I watch a lot of VH1 and VH1 Classics. I prefer the programs about pop culture and seldom follow things like Brett Michael's "Rock Of Love". Hubby was channel surfing and stopped on that program for a bit the other day. I keep finding myself thinking "Oh how the mighty have fallen" and although I'm shaking my head, I'm not laughing.

The 80's hair band "Poison" was one of my favorite sources of power ballads. Songs like "Every Rose Has It's Thorn", "Fallen Angel" and "Something To Believe In" are among my all time favorites.

For those who have the misfortune of knowing only the current version of Brett, found on his searching for love in all the wrong women show, I thought I'd introduce you to the Brett Michaels that had something inside himself. The Brett Michaels that knew how to write his pain and anguish and sell it in song to those of us old enough to remember the 80's.

"Something To Believe In"



"Every Rose Has It's Thorn"

When Ronald Reagan was president the government stopped enforcing the Sherman Anti-trust laws. This allowed bigger oil companies to buy up the smaller ones and shut down their refineries. In 1985 there were 305 refineries in America, there are now 78. Some of those remaining refineries were damaged during Hurricane Katrina and her sister Rita that arrived 3 weeks later. Even if they weren't damaged and not able to keep up with demand, the fact that most refineries must be retrofitted seasonally makes for less production to start out with. Mind you, none of the refineries closed due to environmental impact problems and all of them met regulatory standards.

Most of the remaining refineries must be retrofitted to produce both gas and home heating fuels. So, part of the year gas is produced, then the plant is shut down and retrofitted to produce heating fuel. At the end of heating fuel production the refinery is again shut down and when it reopens it can again produce gasoline. Is it me, or does this all add up to an artificial restriction of supply? Created by the oil companies who are now raking in record profits?

Another thing is Alaskan oil, which was supposed to reduce our dependency on foreign oil. That didn't happen, why? I could find online that 65% of Alaskan oil goes to refineries in the states of Washington and California. The remaining 35% gets sold to Japan. I couldn't find any reason for this during my research so I asked an acquaintance of ours who used to own a home heating fuel business locally. His answer was rather surprising to me.

It's sold to Japan because the Washington and California refineries never could handle more than 65% of the production and the oil can't reach any other refineries in the US. It's loaded onto supertankers in Alaska and shipped that way because the environmentalists, who said the pipeline would kill the caribou, have successfully fought to keep the oil from being shipped over land. The only way the crude could get to the refineries in the Eastern section of the United States is for it to come through the Panama Canal, which isn't big enough for the supertankers to pass through. So, slightly more than a third of Alaskan crude, which could be used by Americans is shipped to Japan where only the oil companies benefit. Has anyone looked to see if the environmentalists are on oil company payrolls?

During the recent Congressional hearings, one of the oil execs stated that the companies were using their profits for research. Isn't that nice? Except as the owner of a business I know something. If we use a substantial amount of one quarters profits and place that money back into the business, it isn't a profit anymore when we arrive at the end of the fiscal year. It has become a tax deduction usually as a business expense. By anything I understand, money spent on research isn't a profit, it's a business expense.

The acquaintance that I asked these questions of isn't in business anymore because he predicted that his small business wouldn't be able to compete when the oil companies got done with their shenanigans. He sold out to a much bigger company which has also managed to buy out most of the other small home heating oil businesses in the area. Just like the big oil companies, this heating fuel company closed down all the other smaller garages and storage facilities. It makes me wonder how they're managing to be profitable. In addition to the kerosene or number 2 oil they deliver, they are spending money on diesel to operate the trucks. Given the number of businesses they bought, these trucks are traveling hundreds of miles a day to reach their destination. I guess there's still things I don't understand about all this, but I do understand when I'm getting screwed.

Obama doesn't think any new refineries need to be built. The emphasis should be on alternate fuels sources and conservation. Some of these hybrid cars cost more to buy than it would have cost for the gas to operate the same car in it's non-hybrid version. When do politicians get the point that it's not about the fuel, it's about having enough money to feed your family? What's the difference if we use food money to buy gas for a vehicle, or use that money to buy the vehicle? Plus, many of us still have to heat our homes. Maybe we'll all just be living in our hybrid cars?

 

There's a lot of things I really should be doing, but....

Seems to be as far as I've gotten.

On state route 46N, half way between the city of Rome and the town of Boonville sits the little hamlet of North Western. I've never understood how it was important enough to have a name. It's technically just a section of the village of Westernville. It doesn't have it's own post office. It doesn't have it's own town council nor it's own fire department. There is a building there that used to house a fire truck belonging to the Westernville Volunteer fire department. I'm not sure they allow the firetruck to reside there anymore. Not since Matt and Barry commandeered it to respond to a fire that didn't exist. Barry was a former member of the Volunteers and remembered where the keys were kept. The fire siren went off at noon the same as it does every day. He and Matt were in the local bar quaffing a few brews. A joyride in a firetruck seemed like a good idea. To them anyways. All kinds of things seemed like good ideas to the locals back in the day.

Back then, the hamlet of North Western boasted a General Store, a Methodist Church, two bars and the firetruck garage. I can't really call it a fire house, so garage will have to do. You have to understand that there was something in the air up there, or maybe it was in the water, I was never sure. All I know for certain is that residents who would now be pushing the age of 60 and over seemed to be infected by certain character traits that city folks would find...strange.

One of the bars didn't do that great a business. It was owned and operated by an outsider. He lived there, but wasn't born there, and to the "oldtimers" that wasn't quite acceptable. He had standards, did Mr. Strope. Standards that the "good ole boys" weren't really interested in living up to, especially when they had a few beers under their belts. So, most of them could be found frequenting the Half Way House. Located just across the street from the Methodist Church, the Half Way House was the place to be on a Saturday night.

That establishment was owned by a local farmer who had acquired a much younger wife. He needed something to keep her occupied and happy and running a bar seemed to do the trick. She pretty much knew when to pay attention and when to become conveniently blind and deaf. Since she had a sense of humor, that place was very popular on a Saturday night. She even managed to earn the respect of those who hung out there regularly. Without being told, they took their disagreements outside so as to not break any windows. To be sure, once in awhile a "newcomer" would manage to aggravate someone into forgetting. If that happened, after the business at hand was taken care of, the business of paying for the damage would be arranged and everyone would return to normal. Well, what passed for normal anyways.

Fights at the Half Way House were usually not something that would need a call to the local Sheriff or State Troopers. Most of them were settled without the use of guns or knives, and seldom created more than a few bloody noses and black eyes. Someone once told me that more punches were thrown than landed during one of these bouts of fisticuffs. Made sense to me, it was usually dark out, and a moving target is rather hard to hit, especially when you're seeing more than one of them. The combatants were usually in a condition where they were seeing more than one of them, which accounted for the reputations of some of the boys that hung out there. More than once so and so defeated single handedly a "couple" of guys spoiling for a fight. I guess he got lucky and connected a few to the right one.

Such was the atmosphere of a Half Way House Saturday night when Cubby got it into his head to go streaking. I guess he was a little bored, and since he was in the military when streaking was the craze he never participated. He was in the middle of his second or third divorce. Not exactly a frame of mind conducive to sanity I'd say. A few shots of Jack Daniels, a quiet Saturday night, a motorcycle and a woman. The usual recipe for a disturbance in the atmosphere. There might have been a full moon that night. Personal experience has taught me that the moon seems to have some sort of affect on things.

Anyway, Cubby was having difficulty keeping the attention of the woman he was interested in. She seemed to be somewhat more interested in someone else, and I guess didn't see what Cubby had to commend him. Nothing flashy about Cubby. Average looking guy, the kind you might miss in a crowd. Seemed to have difficulty staying married, but a lot of those good ole boys did back then. Soft spoken and polite, he wasn't exactly the life of the party. At least not until he decided he wanted to go streaking. Through the bar. On his motorcycle. Which he did.

I wasn't there when it happened. I miss all the fun, don't you know? It must have been quite a sight, because folks these days still talk about it and this happened more than 20 years ago. Of course, now that Cubby is a local business owner, nobody is sure what to believe. The only thing I know is that Cubby's mission was accomplished. The woman in question took another look at Cubby, decided she liked what she saw and the rest is history. They wound up married and stayed that way until last year, when she lost her bout with cancer.

The hamlet of North Western is a lot quieter now. The General Store went out of business as did the second bar that used to be there. These days the Half Way House is run by an "outsider" and no longer enjoys the popularity it once did. Saturday night fights are not a regular occurance and when they do happen, the Sheriff's Department is usually called. Someone was stabbed during the New Years Eve celebration last year. No longer is it a place where the local yokels hang out on a Saturday night for fun and frolic. There are a lot of motorcycles parked outside these days, but no one has tried to ride one buck naked through the bar since Cubby did it in the early 80's. Come to think of it, no one ever tried it before he did it either. I think that might be a good thing.

I'm too warm. The sweat is dripping off the end of my nose and I haven't done a thing. Well...except...help Hubby install a new air conditioner. We have a need for 2 window units in order to cool our home. One of them was stolen when we moved last September. It was entirely my Hubby's fault too. He put the old one down on the sidewalk instead of putting it in the van the way he was supposed to. He decided he needed to come into the house. Left it sitting there until someone decided it was there for disposal. They stopped and picked it up and drove away. We needed a new one anyway. That one was getting old.

Anyways, we tried to cool the house with just the one and it didn't work well at all. So, today a trip to the local Lowes and a new AC unit has been purchased, installed and it is now beginning to get comfortable in here. In addition to the 90 degree temperatures we are experiencing 100% humidity. Threats of thunderstorms which aren't materializing are a daily thing. The usual summer weather in Central New York. Give it a week and it'll change. Hopefully for the better.

This much heat this early in the summer makes for short tempers, especially since we weren't prepared for it this year. With both of us really uncomfortable from the heat and humidity I'm afraid we descended into a little finger pointing. There are just times when he will not pick up after himself right away and some of the things he uses can prove to be dangerous. He left his sawsall in the hallway and I blundered into the blade with a bare foot. He's alive, I didn't kill him, I just yelled at him long enough to make my foot stop hurting.

The heat and humidity is making me short tempered, and for some reason even though it's been over two months, I'm having nicotine cravings today. Not frequently, just real strong ones. Anyway, for some reason I got to thinking about the first summer hubby and I were together and about all the places we went and dancing we did, even in this kind of humidity. So, here we are now, 20 year later, it's a Saturday night and he's snoozing on the couch while I'm typing on the computer.

I don't remember when we got old. Actually it isn't even that so much as it is that taverns no longer have the bands jammin' on a Saturday night. Too many young folks drinking too much and getting DUI's. Too many chances for trouble these days. Not that there weren't back in the day. As a matter of fact, one of Hubby's friends went streaking through a local dancehall on a motorcycle, but that's a tale for another Dancehall Day.