CLEVELAND

Oops! I hope this photo isn't redundant--I need to take some more. I'm kind of lazy, and just pick one out of my collection without checking previous blogs for it. I need to organize them, but for me it's harder than for normal people.

I hate reading directions, so I just stumble around learning by trial and error. My most important tools are "undo", and "no", (and sometimes "restart").

Being a dumbass, I forgot to take my digital camera to my nephew's wedding, so I can't put photos from it in here.

Man, I was impressed by a lot of things. For one thing, my nephew (I'll call him Eman2, since he's my fraternal twin's kid), is a hellacious dancer. I never liked dancing; just did it because it was (in the 70's) the only way to get dates. And because (to me) it was a silly ritual, I never enjoyed or got any good at it.

But seeing that kid making his entrance with his new bride filled me with a sense of roads not taken. It was just so COOL! And it was clear that he really dug it, so it was genuine. What moves the kid had...so smooth, so easy...(sigh).

Then there was his bride, who for lack of a better fake name I'll call Mandy. For her dance with her father, the song played had been recorded by her. I have never heard a more professional, flawless execution. Benetar, Twain, etc. move over--she was that good (in only three takes).

I felt regret for not having spent more time with Eman2 as he grew up, but the fact is I am who I am. I'm a loner, and in an earlier time would have been a mountain man, or possibly a freight hauler--somewhere away from other people. It's not a matter of being antisocial. It's more like being a-social.

Yeah, I know: mememe. Well, it's my blog, see?

Anyway I'll bet that my gift to them was the most important. I sent them a one year subscription to the Dines Letter www.dinesletter.com . If they invest in the stocks he recommends, they'll make a great return on their money, and be off to a nice start. I'm up over 300% on one of those stocks, and over 100% on a few others. I've taken big profits on a couple, and bought back in.

My two big sisters were there, who I haven't seen for years. They hate that I still smoke.

I can't write a damn soap opera here, but there are some subsurface issues in the family relationships here. I've found that G3, my other nephew, is fond of nursing grudges, making mountains out of mole-hills, and overreacting.

In dealing with other people, inevittably there will be conflicts, and oversights of protocol or courtesy. I've always dismissed them. In reality it's really rare that anybody would personally offend you deliberately, or without what (to them is) a good reason.

For G3, NOTHING goes unnoticed, and his reaction is always an OVERreaction. He would make a good Cicilian...spending his whole life pursuing assorted vendettas.

When our father died, he left the bulk of his estate, including the house we all grew up in, to G3. G3 knew that this was patently unfair, and voluntarily met with the rest of us to make a redistribution. He came there (to Eman's house), with his reallocations all pre-determined, and determined not to bend or compromise.

My biggest sis, Carol, thought that partial ownership of the aforementioned property would be in order. She is separated from me by a generation--was in college as of my earliest memory. She was the first-born and a female, and treated differently by our parents than us boys were. There were some serious issues and resentments left in her from that time, and she never forgave it.

I don't know many details, but I do know that she resented being treated as females were traditionally treated in that dark era and prior to it. There was no Gloria Steinam to help her out. I also know that our family doctor and his wife sort of took her under their wing, and, for whatever reason, our father forbade her to see them anymore, and cut off contact with them himself (until my appendix burst when I was 13).

Probably, she rebelled--or else tried to communicate with Dad--and he felt that this couple was undermining him and turning his child against him. At any rate: BIG mistake.

Another issue was that my parents fought like cats and dogs when Eman and I were infants. We heard it nearly every night. Later, it settled down, but there was no affection to the relationship; they were strangers in the same home. I guess the walls broke down temporarily sometime later, as Gman was born.

But the conflict no doubt began when Carol was young and alone, and then when Lee, the second sibling, was added to the mix. Carol might have also felt that Lee was treated better than she was, but that's just a wild guess. Carol is inarguably damn smart--too smart to be the forst-born who reflexively gets jealous of the new sibling's treatment. I'd assume that if she does feel that way, she has reason to.

She's referred to our home as an insane assylum. But I contended, and still do, that such households were more common than she wishes to believe. Nobody divorced back then, and in most cases spouses cheated on eachother, then came home and fought like cats and dogs just as our parents did. They stayed together--probably mistakenly--for the sake of the children.

But there were no beatings or physical violence. We were safe, well-educated and fed. It was far from ideal, but...but I digress:

She tried to persuade George to split up the house. I'm not certain why, but she did.

Gman refused, and Carol let it drop. Simple, right? WRONG. Because G3 found out about it, and Carol became public enemy number one.

My reaction? Aw, for cryin' out loud, kid! Is it possible, I wonder, that G3 and Carol are similar? Carol is immune to anything I ever said about the commonness of such households, the prevalence of attitudes like my father's (and my mother's--who failed to stand up for her), the fact that parents make all their mistakes with their first children and improve subsequently, etc.

G3 is immune to what I've told him about Carol and how she felt--and the fact that her request was for her a matter of principal, having nothing to do with him or his father.

In fact, when G3 was a tot, knee-high to his dad, I mentioned to him that when his dad was his age, his head was too big for his body, and the kid shouted "it was NOT!" in a state of outrage. I saw an element of his personality right there--and was alarmed by it. I know me, too. I would

have said "Really?"

Later, Gman gave Carol and Lee the family album, which they said they'd scan into the computer and return in digitized form. They failed to do this, so G3 doesn't know what his Dad's family looked like. G3 is resents this, but it fails to rise to the level of hatred. But G3 got ahold of it, and...well, that's just ALL I needed, ya know?

Gman refuses to bother them about the photos. I understand--I'm like that too. To some extent we all are. It's on me. I'll do it. Hell, it was just an oversight. They just forgot about it, like everybody does. You procrastinate, or think somebody else was supposed to do it, or whatever.

Another thing, about our father: I believe he was a sociopath. Carol should check with her husband, the shrink. People hear that word and think mass-murderer, but most sociopaths live relatively normal lives.

They are incapable of empathy. Most of their social behaviors are rote; a matter of duty or obligation. They are born this way; they have something "missing", and are, depending on how you look at it, more or less than human. And our mother? Intelligent, but far too emotional and somewhat manic--another PHYSICAL condition. A manic depressive and a sociopath...a match made in heaven!

FORGIVE THEM!

Lee is the sister I remember. She was in highschool when we were little. We stole gum from her purse and stuff. She was well-adjusted and mild-mannered. She was kind to us--except when we had raided her purse and she was chasing us around. Every one of us are really smart, by the way (blush-blush). Carol proved it clinicly, with several advanced degrees.

I feel as if I'm the most pragmatic of all of us, though. My emotions don't interfere so much with analytical thinking. This was substantially the result of my Air Force training. I was fortunate enough not to have served in war, or be used in an analysis role, but you must understand this:

For an intelligence analyst to allow emotion or personal opinion to influence his estimates is incompetance. Emotional detatchment is CRITICAL. Had we been at war I would have been a ground-based foreward air controller or an analyst. If I played "hunches", or perhaps allowed the fact that my friend had been killed by a certain enemy unit to influence my thinking, I could target civilians or friendly units. I could cost us position. I could lose a war.

You target the arms depot, looking right at women and kids. If you don't, you'll find that shrapnel and those bullets in the bodies of americans later--aimed at them by the combattants you left alive amid their weaponry. That is reality. DEAL with it.

When you really understand this, it alters you, permanently. Emotional detachment becomes a tool, and TRUTH your highest ideal. Truth is not morality, or actually an ideal at all (I just used the expression). It is reality. A reality that includes extrapolation and permutation into the future, and on the broadest scale.

Others pay lip service to this, but it's like going to church and acting holy for one hour a week. They really don't GET it.

They will vote for a woman or a black because they are female or black. They will declare someone innocent or guilty because they like them or don't. They will recite platitudes and sound-bytes they heard verbatum, but make each and every choice contingent first and foremost upon how it will effect them personally (and damn the community and their children's futures).

Ah, there I go again--off on a tangent. But I never go off on these without reason. I'd hope that someday Carol and G3 might read this, and understand how short life is. (You tie it up--it's over MY head!) Haha.

Anyway, I also saw my favorite aunt. The wife of my late favorite blood-uncle; my dad's middle brother. Went to the Phillipines in WW2. Probably saved from being killed in an invasion by the two nukes. Came back and went to school on the GI bill. The only brother to get degrees. Worked his way up to superintendant of one of the foremost school districts in the country. Organized every family reunion. Beloved by all--especially every generation of children.

Aunt Mary, his cultured, refined, intelligent and classy wife, NO DOUBT had everything to do with the man he became. And she told me this at the reception: After the war, he was beaten down attending school and working full-time. He called the V.A. (with Aunt Mary eavesdropping). She heard him say "Hello, Susan. I need you to send me the papers. I've got to quit school.--"

He was due for a 2-week break in another week. Aunt Mary called the V.A. behind his back and asked for Susan. She told her not to send the papers. Bob might change his mind.

And he did. And she even told him to go to school full-time, and they'd scrape by. And he did. She didn't talk about how, but I suspect that he borrowed money, perhaps from her family. Which he no doubt repaid with interest.

And so he became a great man. Sweet!

Too much to talk about with the family, really...

I go back to Shelby, OH tonight to try to get an empty trailer from a Goodyear plant. If they've got one for me, I can settle into a parking place I know there for a good night's sleep and report in before my dispatcher arrives monday morning, ready to roll. I'm glad I have a Qualcom unit, which is like email--or maybe a chat room. I have a series of numbered canned messages that I send.

To return from my time off, I'll first send in my hours for the last seven days--mostly zeros. Then a 34-hour reset message (meaning that I have zero hours and am available). Then (because my dispatcher never assumes) a written message stating that I am ready to roll.

And then it's hammer-time. I've got to pile up some more cash. I'm not in a big hurry, but within the next couple months, I need to dig up my next truck, buy it for cash, and probably get it rebuilt and fixed up--for cash. Up to 25k. Then turn in my current lease-truck. They say I owe 20k on my maintenance account (which is like a medical savings account for trucks).

There will be a fight. They charged me for the replacement of a transmission that blew up only three weeks after I got the truck from them. I'll have on my attorney persona, and doubt that they'll force me to get a lawyer and sue them...but it'll still cost me 16k or so to get out from under the truck. (The other charges are legit. I know it, because unlike most truckers, I read the contract before I signed it.)

I could remain with my company, with which I've been happy for some time, but won't. I'll have two choices. One company runs reefers (regrigerated trailers) and pays 66% to owner-operators. This translates to approximately 1.75 per mile (the load charges vary). I'm currently paid 87c/mile. The reefer co. runs longer distances on average, which suits me well.

Here I'd make the most money I could without driving on ice in Alaska or hauling military stuff on flatbeds (I'd never even think about oversized loads--you got to stick with a convoy with those, and I'm a lone wolf.)

The other choice is Landstar. They pay the same percentages, but the average load charge is lower. If I bought my own authority--(or commercial truck license in my own, rather than the company's name), this percentage is higher by a good ten percent, but I'd have to secure my own insurance, etc. and probably pay for repairs out-of-pocket, but I can handle that stuff.

Some can't. They NEED that maintenance account because they blow all their own money on chrome and stuff. Then they get hammered with a $6,000.00 repair and they don 't have the money for it. I have trouble feeling sorry for them. I've saved, invested, and compounded money since I started. I leased the oldest and cheapest truck, with the cheapest insurance and the best fuel economy, and never spent a dime on cosmetic stuff.

I'll be forced to dump a lot of stock to engineer all this, and potentially wipe out half my savings, but (if I do get my own authority, which I probably will), will never have less than ten thousand bucks available for a catastrophe--and the ability to go liquid the next business day and free up more. That's just plain common sense.

And I still won't pay extra for fancy paint or chrome. I'll just have a refrigerator installed, and a better sound system, maybe. I won't wash it unless it's salted-up. Who the hell do I need to impress? That stuff is so silly!

I'll end up with Landstar anyway, so they are probably my first option. This is why: They have a network of brokers, who list loads on the Landstar website. From my truck and my laptop and with my wireless internet connection, I can shop around and grab those loads, essentially dispatching my own self.

If I want to take two weeks (or months) off, I simply do. I needn't inform anyone--I just don't take any loads for awhile and remain wherever I am...after having got myself paid for getting there, that is.

This is another reason why I want to pay cash for my next truck. No weekly truck payments. My weekly expenses could be less than 200 bucks (I think), so taking time off to scout out some real property--or to fix it up--wouldn't start sucking my accounts dry at a prodigeous rate.

I'll be keeping the hammer down hard for at least another two years before doing anything else. I still love the job and might as well exploit that to max out my savings. I got a late start (misspent youth, the road not taken, and all that). Now, I'm fortunate enough to be able to buy my freedom. Cash for land. Cash to build a home. Cash for a recording and art studio.

GOD BLESS AMERICA! I just hope the gaping rectums in our government don't destroy the industry first.

We build our own fences.

We lock our own doors.

We forge our own chains in smoke-filled rooms,

Of meaningless words like "someday".

Is it the fear of failure,

Or fear of success--

That has us listening and believing,

What a beaten world has to say?

How clearly can a mind's eye see?

Beyond misty dreams to what can really be?

We make our own reality.

I wish I'd never heard the word "someday."

-Robert Morris-