Hope, Change, Dependence

Saw this little item today. Seems about 1 in 6 Americans are currently receiving some form of check, subsidy, or other essential benefit from Uncle Sugar. Seems they need their Government to help them keep body and soul together.

"The recession is driving the safety net of government benefits to a historic high, as one of every six dollars of Americans' income is now coming in the form of a federal or state check or voucher.

Benefits, such as Social Security, food stamps, unemployment insurance and health care, accounted for 16.2% of personal income in the first quarter of 2009, the Bureau of Economic Analysis reports. That's the highest percentage since the government began compiling records in 1929."

1 in 6, folks. Just think about that for a moment. How much longer till it's 1 in 4?

Given that most Americans already pay nothing in taxes, the burden on the productive can only increase with the passing of time. So, roughly 50% pay nothing, and about 16% are dependent on the taxes paid by the other half. Hmmm.... that would make about 66% of Americans either paying nothing at all, or, indeed, picking the pockets of those who do. That's better than half of America pillaging the remaining 30% or so. Well, pillaging them and their kids and grandkids.

And we wonder why the Chinese laugh in Geithner's face when he says their investments are safe here, and the dollar is sound. As the largest holder of our debt, and as one of the largest investors here in the States, they've bought and paid for the right to laugh when they hear something ridiculous, I suppose.

A major goal of Geithner's maiden visit to China as Treasury secretary is to allay Beijing's concerns that Washington's mushrooming budget deficit and ultra-loose monetary policy will undermine both the dollar and U.S. bonds. China is the biggest foreign owner of U.S. Treasury bonds.

"Chinese financial assets are very safe," Geithner said. His response drew laughter from the audience. (Reporting by Glenn Somerville; Editing by Alan Wheatley)

But coming back to the ever-growing class of parasites and government retainers, who are a significant and, let's be honest here, permanent, drain on the economy and productive capacity of the American people:

You can bet these folks are fiercely loyal to their lords and masters in DC, upon whom they depend for life itself. You've seen those photos of the old Soviet, Maoist, and Nazi "masses" jubilating in honor of the Great Leader, haven't you? Well, these folks are the American version. Bought and paid for, like the slaves they've let themselves become, they will remain compliant, reliable, and utterly untrustworthy. These are the ones who'll sell you out in a heartbeat; they've sold their souls and the future earnings of everybody for the next 50 years or so - why wouldn't they rat you out for unpatriotic or subversive activity aginst their masters and benefactors?

And on our nickel, and our grandkids' dollars. Nice.

Why Businesses Should be Survivalists, and Why Survivalists Should be Businesses

It's like this: anybody with half a brain (a category in which I proudly include myself) knows that all civilizations, all empires, all nations, in fact, everything, ultimately falls apart. We know it, even if we don't acknowledge it every day.

Now, if you don't prepare for this fact, if it is not included, to some degree, in your plans and schemes for the future, then there's a good likelihood it will come back and bite you.

It's like the folk who live alongside the ocean, but don't have their houses built up above the grade, don't have hurricane shutters, and only keep enough non-perishables on hand to last them till the next fast-food run or dinner out. See? No preparation, no forethought, no brains, and comes the first storm, they're screwed and begging and whining for help that can't come fast enough for them.

And the whole time in the run-up to the inevitable, these folk did nothing; they made and spent their money like nothing was ever going to go sideways in them, even though every idiot knows that storms can, do, and will come and scour the coast periodically. Never once did it cross their minds to maybe store up a little food or water, just in case. Nor did it ever occur to them that maybe they should move. No, they stayed right where the were, acted like everything was just hunky-dory, and then acted surprised when their over-priced and uninsurable real estate ended up flooded.

What's true on the individual level is also true for businesses - at some point, things are going to break down or run out. It's why you have, or should have, off-site back-up for files, etc., and why you have more than one pen in your drawer, and why you keep spare toner on-hand. Backups and spares are as necessary for a military as they are for a business, as they should be for an individual.

We saw in the aftermath of Katrina a whole slew of businesses that didn't have any sort of plan or protection in the event of what everybody knew was inevitable, and so, we naturally saw a whole slew of businesses going under. Disaster planning and recovery became growth industries, if only for a brief while, as other businesses saw what happened in N.O. and elsewhere and wanted some measure of protection for themselves.

Okay, that's why businesses should be survivalist. So why should survivalists be businesses?

Simple. If the grid will go down at some point, if things really will end up just like in that end of the world movie you just saw, then shouldn't you do something to make sure you aren't tied to a drowning man? Even if only in a small way, you should cut yourself free from a system that you know will one day collapse.

And a small business is the best way I can think of to start cutting the ties.

There's plenty of info out there, and even a hip new word "micropreneur" to describe those brave souls who decide to make a living for themselves through their own efforts and intellect.

Get to it people, and keep watching here for ideas, observations, and rants.

Oh, and buy jade and other quality goods from me: http://www.guanxi-trading.com.

The Bartertown Saga, part 6

The Tax Man Cometh:
****
Thomas Jefferson Davis, the Circuit Judge, arrived late on a Wednesday afternoon, just as the Sheriff was getting ready to close shop for the day and head back home. The lead riders in his convoy (Rangers, the first Joe had seen in years) arrived a good twenty minutes ahead of the Judge, who followed in a coach, and they secured the area in anticipation of his arrival. The Judge was the closest thing to the living embodiment of the Republic's government that Bartertown's residents was likely to ever see, and so security was paramount.

His Honor's arrival, about which they had some warning, still caused Bartertown's little clique some concern. More and more traders and others had been arriving in the weeks before. They carried stories of ruinous taxation, official oppression, and a whole host of outrages which, if true, would have sparked armed revolt.

Joe was dismissive of such tales. "The booze merchants say the same thing every time I remember to tax them; the tobacco traders have never gotten a fair shake from anyone in their whole lives, and the 'hemp' farmers are always somebody's victim. It's a bunch of bellyaching, is all it is." This was good enough for most people there; they knew the Sheriff, trusted him, and relied on his judgment.

Anyone who'd been through the county once could tell you that Bartertown and its neighboring community was easily the wealthiest, most prosperous spot in the whole region. Folk streamed in from surrounding counties at every opportunity, and trade caravans often just sort of showed up at Bartertown, motivated by reports from others of the riches to be found there. And there was the Baron, making his money off every single merchant and vendor, and even making a nice little sum for himself from extending credit and accepting notes of hand from merchants.

The merchants, who had by now organized themselves into a number of trading guilds, which had then organized themselves into a conglomerate, were also nervous. They'd built up quite the little pile of money (mostly cash, but a lot of credit, too), and were none too pleased at the prospect of having to part with any of it. A lot of risk, a lot of hard work, and a lot of brain-power went into making them the sleek, fat, wealthy men they were today, and they had no intention of parting with any of it.

Sonny'd been keeping the tax records for the Sheriff; every last penny was there. The town's part of the assessment had been paid, and paid regularly, for quite some time now, and it was a source of perverse pride for all involved when tax revenues could be seen increasing year after year. The couriers used to joke about having to hire on more men just to help them haul the silver and gold back to the county treasury, and the rumor was that Bartertown and its environs had contributed the lion's share of the county's tax money for the past two years.

Looking back on it now, folks were getting nervous - Bartertown was rich, its neighbors and traders were rich, and everyone knew it. The arrival of the Judge could only mean that His Honor had been sent down to see what was going on here. Whatever it was, it could only mean one thing: more taxes, and nobody liked the sound of that.

The Baron was, frankly, concerned. Joe was probably right, after all; no way folk in this Republic would tolerate even half of what went on in these rumors. All the same, as a fairly wealthy man, he was a little concerned. He was particularly troubled by all the records of loans he'd made and such on file at the Fortress; on paper, he was probably the wealthiest man in the county, but in terms of actual cash on hand....

And there was the other side of it, too. Joe was a county servant, and ultimately a servant of the Republic, and yet here he was, housed on private property, making at least as much as a banker as he did as lawman; that sort of thing just looks funny if you don't know the people involved, and His Honor didn't know anyone.

All the same, the Baron was there, with Sonny, the Sheriff, and about a dozen of Bartertown's notables and community leaders, standing by to greet the great man. He took a deep breath as the coach came to a rest and the gates closed behind them.

Post-Apocalyptic Luxuries, cont'd.

Well, as the regular - and even the occasional - readers of this humble "web log" can tell, my little company deals in a range of goods; jade, carnelian, etc., and, seemingly incongruously, smoking pipes.

Aside from the fact that all these things (except for the clay pipes) are imported, what else do they have in common? That's right, they're luxuries, durable, desirable items that folks might very well find a nice little comfort when the wheels finally fall off.

But the pipes? Why pipes, of all things? Answer: they are a perfect trade item, as there are now millions of regular nicotine addicts in this country, and it is unlikely that they will be likely to give up the soothing comfort of Lady Nicotina during times of stress, tumult, and discord. They're gonna need a smoke now and then pretty badly, and the pipe is the cheapest, most durable way to help them get it.

See, the modern cigarette is an industrial artifact; cranked out by the millions in factories all over the world, they offer a (until recently) comparatively inexpensive and convenient way to get one's fix. For a while after the great skid, cigarettes will still be available from old stocks, and folks'll improvise them as needed.

A pipe, though, needs no improvisation, and unlike a cigarette, the range of tobacco types and qualities that can be used are far wider. You can grow 'baccy just about anywhere here in the US (excluding Alaska, etc., of course, but you get the drift.); it's a crop that's been in demand since the stone age here in North America, and is likely to remain, like booze, one of the essentials of semi-civilized life.