Pretty busy.

Too busy to write much this week, I'm afraid. We went to the final business expo/festival last night. Another good night of customer relations, but it makes for a full 12-hour day.

I took today off except for cleaning my filthy house. And it's not quite done, either. You know when it gets too gross and you don't even want to start? It's kinda like that. Dried up Cheerios on the table, food debris on the floor. If Mark didn't eat it, there would be more. And what do they make Cheerios out of? Paste? Those things hang on to a table or a bowl as if they were coated with epoxy.

Regardless, Mark and I had a nice time this morning. I decided to spend time with my little guy at the expense of efficiency but we both gained a gorgeous, impossibly blue sky morning. We went for a 2-hour walk around town, running the loosest of errands. Mark was hanging out in his backpack, but pretty much ran the last 3/4 mile home. That kid can really move--I have to jog to keep up with him! When we got back, we took a nice tractor ride around the yard and pasture, picked up a few acorns and a couple of handfuls of pecans. The pecan trees are shedding their bounty. Every time I go outside, I pick up at least 10 before I allow myself to go back in. In the next week or so, that's going to take all of a few seconds.

I remember creating games with my little friends based on the wealth we could find in the woods and lawns of middle America. Acorns became currency and art fodder, as did milkweed pods and cool flowers and really pretty, perfect fall leaves. Today, kids (and adults) have those video games where they have to go around and collect swords and jewels and power fluids to accomplish their goal. Pity. And, of course, that's not the way it should be...or has to be. There's too much to do outside to bother too much with that crap. And we'll have animals by tomorrow, so there'll be even more to do outside.

I'm rambling. Talk to you soon, dear reader.

Old McClary had a farm...

...and on that farm she had some kids...

...and some St.Croix sheep...
...and some Red Poll heifers (maybe)...
...and a pretty horse named Daisy...
...ee i ee i ooooooooo!

Balance Sheet

Our settlement check for the house came today. Whew! It's $10,623.65. Outstanding bills (outside of typical utility and rent)? $9,858.65.

Difference = +$765.00

Whew. But, it's over. So that's good.

(Hmmm...how much fencing will $765 buy?)

Pictures are coming!

Updates!

1. Our house sold! Our many millions of proceeds are gone, but the house is SOLD.
2. The reason we got a nasty letter from the state about our "late" taxes? The accountant put the tax period as 2006 instead of 2007. And we didn't catch it. So much for fancying myself some kind of editor!
3. I got new health insurance. Not quite as sweet of a deal, but not bad.

And now I'm so focused on fencing for my livestock that I don't even care. Woo-hoo! Here's to focused bliss!

I was wrong. But it's so right.

I'm not getting a horse NEXT year. I'm getting one THIS year.

The guy I told you about a couple of posts ago, Mr. Heifer, is not just going to loan Daisy to me, he's going to give her to me. He wants her to have a good home with lots of attention, and he can provide the good but not as much attention. So he's just giving her to me.

Can you believe it?

'Hey, Lulu, what's the angle?' you ask.

According to Mr. Heifer, no one in his small family is interested in carrying on the rare breeds torch, and "if I can help young people like you get started, that's what I'm going to do."

You know how you know that there are people out there who share your ideals and specific, almost-wholly-unreported interests, but you sometimes wonder just where in the hell they're holed up? Mr. Heifer is one of those people. A kindred spirit! And I met him and he met me.

Daisy, my horse, (my horse!!) is an American Cream draft horse. Not registered, because she's not the right color, but she is a beauty--reddish-brown with a light blond mane and tail. And she's a mare who can have register-able Creams which can be sold for at least $1000 and even more if they fit the breed characteristics. Or kept.

And did I mention that she's a big sweetie? And comes with a saddle? If you're envisioning me running through the fields, hair flying, awash in the wind, stop right there. Plodding across a field astride a living sofa is more like it. You can outfit us in armor and picture me with a sword, bearing down on stupid and defenseless Hometownians, but that's probably further than you should mentally go. Still, if you're bored, go nuts.

And the horse is just the start! We're getting the sheep--at least 3 ewes, 2 of them pregnant. AND last night he offered us some heifers. Red Poll heifers. This is a horn-free, smallish, red breed that's good for milk or meat. They are costing him $600 apiece, and all he wants in exchange for the cows and the use of a bull is 1/2 of the calves (or half of the money for them).

We're balking a little on the heifers--this is all happening so fast!--but I'm pretty into it. I cleared it with City Hall today. Technically, you're not supposed to have livestock within city limits unless your land was grandfathered in as a "farm". But that seems to be for people who don't have 25 acres to play with.

And...I went to Orscheln, the local farm store, for some books about these various beasts and guess what? They have chicks in there. Chicks that are getting a little too big to sell in the store. And you know what that means. Yes, this weekend we'll construct a chicken tractor, find the brooder lamp, and stock our little farm with Arucaunas and Buff Orpingtons and Barred Rocks and maybe even a Rhode Island Red or two. How can you resist animals with names like that?

And...this afternoon, I found myself looking up and getting excited about magazines with names like "Stockman Grass Journal" and books with names like "Pasture Perfect".

It has begun.

My First Draft Horse Auction

I knew it. Because of the terrible drought this summer--it's only rained 3 times since June 1--hay prices are way up. Which means draft horse prices are way down. Seems not many people want to spend hundreds of dollars to feed a 2,000 lb. herbivore all winter.

Afterward, and I'll get back to it, I went grocery shopping. For the $331 I spent on groceries, I could have bought TWO Percherons--one nice colt that went for $100, and my choice of colts or fillies that went for about $200.

The auction was held at the fairgrounds. The small bleachers were arranged in a U-shape with the auctioneers stand finishing off the oval. The horses were brought in and paraded around in the area within the stands. Some were halter-led, others were ridden, some were pulling wagons of various sizes (tricky maneuvering in the small space), some were alone, others were in teams, and there was even a mommy horse with her little guy trotting to keep up.

I couldn't help but feel sad. Sure, many--hopefully most or all of them--came from decent homes and were going to decent homes. But at least 1/2 the crowd and 3/4 of the sellers were Amish, and I've heard mixed things about Amish horsemen. While they definitely know how to break (horsespeak for "train") a horse to work or ride, I've heard that they, for the most part, look upon their horses in a very non-romantic, beast-of-burden sort of way.

Of course, that makes sense. The Amish really do need their horses to provide transportation and essential farm labor. The Amish use the draft horse for what they were morphed for. (Except for one "original" breed, the English-bred Suffolk Punch, most draft horses were bred to be war horses. It takes a big horse to hold 400 lbs. of knight and armor. They became plow-pullers after all the fussing and fighting. Except for almost every war that came after, where they were used to haul artillery guns and everything else. In WWI, perhaps hundreds of thousands of draft horses--including many thousands that were shipped over to Europe from the U.S.--were killed. Now back to the Amish....) Because they are seen as assets used to get a job done, it doesn't make financial sense to keep them around once they are past their prime and--I know I'm making gross generalizations--the Amish don't make pets out of their horses and don't seem to have a lot of trouble in selling a good team to the feedlots (or "kill buyers" at auctions) when it comes time to replace them with a fresh team. Not a criticism, but definitely something I couldn't do.

And so I found myself surrounded by more Amish people than I've ever seen in one place, and a whole lot of mid-Missouri cowpeople, and a lot of old guys in overalls and ugly farmer hats, listening to the babbling of the auctioneer. The auctioneer--how do these guys learn to talk like that?--would abruptly stop the drone when the price got too low and entreat the audience to bid higher with pleas like, "Folks, this here horse is BROKE to RIDE and DRIVE and this is just the breaking fee" and "That little scar on her leg don't amount to nuthin' and this is the best little mare we've seen out here yet" and "This here is A GOOD HORSE and this gentleman says that he just had a family reunion and every little girl at the reunion was driving this horse around the field and you just can't ask for a BETTER OR GENTLER BEGINNER'S HORSE than this fella right here." And it worked! The prices almost always went up after such pleas and the horses were sold. With a few exceptions. A couple of them went so unfairly low that the sellers waved their hands and the auctioneer would call out "No deal, folks! That's a no sale."

I didn't know sellers could do that, but I'm glad they can. There weren't enough buyers to begin with, what with the lean, grassless months ahead.

Oh! If only my father-in-law hadn't mowed his pasture all summer as if it were a common LAWN.

So there I sat, riveted on the proceedings, for 2 1/2 hours. Occasionally a horse would come into the ring and I'd say "Yep. There's my horse." Usually the bidding would get away from me pretty quickly. But there was one time that my hand reached for my bidding card. That little $100 Percheron colt. To my eyes, there was nothing wrong with him. At a year old, he was almost as big as smaller full-grown quarterhorses. But the Amish have their own horses, or want a big team, and the recreationalists (like me) don't know how to break a young horse. And so there he was, trotting around gamely, not a thing wrong with him, with a future as a giant ahead of him, while his price dropped to $75. The auctioneer said "Folks, won't someone out there give A HUNERD DOLLARS for this fine little colt." "I will!" the irrational voice inside my head hollered, but before I could get to my card, some Amish guy lifted his hand and gave a little backward nod. All gone.

It was an interesting experience. I'm getting a horse next year.

The Invisible Avocado

Want a little taste of the few cultural differences that still exist in this sterilized and homogenized country? Listen in while a So Cal-based film crew tries to order something healthy in a crappy Hometown restaurant.

Except for the spinach salad at the Settler's Inn, with its bacon and egg-heavy dressing, I have never had a good salad in Hometown. In fact, it's hard to find a good salad anywhere, but many metro restaurants (in other states) are getting a clue and serving their patrons something beyond dressing-smothered, nutrient-free roughage with a few dried up carrot slivers on top.

Not in Hometown, though. Here, salad is seen as more of a necessary evil, a weak and sickly nod to "health", a mere transporter between cholesterol-laden ranch dressing and the local crowds' store-bought-pie holes. I say store-bought because even though Hometown is Midwestern in every way and puffy shape, and therefore should be a place where a homemade pie sits cooling on every sill, there's not a goddamned real bakery in town. But if you hanker for Twinkies, welcome to the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

Kevin and I sat at the table, completely without culinary expectation. We already ordered our breaded catfish, fries, cole slaw, cheeseburger (with extra pickle, please), and, yes, side salads. In and through the surprisingly smelly smoking section walks a posse of California blondes (with one den mother), members of the thin, hip crew and cast of Connie Stevens's made-for-TV movie extravaganza being filmed right here in Hometown! I've seen Connie twice. Once in a bar on the one night Kevin and I went out. Another on the sidewalk after her damn rain scene went longer than expected and her rain crane was hogging our booth spot for the Festival of Lights. Kevin and I unloaded our stuff not 5 feet from her. I could have accosted her for autographs many times, but, somehow, held back.

They sit, they peruse the offerings, they ponder. The waitress approacheth.
"Do you have the salad with the chicken?"
"The chicken salad?"
"No, I don't think so. The salad with chicken on top."
"We have a chef salad, but nothing with chicken on top. Unless you want the chicken salad."
(Scene shortened.)
"Well, you had it the other day. I don't eat ham."
"It must've been a special."
"Oh. What is this fish sandwich?"
"It's a catfish sandwich."
"What is catfish like?"
"Um...it's catfish. It tastes like catfish. It's good."
"Is it broiled? Can I get it broiled?"
"It's breaded and fried."
"Oh."

And on, and on. I think they ended up with delicious side salads.

Embarrassing. Why do poor people and Midwesterners settle for such shitty food? Would it be so tough for the local eateries to offer dark green greens, ripe homegrown tomatoes, a frickin' avocado, unbreaded and unfried fish? Other tiny tourist towns manage it. Why not Hometown?!

As Tourism Commission Secretary and Concerned Resident, you can bet I'll be working on this. But, in a town where a member of the Regional Tourism Commission complained about paying $1 for hot tea, it's going to be a challenge.

Do you know how much money I could have made catering for those people?

All better now, pretty much.

So...I was a little down last time. Dear readers who like me will be happy to know that I felt better within hours of posting the last lament, and I feel much better now.

karl's comment was, of course, 100% correct. All of those costs ARE the costs of doing business in Amerika. We ARE glad to have that much sales tax to pay, and are 99% positive about our business venture and its ability to make money. (We ARE hoping the buhs--in the hideous parlance of our time--roll in sooner than later.)

But I will NOT give up my LOTR addiction. In fact, I just watched the 1st appendix disk of ROTK two nights ago, and just this morning Stevie and I acted out a scene from ROTK quite convincingly. I quivered in fear and got my shield smashed, Stevie cried out in pain when an invisible Merrie stabbed him in the calf, and I mustered up the energy to rip off my helmet and declare "I am no man" before screaming--over the toast and Cheerios--and ramming my sword into the Witch King's evil face. Stevie's interpretation of the spastic, nearly electric crumpling of the Witch King's death dance was HILARIOUS. I am so proud of that kid.

We had a good time at the Festival of Lights last Thursday night. The FOL is the downtown Hometown business and organization expo. We set up a booth on Main St. and talked to a bunch of people on a glorious almost-autumn evening.

We had a good weekend, too. Stevie went on a motorcycle camping trip with his Gramps. They camped close to Kansas City and spent the following day at the Renaissance Festival. Stevie LOVED the Renaissance Festival, especially the "Fight in the Forest" part. That's the part where the kids take up foam swords and daggers and fight to the death.

Saturday was a No Work day. Kevin, Mark, and I hung out around the house, and Kevin and I reveled in Mark's increasingly amusing antics and personality. Then we dumped him at his Grandma's and WENT OUT. Yes, you read that correctly! We headed to Blackwater for a delicious and expensive dinner--credit card balances be damned--and took in the local theatre troupe's performance of a comedy based on the stupidity of a small-town city council.

On Sunday we went to a farm. I met an old guy at the Steam Engine Show a couple of weeks ago. He has American Cream Draft horses. In case you don't know, American Creams are a color breed, meaning you can only register them if they are the right color and about the right size, and one of the very few draft breeds with its origins in the U.S. (Iowa to be exact). There are only 350 of them in the U.S., and he owns 5--and is one of 2 breeders in MO. The horses were so lovely.

He is also on the board of the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy, a great organization in the business of preserving heritage livestock and poultry breeds. With the despicable agribusiness we have today, only the most marketable breeds of cow, chicken, pig, sheep, etc. are desired. Needless to say, if these other livestock breeds go extinct, it's the same as if the heirloom crop varieties go extinct. If something comes along that kills the few species remaining, we're in deep manure. I got into the ALBC when I was researching chickens. Check them out at http://www.albc-usa.org/. Meeting a board member of this organization who is also a retired college professor who specialized in this issue was extremely lucky. He felt the same way about meeting a kindred spirit who might also be interested in an "education exchange"--he teaches us about taking care of animals in return for the care, or the animals, or at least some connections.

Short story long: He wants to give us three rare St. Croix sheep--ewes, to be precise--and 2 of them are pregnant. Their lambs would have to be bottle-fed because they are rather old ewes and their teats are too big for little lamb mouths. No matter. It would be an excellent way to learn how to care for livestock. And the ewes normally sell for $200 a pop, so it's a rather generous gift! He's looking for a retirement home for these "good ewes"--a natural death, and we are willing to provide that. And their babies would give us a start with some sheep.

AND--this is the best part, potentially. He has a cream draft mare that isn't registered because it isn't the correct color. She doesn't get along with the three registered creams. Although he offered to make me a good deal for her, he was obviously attached and reluctant to let her go. He spoke of finding a color match for her and, therefore, having a beautiful team. I gently offered to care of her over the winter, giving her a chance to escape her low standing in the pecking order and giving me a chance to learn to take care of a draft horse. Anytime he wanted her back, I would give her up. He was intrigued. And, OH! She is a beautiful horse--reddish brown with a light blonde mane and tail and drafty as a garage. And, my! He and his wife want to travel and will be needing someone to help them care for the animals. Do you see the budding beauty of this symbiotic relationship?

I'll update you on how the issues in the previous post resolve. The house is set to close this Friday and the buyers have even contacted the electric company to have the power switched to their name. I'll choose an insurance today, tidy up the bank fees (the transfer went through today!), and worry about the rest later.

Right now I have to read up on sheep....

The Quest Stands on the Edge of a Knife

So, not only are we almost completely out of money, dear reader, but a string of recent mishaps has me close to the edge.

1. You know about the health insurance. The agent got back to us the next day with two decent alternatives. I have yet to decide.

2. We received notice from a collection agency last week. The Columbus Dispatch charged us $25.14 for papers delivered after we moved out of state. When I received the forwarded overdue bill back in July, I called the Dispatch and explained that we had always paid for our papers in advance. We paid through May 24. When I didn't send a bill for the next few months, I figured they wouldn't send the papers. Wrong. Anyway, I officially canceled the paper and they told me they'd take care of it by wiping away the $25.14. They sure did. They referred the bill to a collection agency. So I got to sleep on that knowledge for a night. The next day they told me they really were going to wipe the slate clean, and that their collection agency does not report to the credit bureaus. Good thing.

3. I got all techie and did an online transfer from my now-nearly-defunct Ohio bank account to my new one here in Hometown. After going through the process of receiving two small "test" transfers, I went ahead and transferred $1000 into my new account. "Transfer successful!" it said, so I started writing checks with my new account.

Yesterday I received a letter from Hometown bank stating that we we had 4 overdrawn checks to the tune of $700! WTF? I asked, ragily. After sleeping on THIS information overnight, fearing that I had sent $1000 into the ether or the wrong account or otherwise fucked up my major job duty in this household, and coming to the full realization that we didn't have $700 anywhere that we could transfer into that account to cover the overdraughts, and stressing-ever-stressing about our impending doom and total financial failure, I found out that I had, indeed, made the transfer into the correct account and, yes, my bank book was accurate and showed a small, yet positive, balance. Turns out that those paranoid ass clowns at Old Bank CANCELED the transfer! They "tried to reach me by phone", but they were calling my old phone number. I did update my information online when I moved, but as I did not yet have a home phone, I merely updated my ADDRESS and EMAIL. Apparently, it didn't occur to them to mail or email me, and they canceled the transfer AFTER I had already received the "transfer successful" message and didn't bother to tell me. Or even tell me (online) that the tranfer would really only be successful after they tried to contact me BY PHONE.

So now I'm facing not four but FIVE bounced checks and a fee of $100 which, if you continue to struggle through this blog with me, you know that we really don't have. So Burb, if you don't get your $1 from me for the Segue that you really, really deserve, you know why.

4. When our accountant came to the shop to help us set up our books, it was July 31. July 31, if you don't know, is the last day to file your sales tax for the previous quarter. Sheer luck that she came in that day, as we had no idea. She faxed us the form, we wrote a check for $500 odd dollars for sales tax we've received, and mailed it to the state that day.

A few weeks ago, we got a letter from the state telling us that we're not registered as a business in MO (duh) and they can fine us $100 a day for filing sales taxes without being registered until we are registered. Well, we were working on it, and it's our (my) fault for doing it all backwards, but our intent was and is good--we WANT to be official, we WANT to pay our taxes on time, we ARE in the process of getting registered.

A week ago, we get another letter from the state telling us that we paid our taxes late and they have the option of charging us between 10% and 25% of our sales tax amount in interest on top of the late fee. So, because we are a new small business and ignorant of some things because this is our first time around, and because we were somehow late even though our taxes were postmarked on the July 31 due date, and because the State of Missouri will be ejected from the Union and wither away in debtor's prison because they received our measly $500 of sales tax on a Thursday rather than a Wednesday, they were going to charge us the full Up-the-Butt Fee of 25%.

We called the accountant and she's all over it, but the state has been slow to reply. (No doubt they had to lay off the person who normally replies because they didn't get our taxes on time. Even though they did. But the person who checks that, apparently, got laid off.) In the meantime, we received our official LLC designation from the state and it's all in process and we don't know what will happen. Will the state really punish us for putting C before A and B? Do you understand why I'm starting to feel that all this propaganda to own a home and start a business and dream American is all smelling like so much bullshit?

5. Finally, the house. We got the worksheet that shows how much you're going to pocket after all the fees and realtor commissions and the $2000 you had to give the buyers for their closing costs even though they have less than $1000 in closing costs...you know, that worksheet. And what it showed was that not only did we not make any money at all on the improvements we made, which totaled THOUSANDS of dollars and hundreds of hours, and not only did we not get our fledgling little equity back, but we also did not even get our full down payment back! And that's IF it sells. After 5 years of trying to do the right thing, we get $10,000 of our $13,000 down payment back. And, if you're still reading this increasingly depressing blog, you'll know that we have that much and more in bills due right now. And that amount does NOT include our crushing credit card debt.

What does all this tell you, dear reader? At this point, and maybe I'm PMSing a bit, but it would stand at other times as well, I've learned that it doesn't matter that you get out of bed all day and go to work and pay your bills and save a few dollars here and there and take the long, slippery walk up the student loan repayment mountain and start the kind of small business that you were always told 'made America great' and in all respects try to be a decent and respectable person and citizen. I wonder whether or not any of it means anything. We are always scraping the bottom of the barrel and have but two valuable possessions to show for it--16 acres of land in rural MO and a really big compressor. And we're halfway through. Life, that is.

I'm a little down, if you haven't guessed. The only thing up is my weight, which is always a little beam of sunshine in my world. And if I don't blog about it, what am I going to do? Who else gives a shit besides the people who read this blog?

If you want me, you can find me...on the couch, getting stoned, eating nachos, watching LOTR, and slowly turning into The Dude. I'm this close to saying Fuck it, Man. Let's go bowling.

I knew it was too good to be true.

I finally settled on a health insurance policy late last month. I received the policy last Friday and sat down to read through it today.

I was thinking--and was TOLD--that we had a $10,000 deductible, per person, with pretty cheap prescription drugs AND--the cherry--we could have our regular preventive office visits for $45 a pop WITHOUT meeting the deductible first. All for $194.30/month. I even said to the agent, after getting answers for my many, many clarifying questions, "it sounds too good to be true."

Turns out, it's FALSE. The company doesn't even offer a policy like that, let alone for that price. If I want a high deductible with the office visits, I have to drop down to a $5,000 deductible ($$), add the office visits ($$$), and go with an 80/20 plan as opposed to a 100%-covered-after-the-big-deductible >: - (

New price? $348 per month.

I called the agent, gently expressed my disappointment, and he is currently addressing the problem. Or else running to Mexico.

God dammit! What does a gal have to do to get a break around here?!?

We are sooooo running out of money.

Yep. Our two "active" credit cards are nearly maxed out (to the tune of over $20,000), we have due bills totaling about $10,000 (on top of our regular monthly rent and utilities and insurance, oh, about $3,500? I have to laugh a little bit), and we're about out of cash in our checking accounts--only about $4,000 remains in our personal AND business accounts.

Nerves of steel, man. It takes nerves of steel to be an entrepreneur.

And my nerves are just the regular fleshy-tendony type. Yikes.

Update on the Shit Tickets

Hey! Guess what! I don't have to use up all those crappy brochures!

They were created by the previous tourism commission. Thankfully. Otherwise, I might not be very popular. The previous commission had 100,000 printed, meaning that 65,000 of those things were unleashed upon an unsuspecting touring public.

At first I was told to maybe kinda use some more. After the meeting, the two members of the local media that were there expressed great concern about the image of Hometown (which already has a goofy, hick-sounding name to overcome) that said brochure would be creating. After that, and after I showed them the scores of black Sharpie marks on my copy of the brochure indicating the errors, I was told that maybe it would be a good idea to look into not only a new brochure, but "the next level" of marketing materials.

Woo-hoo!

Selling Out

Check this out.

What I'm Working With

1. Remember our screwed-up ad in the Hometown paper? The one we immediately alerted them to and sent yet another flawless copy of the copy of and were assured that it would be fixed?

It wasn't.

They repeated the ad word-for-wrongly-capitalized-word and phone number sans-a-number in Friday's edition.

2. I started my job as the Hometown Tourism Assistant this morning. Self reflection time: When you leave a job, do you...
A. just go, leaving your office and files exactly as messed up as usual, as if you were coming in the next day?
B. at least clean up after yourself, removing your personal items and computer files and straightening up a bit?
C. go full tilt and clean up after yourself AND leave things in useful order for the next person, including cleaning up computer and hard copy files and leaving a "what I just did, what you might have to do soon" list?

When I left The Hill, I did C. The chick who just left my new job chose--can you guess?--A. Only it's worse, because, apparently, she just wasn't into doing her job for, oh, the last month or so, and things are really out of whack. And, apparently, not only did she do the absolute bare minimum in her position, but she is also a ditz who has no idea how to arrange and file anything in any way that might be remotely comprehensible and useful to anyone.

3. But that's not even why I'm writing this post! I'm writing because I had to share with you one of the worst brochures I've ever seen, and also share that Hometown has 35,880 of these things (I counted), and that we have to use them before we can spend the funds to get a new one made. So my job, I think, is to slyly find out who created this piece of crap and then try to convince the Tourism Commission to recycle them and start anew.

Here is the "Hometown History" segment of this too-large brochure, recreated exactly as is--breaks and all--though names have been changed to cover my ass:

A rivertown of charm and beauty, Hometown
owes much of its present wonderful his-
torical qualities to the wisdom and creative
planning of its founder, and homes, with
over 500 sites on the National Registry.
Hometown is always ready to share its won-
derful heritage.
In 1810, Sarah Pole, a widow, and her
nine children settled in Hometown. When
Indians became hostile in 1812, Sarah
and her family moved across the Midwest
River. They returned in 1814 and built a cabin
on the river bluffs.
After 1814, more settlers came and built
in and around her fort. Hometown was laid
out as a town in 1817. Its position on the
Midwest River brought more people and
developed river trade. It continues to pros-
per to this day. In 1861, the first Battle of
Hometown was fought 1 mile east of the
town. During the Civil War, Hometown, be-
ing so centrally located and on the Midwest
River, made it a pawn of opposing forces.
Hometown today is known for its diversified
culture, history, commerce, business and in-
dustry, education, homes and tourism.
Travelers today can enjoy many of the sites
that Hometown has to offer. It's a great place
to live and a great place to visit.

Does this entice you, traveling reader? Does it nauseate you, dear editor? I won't even get into the "Fun Facts" segment. OK, I will say that it includes things like "World's tallest man visited Hometown (statue in Alton, IL)" and "First State Fairs was held here around 1850" and "Chuck Percy was known as the 'Lantern Man' because it was his job to light the street lanterns around the town."

What the hell am I supposed to do with 35,880 of these shit tickets?