Remembering those ancient days of the $10-fillup or less

Last week I was thinking on something or the other when I wondered about gas prices. I wasn’t wondering why gas was so high or will we ever gas priced return to $1-something a gallon? No, I was just trying to remember when gasoline was “cheap” during my lifetime.

I was specifically trying to remember what it cost me to drive back to far East Texas from San Diego when I was in the process of leaving the Navy. This was in 1978 and I had done a favor for a shipmate who in trying to repay me asked what it was going to cost for me to drive home from the ship. I think I told him “about $40.”  Looking back and doing some calculating, I might just have hit the nail right on its head.

Going by the theory that sooner or later you will eventually locate whatever you search for on the Internet, sure enough I found an historic listing of gas prices from 1929-2011. The table, published by the federal government’s Department of Energy was quite helpful in providing average gas prices. And an average was probably just what I needed since I was driving into different geographical areas, which as is the case today, have a wide range of gas prices.

Of course, I had to estimate the gas mileage my 1975 Toyota Corolla got and do some figuring on the actual miles from San Diego to Home.

It is an interesting little table though. It kind of provides some insight into history, such as when gas prices really took a turn toward the upswing. For instance in 1975. This was the year I bought my first new car and the gas went “way up.” I remember that pissed me off pretty good. In that case, the average price of a gallon rose from 39 cents to 53 cents. But in today’s dollars it represents about an increase of 50 cents. And that was a pretty good little chunk of change to take out of your budget back then.

Consider too that the average gas prices had remained in the 30-cent range for about 17 years — from 1957 until 1974-75 — when the price made a 14-cent leap. The prices just kept on going up and up. The last year we saw an average price less than a dollar was 1989. Although the average prices had never been that low again we have seen days when the prices would stay in the high-90-cent range, this being in the early “oughts.”

Call me wistful. Or call me a gas truck. It is interesting to know what gasoline prices looked like in bygone eras. It is also a handy reference to figure out the price of other items and the cost of living in general since petro generally sets prices of many assorted household goods. Read it and smile, not weep.

Yes I am still here, just been busy

Believe it or not I sometimes get busy. Such has been the case this week. I have had to work partial evenings this week and am pretty happy to do so as this would ordinarily be one of my “off-cycle” weeks. At this point I am having to work a full part-time schedule to stay afloat as I don’t always get the same number of hours, and thus the same amount of money, each week. Got it? Good. I believe I have an interview scheduled for a story around 1 p.m. Friday, but after that, I can return to the old EFD. I miss her/it so.

Intriguing news and the rest of the deep, deep beat

Some intriguing news has hit the electricical messaging system. When I opened my eightfeetdeep e-mail box, I received a message from one Salim Barywani whose email appears to have originated from a western county in Sweden called Västra Götalands län. His or her or its email may have come from there or could have bounced from somewhere else to there to many places in between before it came here. In here, I mean, Beaumont, Texas. For those of you too freaking lazy to move a few fingers, Beaumont is a city of about 118,000 located about 80 miles east of Houston (the fourth largest U.S. city,) about 45 miles north of the Gulf of Mexico, some 27 miles west of the Sabine River and Louisiana-Texas border, and just for s**ts and giggles, is 5,063 miles southwest of Vastra Gotalands Lan, Sweden.

More importantly is what was contained in the message from one Salim Barywani:

 “You have won One million pounds from Abu Dhabi, Manchester City promotion 2013.”

Talk about breath-taking. Just one question, mate! I have won “One million pounds” of what? I won 1 million pounds in U.K. currency £1 million? Or perhaps I won One million pounds of Cheerios. Maybe I won One million pounds of Boudreaux’s Butt Paste. More than likely, I won 1 million pounds of s**t. Then again, you never know.

The Abu Dhabi, Manchester City reference is even more baffling. The best I can tell from reading is this refers to the Manchester City FC, an English soccer team, owned by some Abu Dhabi businessmen, which has teamed up with the New York Yankees to buy a new Major League Soccer Team for the Big Apple. Ah yes, I can see myself hanging out with A-Rod, watching a little futbo, engaging in knife and bottle fighting, and having a little ongoing contest amongst Alex and I to see who can drop tens of pounds (of flab.)

“You are one of six lucky winner,” said the online missive.

I am one of something or other.

——–

And to hit the ol’ roundup, no one won the big Friday contest.  Your loss. It was a disguised former Vice President Dick “The Head” Cheney. The closest to the right answer was “Love Child of Sen. Fred Thompson and Kelsey Grammer.” That brilliant but incorrect answer was sent by Leon Trotsky, of Dime Box, Texas, who said: “That isn’t my real name but I’ve got a case of the trots today. Got it?”

Ay yi yi!

From the VA Hospital: Maybe there’s no free lunch. But breakfast?

Today was a long day at the DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Houston. I had a five-hour wait to see the doctor. There was nothing that could have been done with that for various personal circumstances.

My 45-minute or so visit with the neurologist went probably better than any visit in a great while. The doctor has agreed to take me off the side-effect-ridden Cymbalta and put me back on another drug I once took for the same conditions. What was even better was I got the neurologist to put me in a consultation with a neurosurgeon because of my back pain. This would be after undergoing another MRI on my back and an EMG. Now I had an EMG earlier this year or later last year. I can’t remember. That was to determine problems with my hands and fingers, which was then diagnosed as carpal tunnel. I was given two gigantic black braces for each hand, both bearing the U.S. Flag. When I don them both, I look like someone gearing up for bomb disposal, such as in the movie, “The Hurt Locker.” The braces aren’t very practical for my work as I disarm or detonate very few, if any, bombs in my daily comings and goings.

However long it takes after all the tests I will consult with the neurosurgeon as to whether I need back surgery and, if so, whether I will ask for it. I see that as a long way down the line. I have decided that I need to try and access a better physical shape and improve my health. Along with that, I also should start thinking long and hard about how to medically retire from my paying job and determine how to live on however meager the pittance might be. Time to be a vagabond, perhaps?

As ridiculously long as the day has left me, I did come away with one of those head-spinning acts of humanity.

I got some bacon and eggs, a sausage, and a biscuit along with a cup of coffee this morning at the Patriot Cafe. The cafe is the dining hall inside the huge DeBakey hospital. They have about four cashiers who have customers paying on either side of them. I went to one of those tellers and only a single customer was on the other side.

I hardly noticed the other customer on the other side except to note that she looked as if she was a VA employee and that she had a small item, a coffee perhaps. I thought I heard the cashier ask the young woman if she was paying for mine too. I was somewhat stunned but figured what I heard must have been in error. The other customer paid and walked off.

The cashier turned to me as I held my plastic in my hand. “She paid for yours,” she said. I was then truly dumb-founded. I quickly turned around and saw the generous woman as she was walking out the door. “Thank you very much,” I told her, though not very loudly as I was still wondering took place.

“Did you know her?” the cashier asked me, about the woman. “No,” I told her.

Thus ended a long day that left me wearisome and tired. The mysterious VA worker’s generosity might have been misplaced or mistaken. Or maybe she saw the tiredness in my eyes. Or maybe she was just messing with my head. Be it far from me to look good fortune in the mouth. Or anywhere else. Including in my local VA hospital

Oh See, see-questration, oh see what it has done, oh, oh, oh …

Bet you all thought Sequestration was nothing but talk and no action. Or as they say, somewhere, maybe Mexico, maybe Texas, that it was all s**t and no cows. It turns out that the latter was only a tiny bit close to reality.

So while you are sitting out on your porch, smelling the fresh hay and the real cow s**t, take a gander at this great Pro Publica story. The “public interest journalism” site has an interesting look at how the mandatory government spending cuts are slowly building a massive head of steam. The S-word from Capitol Hill is rapidly becoming as dirty a word as the four-letter slang S-word for a bodily function.

No cows indeed, sonny boy!