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Art may inspire imagination, but reality keeps ticking along

I start work at 9, so I make sure to have my breakfast before then, because experience has taught me that when I don’t, my stomach will be lodging complaints in a very raucous manner by 9.30.

On workdays, I don’t feel like using my time in the morning to prepare breakfast at home, so I usually head on out and spend anywhere between 30 to 45 minutes at some food establishment that serves breakfast on the way to work or just somewhere within walking distance of the studio.

For those 30 to 45 minutes, I’ll just sit there, without looking down at my phone, and just slowly enjoy my breaksfast. Just a spot of me-time before I head on off to work.

There will be times, like say when I have an early conference call in the morning, when I’ll have to be at the studio before 9. When that happens, I’ll just order food delivery, so that I can enjoy my breakfast after the call. There are a handful of quiet spots around the studio, specially designated cozy little nooks and crannies that are placed there for the express purpose of giving us the opportunity to enjoy the occasional breather, whether it is for taking a private call, doing some light reading, enjoying a couple minutes’ of shut-eye, and yes, even eating our snacks or meals.

My breakfasts usually costs between 5 to 20 yuan (between 0.70 to 2.75 USD); I live and work in Chengdu.

Here are some of my breakfasts on workdays, whether I take it at a food establishment or have it delivered to the studio:


鲜虾蟹籽云吞 (xiān xiā xiè zǐ yún tūn)
Fresh shrimp and crab roe wontons


From top left to bottom:

空心菜 (kōngxīncài)
Water Spinach

地瓜叶 (dìguā yè)
Sweet Potato Leaves

地瓜粥 (dìguā zhōu)
Sweet Potato Rice Porridge


桂花赤豆糊 (guìhuā chì dòu hú)
Osmanthus Red Bean Porridge

There are some 小圆子 (xiǎo yuánzǐ), glutinous rice balls, in the porridge.


From top to bottom:

虾饺 (xiā jiǎo)
Shrimp Dumplings

清炒菜心 (qīng chǎocài xīn)
Stir-Fried Choy Sum


From top to bottom:

小肉包 (xiǎo ròu bāo)
Small Meat Bun

豆腐脑 (dòufu nǎo)
(Literally, Tofu Brains)
Savory Tofu Pudding

China Will Not Submit to US on Trade Deal with Rachel Blevins and Carl Zha

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Coffee Prices SKYROCKET After Tariffs And MAGA Is FURIOUS

Sir Whiskerton and Slow Bob’s Time-Traveling Shell: A Tale of Turtles, Time, and Grass-Counting

Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of whimsy, wonder, and one very slow turtle who thought his Picasso-painted shell could bend the fabric of time. Today’s story is one of artistic inspiration, distracted counting, and a cat who proved that while imagination is a wonderful thing, reality has a way of keeping us grounded. So, grab your sense of humor and a stopwatch (for timing), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and Slow Bob’s Time-Traveling Shell: A Tale of Turtles, Time, and Grass-Counting.


The Time-Traveling Claim

It all began on a quiet afternoon when Slow Bob the turtle, ever the deliberate and thoughtful creature, made a bold announcement. “My friends,” he said, his voice slow and measured, “I have discovered something extraordinary. My shell—painted by none other than Pablo Picasso himself—grants me the ability to travel through time.”

The animals, always intrigued by Slow Bob’s stories, gathered around. “Time travel?” Doris the hen squawked, flapping her wings. “What in the name of cluck are you talking about?”

“Cluck!” Harriet echoed, tilting her head.

“Head!” Lillian added, fainting dramatically onto a pile of straw.

Slow Bob nodded, his shell glinting in the sunlight. “Indeed,” he said. “With this shell, I can peer into the past, the present, and even the future.”


The Weather Prediction Test

The animals, skeptical but curious, decided to put Slow Bob’s claim to the test. “If you can really time travel,” Rufus the dog said, wagging his tail, “then tell us what the weather will be like tomorrow.”

Slow Bob blinked his wise eyes and nodded solemnly. “Very well,” he said. “I shall consult the temporal energies of my shell and reveal tomorrow’s forecast.”

He closed his eyes, his shell glowing faintly in the sunlight. The animals held their breath, waiting for his prediction. But as the minutes ticked by, Slow Bob remained silent, his head tilted as if listening to some distant sound.

“Well?” Doris said, her feathers ruffled with impatience. “What’s the weather going to be like?”

Slow Bob opened his eyes and smiled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I got distracted counting the blades of grass.”


The Moral of the Story

As the animals reflected on Slow Bob’s distracted counting, the moral of the story became clear.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Art may inspire imagination, but reality keeps ticking along. Whether you’re a turtle with a Picasso-painted shell, a hen with a flair for drama, or a cat with a knack for solving mysteries, it’s important to balance creativity with practicality. Imagination can take us to wonderful places, but it’s the here and now that truly matters.


A Happy Ending

With the test concluded, the farm returned to its usual state of peaceful chaos. Slow Bob, though initially disappointed by his distraction, admitted that counting blades of grass had been quite enjoyable. The animals, amused by the whole affair, returned to their usual routines.

As for me, I returned to my favorite sunbeam on the barn roof, content in the knowledge that I had once again saved the day. Slow Bob’s time-traveling shell may not have worked, but it had brought a little bit of magic to the farm—and that was enough.

And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with the promise of new adventures, new discoveries, and hopefully, no more grass-counting. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, love, and just a little bit of feline genius.

The End.

If you saw that on the news, you need to find better news sources.

Let me be clear about this – the USA does not send ANY money to Canada – Nada, Nil, Zilch, Zero.

US companies buy hundreds of billions of stuff from Canadian companies every year. Canadian companies also buy hundreds of billions of stuff from US companies every year. Canadian companies have been buying about 10% less from US companies than US companies have been buying from Canadian companies. This isn’t by design or a plan, or a subsidy, it’s just the way it works out. It’s actually surprising that our trade is as close as it is given that Canada has only around one tenth the population of the US.

Here’s another way to think about it. If you go spend $200 at the grocery store, but the grocery doesn’t buy anything from you, are you “sending money” to the grocery store? Are you “subsidizing” the grocery store. Or are you just buying what you want, from the supplier of your choice?

If you like my answer, please upvote.

Thank you for the invitation.

I DO know a little about this topic.

When I was a child, China was swept by a fervent craze for qigong and paranormal human abilities. Many people were obsessed with “cultivation.”

You could see groups of people practicing in streets, alleys, and parks.

My opinion is that most of them were frauds.

(The image above shows one of the “practices” from that time. These people had iron pots on their heads, which were said to amplify signals from the universe.)

But was there any truth to it? I believe so. I have personally witnessed some inexplicable phenomena.

One of my uncles was an administrator at a very large library, so he had easy access to ancient and rare books.

I spent several enjoyable summers at his house.

He was a firm believer in “cultivation.” Every night, instead of lying down to sleep, he would sit in meditation with his legs crossed.

I flipped through some of his books, though I only vaguely understood them.

The content in these books is extremely complex.

But the basic idea is to achieve immortality.

Refining essence into qi, refining qi into spirit, refining spirit into emptiness…

You could roughly think of the ultimate goal as abandoning the physical body to attain an immortal,indestructible, freely roaming “informational” body, often called the “Yang(sun,male,bright) spirit.”

(The above image is a very rudimentary “Internal Alchemy Diagram,” where you can see a practitioner depicted sitting cross-legged from a side view. The patterns and annotations beside it briefly explain how the “Golden Elixir,” which grants immortality, is produced.)

It sounds simple, but in practice, it’s incredibly difficult.

Books that teach these techniques are called “Dan Jing” (丹经, or “alchemical classics”).

In ancient times, these books were very precious and kept secret.

With modern printing, many of these books are still rare and hard to obtain.

However, ordinary books are still easy to obtain.

(This introductory set of books, “The Eastern Cultivation Library,” now costs about 1,000 yuan, or 140 USD.)

However, if you’re not Chinese, it’s very difficult to understand these books.

Honestly, even for Chinese people, if they don’t have a deep understanding of traditional culture or aren’t well-versed in classical Chinese, these texts are nearly incomprehensible.

They are essentially like riddles.

For example, recently, the game “Black Myth: Wukong” has been very popular. It draws from “Journey to the West,” which can actually be considered a Dan Jing itself.

There are countless hidden meanings in it.

Sun Wukong is referred to as “Jin Gong” (金公), which, when combined, forms the character for “lead” (铅).

He is also called the Yellow River Water, the White Tiger, the Young Lord… and countless other aliases.

His weapon, the Ruyi Jingu Bang (a magical staff that can shrink or grow), is the most important weapon and comes from the “bottom of the sea.”

In Dan Jing, the “bottom of the sea” actually refers to the perineum……

So, you can probably guess what the Ruyi Jingu Bang metaphorically represents, right?

If you want to learn this, being non-Chinese makes it extremely challenging, as it’s all a series of riddles.

However, these books are roughly equivalent to university-level textbooks, and most people don’t practice at that level.

By the way, there’s a very popular Chinese animated film recently, Ne Zha 2, in which the protagonist has a slogan, “My 命(fate) is mine to command, not heaven’s!”

It sounds quite like something a passionate youth would say, full of fervor.

In reality, this phrase originates from a classic alchemical text. The full quote is, “Once a golden elixir is swallowed, The length of my 命 (lifespan) is controlled by myself, not by heaven.”

(Because of the ambiguity of Chinese, these two sentences are exactly the same on the surface.)

This book is called “Can Tong Qi,” an extremely important alchemical scripture.

(The 参同契,Can Tong Qi,)

I was very surprised to see this line in the animated film because very few people have actually read this book…

There are some simple introductory methods online that I believe are useful.

A few well-known practitioners who taught these methods lived to be over 100 years old and remained very healthy.

One of them was still riding a bike to work at 100 years old—yes, he refused to retire even at that age.

American trucks were a big thing in earlier 2000s. Their popularity was mainly with owner-operators for the interior comfort and a very affordable price based on weakness of USD to Ruble and Euro at the time.

KAMAZ at the time was stuck in a Soviet era meaning they were dated and of low quality. I think truckers mostly gave up on them and it survived mostly as an army truck manufacturer and off exports to the third world. Older guys still used their old KAMAZs but that is it.

There was no competition actually with American makers holding around 80% of the market. International even built a plant in Russia to make its trucks there.

The situation changed with 2008 crisis making American trucks and their maintenance less affordable.

Also there was a Putin’s tour of Far East about that time when he stopped at a truck stop. There were 8 trucks: one KAMAZ and the rest Freightliners and Peterbilts.

He had an exchange with truckers asking why do they prefer equipment not designed for local conditions and why not to buy Russian.

The truckers bluntly explained that they like better quality and comfort first.

Soon after KAMAZ started to offer stuff like that:

By 2012 they also reported highly improved quality meaning the number of reported defects by users reduced by several times comparing to 2006.

That helped with the sales but not dramatically.

It is not that the American trucks didn’t have issues. First of all they were huge and had unorthodox layout with engine compartment in front of the cab. That makes maneuvers harder due to limited visibility. They have rough suspension meaning rough ride on poor road. They have weak frame. You can’t go to European Union in an American truck with full-size trailer because according to EU regulations the truck can’t be longer than 16,5 meters.

Then Russia adopted the 16,5 meters rule and the American trucks started to die off.

The beneficiaries were mostly the European makers:

The drivers found out that the European trucks ride more smoothly, have car-like handling, superb noise and vibration insulation, and are generally sturdier mechanically, although they have worse gas mileage and not as durable engines. Their maneuverabily was far better as well.

Still, gas mileage and engine durability were of little help because with a short truck rule, owners of American trucks could only haul shipping containers or short trailers, heavily reducing potential profit .

Today you mostly see them in different states of disrepair hauling unconventional loads:

By 2017 KAMAZ finally managed to get back into the most popular trucks with about a third of registered new trucks nationwide.

It is followed by Euro Volvo FM:

Mercedes Actros:

Man TGX:

Scania:

No new American trucks are being sold anymore.

As for Ural it was always a thing in itself. It is usually driven over terrain other trucks don’t dare to go and has little competition:

Women PANIC as Paternity Fraud Law Gets Approved 💀

Pennsylvania Dutch Peanut Brittle

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Ingredients

  • 1 cup molasses
  • 2 tablespoons butter
  • 1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
  • 1 tablespoon vinegar
  • 1 cup shelled peanuts
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda, dissolved in a little cold water

Instructions

  1. Remove all skins from the peanuts.
  2. Cook molasses, sugar, butter and vinegar until a little of the syrup is brittle when dropped into cold water.
  3. Remove from heat, and stir in peanuts and baking soda.

These are real people..

Gabbard: “Project Mockingbird” Still Active Since 1970’s

Director of National Intelligence, Tulsi Gabbard, has revealed Project (Operation) Mockingbird — a covert CIA program, active from the late 1970s to today, aimed at influencing and infiltrating U.S. media to shape public opinion in favor of the agency’s demonic objectives– is still active.

Declassified documents, particularly from the 1975 Church Committee investigations, reveal the CIA’s efforts to recruit journalists, editors, and media executives, placing them on payroll and ordering them to publish agency-approved false narratives.

The operation involved major outlets like MSNBC, CNN, The Washington Post, The New York Times, CBS, Time Magazine, and countless others, with estimates of tens of thousands of journalists involved!!

According to Gabbard, the project is still operating to this very day, and she intends to halt it.

Whispers From The Void

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Write a story from the POV of a zombie, mutant, or infected creature. view prompt

Samuel Excell

The hunger never sleeps. It writhes inside me like a living thing, gnawing at whatever remnants of consciousness still flicker in my decaying mind. Sometimes I forget I was ever anything else—anything but this insatiable void wearing rotting flesh. But then the memories come, bright and sharp as broken glass, cutting through the haze of endless hunger.My name is—was—Zed. At least, that’s what I choose to remember. Strange how names become anchors in this new existence, when most of us forget everything else. The others, they’re lost completely. I hear their thoughts sometimes, an endless cacophony of primal needs and base instincts. Hunger. Hunt. Feed. Nothing more. Their minds are radio static tuned to a single frequency of destruction.I stand in what used to be Downtown, though the city bears little resemblance to my fragments of before. Abandoned cars rust in eternal gridlock, their windows shattered like teeth in rotting mouths. The wind carries the sweet-sick smell of decay, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the shuffling of my kind, their moans echoing off empty buildings. Newspapers tumble down the street like urban tumbleweeds, their headlines screaming of a catastrophe no one is left to read about.A memory flashes: Sunday dinners, the smell of pot roast, my mother’s laugh. The way she’d always save the best pieces for everyone else, taking the dried ends for herself. The contrast makes me want to scream, but my throat only manages a rattling groan. These moments of clarity are both blessing and curse. They remind me of what I’ve lost while forcing me to witness what I’ve become.The others are moving with purpose today, drawn by something I can’t yet sense. Their thoughts buzz against my consciousness like angry wasps: Fresh meat. Warm blood. Close. I follow, partially out of habit, partially because I’ve learned that resistance to these base urges only brings pain. My legs move with the jerky uncertainty of a broken marionette, each step a reminder of my body’s gradual betrayal. But as we round the corner of what used to be the public library, I catch it too—the unmistakable scent of the living.Hide better, I think desperately, knowing they can’t hear me. Run. The thought echoes uselessly in my fractured mind.They don’t. Through the library’s broken windows, I catch glimpses of movement. Five survivors, maybe six. One of them is small—a child. The sight sends another memory crashing through me: my niece’s birthday party, pink frosting and paper crowns, the weight of her in my arms as she fell asleep during the movie. How long ago was that? Time means nothing now, measured only in the endless cycles of hunger and brief satiation.

 

The others surge forward, their excitement a fever in my mind. I follow, my own hunger rising traitorously even as my consciousness rebels. Inside, the library is a maze of toppled shelves and scattered books. Pages crunch beneath our feet like autumn leaves, stories scattered and forgotten. The survivors have barricaded themselves behind a makeshift wall of furniture in the children’s section. Smart, but not smart enough. Bright murals of storybook characters look down on us, their cheerful faces a mockery of our grim reality.

 

That’s when I see her.

 

She’s small, maybe seven or eight, with dark braids and eyes too old for her face. She stands slightly apart from the others, and when our eyes meet, something impossible happens. A connection sparks across the void between life and death.

 

She tilts her head, studying me with more curiosity than fear. Hello? The thought comes not from the chaos of infected minds around me, but clear and pure as a bell.

 

I stagger back, shocked. My decaying legs nearly give way beneath me. You… hear me?

 

Her eyes widen. You’re different from the others, she thinks. I’m Lily.

 

The others are closing in. I can feel their hunger reaching a frenzy, their thoughts becoming a roaring tsunami threatening to drown out everything else. One of the adults, presumably Lily’s protector, pulls her back behind their barricade. They have guns, I realize, but not enough ammunition to handle the horde descending upon them. The metal glints dully in the filtered sunlight streaming through the dusty windows.

 

Run, I think desperately at Lily. There’s a service exit through the basement. I’ll… I’ll help. The promise costs me, each word a battle against the hunger that tries to overwhelm my thoughts.

 

I don’t know if I can. The hunger is screaming now, demanding I join the feast. But Lily’s presence in my mind is like a lifeline to my humanity. She reminds me of before, of who I was, of things more important than this endless hunger. Her innocence cuts through the haze like a beam of sunlight through storm clouds.

 

The first of my kind reaches the barricade. Gunshots ring out, deafening in the enclosed space. The sound rips through the air like thunder, sending books tumbling from their shelves. I see Lily flinch, her fear sharp in my mind. Acting on instinct I didn’t know I still possessed, I lurch forward and grab the infected nearest to me, pulling it back. Its confusion joins the chorus in my head, but there’s no real thought there, just thwarted hunger.

 

Now! I project to Lily. The basement. Go! The effort of maintaining coherent thought feels like pushing through thick mud, but her presence gives me strength.

 

She tugs on the sleeve of the woman beside her, pointing. Understanding dawns on the adult’s face, and she begins ushering the group toward the stairs while two men provide covering fire. Each gunshot illuminates the scene in stark flashes, like a strobe light in a nightmare.

 

The infected I’m grappling with twists in my grip, snapping at my face with broken teeth. I let it go, but only to grab another, creating chaos in their single-minded attack. Their thoughts are a storm of confusion and frustrated hunger. I’ve never fought against my kind before, never knew I could. The pain of resisting their shared purpose is excruciating, like being torn apart from the inside.

 

I catch glimpses of the survivors disappearing down the basement stairs. Lily lingers last, her mind reaching for mine. Thank you, she thinks. What’s your name?

 

Zed, I respond, though the effort of maintaining coherent thought while fighting my instincts is almost too much. Go, please go. Live for those who can’t.

 

She disappears down the stairs just as my grip on the last infected slips. They surge forward, but the survivors have bought enough time. The basement door slams shut, and I know there’s a service tunnel down there that leads to the street behind the library. They’ll make it. In this world of endings, they’ll find a new beginning.

 

The horde howls in frustration, their disappointment a physical pain in my head. I sink to my knees among the scattered books, my own hunger still raging but overshadowed by something else—satisfaction, perhaps. Pride. Emotions I thought lost to me forever. Around me, pages flutter like wounded birds, stories of heroes and monsters mixing together on the floor.

 

I feel Lily’s mind touching mine one last time, growing fainter with distance. I won’t forget you, Zed. You’re not like them. You’re still human inside.

 

Live, I think back. Live and remember there was once humanity, even in monsters. That’s all any of us can hope for now—to be remembered as we were, not what we became.

 

Her presence fades entirely, leaving me alone with the endless chorus of hunger. But something has changed. In saving her, I’ve recovered a piece of myself I thought lost forever. The hunger still gnaws, it always will, but now I know it doesn’t define me completely. Even in this decaying shell, something of my soul remains.

 

I am Zed. I remember. And sometimes, remembering is enough to keep the darkness at bay, if only for a little while.

Once the US had four tech giants

  • Lucent
  • Nortel
  • AT&T
  • Motorola

They ran all the communication equipment within the US ,Canada,UK, Australia as well as Singapore, Malaysia and Indonesia

They licensed technology to Singapore (Sakon, Singtel, M1, Starhub), Malaysia (Maxis)

They were a Monopoly with only Siemens & NTT being competition


What went wrong?

A. Poor Management

B. Stock manipulation

C. Lesser Profit margins from 18.2% in 1991 to 3.7% by 2000

Simply put – Equipment was too expensive to make in the US and the rising costs reduced profitability

Meanwhile

Cisco emerged as a major network player and owned most of the 2G, 3G Patents and 4G Patents alongside Nokia and Sony Ericsson

Cisco beat the big four but Cisco soon decided to focus on high profit network communication and security, rather than focusing on Mobile communications

They outsourced everything to Huawei

Huawei made the equipment and received $ 5.50 for every $ 100 earned while Cisco earned $ 41.30

Thats because Huawei didn’t have any of their own IP then

Huawei became an Agent for Cisco, Sony Ericsson and Nokia globally while ZTE did the same work in India & Mainland China

Cisco took the cream while Huawei and ZTE did all the work

By this time the Big Four were gone

  • Lucent went to Nokia
  • Nortel was over
  • AT&T is a shadow of its former self
  • Motorola declined

Huawei came up with more than 150 Patents for 5G Technology with ZTE having another 38 Patents

By 2016, Huawei was making their own equipment and their own technology

Huawei was ready to invest billions and accept a 8% profitability and soon became the largest 5G communications patent holder

Huge R&D strides, Billions in funding – led them to beat everyone else hollow


Today Huawei is the only 5G communication player in the world

  • Nokia & Sony Ericsson license Huawei Patents and deliver services in Europe and India
  • Verizon & AT&T license Huawei Patents and deliver 5G services in USA but 4G services are still delivered whose patents are held by Cisco, Alcatel & Nokia/Sony Ericsson whose equipment is made by Huawei / ZTE
  • All 5G Equipment is manufactured in China (77.1%) ,Taiwan (12%) and Japan (8.6%) with US, Canada, UK and Sixteen EU countries buying Equipment made in Taiwan , the rest including India buying ZTE Equipment made in China through Tata

Huawei also has maximum patents for 5.5G and 6G equipment and technology alongside ZTE & Tianhe

Huawei holds 98 granted approvals out of 312 applications for 5.5/6G Technology & Satellite Communications


Why?

  • Motivated Employees
  • R&D spending
  • Diversification enough to accept 6–7% profits a year instead of 20%
  • Rising China

You mean for tourists? There’s quite a lot! Just be mindful that some of the most popular places have long lines waiting for long times. And ask yourself, ‘is it really free if I have to spend two hours waiting?’

NYC expects about 65 million tourists this year. 99 percent of them want to do free things. And they want to have the pride of posting the same photo that fifty million other people have posted, in their instagram. So they all have to go to the same places.

Last year In 2024 it started becoming apparent that free or cheap things for tourists were being overused. Why? I’ll give you 64 million reasons.

On a typical day, 34,000 people will walk the Brooklyn Bridge (BB). But every weekend in December 2024, 50,000 were up there at any given time during daylight. Tourguides doing BB tours were uneasy due to the crowding (a killer stampede happened up there once). Human nature has not changed, so it could happen again.

Go after dark instead. Here’s what you’ll see.

For only $2.90, people can take the Roosevelt Island tram. Several videographers have recommended it as a ‘must-do.’ But late last year, there was a 3-block-long line waiting 2 hours each to take this packed little cable car. It’s not fun when everybody does it. Residents are frustrated.

These are examples of overtourism, which we don’t want. We’d like people to spread out into the city, which is 48 miles across.

It would be great if ten thousand people were to walk High Bridge rather than Brooklyn Bridge!

Or the George Washington Bridge.

Notice there’s only two people there.

Go to Central Park before noon. Applaud a wedding.

Range north into areas that haven’t been in movies. You’ll be out of the crowd.

Or go at night.

Take the A train 25 minutes north of Midtown to Fort Tryon Park. Stand 250 feet above the Hudson valley.

This is the view west to New Jersey.

This is the eastward view to the Hall of Fame of Great Americans, in The Bronx.

And north, up past Sleepy Hollow.

Yes, THAT Sleepy Hollow.

So there’s a great deal to do. You may have more fun doing the things that others have not yet discovered.

Get out there and explore the city!

After my mom passed away, I chose only sentimental things to keep that filled 2 Rubbermaid storage tubs. The cd of the love of her life (not my dad) singing, the little skillet she fried her egg in every morning, all cards and papers, etc. I let my brothers take everything else. I didn’t go through everything because I had to travel 1,400 miles back home and be back to work in 3 days. When I finally sat down and went through everything a couple weeks later one item still has me perturbed and the other other was a wonderful blessing for someone else.

The first item was mom’s 1st grade card. I don’t believe they had kindergarten back in the early 40’s. I had never seen the grade card or knew it existed so reading it was heartwarming for me until I got to the end. I don’t know if it’s still done this way, but even in the 80’s our parents had to sign the grade card and we’d take it back to school each 6 week period. At the end of the year the completed card went home. Well my dear grandpa had died when I was little, 7 or 8 years old, and he had signed this card. The thing that perturbed me was he had signed it Lee Roy, as in first and middle name, and my younger brother has Lee for his middle name. Except the poor man’s tombstone reads “Leroy” with no middle name! I don’t know if always calling him by both name’s made people think it was just one name or what, but my goodness did his own kids not even realize?! Geesh

The other find was in the cards and letters my mom kept. One of her lifelong friends had passed several years before. One of that friends’ daughters was very close to our family, so close that she was listed in my mom’s obituary. I’ll call her Sarah since I don’t know how she’d feel about having her business posted for the world to see. Sarah had been the black sheep of her family for most of her life, not treated badly or anything, but always feeling she didn’t quite measure up. I knew that really bothered her especially after her mom died following an extended illness. Well my mom had lived all over the country, moving back to her home area periodically, and letters were how she kept in touch with her friends. She had about a dozen letters from Sarah’s mom. Several of them had a paragraph or so saying nice things about Sarah. One in particular though was priceless. Most of the letter was about how Sarah was such a wonderful daughter and called her a “jewel.” I decided to make a gift of these to Sarah. I made copies of the letters in case something happened to the originals in transit and I put a note in there to open that envelope last and tied them all up with ribbon. I sent it certified so, hopefully, it would make it safely to Sarah’s hands. I called my brother who had dated Sarah for about 15 years and asked him to let her know I was sending her something she would have to sign for. Over a week passed, I knew she had received it, and my brother said she hadn’t talked to him about whatever it was. I’m sure his curiosity was killing him lol. Then he called me and said she had been crying for days and thanked me for the greatest gift she had ever gotten. I was so happy those old letters my mom kept finally helped her know that she was so special and more than enough to her mother.

Uncertainty Increases As Real Tariffs Reach Higher Levels

A few days ago this graph appeared in the Financial Times (I unfortunately have lost the link):


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It demonstrates the worst feature of Trump’s tariff mania. There seems to be no final state in it on which one could base an investment decision.

I have pointed out in previous posts that it will not only be the tariffs themselves that will damage the global economy but the uncertainty created by Trump’s willy-nilly enacting of them:

The poison that still paralyses everything is the uncertainty and insecurity that comes with the 90 days limit of the deal and with no perspective of what might follow. Who will post orders for, let’s say return-to-school items, if it is unknown what price will have to be paid for them?

and

Uncertainty is a poison, suppressing real economic activities.

Two days ago those who had invested (or speculated) in U.S. copper took a hard hit:


bigger
It was a direct consequence of uncertainty created by tariffs:

The copper market’s historic collapse is about how a single policy shift can puncture a carefully constructed financial illusion. For months, global copper flows were distorted by speculative bets around U.S. trade policy. Traders flooded U.S. shores with refined copper, expecting tariffs to lift domestic prices and widen arbitrage spreads. But when the Trump administration slapped a 50% tariff only on semi finished copper while exempting raw inputs like cathodes, ore, and scrap, the entire trade setup imploded. The copper that was supposed to benefit from protectionism is now stranded in warehouses with no premium, and in many cases, at risk of being re-exported into an already oversupplied global market.

This is unlikely to be the last investment based on tariff policies that will go wrong:

The copper collapse is a case study in how geopolitical uncertainty and financial leverage amplify each other and how fragile our assumptions are in a bifurcating world economy.

See also Atrios of Eschaton on Tariff Week:

We’re past the “panic the market” phase of tariff posturing, for whatever reason, and now we’ll see if actual real economy dangers can get them to do anything other than blame Powell.I do stand by my earlier assertion that tariffs themselves wouldn’t be economy-destroying, but the tariffs + surrounding uncertainty (new policy every day!) + plenty of other things they’ve done (ICE – workers and tourism, student loans, ACA premiums about to skyrocket, federal job cuts, …) …

The tariffs matter, the ongoing uncertainty – which will never stop under President Deals – matters more. You might invest in a factory if there’s a 20% tariff, you won’t if that tariff might be 50, or your competitors in other countries might suddenly get a better deal, or…

The Tariff Act of 1939 (Smoot-Hawley) brought the effective U.S. tariff rate to 20%:

Intended to bolster domestic employment and manufacturing, the tariffs instead deepened the Depression because the U.S.’s trading partners retaliated with tariffs of their own, leading to U.S. exports and global trade plummeting.

The current effective tariff rate is, according to the Financial Times graph above, now aimed at 17.5%. But that is without a deal with China which is still to come and which will likely increase the total level. It is unlikely that the high rate alone will have the similar negative effects as observed in the 1930s.

But combined with the uncertainty created by Trump’s unpredictable enactment and retraction of tariff decisions the consequences may well exceed those.

Unless of course the tariffs get overturned:

“The constitution was very clear in saying there’s one branch that has the power to tariff and it isn’t the president and it isn’t the courts – it’s the Congress of the United States.”“if you’re raising revenue, you’ve got to originate that bill in the House of Representatives… The president tried to do that in his first term and that legislation failed…”

“What’s happened here — and the way we’ve always historically done things — when presidents want to have trade authority or negotiate a deal or threaten tariffs, they go to Congress in advance and get that approval. They can’t go off on their own and say “Hey, I know what’s best and blow off Congress.”

It will be good for everyone if the courts decide the case against Trump.

Posted by b on August 2, 2025 at 16:56 UTC | Permalink

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