VA Loans

Death by a thousand cuts

I’ve been on the internet for a long, long time.

Via local Bulletin Board Systems, I started reading USENET newsgroups — mostly Star Trek and comic book and computer game stuff — during college in the late 1980s. I got sucked into the world of MUDs. Soon after graduating, I heard about this new thing called the World Wide Web, so I installed Mosaic on my Macintosh SE.

Before long, I taught myself HTML and built my first website. Eventually, in 1997, I started my first blog — back before blog was even a word!

I was drawn to the web (and the internet) in part because it seemed so egalitarian. Anyone could start a website about anything, and as long as they produced great stuff and shared it, people would read. I also liked the fact that almost everything was free. It didn’t cost anything (besides your $19.95 monthly dial-up service) to access any of this information. The early web was a de facto sharing economy.

Best of all? The web was a wide open space, a blank slate, a platform free from dominance by mainstream media. Little people like me could have a voice.

None of this lasted long.

The Monetization of the Web

Soon, banner ads came along. I hated banner ads when they first appeared. “My site will never have banner ads,” I told my friends. (This was my first real lesson that you should never say never. My friends have been giving me grief about this for more than fifteen years!)

In 1998, Google arrived and changed everything. Until that point, web search was a miserable experience. It wasn’t very good and it was overly monetized. Google was the opposite. It was amazing and had no monetization at all.

Hahahahahahahaha. How things have changed. Today, Google is all about ads. And using it is more and more a miserable experience. Look at this mess:

How long until Google has transformed itself into AltaVista?

In time, the mainstream media realized that the web wasn’t going anywhere. By the early 2000s, they were treating it as an important part of their operations. By the early 2010s, the web had become the most important part of most media companies’ platforms. And if it hadn’t, those companies would soon be dead.

Meanwhile, two parallel (but related) trends developed.

  • First, there was the rise of “software as a service” (Saas). In the olden days — 1995, say — when you wanted a computer program, you went down to Circuit City and bought it. You paid for it once and you owned it forever. As “web apps” became a thing, companies shifted from one-time payments to a subscription model. Today, even big companies like Microsoft and Adobe have adopted the practice of continually charging for their products. (And if they don’t use a subscription model, they often “sunset” their software, which is essentially the same damn thing.)
  • Second, forward-thinking sites and companies learned there was money to be made by disrupting existing business models. Netflix is a great example. Founded in 1997, this company has single-handedly destroyed multiple industries, most notably retail video. And, eventually, Netflix began to disrupt the monolithic television industry itself! Initially, this was beneficial to consumers. Now, in 2019, it’s become apparent that oops, nope it’s not. (See also.)

Twenty-five years ago, when the web was young, it was all about free. Anyone who could afford a computer and a $19.95/month dial-up connection was free to create and publish whatever they wanted — and free to consume what other people had created. It was like some sort of digital utopia.

Death by a Thousand Cuts

Today, the web is most decidedly not free. And it’s getting less free with every passing month. Let’s be honest: More and more, life online is expensive. It’s like death by a thousand cuts.

Selling our home was the best financial decision we have ever made

Hello! My name is Wendy Mays, and I’m super happy to share a bit of my story. In the past couple of years, my husband and I have taken several big steps to change our financial future.

From the outside looking in, it appeared we had it all: a perfect family in a beautiful, Pinterest-worthy home in sunny San Diego, California. We’d reached the pinnacle. We were living the American Dream.

More money, less happiness: When money makes you miserable

Money, the conventional wisdom says, doesn’t buy happiness. Modern psychology seems to back this up, with studies suggesting that beyond an income of $75,000, money doesn’t make you any happier.

This conclusion is simultaneously obvious and counter-intuitive.

As an abstract principle, most us acknowledge that money doesn’t buy happiness. But, at the same time, we all want more of something material — a nicer house, nicer vacations, the ability to live in a certain neighborhood or eat at fancier restaurants — that we think would make us happier. (If you’re J.D., you think maybe season tickets to your favorite team might make you happier.)

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And now you’re ready to buy. Follow these steps to get a good deal and make the car-buying process at the dealership as painless as possible. To help make it easier, download our cheat sheet and take it with you.

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An uncertain future

On February 17th — in the middle of nine days without power due to an ice storm — we had the foundation contractor out to re-inspect our house. We experienced some settling last fall, and I was worried that might indicate deeper problems.

For thirty minutes, the contractor explored the crawlspace while I sat in the living room, fretting. When he finished, he came up to tell me what he’d found.

“Look,” he said, “my assessment is the same as when you had me out here three years ago. Your foundation is fine. It’s not failing. The house isn’t falling down.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“That said,” he continued, “I do think you’d feel better if you were to reinforce one section of the foundation. It looks to me as if you’re seeing some minor expansion and contraction of the soil, which is what’s causing your settling issues. It’d cost about $9000 to remedy that.”

That evening as Kim and I huddled in our powerless living room, bundled in coats and jackets and using flashlights to read, I made a confession.

“I want to move,” I said. “I know we both love this house and this yard, but it’s taking a toll on my mental health.”

“I know,” Kim said. “I know you’ve been struggling. Ever since we moved in, I’ve seen how you’ve grown increasingly depressed and anxious. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, but I think maybe you should give up on your dream of owning an old house.”

She’s right. I love old houses but my personality isn’t suited for them. They stress me out. (My ex-wife and I owned an old house too — she still lives there — and it caused me endless stress, as well.)

For the next couple of weeks, Kim and I spent many hours discussing our best course of action. Then, one month ago today, we made a decision: We would sell the house as soon as possible (to take advantage of the crazy Portland real-estate market), then rent a place for a while as we made a careful, calculated decision about where to live next.

A year-long spending moratorium

While walking the dog last weekend, Kim noted that I’ve been getting a lot of packages in the mail lately. “What’s up with that?” she asked.

I sighed.

“Remember how we shared that bottle of champagne on New Year’s Eve?” I said. “Well, that got me buzzed enough that I sat down at my computer and ordered a bunch of used books. Mystery novels and manga. So, those are starting to filter in.” That’s right. I got drunk on New Year’s Eve (because I no longer drink regularly, I’ve become a lightweight) and ordered old John le Carré paperbacks and Lone Wolf and Cub compilations from ABE Books. I lead an exciting life, my friends.

“Don’t you have enough books?” Kim asked.

“Honestly, I do,” I said. “And I haven’t read half of them. I haven’t watched half of the movies I’ve purchased. I haven’t read half of my graphic novels.”

“You only wear about half of the clothes in your closet,” Kim added. We stopped to let the dog dig in the ditch. Tally was certain she smelled a rodent and was desperate to find it.

“Right,” I said. “I know I’m not the only one who does this, but that doesn’t mean I like it. I feel as if I ought to take a break from buying new stuff and just work through the books and movies and clothes I already own.”

“I feel as if you ought to do that too,” Kim said, laughing. Then Tahlequah saw a deer in the neighbor’s field, and our conversation was forgotten in the ensuing excitement. Bark bark bark! Deers are evil.

Keeping a home improvement projects to-do list

My Christmas curse continues! You see, for a long time now — almost thirty years — Christmas has become synonymous with home problems for me.

This all started in the first home that Kris and I owned back when we were newly married. We woke one Christmas morning to find that the water heater had overflowed, flooding the laundry room and much of the converted garage. Unfazed, we cleaned up the mess and spent our holiday without hot water. It was fun!

Since then, I’ve experienced a long line of home problems on Christmas day: frozen pipes, broken gutters, fallen fences, and more. And this year? Well, this year’s issue was minor…but may lead to a major repair.

The house that Kim and I bought last August is in good shape. We made sure of that during the inspection period. Still, no home is perfect — and a house built fifty years ago has a few warts.

“Did you know something’s wrong with the ceiling in the hall bathroom?” Kim asked on Christmas morning after she finished her shower. “The paint on the ceiling seems to be peeling.”

“What?” I said. I went to take a look. Kim was right. The paint on the ceiling seemed to be peeling.

“I’ll bet that’s from moisture,” I said. I found a footstool and climbed up to take a closer look. I turned on the ventilation fan. “Wow,” I said. “The fan doesn’t seem to be pulling any air. That’s the root issue.”

I toyed with the peeling paint, which was a mistake. The brittle stuff crumbled and fell to the floor in large chunks. “That’s so strange,” I said. I picked up a few pieces of debris. “Is this only paint? It seems so thick.”

“It looks like it’s just paint,” Kim said. “But many layers of paint. Who knows? It could be something else underneath.”

So, now we have the first urgent home project in our new place. It’s not a huge deal, obviously, but it’s something we want to repair sooner rather than later. It’s just a matter of finding time. (This seems like something we should be able to fix ourselves rather than hiring out.)

This issue has actually been a blessing in disguise. Everywhere I live, I keep a master list of repairs and projects. But I hadn’t yet drafted that list for our home here in Corvallis. This morning, I remedied that.

How self-centered shopping has made me happier with the things I buy

I’ve changed the way I shop over the past few years. And although the shift has been subtle, I’ve found that I’m much happier with the things I buy.

In the past, my approach to shopping was simple. If I wanted a new thneed, I would go to a store (or, with the advent of the internet, a website) and choose from the available thneeds. I’d look at the store’s selection (or the website’s selection) and pick the one best suited for me.

If the thneed I wanted was particularly expensive or important, I might expand my search to multiple stores or multiple websites. But usually, I stuck with the first store I visited.

The key point here is that I allowed the places I shopped to impose limits on the thneeds available to me. I think of this approach as “store-centered shopping”. Whatever the store has in stock defines my universe of options.

Now that I’m older, I’ve flipped the script. Instead of allowing the marketplace to define which thneeds are available to me, I decide exactly what I want before I begin my search. I put myself and my needs first. Once I know what I want, I take the time to locate it. What I want is almost always out there somewhere — if I’m patient enough to track it down.

I think of this approach “self-centered shopping”. I’m putting me first, and that’s a Good Thing. In fact, that’s an Excellent Thing! This method consistently leads to greater satisfaction with the things I buy. Instead of picking up cheap, mass-market thneeds, I’m buying thneeds that feel as if they were specifically made for me.

Let me give you a concrete example.

The leak in our bathroom ceiling

Ah, the joys of homeownership.

Remember the peeling paint in the bathroom ceiling that I mentioned last week? The peeling paint that I felt certain was due to humidity from the shower and lack of adequate ventilation? Well, I was wrong. The paint is peeling because we have a leak in the roof.

It seems to be a small leak, but it’s a leak nonetheless.

Monday morning, I noticed that there was a tea-colored water stain in the area where the paint had peeled. “I don’t like that,” I thought, and I snapped a photo.

I drove up to the family box factory, where my brother and I spent several hours waiting for Mom to be discharged from the hospital. While we waited, we sorted through her paperwork to be sure we had everything in order. We updated her personal-finance records. We chatted about the future.

In the end, Mom was not released from the hospital on Monday, so I drove home in the heavy rain. When I arrived, I checked the water spot in the bathroom ceiling. Had it grown? It had.

So, I ventured into our attic for the first time.

Amazon Brand Detector

Two months ago, The Markup — a big-tech watchdog site — published a piece about how Amazon prioritizes its own “brands” first above better rated (and/or cheaper) products. This came as no surprise to me.

I’ve found Amazon increasingly useless over the past few years. Its search results are cluttered with ads. Sometimes my searches fail to show products I know the company stocks and sells. And Amazon Prime has lost its luster as shipping times have lengthened and Prime Video has become increasingly superfluous.

So, to learn that Amazon cheats search results by crowding out better and cheaper products in favor of it own stuff was no big shock. Yet another reason for me to take my business elsewhere, when possible. From the article: