Making Our Own List

Recently, while flipping around my no-cable-havin’ television choices, I landed on the “Tavis Smiley Show.”

I’ve watched his show a couple times before, but what stopped me this time was his guest, Rosanne Cash, a talented singer songwriter. I’m a big fan.

It was a fun interview. Rosanne was feeling a bit more expansive than usual, which was nice. The central theme for the interview was Rosanne’s new album called “The List.”

The story goes something like this: When Rosanne was just out of high school, she went on the road with her dad, Johnny Cash. While on the road, all the various musicians she toured with taught her how to play guitar.

At one point, her father noted her deep lack of musical knowledge, and sat down with a pad of yellow paper and wrote up a list of songs that she should learn and know.

It was a gift of a father’s deep love and respect for musical history that he wrote out line by line on that page.

Over the years, Rosanne kept that sheet of paper, and learned most of the songs.

Well, finally, after having surgery on a benign tumor in her brain and coming through the recovery, she and her husband decided to make an album of songs that were included on the original list.

Over the years, Rosanne has been reluctant to show people the actual list, and keeps it tucked away somewhere safe. Her album gives you a taste of the songs that Johnny felt were key to his own daughter’s musical education.

This whole concept intrigued me, so I ran out and got the CD. I’m not on board with every arrangement on the album (call me a purist…or something), but deeply I respect the new interpretation of these classic songs.

So I got another copy and sent it to my best friend, mother of my two goddaughters. She and her husband are doing an excellent job in passing along a musical education to their children.

But for my best friend and me, music is everything. It’s the stitches that hold tight the tapestry of our lives, our memories and our friendship.

So included in the package with the CD, I sent a letter with my idea: Our own list.

I feel that we need to make a list of our own musical legacy for her kids just as Johnny did for Rosanne.

Well, my friend took to this idea with gusto, and our list making began.

I began jotting songs as they came to me in my notebook and it quickly grew to four pages front and back. I realized…this is going to be a really long list, so I began to think of how we could sort it out to make it easier to take in.

Over this past weekend, she arrived for a fun visit, and came toting a CD she’d burned of her own first volume of The List (and two bags of roasted green chile in her suitcase).

Her idea for sorting the songs is by category. Her first volume is “Songs You Wanna Dance To.”

There will be a “Songs You Wanna Drink Beer and Cry To.”

There will probably be a “Songs You Wanna Get Frisky To.”

And then, perhaps just a, “If You’re Gonna Be My Kid, You’d Better Know These Songs” CD as well.

We’re still working on the categories, but work is underway.

Over the weekend, The Good Man and I were both pleased and honored to have yet another friend from back in my college days visiting, too.

Friday night the four of us got together at my place. My best friend made rellenos and Spanish rice. I whipped up a batch of green chile chicken enchiladas and a pot of savory pinto beans.

There were margaritas, guacamole and a LOT of conversation about the list. Our friend, an Edgewood boy now living in Oklahoma, is like a long lost brother to me. He brought many excellent suggestions for the list to the table.

We cussed. We discussed. And together we’re creating something meaningful for my two godkids. In this music they will know their mom, and their godmom, our families, our history and our love.

Ooops, hold on a sec…just thought of another song I need to jot down…

Beautiful, beautiful words.

“The New Mexico State men’s basketball team will play Michigan State on Friday in the first round of the NCAA Tournament.”

Oh yeah, baybee!

Source: Las Cruces Sun News

Oh…yeah. Well. The Lobos made it in too. Congratulations…I guess.

Nah, nah, just kidding. It’s a good day to be a New Mexico native! Both major schools made it to the dance!

All for the love of sump pump

Today, an ode to a small, slimy, oft overlooked device that is a cornerstone of storm survival.

The Sump Pump

ALL HAIL THE SUMP PUMP!

As has been plenty reported in the news, the American west is getting one hell of a series of storms.

And as I’ve mentioned here on the blog plenty times, I live near the bottom of a hill.

What that means is the rainwater doesn’t stop here, but it all has to pass me by on the way down.

Occasionally it can get trapped on its journey wending downward toward storm drains and ultimately, the Bay.

The evening of the first big storm, I said to The Good Man, “you know, I want to get under the house to check to be sure we’re not getting water.”

See? My spidey senses were going off. Something told me something wasn’t right.

But I thought, “nah, it’s probably fine” and went on about my life. The thought of strapping on the wellies and going outside didn’t sound as good as a nice hot cuppa in the warm house.

So another day rolled by, and then another. Yesterday I was out bringing in the garbage cans when I said to myself, “well, the wellies are already strapped on and I’m half damp. Let’s check under the house.”

Well, sure enough, there was water. Not so much as to cause damage, but it was getting there.

If left alone, it surely would have risen enough to cause harm to my carefully curated collection of bridesmaids dresses (I believe there are ten, at last count) and my can’t quite part with it Ikea furniture that didn’t make the cut after The Good Man and I shacked up together.

Ok, fine, I don’t have much in the way of treasures stored, but it’s *my* junk and I’d like to keep it dry!

I looked at the sump pump wondered, “why isn’t this doing the job it was hired to do?”

Then I noticed. It wasn’t plugged in.

Well there you have it.

I remembered sometime during the summer the landlord and his son were over here working. They’d unplugged the pump because they needed the outlet for the power tools they were using to re-do the unit next door (duplex house, dontchaknow).

And hell, back in July, there was no real rush to plug it back in.

In January, I leapt upon the cord and shoved it in the socket but quick.

And….

Nothing.

What? Nothing? Is the pump broken? Holy crap, this is chaos! Whatever am I going to do!?!?!

Then my brain, finely hewn by my land grant education, got around to mentioning to me that I might wish to take the pump off the concrete and place it ever so gently into the pool of water.

So I did.

Oh sweet mystery of sump pumping at laaaaast I found you!

That little pump worked non-stop to get all of that water out. Oh sigh of contentment.

Now my heart warms as I hear it kick on every ten to fifteen minutes to remove more water.

Oh happy slimy sump pump, how my satin and sequined and overly bowed dresses love you so.

Here it is, my actual fabulous device! I heart it!

Set My Mascot Free!

Source: Pistol Pete holstered for Utah game

Ugh! They are making the NMSU mascot sit a game.

For what they are calling “a mustache-ripping incident”

Um, oh…

*chuckle, giggle, snort*

Ahem.

The incident occurred with Utah’s State’s mascot, “Big Blue” the bull.

I’m wondering why Pistol Pete didn’t up and rip something off the bull, eh? We *are* and Agricultural college after all! We know how to do such things.

*giggle, snort, wipe eyes*

Yes, well. This is all very serious and, *guffaw*, ahem, disciplinary.

The bull has already served his sentence, the same one game suspension.

And I suppose after all of this, Pistol Pete will have learned his lesson.

Despite the mustache violence, we’ve still come a long way since my days at NMSU where, when the opposing team made a basket, we’d shout “nice shot, assh–e!”

Hee!

Go NMSU!

Sometimes, the cranky old man is the smartest man in the room

Back in the good ol’ days, that wild time known at the 1980’s, I was full of youthful optimism, and I was attending New Mexico State University.

My undergraduate major was Finance.

Ooh, those were heady days when I wanted to be a stockbroker when I grew up. This was back before I realized that “stockbroker” and “salesman willing to sell underperforming securities to your family in order to make commission” were synonymous.

While the dream was still alive, I took courses at NMSU from some really fine professors with a lot of experience.

Among them, several courses with Dr. Lowell Catlett, now the Dean of the College Of Agriculture, and a noted experts on futures trading.

There was also Dr. Clark Hawkins, a man who had actually worked as a commodities trader on the NYSE floor. In his words, he had tried pretty much every investment vehicle out there…and lost money ’em all.

Dr. Hawkins was a strange little man. Wiry, small of frame and nasally of voice. He referred to himself as “Uncle Hawkey.” He often told us that, as Finance students, we should have our Wall Street Journal under one arm and our financial calculator under the other.

And this was to be done while wearing a tshirt imprinted with “Uncle Hawkey’s Ten Investment Rules”.

At the end of each semester, he gifted us with a copy of the ten rules.

Recently, I was searching around in all the old boxes under my house, picking through my crap looking for things I can sell on eBay.

How ironic, then, that I should come across my framed copy of Uncle Hawkey’s Ten Investment Rules in my search for something to sell for money.

Well, I sat down and read the rules.

Goddamn if Uncle Hawkey wasn’t right. He was right then. He’s right now. Right is right.

Now…snap your Wall Street Journal in place, place your finger over the “future value” button on your calculator and get set.

Here are the rules:

1. Don’t invest in things you don’t understand.

Ah, every single customer of Bernie Madoff…take note!

2. Remember the fundamental mathematical rule of finance.

You know what? I don’t.

I suspect this was about future value and present value of money. He was a stickler on that.

Because I understood and could calculate time value of money, I kicked the salesman’s ass when I bought my first car.

I got that salesguy demoted because he was such a dunce. Thank you Uncle Hawkey.

3. Know the difference between investment and speculation.

Oh I remember this one. I rant about this one. A lot.

Let me just say his own words, with the same shouting nasal tone…

INVESTING IN THE STOCK MARKET IS THE SAME AS GAMBLING!

If you do not think putting your money in the stock market is gambling, then you need to re-examine yourself and your money.

Sure, it may return better odds than Vegas, but not always.

For those of you wailing and gnashing your teeth in the current economic downturn because you had all your money in the stock market, I suggest you get this rule tattooed on your arm and look at it daily.

4. Don’t invest or speculate in financial securities that you can’t easily find quotes on.

Dangling participle notwithstanding….Uncle Hawkey was right.

Once again, I’m calling friends of Mr. Madoff….paging investors of Mr. Madoff….

5. Don’t buy a closed end fund on initial offering.

Oh yes, everyone gets oh so very excited about IPO’s. Especially during the dot com boom of the early 2000’s.

Look how well that worked out for most people.

Right.

But Uuuuuncle Haaaawwwkkkey, people in his class would wail…what about _____ and they’d name some company.

And by tracking the history of the stock price, he’d show them how they were wrong. How the price would be driven up on IPO and would, over time, settle back down.

He recommended waiting out an IPO for a company you liked, and buying the shares after you the initial flurry of IPO wore off.

6. Be skeptical of people who say they can forecast the future.

Well, if more folks did this, then people like Jim Cramer would be a lot less interesting, wouldn’t they?

7. Don’t do business with a man you can’t trust.

Too true. I would also substitute “man” with “company.”

And yet…how many of us do anyway? (*coff* AT&T *coff* Comcast *coff*)

Honestly…it’s getting a lot harder to find honesty these days.

8. If the brokers are pushing it hard, it probably should be avoided.

So simple. So true. Yet….

Paging followers of Mr. Madoff!

(seeing a trend here?)

9. Long range planning gives the dangerous notion that the future is under control.

Oooh, this one hurts.

Remember how great things felt in, oh, say mid-2008? When we all had some money and maybe a big mortgage on a great house and the financial future looked, well…bright?

Yeah.

I broke this one. Uncle Hawkey, wherever in the world you are now, I give it up to you.

You knew. You always knew.

10. Don’t lose money.

Well sh*t. I broke this one too.

However. Slowly but surely, it’s coming back.

Because Uncle Hawkey warned us about short term and long term.

My wise investments will, eventually, find their way home.

And finally….

11. (Bonus rule) Remember Rule 10

Fair enough.

And so…as we now dive headlong into a financially muddled 2010…

May we all remember Rule #10

Thank you Uncle Hawkey.

As a post script…

In my senior year of undergrad, Uncle Hawkey decided to go on a sabbatical from teaching.

He invited us, the students that he had so tortured, to join him for happy hour at El Patio. Ah, that venerable old bar (former home office of the Butterfield Stage).

Uncle Hawkey slapped down a credit card and said we could have all the beer we wanted. Nothing else. Only beer.

Oh, the pitchers flowed that day, and Uncle Hawkey paid for it all.

Maybe all of us college students were, on that day, a good investment.