hurd Band live, like really, really soon. And there it is — Dec. 12, Blanco’s in Houston. ROAD TRIP!!! I’m not kidding, either — Cindy, make your plans…we’re leaving at noon. And make peace with your God, cuz I’m driving.

Numero Two-o, an owl of some sort has taken up residence in the oak tree outside my window. I can hear him hooting now. I walked out on the front porch a few minutes ago, and he screeched, and I almost went poo-poo in my pantalones. I sure hope he’s here for good, but I suspect that he’s just passing through, as I’ve never run into an owl down here before.

The one (1) bad thing is the frikkin’ pantywaist church group that I rushed down here to handle went and cancelled for tonight because of the weather report. So call me on the cell, jackass, that I may either a) turn around and go back to Dallas to spend a child-free evening with The Wife and the Mumbles, or b) just ease back a bit on the long skinny pedal and save on the gasoline. That’s a prime example of why I hate dealing with church groups, though. They’re about as reliable as a dime-store watch. If things ramp up the way I want and expect in my day job, I’m quitting this campground baloney. Like I told Kevin, I’ve only got five more tractor payments left, and once they’re gone, I’m likely to be not such a benificent old coot. I still like doing the Luxury stuff, cuz that’s some primo dinero, but I’m sure enough tired of these folks who roll through begging for a discount on the tent camping, like said church group. I guess they think the grass mows itself, and that the Good Lord himself zaps the commodes clean every Friday morning.

I don’t think you could find a more condescending piece of socialist McTripe than this baloney from Dana Blankenhorn, a man who never fails to remind the faithful reader that His Own Self is a graduate of Rice University.

Thus we have the McJob. McDonald’s can McScream all they McWant, their McMarketing matches the McReality. It takes no skill to work at McDonald’s, and the vast majority of workers there don’t make what we used to call a “living wage.” When the company advertises for workers, it even acknowledges this, specifically going after teens, lonely old people, and bored housewives who just want a little extra, rather than what anyone might call talent.

No skills? No talent? Whoa — that’s a pretty goddamn broad indictment. Personally, I’d love to see one of these typical ivory-tower commies feed 500 people over a lunch rush working whatever part of the restaurant they felt most comfortable in. What’s it gonna be, Dana? Grill? Register? Drive-thru? Fries? Shakes? But that’s unfair. For all I know, Dana raises his own wheat with which to make his own bread upon which he lays ham he slaughtered and smoked himself and cheese he extruded himself topped with mayonnaise made from eggs he laid himself. I’m sure, after reading this, that Dana has forsaken the modern restaurant, as well as any other activity, like shopping in stores or drinking in bars, that requires the explicit cooperation of the untalented and unskilled.

But ya wanna know what else matches McReality, you over-educated egghead? Lots and lots of the teens that get employed by the hateful Golden Arches don’t stop there. It’s not the last company they ever work for. They go on to other companies with skills that they wouldn’t get otherwise, for the simple reason that they are in an environment that allows them to gain experience and responsibility if they so choose it. And guess what? They succeed. Yes! Those ones with no talent and no skills.

But the point is McDonald’s is not alone in this. All the big restaurant chains, all the amusement parks, all the retailers, they all rely on low-cost, low-value labor. Rather than using technology to free people, they turn their stores into the equivalent of early 20th century factories.

And so we have a race to the bottom, within American society, as well as throughout the world. We create jobs that anyone can do, so we’ll take anyone to do them.

A race to the bottom? The bottom? Believe it or not, but that’s where most people start, dude. It’s a race to the top, and these low-paying, entry-level jobs that Blankenhorn sneers at is where the race starts. I’ll say it again, and play the part of the Common Man, but not everybody in America goes to Rice. Or has the opportunity to go to Rice. Or even wants to go to Rice. Some of us out here actually enjoyed working like a dog and rising through the ranks in this or that McJob that you find so “untalented”.

See the problem? Just as Ford and others used machines to turn men into the slaves of 20th century factories, so McDonald’s and Wal-Mart are using Moore’s Law to enslave people to McWork at McJobs that don’t McPay enough for even a modest McFamily.

See the problem, Dana? Wage-slave jobs aren’t supposed to feed McFamilys. They’re a starting point for teenagers who want their own money, they’re a place to go after you retire if you don’t like sitting around the house, and they’re an outlet for “bored housewives.” Just like it’s been for years and years and years, dude. And they’re also places where you can learn a hell of a lot about business, a place where you can learn vital skills, a place where you can end up supporting a McFamily if you’ve got enough gumption and get-up-and-go to stick with it longer than the attention span of the average college freshman.

Until that changes Moore’s Law will continue to enslave more-and-more people, unwittingly, in McJobs without McPay, and in McLives without McMeaning.

I eagerly await my Honorary Dana Blankenhorn Full-Boat Rice Scholarship for the No-Skilled. I’m sure I can make something of myself, even with the few McMeaningless years I have left.

I recognize that this is a horribly written piece of crap, and I might come back and touch it up (but probably not). But by god, I get tired of people slamming the companies that provide jobs, and slamming the people that want them and take them. It’s almost like the American Work Ethic is entirely dismissable as a worthy quality if you don’t have a frikkin’ college degree, and that’s total bullshit. I’m also just completely unaware of what guys like Blankenhorn would have us do. Everybody be a journalist? Everybody be an Electrical Engineer? Everybody be a teacher, or a lawyer, or a doctor? Someone has to change the oil in your car, someone has to fry up the burgers you ram down your snout, someone has to stock the shelves with $30 bottles of wine. Discouraging people from doing it is just downright pinko. Sneering at the ones who do it, and do it well, is just incomprehensible to me.

So sayeth the Fat Guy (talentless ex-McDonald’s fry cook, front counter & swing shift mgr., 1975-1980), anyway.

Hell. The durn broadcast teevee dealio of the Tiny Bidness is tonight. 9PM on Fox-4, sometime during the newscast. I forgot to blog that. It’ll be on again tomorrow morning, and Saturday morning, too. I don’t think they have a streaming video feed.

UPDATE: Well, eff me. Looks like we got bumped. Hopefully, all the way to March.

I’ll be here waiting for the H-wood moguls to call. That’s what us celebs say - “H-wood.”

Well, I’m glad to have that out of my hair. I’m really excited that Cindy’s concept was deemed interesting enough to be captured on film and broadcast to the 16MM people that the Fox signal reaches here in N. Texas…but I wish I could push a button and have the air-date be sometime in March or April, when I don’t already have a full calendar of bookings.

They probably got about 15 minutes of me on tape, and you know that will be edited. I hope they can edit out the hayseed, but I doubt that’s possible. I wish The Wife had been there to do the on-camera stuff, as I am no glamour puss and she’s hotter than a $2 pistol. Oh, well…even if I look like a dork, the idea is to get the name and the concept out there. It’s not like I’m not a dork, anyway.

It should air in the next three weeks. I’ll be sure to post a link if there’s one available. Otherwise, for my Tejas readers (all five of yall), I’ll post a time so you can Tivo it for posterity.

Getting ready for the teevee dudes. Click MORE for (lots of) pictures of my Lovely Bride’s brilliant ideas as executed by a hayseed.

I’m mainly doing this so she can make some suggestions for additions or deletions.
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This week has been a blast so far. It feels so good to be working again.

And I got me a nice new laptop, so I’m spending all my spare time re-installing all the apps I’m used to having.

I got a Caddy upgrade at the rent-car joint when I got to town, and it has that XM Satellite Radio. Which rocks my lame ass severely. I want one NOW! But I think a far better thing to do is to sponsor some sort of charity deal to buy one for Jack Sharp since he lives here and doesn’t have anything at all to listen to except his CDs. Jack-o, there are four stations right in a row that are perfect for you, the best one being Cross Country, hosted (apparently morning noon and night) by the one and only Webb Wilder. I haven’t heard a single song repeated, I have heard several Johnny Cash songs, and even more amazingly, I heard some Jay Johnson. Jay’s an old Dallas boy, but there it was, live on my radio in Minneapolis…Gumball Wedding Band. I even called and left a voice mail for The Wife, I was so surprised.

…I’m feeling kind of bloody right now.

Not one, but two, LuxCampers have cancelled their reservations for this weekend. Far too late for me to fill it in with any last-minute or wait-listed folks. Far too late for me to NOT spend the money I don’t really have getting prepped. Far too late for me to avoid doing the hour’s worth of work it takes to set them up, and the hour’s worth of work it takes to take them down. Far too late for me to go on down the road to the blues festival that one of my partners is putting on, and have a good time.

So Monday will introduce a new wrinkle at the Tiny Bidness. Anything that requires me or my brother to lift a finger will require 50% down, fully refundable up to 48 hours before scheduled arrival. Non-refundable after that, and NO rain checks. Dang, I hate doing that, but looking back over my email and my phone log, there were at least ten other potential reservations I turned away because it was solidly booked for this weekend. I quit after ten, because my vision was blurred from the tears in my eyes.

The life of the small businessman* — it stinks, my brothers.

In other news, I’m enjoying the heck out of Seabiscuit. I bought it because it was this month’s selection for the Lazy Dog Literary Society. I won’t be able to go to the meeting, because I’ll be shivering in shivery Minnesota. But I always wonder at choosing non-fiction books for a book club. It’s not like you can dig real deep into motivations, or allegories, or metaphysical happenings like you can in a novel. Oh, well — they’ll have fun figuring out who in the courthouse is Red Pollard and who’s Charles Howard, and that’s about all they care about doing anyway. That, and drinking a few cool ones under the high-faluting literary guise of a book club. Those, and crowing about their current cases and how they put the high bitch on some two-time loser. Durn lawyers.

* So I went and threw an upgrade to one of my No-Worries campers. Maybe they’ll tell their friends about that nice old man Chaffin down there in Glen Rose.

That’s right - I’ll be gainfully employed again come Monday. Got the offer letter yesterday, gave a verbal OK (like I could even conceive of saying ‘no’ !), and off I go on Monday for a week’s worth of indoctrination training.

The company I’ll be working for is actually a spin-off from the first company I ever started peddling for a hundred years ago. A few of the original cast bought up the few good parts that were left after an acquisition that didn’t quite work out, and now they’ve got a new network product that goes GA in mid-October. I get to be part of the launch! This is the kind of stuff I love doing: small company, family atmosphere, team-oriented, partner-focused. I’ll be selling a niche product to the Fortune 500 that is one-of-a-kind, solves a common problem, and has a decently high barrier to entry. It should be a blast, and I’m pretty pumped about it.

The bad news (if you can call it that) is they are based in Minneapolis. I’ve willed myself to forget my past experiences with Minnesota winters, simply because I don’t think it’s natural for man to spend half the year encased in ice. I guess I’m gonna have to buy a coat. Probably some gloves, too.

This joint will probably drop down the old priority list, too. But I find that I’m far more likely to post when I’m engaged in bidness that’s not ranch bidness. For whatever reason, when I’m working the Tiny Bidness, I just really don’t care much about the blogosphere…probably because there are always a million things that need doing around here, and I enjoy doing that outdoors work this time of year in that I don’t start sweating until oh, 10AM instead of 6AM. It’s really gorgeous here. The leaves are turning a little bit, the pecans are starting to split their hulls (and will soon drop), the grass isn’t growing an inch a day. I’ve still got an excellent crop of grass burrs in front yard, though — if anyone has any remedies for that short of nuking the entire yard with Roundup, I’m all ears.

N.B. I ain’t moving to Minnesota — I’ll be covering the Great Republic and it’s hanger-on states.

Now what am I gonna do with all these campers I’ve successfully marketed to for the last three months? I need a clone.

Today might be a good day to make good on a promise I made to myself. I just found out that my durn neighbor is now running a campground. Lord only knows how much business I’ve lost thanks to that. I know of least one batch, though — the jackass that made a reservation for dozens, and then didn’t show up when he said he would. Some of his buds drove in here mistakenly, and hipped me to the mistake. I can’t blame my neighbors, certainly. They’ve got miles of riverfront, where I have to measure mine in yards. Tons more room for people. And a lot less overhead.

That promise I made to myself is to borrow some money, put in more unique Luxury-ish stuff, shut down this place as a public campground, and go upscale. I think it’s got legs, but I’m a stoopid optimist.

Either that, or borrow some money, buy some cattle, and do what I intended to do all along. Until it gets too much to bear, then move the herd over somewhere in Bosque Cty.

Either that, or don’t borrow a nickel, let it go fallow, harvest my pecans, do some fly-fishing for a couple of years, and then sell it to the developer boys. I’ve got a church going up on one corner, and a damn gas station on the other. It’ll probably end up as a truck-stop, since I saw a pump behind the house. Won’t that be fun? Tight-jawed, speed-balling, gear-jamming truckers grinding away 24×7. Lot lizards running loose. Deputies with gumballs running all night.

Either that, or just wait it out as long as possible, and be Mean Old Man Chaffin, and never sell out, and call the cops about the trash every Saturday, and the overflow parking on my land every Sunday, and shoot out the lights and the speakers at the truck-stop. I need Swen to come down and sight in my .284 for me.

I hate this, I really do.