Year: 2018

Giveaway: FinCon18 box of swag.

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At this year’s Financial Blogger Conference (aka FinCon18), I had the privilege of moderating a panel stocked with four great folks: Liz Weston, Joe Saul-Sehy, Miranda Marquit and Harlan Landes.

The topic was “how to do a great interview,” whether that’s for articles or podcasts, and the panelists shared tremendously valuable info. Audience members had great questions, and we talked until the next group of presenters needed the space.

Bonus: Abby didn’t get sick this year. I didn’t get sick this year, either.

 

We both had a great time learning, meeting up with colleagues and, yeah, cruising “FinCon Central,” where 100 tables were set up to clue us in as to what’s new in the personal finance world.

Which brings me to the real point of this column: Swag. Lots of it.

Those tables were loaded with shirts, blank books, socks (yep, socks), stress balls and so many other tchotchkes. Thank the FinCon Central folks for this, my first giveaway in quite a while.

Thank my daughter, too, because not only did she remain healthy, she picked up promo merchandise to help me fill a large flat-rate Priority Mail box. (Sorry: It won’t show up wrapped all pretty-like with a big red bow. But it’ll still be full of free stuff!)

 

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More $#*! my boyfriend says.

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While visiting my daughter in Phoenix, I called DF to hear his voice and give him an update. It wasn’t much of an update, since the visit was a lot like every other trip I’ve made.

Doing chores to help out, visiting thrift stores, stopping by The Dollar Tree for odds and ends like a new paring knife and 32 ounces of Silkience shampoo, playing with the dog and binge-watching TV shows Abby thinks I’d enjoy.

Sadly predictable, but it works for me.

At the end of our conversation I told him I’d call again the next day.

“Hoping to report something moderately interesting,” I said.

“Moderate interest is fine,” he replied. “Anything more would be usury.”

A nerdy pun that mentions personal finance: Can’t help lovin’ that man.

 

And as I pointed out in a previous article, “$#*! my boyfriend says,” it’s just his way. Our conversations are often weird and never boring.

 

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Frugal Phoenix fashion.

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Before I begin, let me pat my own back for successfully resisting the headline “Phrugal Phoenix Phashion.” You’re welcome.

The thrift stores down here are much better than the ones in Anchorage. No surprises there, since more than a million people live in the Phoenix metro area. This means a lot of donations.

Specifically, a lot of donations of warm-weather clothing, the kind that doesn’t exactly crowd the racks in Anchorage thrift stores.

Since I’m due to attend (and speak at) the in Orlando, one of my goals was to find a couple of new shirts and maybe a pair of pants. My daughter and I spent some pleasant times treasure-seeking in Savers (called Value Village in Anchorage) and Goodwill.

I scored four shirts and a pair of cotton-linen slacks for less than $22. Abby found a bunch of tops for even less – and in the process triggered her thrift-store FOMO. That’s one of the down sides of thrifting. Fortunately my trying-on tolerance is fairly low, so I tended to find a couple of things and then just wait with the cart while she test-drove shirt after shirt.

The best part about Savers: the 50-percent-off sale that takes place every Monday. This allowed me to get good prices on clothes and also a hat to keep the punishing summer sun off the top of my head.

 

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Do kids still do these things?

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Happy Throwback Thursday! This piece originally ran on April 29, 2014. Given that so many of these pastimes were summer-oriented, I decided to post this because summer is nearly over. Sorry to be such a buzzkill.

Today I noticed a Facebook posting about talking into the fan “to hear my robot voice,” complete with a picture of a windblown little girl facing a fan and either talking or singing. That is, if robots sing.

“Admit it…we all did this,” the caption concludes.

Duly admitted. However, DF says he never did any such thing. Perhaps that’s because he grew up mostly in Alaska, where fans aren’t a common household appliance.

Do kids still do that – talk into a fan to hear their voices oscillate? Or is that too lame for words, given that they can download apps to make their voices sound like Darth Vader or, yes, a robot.

How about this one: Do kids still let the fan blow bubbles for them? Show of hands if you’ve ever held a dripping bubble-blowing wand in front of a running fan to watch bubbles shoot out.

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Extreme heat, safe retirement and book-ish T-shirts.

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I’m in Phoenix, where my brain is slowly frying. Which helps explains the rando stuff I’m about to post.

First: I flew down here to Satan’s Fry Daddy to help my daughter celebrate her 40th birthday. Yes, I was surprised as well, and mildly curious as to where those four decades flew.

Part of my birthday gift to Abby was to help prepare* for the bash: cleaning, shopping and food prep. It was quite the spread, encompassing fruits, vegetables, hummus, meats, cheeses, tortilla chips and salsa, crackers, pita bread, chocolate chip cookies, miniature Reese’s peanut butter cups and a decent selection of adult beverages, bought by Abby and Tim and also brought by their pals.

If you’re gonna invite people, invite those who bring the weird stuff rather than expect you to anticipate their tastes. Hard iced tea – who knew?

 

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Average salaries haven’t gone up (much) in 40 years.

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Having trouble making ends meet? A beer income rather than champagne tastes could be the reason.

That’s because real average salaries – wages adjusted for inflation – today aren’t much bigger than they were in 1978, according to the Pew Research Center.

Lately we hear a lot of rah-rah about low unemployment (3.9 percent), and the fact that the private sector has been creating jobs consistently (101 straight months as of July). However, the Pew study indicates that not only has wage growth dawdled, most salary gains have gone to higher-paid workers.

Workers in the private sector averaged $22.65 per hour, a gain of about 2.7 percent from last year. That’s the new normal, according to the study; in the past five years workers have seen salary gains of 2 to 3 percent.

However, average hourly earnings tended to go up by 4 percent in the time period before the Great Recession. In the 1970s through the early 1980s, it wasn’t unusual to get wage increases of 7 to 9 percent. Those were high-inflation times, however, so the money was desperately needed.

Here’s where it gets depressing, though: Our inflation-adjusted salaries haven’t gone up by much. In January 1973, average hourly wage was $4.03. Today, that would be $23.68 – and as noted above, private-sector wages currently average $22.65 an hour.

 

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Wedding crashers.

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The sun came out this evening, after five or six days of gloom and/or rain. DF suggested we ride over to Kincaid Park and enjoy a view of the water, or at least a view of anything other than our own yard and our own four walls.

The parking lot at the Kincaid Chalet (actually a former bunker for nuclear-armed Nike missiles) was fairly crowded. Not unusual, since a lot of special events take place there.

“I think it’s a wedding,” DF reported when I returned from getting my sunglasses from the car.

The chalet is probably the number-one place for wedding receptions in Anchorage. You get a great view Mt. Susitna (aka “Sleeping Lady”), Fire Island and Cook Inlet, plus tons of trees and, sometimes, moose and bears.

We heard music and laughter and a DJ’s booming voice, and saw nicely dressed people milling around outside the chalet, whose doors were open. We intended to walk on by. But then Louis Armstrong’s voice arose, singing “What A Wonderful World.”

I pulled up short. “Let’s dance.”

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Newspaper is magic.

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I spent a few hours at the public library yesterday, researching an upcoming article and working on a preliminary outline. Being me, I brought along a snack (peanuts from a giant Costco can) and a soft drink* that I’d partially frozen and wrapped in newspaper (diet sodas taste better very, very cold).

When I unwrapped the drink my eye fell on the newspaper’s date: June 20, 2016.

Aside from a little fraying around the edges the section was as readable as it ever was, although I’ve been using it fairly often for more than two years now.

Oh, newsprint: I will miss you when you’re gone.

 

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Free stuff at the garage sale.

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Once while shopping at a garage sale I was given a box of canning jar lids and bands for free. I was perfectly willing to pay the $1 price, but the proprietor said “Oh, you can have it” – probably because I was buying a bunch of other stuff.

At another garage sale, my daughter and I showed up just as the hosts were So Done with the event. Everything left was free, they said. And not just some limp paperbacks and yellowed doilies, either: We’re talking a bed frame, kitchenware, sports equipment, a kitchen table, linens and more.

The easiest way to get free stuff, though, is the most obvious way: Look in the free box.

 

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Heat wave? It’s all relative.

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The mercury edged over 80 degrees yesterday, the second or third day of the heat wave. Anchorage residents moaned and sighed and even jumped into local lakes. For my great-nephews that meant Jewel Lake, whose waters are somewhere between 50 and 54 degrees.

By comparison, the water off Cape May, NJ, averages 73 degrees in July. No swimmer’s itch, either, although there might be jellyfish from time to time.

I grew up in a hot, humid place, and remember lying awake wishing that the box fan in the window would magically find cool air and send it my way. My jobs in that region – a commercial greenhouse, a bakery and a glass factory – were not terribly comfortable, either.

In hot-and-humid Oak Park, Ill., our place had two air conditioners: one in the bedroom and one to cool the rest of the apartment. The bedroom cooled off just fine when the door was closed. The other rooms were never really cool, though. They were just a little less hot.

When I lived in Seattle the temperatures went over 100 from time to time (and my south- and west-facing windows grabbed every available ray). I’ve spent time in Phoenix in the summer, and last year encountered both dehydration and, I believe, a touch of heat stroke. (Thank goodness for air conditioning, tile floors and that jug of iced tea.)

I’ve even been in Death Valley in the summer. On purpose. Even so, I have to admit that an Alaska “heat wave” is startlingly uncomfortable.

 

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