I am Justin Kace

I prepare you for the unexpected. My services are free. Donations in appreciation may be sent to the charity of your choice.

Here is your Justin Kace checklist:

One fully charged cell phone. (Charger recommended).
One flashlight with fresh batteries.
A change of clothes for a change of weather. (Include raincoats).
Bottled water for all occupants of home or car.
Reading material for long delays.
Card-carrying membership in a road service organization
Blank checks.
At least one non-maxed out credit card.
A small stash of cash. (Include some coins).

Don't leave home without them.

This is Justin Kace.

The Forwarders

Every day I get email forwarded to me from far and wide. You probably do, too. Do you want it? Do you open it? Do you read it?

Answers: No, sometimes and sometimes, in that order. Depends on where it comes from and who's sending them There are some people I have begged to stop sending me stuff that did not originate with them. They still send. I just delete.

Some people forward consistently on the same subject assuming I'm also interested in it. After a while, I get it and it's no longer useful. Or interesting. Others love to forward jokes or cartoons. Most of them have been circling the internet since creation but the forwarder always thinks they are hilarious and must be shared. Not.

I've tried to tell people that when they forward an email they are possibly endangering the recipient's PC by also forwarding a virus. Hence my caution about opening unrequested emails. There is enough spam coming our way without friends and relatives innocently adding to the clutter.

Full Disclosure: I sometimes forward an email but I'm always circumspect about who I send it to. And nine times out of 10 it's pictures of our grandchildren or great-grandchildren. I think that makes me more of a reluctant receiver rather than a frequent forwarder.

How do you rate?

Scents and Sensibilities

When you walk into certain department stores from a mall, chances are you'll be met by a group of well-dressed women, and sometimes a man, offering to spritz you with the scent of the day. It's the perfume department and you are the target of opportunity.

Sometimes you have to walk through a haze of scents. They mean well, these well-dressed salespersons, but sometimes I find myself, as I did last weekend, fighting through a phalanx of them just to get to the next department.

All they want to do is have you try one of their exotic scents before moving on. Who knows, you might like it and make a purchase. I've never stopped long enough to see if anyone actually tried out a scent or made a purchase. I hope the salespersons don't work on commission. It seems like a tough sell, catching someone on the fly, as it were.

However, it must be working for them or they wouldn't do it that way. So I guess it makes some scents after all.

"2030"

I'm reading Albert Brooks' futuristic novel, “2030.” It's supposed to be a satirical novel but if you're of a certain age it could make you antsy.

Here's the premise: cancer has been cured and many other life-prolonging medications are letting people live longer and longer. What's more, they're soaking up all health care dollars in the U.S. Treasury. These people are called “the olds.” And the “youngs” are getting restless. (Get it: "The Young and the Restless?" Sorry.)

I haven't gotten far enough into the book to see what eventually happens but I'm beginning to think Brooks may be on to something. I hope not, of course.

And by the way, early on in this hypothetical Brooksworld Los Angeles has been destroyed by an earthquake, the long-awaited “Big One.” You think Obama has problems? Pity President Bernstein.

Anyway, that's what I've been muddling through today and it will take me several more days until I finish this apocalyptic tale.

If the “youngs” don't get me first.

The Magnificent Muddle

My broker called me today. I call him a broker even though they like to call themselves financial advisers. I don't ask him for much advice but I do like to talk to him. He's a nice man and keeps on top of my portfolio, letting me know when I have to renew something or buy something different.

Of course, in today's market there really isn't anything worth buying.

I was born during the “Great Depression,” but I didn't know that until I read about in school. In the years since, I've made a few dumb stock purchases and an occasional good one. But thanks to my wife's innate conservatism most of our holdings are in fixed income of one form or another.

We don't get much interest but we sleep well at night. These are tough times for a lot of people but last weekend we went to a large shopping mall and it was crowded. We couldn’t tell if they were shopping, buying or just getting away from the heat. We bought some bedroom stuff. The food court was busy. And Starbucks was still selling $5+ beverages.

I play golf a couple times a week at a local public course and in between shanking shots we bemoan the state of the economy. Then hit the next one.

Everyone has their favorite culprits to blame for this mess. Even me, but I'm not getting into that.

We, all of us, will muddle through this.

The Curse of the White Carpet

It's almost a year since we replaced our living room carpet with white carpeting. New rules were immediately implemented.

Special carpet cleaning liquids were purchased. Good thing. Within a week I spilled coffee on the new carpet. Since we could clean it up, I was allowed to remain.

Shoes must be removed before entering the carpeted area. This means the entire downstairs, excluding the kitchen and bathroom, the stairs and the second floor hallway.

I bought two pairs of footwear to be worn only in the house. My wife designated shoes she already had for this purpose. Visitors are kind. They obey the no-shoes rule gracefully.

Service persons come to the back door to get to the basement to read the gas meter. The man who delivers salt for our basement water softener not only comes to the back but takes his shoes off even before entering the kitchen. Truly extraordinary.

I walk through the house, eyes downward, looking for anything that would mar the pristine surface of the white carpet. If I find a speck I quickly pick it up or get the zuuper, which is what we call our hand-held vacuum cleaner.

My brain is now on automatic alert. If I thoughtlessly begin to step on the carpet with my outdoor shoes a mental alarm goes off. I stop in my tracks and replace outdoor with indoor footwear.

Were we nuts to buy white carpeting? One friend wasted no time telling me we had made a mistake. I didn't think that was a very sensitive remark. On the other hand he may have been right, but about 11 months after installation the white carpet still looks white. More importantly, my wife loves it.

We are on constant vigil to avoid the curse of the white carpet.

Caution is the watchword.