The Dave Casper Experience

Bob, Bill, Lou and Little White Lies

2009-03-26T10:09:00.003-05:00

Bob Borrower wants to buy a house and needs a loan. Enter Bill Broker. When Bill reviews Bob's application, he finds that Bob doesn't make enough money and that Lou Lender won't finance the loan. But Bill knows that Lou has a loan program where, for a slightly higher interest rate, Bob can "state" his income rather than providing documentation to support it. So Bob, with Bill's encouragement, "states" that he makes $2000 a month rather than $1500. Bill submits the application to Lou, Lou agrees to finance the loan, and Bob gets his new house.

Six months later Bob is behind in his mortgage payments. This is a surprise to Lou Lender because all of his analytics tell him that with the income Bob claimed to have there's no reason he couldn't afford the house. And now it turns out that twenty loans Lou financed for Bill Broker have gone into default. After a little research, Lou finds out that in each case Bill knew that the borrowers, including Bob, didn't really make as much as they "stated."

That's called misrepresentation, which is really just a friendly was of saying fraud. Sure, Bill Broker wasn't committing identity theft, falsifying appraisals or pocketing money from loans where a borrower never even existed. In fact, what he did might just be considered a well-intentioned little white lie when compared to all the unscrupulous things he could have done. But the fact remains that Lou Lender entrusted Bill Broker with diligently providing accurate information when taking a loan application, and now Lou is left holding the bag on about $4 million in defaulted loans.

"Little white lies" can turn into big problems. That's one reason to make sure you only deal with folks who demonstrate they're tremendously unlikely to commit them. It's also why it's best to make sure Bill Broker isn't a felon. After all, what's a little white lie to him?

Money Making Opportunity

2009-03-03T08:31:00.003-06:00

While I personally qualify as a "Posse," I'm almost certain I've known someone like "Garlic" and could arrange for him to attend.

This is the type of male escort service I could really get into.

Like the foul stench of a dead hamster

2009-02-19T11:25:00.004-06:00

Like the foul stench of a hamster that crawled into the wallboards and died months ago, sometimes even the worst of ideas just don't seem go away.

Shortly after Harry W. Schwartz announced it would be going out of business after 80+ years, ShorewoodNOW blogger Joe Mangiamelle began incessantly proposing that someone (at first, the Village of Shorewood, but eventually anyone) take over the Shorewood location. Now another ShorewoodNOW blogger, Dave Tatarowicz, has taken a more proactive step in seeing to it that the bookstore remains.

I happen to love Harry W. Schwartz, and was disappointed to learn their stores would be closing. I've always made a point of shopping there as opposed to the bigger book sellers, like that a portion of every purhase I make is contributed to a literacy program and am always impressed by the level of customer service provided. For the most part, I think my appreciation for the retailer comes from the fact that it is run by professionals who truly understand the business of selling books. And so when they decide that after nearly a century of being in business that the market simply is unable to sustain it any longer, I tend to defer to their opinion. This is what confounds me about the Mangiamelle/Tatorowicz proposal.

While Tatorowicz has taken an admittedly more realistic approach to saving the store than Mangiamelle originally did by suggesting a co-op supported by donations from various private contributors as opposed to a government-backed service, it still concerns me that he would propose the use of BID dollars to achieve his goal. During a recession, the last thing we need is government investing money into an operation that has proven itself unsustainable.

As an aside, I'd like to point out to Mangiamelle that of all the praises he sings about Schwartz, be it the community space it offers, a place to drink coffee or get free entertainment, he sure doesn't have much to say about the fact that they also sell books. Maybe if more of the people who lounged around the seating area reading their newspapers and visiting with neighbors spent a few more dollars on the products Schwartz was there to offer in the first place, sustainability wouldn't be an issue.

Finally, everyone lamenting the closing of Schwartz's Shorewood location seems to be ignoring the fact that it will be replaced with an improved Pick 'n Save. I can speak from experience that the existing Pick 'n Save is, to be generous, sub-par. The facility is old and cramped. Parking is horrible. And it's Shorewood's only large grocery store. I've given up going there, but would certainly love to have the convenience of shopping in my own neighborhood at an improved store rather than driving several miles to a better grocery store.

But then, what's more important? Books, or food?

So who, exactly...

2009-02-11T20:25:00.001-06:00

...is gung-ho about this stimulus thing?

I'm all for the executive pay cap...

2009-02-06T18:10:00.001-06:00

...just so long as it sets a precedent for everyone who depends on taxpayer dollars to function day-to-day.

On Top of Things

2009-02-03T14:50:00.003-06:00

So I've just got to ask: Is there one guy at We Energies whose only job is updating the sign showing how much time has passed since the last accident?

Because whoever he is, man, he's fast.

Füd

2009-02-02T21:26:00.003-06:00

For some reason I like to take pictures of food I make. Here's Super Bowl dinner...

Seafood Gumbo

Pulled pork, creamy cole slaw and Bone Suckin' Sauce

11 Things Bourbon Will Make You Do That Dave Casper Won't

2009-02-02T10:30:00.000-06:00

1. Make you feel better about yourself, dipshit.

2. Make you forget about things, like that Hungry Man meal you left in the oven six hours ago.

3. Intimidate people around you when you order it in a bar straight (ordering Dave Casper straight has never intimidated anyone, just confused them).

4. Make every woman within forty feet of you look better.

5. Cure sobriety (although that one may have to be measured at a molecular level when comparing to Dave Casper to tell any real difference).

6. Make you instantly fluent in Bourbonese (see caveat on item 5).

7. Provide you with a near-insatiable desire to wear fancy clothes while riding horseback through town muttering something about bad crops.

8. Donate generously to the Sons of the Confederacy.

9. Wear a string bowtie.

10. Randomly sheer sheep (Dave Casper could not make anyone do that, while copious amounts of bourbon make just about anyone open to the idea).

11. ThriiGiIbiggleplex! Yeah! You!!

More Choose Your Own Adventure

2009-01-29T21:09:00.001-06:00

Why make decisions when you can do it for me?

If only there were some sort of taxpayer supported institution that granted access to books and meeting space.

2009-01-29T12:33:00.003-06:00

ShorewoodNOW blogger Joe Mangiamele is proposing that the Village of Shorewood take over the soon-to-be-closed Harry W. Schwartz bookstore because it provides a service villagers apparently can't get along without.

Right.

Nine Lies I've Told to Get What I Want

2009-01-28T19:30:00.005-06:00

1. I'm British.

2. The check is good.

3. I promise I won't go over the speed limit.

4. I used to be a fighter pilot.

5. I know the owner.

6. Of course I know your name.

7. I'll feed it every day.

8. I swear it was like that when I got here.

9. Eight-and-a-half.

Successful each time.

Sustainability

2009-01-26T20:01:00.002-06:00

A local company today sent an e-mail to all employees linking them to the online corporate newsletter. In the newsletter was an article on the company's recent efforts toward sustainability, and it's goal of eliminating paper waste whenever possible.

Two hours later, every employee received a hand-delivered, four-page, full-color glossy version of the same newsletter at their desk.

KHAAAAAAN!!!!!

2009-01-14T15:50:00.002-06:00

Well, looks like Kirk won.

RIP, Ricardo Montalban.

Something "blue"

2009-01-10T17:58:00.003-06:00

I'm not sure what made me think of it, but the other day I turned to my fiancé and said, "Hey, tell me if you think this would be funny to say at the end of a first date."

"Oh no," she mumbled.

Pretending I didn't hear her, I continued. "So a guy is dropping a girl off after a first date, and he says to her, 'Would you mind if I came inside?' And she says, 'Yes, I would." And he responds, 'How about on your belly, then?'"

She didn't think it was funny. I'm still laughing over it.

It's those little differences that keep us from getting bored with one another.

I think.

Choose your own adventure

2009-01-05T19:10:00.001-06:00

I need some feedback...

Christmas Craft Time

2008-12-23T10:33:00.002-06:00

On December 15th, 2007, I was blessed with the best early Christmas present ever: a beautiful, healthy baby girl. While this is technically her second Christmas, it's the first one in which she's actually able to be actively involved in the festivities. So just this week she and I sat down to make some homemade Christmas ornaments. Daddy/Daughter time is one of my favorite things, so I thought I'd take some time to recommend a great project for all you dads out there to do with your little angels!

Step 1
Go back in time about 22 months. Conceive a child. A beautiful baby girl is recommended, however boys work just as well.

Step 2
Allow child to bake for 9 to 10 months, or until done. Set aside (Note: you should check on the child periodically).

Step 3
Purchase an expensive Kitchen Aid mixer for that special person in your life. Not the child, though, because he or she shouldn't be using heavy duty kitchen equipment or ovens, and most likely isn't particularly good at following recipes.

Step 4
Mix the following ingredients in a large bowl until smooth:

4 cups flour
1 cup salt
1.5 cups water

Most recipes for "claybake" call for using a large spoon to mix the ingredients. I would recommend a spatula, if you have one, because it'll make you feel more like a real chef. But it doesn't really matter what you use, because even after 15 minutes of mixing, you'll still have a powdery substance that isn't even close to resembling dough. Check to make sure you used the right amount of each ingredient. Mix for another 5 minutes. Look at the recipe again. Grow somewhat frustrated. Check on child. Explain to her that you aren't ignoring her but are rather involving her in a "family-fun" project, even if it means restricting her to a play saucer and pacifying her with pretzel rods and other assorted treats her mother doesn't want her to have, but, y'know, she isn't around right now, so what she doesn't know won't hurt her. This is an excellent time for bonding with your child and letting them know you're the "cool" parent. Swear at the proto-dough, then tell you're child that's "daddy-talk" and she isn't to repeat it. Remember that a while back you purchased an expensive Kitchen Aid mixer for your loved one and that it might actually do a far better job at mixing up dough than the now-broken spatula and a now-dented mixing bowl. Transfer ingredients to the expensive Kitchen Aid mixer bowl, attach dough-hook (hey, there's even an attachment just for this!) and begin mixing.

It should be noted now that one of the things that makes an expensive Kitchen Aid mixer an expensive Kitchen Aid mixer is the relatively powerful motor. Men have a tendency to view most any power tool as having two settings: Off and "Balls-Out-Maximum-Hell-Yeah!" While this philosophy generally works when applied to drills, table saws and jackhammers, it lacks a certain finesse when used with a bowl of still-powdery dough. So, go against every single piece of genetic programming in your body and DO NOT set the mixer to 10. Start with 3 or 4. If you choose to ignore this advice, add the extra step of cleaning sticky powder off the kitchen walls here.

Step 5
Realize that 1.5 cups of water simply isn't enough. Slowly add more water to the mixture as the dough-hook turns until, finally, you end up with a smooth, doughy consistency.

Step 6
Break off about a quarter of the dough and form into a ball. This is kind of like making hamburger patties. Shrug off the feeling of regret you're suddenly having over making ornaments instead of getting ready to grill burgers. Don't actually make patties, though, because you're baking ornaments and not burgers (sorry to keep reminding you of that).

Step 7
Place the ball of dough on a flat surface and use a rolling pin to roll the dough about 1/4" flat. By the way, the rolling pin is that large, cylindrical object with handles that always causes the kitchen drawer to get stuck whenever you try to open it.

Step 8
Did I mention you needed more flour? You need more flour. You should have put it on the flat surface before rolling the dough. And some on the rolling pin. And on the ball of dough. You'll probably want to keep a light layer on your hands as well. In fact, just be sure to keep a coating of flour on just about everything in the kitchen from this point on in the recipe. Your child will love it, although it may someday result in her having a strange desire to watch Scarface over and over again. Hey, beats Barney and Friends.

Step 9
Now for the fun part. Use a cookie cutter to cut out 2" round shapes from the flattened dough. If you don't have a cookie cutter, a rocks glass will do. Only, make sure to remove any remaining bourbon from the rocks glass before doing any cutting. Place cut-out dough on a cookie sheet. Continue making dough balls, rolling them out and cutting out circles until the dough is gone or you've simply had enough. Nudge your child awake because she's sleeping through "family-fun" time.

Step 10
Bake in a 300 degree oven for 30 minutes. Oh yeah, you should have started pre-heating your oven right around Step 4. This is why you're supposed to read all the way through recipes before attempting them.

Step 11
Realize you never set the timer. Try and recall what was on the television when you put the dough in the oven and estimate how much time has passed since then. Or figure out how much booze was in your glass when you put them in. That's right, a cocktail is recommended for this recipe. If you're upset that you've arrived at Step 11 only to find that you should have been drinking this entire time, please re-read Step 10.

Step 12
When the smoke alarm goes off, the ornaments are definitely done.

Step 13
Remove ornaments from oven and allow to cool. Put child to bed. "Family-fun" time is over for the night.

So now that you've baked the ornaments, it's time to decorate them. If you don't, you've basically made rock-hard flavorless cookies that are only sufficient as tree ornaments if at one time you donned your tree with beer cans...ahem. This is where your child really gets involved, because a little bit of finger painting goes a long way when it comes to festive designs to be appreciated by grandparents. And apparently finger paints are edible, which means you can kill two birds with one stone and not have to worry about making dinner for your little one! If you're lucky like me, your child will have artistic talents that envy most post-modern painters. If you're unlucky, it'll look more like a bunch of clowns just got fingerprinted in your kitchen.

One last thing: a key characteristic of any ornament is the ability to hang it from a tree. Sure, you could have cut a small hole into each one before you baked them, but why do that when you can just as easily drill one into them once everything else is done? I recommend using a small bit and a drill set for "Balls-Out-Maximum-Hell-Yeah!"

Merry Christmas!

The Christmas Spirit...

2008-12-20T19:24:00.002-06:00

...does not entail acting like a Queen S*** and totally screwing over others. It does, however (if you were raised by an Italian great-grandmother), involve calling someone on the carpet for doing something they really, really shouldn't have done.

Stay tuned to see how this one turns out.

I've just kinda run outta things to say...

2008-12-16T20:54:00.002-06:00

...and there are people in my home that are actually not too unhappy about that!

Heck, I'm in

2008-12-08T08:49:00.001-06:00

If Santa angers you, these will surely piss you off!

2008-12-07T11:58:00.004-06:00

Apparently posting pictures of my Christmas concoctions does more to illicit an angry response than anything I could possibly write on politics, religion or just about anything else. So, that in mind, here's another little something I made...

Brandy-soaked cherries dipped in chocolate with a dark-chocolate Kiss and sliced almonds.

In the spirit

2008-12-05T21:42:00.002-06:00

So in the spirit, I made these little "Santa" cookies all on my own. Alright, so maybe they didn't turn out as perfect as the picture in the cookbook. And I'm not yet sure what they're going to taste like. But gosh darnit, I made them, and that's all that freakin' matters! YEAH!

Boldly Protecting Xmas

2008-12-04T17:01:00.003-06:00

Commander William Riker of the Enterprise travels back in time to provide security at the first Christmas.

Happy Thanksgiving

2008-11-26T12:21:00.002-06:00

The Dave Casper Experience, a subsidiary of Dave Casper Industries America and member of the Dave Casper International family, bringing you the latest in bioplastics, cold-fusion and blogging technology for the last thirty-five years, wishes you and yours a very happy Thanksgiving.

Opportunity: Missed

2008-11-21T14:04:00.003-06:00

This afternoon I visited the Grand Avenue (Milwaukee's piss-poor excuse for downtown shopping) when I noticed a new store called Balloon Universe, and it occurred to me that if the owners had just invested a bit more time into naming their shop they may have eventually arrived at the far more awesome Ballooniverse.

From Where I Fell

2008-11-20T20:29:00.012-06:00

Back in the tail-end of the last century I was traveling through the American Southwest on my own when my car broke down in the middle of nowhere. Cellphones weren't nearly as common as they are now, and even if I had one I doubt there was any chance I'd ever pick up a signal. After waiting about two hours without seeing any sign of life on a road apparently only I had chosen to travel, I figured I'd hoof it towards a gas station I'd seen what seemed like ten, fifteen miles back.

As fate would have it, not ten minutes after I started walking, something started to move on the horizon. At first I thought it might have just been a hallucination. I hadn't been smart enough to be sure I had water when I first started driving through the desert and the temperature was easily breaking three digits. But the further I walked the more real the image became. And the more real it became, the more horrified I grew.

I'm not sure if it was the black cloud of exhaust that seemed to have a life of its own or the roaring engine that sounded like every factory built since the Industrial Revolution were shaking themselves apart under their own raw power, but I knew immediately this was not going to be the source of any sort of help. I stood feeling eternally motionless just staring at this monstrosity thundering towards me. Maybe it was a slight breeze or the sound of vultures that snapped me out of my terrified trance, but I finally started looking around me for a place to hide. There was nowhere to go. No place to run. Maybe if I pretend to be a rock they won't see me I thought. Heat stroke was settling in. I could just start to make out the outline of the beast when I began contorting my body and performing somersaults. I'm a tumbleweed. A non-descript tumbleweed. Nothing to see here. It was a pick-up truck, but one unlike any I'd ever seen. Its body was a mish-mash of rusted metal and poorly tanned leather, all pulled over what I imagined were innards that had long deserted their Detroit origins. Flames shot from the exhaust pipes, and even under an unrelenting burning sun, the headlights shined bright, boring right through me.

I am part of the desert. I am sand. Sand that just messed its pants, but sand nonetheless.

The truck never showed any signs of slowing. One moment it was speeding along with little regard for what stood in its way and the next it was simply stopped. The smell of melting rubber and old, recycled motor oil filled the air. The engine no longer growled, but black exhaust and flames still spewed forth from wherever they chose on this four-wheeled Frankenstein. An otherwise silent scene was interrupted only by the faint sound of my whimpering. I was on my knees. A tear ran down my cheek.

I am a crying cactus.

I could hear the sound of metal upon metal as the driver side door creaked open. An old boot fell to the ground, slowly followed by another. Below the chassis I watched as they made their way around the truck. There seemed to be a limp. One foot moving more slowly than the other. A new smell was present. Many years later I would learn it was the scent of blood.

I am just a mirage. I'm not really here.

The boots walked off the road and I could hear them crushing every piece of stone that hadn't yet turned to sand. One dragged after the other until they came to a stop just in front of me. I didn't dare look up.

"Well well well," a wheezing, graveled voice said. "A new toy."

I am nothing.

And then I blacked out.

******************************

When I came to, the heat and bad odors had been washed away by cool air and the smell of clean leather. I was in the backseat of what appeared to be an air-conditioned sedan. A single man sat in front, humming a tune as he drove.

"Ah, you're awake."

I tried to say something, but words wouldn't come out.

"Don't try to talk, buddy. There's a bottle of water back there. Drink some of that before you do anything else."

I looked around. Next to me was a folded up wheelchair. Leaning against it was a gallon jug. I unscrewed the cap and let water pour down my throat. I started to cough. The man laughed.

"Hey now, slow down. You're going to make yourself sick. It's a good thing I drove by when I did, yesiree. People always make the mistake of trying to drive this stretch of road without checking their cars first or making sure they have enough water. It may be 1998, but you still have to treat this land with the same respect pioneers did a hundred years ago. You were walking the wrong way, you know, if that was your car I passed. Isn't nothing in that direction that could've helped you. But I know of a gas station another half-hour or so this way that'll get you all fixed up and on your way again."

"Thank you," I said. "But, the truck? What happened with that truck?"

"Truck? Wasn't any truck so far as I could see. You were nearly unconscious when I found you, just laying there on the side of the road. It's damn hot out here, and you didn't have any water. Sure as hell weren't dressed right for hiking in the desert. Probably just hallucinating. That's it. No. No. There was no truck. Nobody but you and the desert."

I shook my head, trying to clear it. So I had just imagined it all. All the fear I had existed only in my mind.

"Name is Stearns," he said, "Elliot Stearns. I'm just out for a little drive, checking things out, giving my two-cents to whoever'll take it. Sometimes I write it down. Got myself a computer back home and think I might put it all in there someday if I can ever get the hang of it. Kinda like an electronic diary. Maybe some other folks might like to read it. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm probably the only one who cares."

"I'd read it."

"Sure you would, kid. Sure you would. Guy who sees things after spending just a little time in the desert. Just the audience I'd want." Stearns laughed.

I readjusted myself in my seat. The water was making a world of difference. Everything started to come into focus. Eyeing up the wheelchair, I noticed with a slight jolt that propped up next to it was a shotgun. The craftsmanship was beautiful. The metal was clean and glistening. Intricate detail was carved into the stock. Only, it was marred. For along the top were a series of what looked to be rough, hand-cut notches. One was obviously fresher than the rest.

"Nope...no truck at all."

What should Dave Casper blog about next?
	Bourbon
	Family
	Facebook
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What should Dave Casper blog about next?
	Politics
	Work
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	Something "blue"
	I really don't give a flying fart

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