Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

What the Hell is an Iraq?

Of course, President Bush wants no part of a cease fire in Lebanon. Continued killing advances his agenda of cleansing the Mideast of people who dare to dislike the United States of America and for which it stands; and continued carnage diverts attention from Iraq, where American soldiers die daily for some vague cause that becomes more and more non-sensical with each passing hour.

The tours of duty of a number of units in Iraq ... Reserves and National Guard units, the so-called "weekend soldiers" ... have been extended. Other units are being called up to ship off to Iraq to "quell the violence in Baghdad." What? Violence? Violence is a stabbing on the street corner ... this is still a fucking WAR.

Meanwhile, in Afghanistan, the installed puppet of Bush the Lesser, Mr. Karzai, apparently is on the same wavelength as the President when it comes to democratic redforms. He has re-formed the Department for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice, the arm of government that the Taliban used to persecute the populace and which is similar to that of another of our allies and a great bastion of democracy, Saudi Arabia. Ah, yes, democracy in action.

ALMOST THERE

so today we go to court on j's second charge. charge reduced slightly. pleads "no contest." found guilty, sentenced to 90 days in jail, 90 days suspended, $750 fine, $250 suspended, 1 year probation, on condition that he report to h/w/h as soon as bed opens. probation officer set it up for monday -- that's the best they could do.

he's still in good spirits. the kid has 9 months jail time hanging over his head, and some hefty fines. i hope it's enough of a deterrent.

shit, this was a sobering experience. heh. sobering. funny cuz i'm talking about me. you start out as a parent thinking you're going to do everything right. you keep believing that as long as you do, that things will turn out fine and dandy. pfffft. let me tell you something. first of all, there's no such thing as perfection in terms of parenting. no. such. thing. second, we were / are pretty damned good parents. shit happens. believe it.

but i also HAVE TO believe that all things are possible. that this kid can again see that there are bigger and better things out there for his life, that drugs are the devil trying to keep him from that life. that he can beat it.

jax is a huge drug addict. we once had a drug counselor tell us that he'd never seen an addiction problem this big. this from a counselor, sober himself for over 20 years, working with addicts most of that time. it's big. really big. he won't live through it again, i fear. no hyperbole. most drug addicts can live through it. not jax. not keith moon. that's who i think about in terms of jax's problem.

a little respite of a weekend here again for him and then into the house on monday. pray for him.

i have a chair i sit in (it's mine because it has two arms to help me up and a stool upon which to rest my legs). the picure below is what i see when i look up from there. the first picture is the boys when they were about 8 and 12. the second is the photo of the boys and mel taken in may. i plan on seeing many more photos in this series -- i told mel that we'll wait another 10 years to take the next, and my plan is that there will be a wife for jax, and at least two grandchildren. that's MY dream. the past couple of weeks have seen me weeping at these pictures. a lot.

i HAVE to have hope. this is my life, too.

thanks, ya'all.

i'm kind of in a hurry here. i'll fix this entry later if it's a mess. sorry in advance for any technical messes.

BILL'S STUPID DOG

pfffft.

Live or Die ... You Choose

I saw a television commercial about the movie Final Destination 3 coming out or already in the marketplace on home DVD ... maybe you've seen the commercial in which the announcer says, "Blah, blah, blah who lives or dies ... YOU decide."

I have a real problem with this advertisement and the whole concept of "YOU decide." This is a fucking movie, and the director had something in mind when he made the movie. That's how we describe movies ... an Alfred Hitchcock movie, a Frank Capra movie, a Ridley Scott movie, and so on. It's not up to me to fuck with the director's artistic interpretation of the screenplay.

But the producer, in an obvious attempt to make billions of dollars more than he did when the movie premiered and played for two or three days, introduces 6 gimmick, interactive movie-making. You, the viewer, decide how the movie develops and comes out in the end. You decide who lives and who dies in the movie.

This is a classic example of the bait and switch. You pay a lot more for the opportunity to be the director/writer of the movie, and you think you have some kind of control over the story line. You don't. Why would James Wong, the director, allow some, in his mind, dumb fuck moron (because that's how directors think) to mess with his product? No fucking way! Let me clue you in on a definition ...

in - ter - ac - tive adj. Acting or capable of acting on each other.

Have you thought about what that means? "Acting on each other" means that it's a two-way street; and the angry, ego-maniacal director has most certainly planted the geo-markers of your final destination into the home DVD.

Many think that I'm paranoid, an alarmist, a stupid asshole; but be very careful when you decide, while watching, nervously fingering the DVD player's remote control, to allow one of the good-looking babes or handsome studs who died in the movie to live on in your version of movie reality. Someone must die in that person's place, or so it goes, ... and who, in an interactive world, Mr. or Ms. Remote Controller, would be the most likely to get fucked?

You have been forewarned.

Lunch at Danny Boy's

We went to lunch at one of our favorite spots this afternoon. On ESPN, several run-through-the-wringer-looking kind of guys were playing some kind of poker game. I never really watched people playing poker before; and I assume that if one is involved in the poker game itself, then it is a very exciting thing. I suppose one might even break a sweat, depending on the conditions in the room.

I know that when I would sell instant game ducats at bingo for St. Ed's, it could get pretty hot in those rooms ... of course, there were a lot more people playing; and I imagine the bingo machine could get pretty hot as the evening moved along. I don't know if the bingo ball machine thingy got hot because I never operated it. I was one of the low people on the totem pole and was consigned to selling the instants. I was told that it took a special skill to run the machine and call out the letters and numbers on the balls, and I don't doubt that for a minute. Make one mistake ... I can't imagine the horror ... the horror. I'm certain that selling those instant game tickets in other venues is a mortal sin, but I was granted special dispensation to do so by the Archbishop.

I know that ESPN stood for Entertainment and Sports Programming Network, but poker is neither a sport nor entertainment. It might be entertaining if they were allowed to have loaded guns ... then it'd be like waiting for cars to crash in a NASCAR race. People would be goading the poker players on, trying to get them to draw their guns, learning who in the American Poker League is quick-tempered and who in the National Poker League, maybe the #2 guy, Trigger Mike, on the Reno Sharks, has a quick draw ... and use paint-ball guns; then there's no killing involved. Now, that would be entertainment ... and sport.

Until then, I'll watch golf instead of poker.

DAY 4

nothing but love, baby. nothing but love.

i realized the other day that jackson's new sobriety date would be my birthday! coolness. another reason to pray that he doesn't fuck up. [i should write an entire post about my use of profanity and how i've really tried to cut down here in the nbl; but sometimes, nothing else will do. sorry to those of you whose shoulders tighten up when i use it. really, i AM sorry. obviously, not sorry enough.]

each day has been a good one. it's really not hard to tell when he's working his program. the problem is that when he's not, i work way too hard to believe him. to excuse a lot of his behavior. denial aint just... so i'm looking at myself really hard to see if i'm doing that again. i don't think so. i think it's good. he seems determined and in really good spirits. very articulate about what's going on, about where he's been. he's made some interesting phone calls to people in the program who've told him to call when he's ready. he says he's ready. he's got a new co-sponsor, soon to have a new sponsor, i think.

he had charges in two different jurisdictions. one of them is taken care of. he's on probation, reporting to probation officer on a regular basis, urine tests, blah, blah, blah. there's a hearing on the second charge on friday. this is why h/w/h wouldn't admit him on monday. he is not allowed to leave for a certain amount of time [a few minutes have lapsed here as bill just walked in with dogs. we talked a couple minutes. heard a little beagle howl from hallway. he left scout outside. lolol.] so they wanted him to take care of it and THEN come in.

so today he had to report to probation officer on his first charge, and he admits to using without the piss test. so, she violates him (heh. not THAT way. in the LEGAL way.) but says no arrest or warrant will be issued UNLESS he doesn't report to h/w/h on friday. and if he doesn't, she'll have a warrant issued, he'll be arrested and held in jail until a bed opens up somewhere. YAY! all about recovery. we're praying it'll go pretty much that way on the second charge friday, too.

i thought A LOT about if and what i was going to share here on the nbl about all this; and, obviously, i decided to really share. it's MY life, too, -- and a big part of it -- not just HIS. i don't know what jackson thinks of this, i don't think he's really thrilled about it; but he understands my position and knows he doesn't have too much to say about THAT. so there we are.

again, thanks ya'all for your support. you too, darlene! love ya!

i was in the middle of editing this because bill opened our package from moonandsun, and she commented as i was doing it! I WANTED TO THANK YOU, MOONANDSUN, FOR THE CHOCOLATE LOVE! but i wanted to thank you before you commented. dammit. i suck.

Rehabbed

The dude has never asked me for money. We see each other every day as he patrols the southern end of West Ninth Street, cruising in his wheelchair. Our eyes have met from time to time, but nothing more than a nod or a smile has ever been exchanged during daylight hours. He disappears into the night, only to reappear in the morning light, a daily fixture of the neighborhood. His brown, shoulder-length hair is unkempt, but not dirty, and his beard scruffy, probably for want of a razor.

There is a story there ... too young to be a Viet Nam vet. Perhaps, he served in Desert Storm for the first President Bush, losing his lower legs to the Iraqi army, but more likely in the Crusade started by Bush the Lesser; or maybe he is the victim of an industrial accident, legs amputated, drawing disability pay allowing him to get some shelter and a shower at night.

Tonight, the story takes a different turn. I saw him riding a bicycle in the park down by the river.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU OLD GIMP!

it's getting harder and harder to pretend i'm a regular person (heh. i almost said normal. as if.). had to get my driver's license renewed today. wasn't sure if i'd have to do the quick vision test or not. damnit! yes, i would! and now, because of the bean-size (if you compare your field of vision to a melon) blind-spot in one of my eyes (of course, the spot is RIGHT IN THE FUCKING MIDDLE of my field of vision), i now have a restricted driver's license. only licensed to drive during daylight hours. fuck.

don't even ask about the photo on the license. don't. even. ask.

TODAY'S NEWS FROM THE NBL

took jax to h/w/h (halfway house). he was advised to come back friday after court. so there we are. 4 days to keep this kid safe and motivated not to run. pfffft.

say it with me:

weeee can do it!
weeee can do it!
wecandoit, wecandoit!

he must do it. cuz if he bolts, there will be an arrest warrant issued; and instead of h/w/h -- jail. his choice.

he's in very good spirits, good attitude. so far, so good. seems he realizes we're serious about kicking him out. finally. yay for mom and dad. yay for jax.

thanks for all the e-mails and support and prayers. really. even if i haven't responded, please know i've read and wept over each and every single one. i love you guys.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME.

jax is home. called me yesterday evening. high. tired. scared. profoundly sorry. wanted to be back with the family. we (bill, matt, mel, and i) all had very strong covictions. the only thing we agreed upon was that he was not coming home to live. that he had to go to a halfway house. but halfway house doesn't admit on weekends. sooooo, where to? bill, matt, and mel wanted him to check himself into treatment or go to a shelter. he desperately opposed that. so did i. i felt that he would bolt if we wouldn't allow him to come home until he could get into h/w house. i stuck to my guns. b, m, and m deferred to my judgment. that was tough. really tough. i can't even begin to explain the struggle and how much it meant that they deferred to my position.

so i got him home, fed him, and put him to bed. waiting to hear from the guy at h/w/h. i'm guessing he'll be there at least 3 months. maybe longer. i really don't know how it works. i'm sure the court will have something to say about it. he's got a hearing friday on one of the theft charges from april.

during his time there, i do know, he'll be able to leave to work, go to meetings (although there are meetings there daily. multiple times a day), or go to essential appointments. he'll have shelter, food, people to help, and cigarettes. he made some phone calls yesterday while we were in the car to people in the program asking for help (sobbing. begging.). it was good. he's on his knees. i think. i pray.

i believe that all the good mojo being sent his/our way helps. thanks from the bottom of my sore little 52-year-old heart.

HOLDING ON BY MY FINGERNAILS

tomorrow is my 52nd birthday. mat and mel came in last night for the weekend. we met at danny boy's for pizza. jax said he'd join us for a family dinner tonight -- that he wanted to hang out with other a.a.ers after the meeting. he'd call and let me know what he was doing.

he said he was at applebee's. he didn't sound right. i asked him if he was high, and he said, "yes." he said he did it yesterday so we wouldn't be alone. that he needed to do this. that it was gonna be all right. "it's gonna be all right, mom." that he needed to go to jail or be taught a lesson in some other way. that he left his keys at home so that we wouldn't worry that he'd clean us out.

i told him not to come home, that he was out. he said, "i know." i turned off his cell phone service.

i know that it's all up to him, that there is NOTHING more we can do or could have done to stop this. if there was ANYTHING, ANYTHING AT ALL we could have done, we would have done it. we would do it. the only thing we have left to do is to let him go. to let it happen.

please, god, please. please.

Meat

Last Saturday night, we went to a restaurant out east. I ordered filet mignon with some kind of sauce and mushrooms ... you know, there's something like that everywhere. Yesterday, I went to the local grocery store and picked up a tube of ground breakfast sausage. Yeasterday, I bought some ground chuck at Fernengel's at the West Side Market to make meatballs and such. For breakfast yesterday, I made my lovely wife a breakfast sandwich, eggs and some Hormel bacon that is pre-cooked and separated into individual strips ... I cook it in a pan until it's really crispy, just like regular bacon; but it can be heated up in the microwave. In the freezer, there are a couple of packages of Perdue ground chicken in the freezer. I don't know why.

Meat.

Now, we can be assured that we have 100% safe meat ... meat that comes in sheets that can be sliced, rolled, ground up -- anyway you want it, you can get it.

They think that they have this ultra-modern cool idea ... artificial meat. There's a couple things I witnessed as a child that obviously made a lasting impression on my psyche and are part of the reasons that I am the demented adult you've all come to know -- blood tongue and, of course, something to which I have referred previously, headcheese, and sulze.

Artificial meat ... in sheets. Imagine ... turning back your meat sheets ... on your bed. And climbing into bed and covering yourself up with your ... meat sheets.

Morning Journey

I have already chronicled The Wall Street Journal subscription saga and need not go into any great depth upon that aspect of my relationship with the newspaper. The Wall Street Journal was nearer to the door than to the elevator this morning, and I picked it up when I returned with the three hounds from their morning terror attack on unsuspecting commuters alighting from a bus from one of the southern suburbs.

Piquing my curiosity was one of the articles cited in the header, "A Mystery Multiplies Over a Math Prize: Why isn't a reclusive Russian pursuing a $1 million award?" which could only be a story about Poincare's conjecture, which is wholly irrelevant to the real world unless you play with rubber bands and variously-shaped objects; but "The Perils Of the 'Friend-Trip'" on W1 is where I started the my Journal journey, except I got sidetracked and read the scathing review of M. Night Shymalan's latest offering, Lady in the Water; but rather than read on about Monster House, I was drawn to the article about American Floyd Landis' redeeming ride through the final mountain stage of the Tour de France to move within striking distance of the two riders ahead of him in the overall race, an article describing in sketchy terms the American rise to power in the cycling world, which ended on W6, where below that was an article about the home run barrage in Major League Baseball in which six players are on target to reach the heady 50-homer plateau, where few have ended the season.

I don't know why I turned the page, but I did go to W8, where a drawing of Andre Agassi's bald pate caught my attention. Did you know that he and wife, Steffi Graf, have listed their San Francisco-area home, which they bought a few years back for $24 million, for sale at a bargain $23 million? And so much for cheap real estate in Mexico ... some guy married to O.J. paid $3 million for a place in Careyes, Mexico. I'm sure he could have found something bigger and cheaper elsewhere in Mexico, but what O.J. apparently wants, O.J. gets.

There's a picture of a house in Pennsylvania, the only house Dorothy Parker, who wrote the screenplay for A Star Is Born, ever owned, which is for sale. Here's what puzzles me: Asking price*$3.85 million. Why is that asterisk there? I looked all over for the meaning of the fucking asterisk, even checking the asterisk definition in the Dow Jones Real-Estate Index, which tells me that a starter home in a place called San Bruno, California (94066) is $680,000. A starter home? How the fuck can someone afford that? Anyway, I don't know why the editor stuck the asterisk there ... and in such a prestigious newspaper.

I lost interest ... and ended my journey through THE WALL STREET JOURNAL, Friday, July 21, 2006, edition.

World Record

I put up a shelf under the counter where people might ordinarily sit, but don't because there are no chairs there. Why? Because Stacey wanted it. So, I thought I'd be clever. I bought a couple pieces that attach to the wall. The shelf fits right in the groove, kind of a cantilever sort of thing. Well, I have a 1x6 piece of pine that is 87 inches long for the shelf; so, I put up two 36" hanger pieces after I sanded, primed, and painted everything the required wife-approved reddish color.

But the 1x6 was too thick to fit in the fucking groove. Yeah ... my fault ... should have checked closer ... instead of eyeballing it and figuring that I could force the hanger a little to accommoddatte (I have always had a problem with that word. I'm what I'll call a visual speller ... words look right or wrong, except for that word; so, I'll cover all the bases.) the shelf.

That didn't work. My router is in storage. So, I laid out the piece I wanted to chisel out so that the shelf could then fit in the groove. No fucking chisels, either. So, I turned to the only thing I could find. A terrorist tool ... a carpet cutting knife with replaceable double-edged razor blade ... yes, something that can slice open a finger or forearm with one slight slip.

This is ordinarily not a good match ... a sharp, not-appropriate-for-the-job, slicing tool, a woodworking project, and, of course, me. I think that if I had a garage or basement in which to do the work, there would have been a serious bloodletting; but inasmuch as I don't have a garage or a basement to do such work, I had to do the carving job on the new dining area table. A lot of blood on the new rug under the table or the bench Stacey just re-covered yesterday would have been a big mistake. Although we have some of the finest medical facilities in the world right down the street, she would have let me bleed out and donated any viable organs.

I was very careful. For the first time in the recorded history of my life, I did not ... repeat ... did not suffer any injury while working on a household project. I feel terrible reporting this shocking development to my two ever-faithful, bloodlusting readers ... and I promise that it will never happen again.

I will plan some kind of do-it-yourself electrical project in the near future to ensure that you will be entertained.

Elementary Etiquette

LIFE IN THE NBL

been hard lately. 4th of july night was spent in the emergency room -- bill and drew accompanied the jackal. he had finally fessed up to us that his hand/arm injury was not caused by fooling around with bella, but by the dirty needle filled with cocaine somehow missing a vein and spewing into his muscle.

prognosis:

arm -- no problem.
jax -- guarded.
mom and dad -- losing it. trying to grab onto it tight. but it's hard.

Slicing Tomatoes

We've had a Kershaw tomato knife for a couple years. I never used it very much, but I have been using it more frequently of late. It is a great knife for slicing tomatoes. I can even cut paper-thin slices without the tomato squishing.

The knife also works well cutting human flesh. I am pleased to report that there was no pain. The blood on the counter was the first clue I had that there was something cut besides a tomato.

Blue Bags

Okay, okay, okay ... I said that I would never be one of those people walking around carrying plastic bags and cleaning up after my dogs. I know I said that, but times change. They have really, really changed. I actually bought little bags at PetSmart, solely for that purpose. Nobody could have predicted something like that. I checked various bookies, and none even carried odds on it.

And this morning, some fucking motorist, probably coming to work from the suburbs, who was stopped at a stop sign, gave me the "thumbs up" as I threw a used bag in the trash can at the corner.

But check it out ... I haven't used the word "shit" in this post, yet, although I had several opportunities.

I noticed something peculiar about these bags I bought at PetSmart, however. They are blue and, when unfolded for use, are about 9 inches by 14 1/2 inches by ... well ... they're flat. And I could go into my method of use, but that would be pretty gross; and I don't even like to think about it and can't really remember it in detail. I divorce myself from the act while doing it ... go into a trance state, so to speak, because who in their right mind would actually do something like this. There's no telling what I have done while in that trance state ... that altered state ... or what I might do if somebody were to approach me, somebody like a fucking do-gooder from the suburbs driving around my neighborhood making sure the dog shit is being picked up ...

Sorry, sorry ... I'm okay ... really I am ...

The bags from PetSmart ... I noticed that there is a white stripe about 1/2 inch by 2 inches about an inch from the top, that is, the side that is opened. It's kind of like the little stripe of white on the freezer bags that is there to write something on ... who takes the time to do that -- the fucking bags are clear.

So, why is there a white stripe on the PetSmart bags?

Are there people out there who like write down their dog's name on the bag, the date and time ... and then like fucking keep the used bags somewhere ...

As I'm finishing here, I notice that the billboard, one of the red ones with the weird sayings on them ... it's a Cartoon Network promotion, just off the Shoreway has been changed and now has a Cartoon Network logo and a blue character on it ... I could get the binoculars out to look at it, but I'm too lazy.

English Is Fucked

It's nearing 11:30 p.m., and the western skyline is still being lighted by fireworks. Earlier, it was an amazing display of about 27 different places, maybe more, to the west at between 9:45 and 10:30 filling the horizon with color -- pretty cool from the top floor of our building and difficult to describe in words.

There was a television special about the design and path of the new interstate highway bridge that will, some day in the future, span the Cuyahoga River valley. A debate is raging about whether the state department of transportation has done an end-run around local interest groups on the planned route and the design of the bridge.

During the TV program, the commentator used the word "inferred" when he should have used the word "implied." I cringed. Stacey said from the kitchen, "Tell me I imagined that. Tell me I didn't hear that."

I don't understand how a respected local television commentator, purportedly a journalist, educated and experienced, could make such an egregious error. And the television program was not live; it could have been edited before being shown on the air. I suppose that I shouldn't be as sensitive as I am. The English language is ever-changing, evolving, so to speak ... although I know that God made only a limited number of words and it is blasphemous to claim that evolution plays some roll in this arena, also ... but invention of words is one thing and improper usage of words with a recognized meaning is another.

This is not an example of verbifying a noun or nounifying a verb, which, in most circumstances, I abhor because it is a result of laziness, not imagination, arising from a lackluster vocabulary or poor grasp of the English language.

English is fucked, I say.

Drugs and the Man

Published: July 4, 2006 -- The New York Times

To the Editor:

The Rockefeller drug law reforms already enacted provide important relief from some of the harshest sentencing laws in the country ("Prosecutor Questions Drug Law Reforms," news article, June 27).

But although 70 to 80 percent of those charged in the criminal justice system have a drug or alcohol problem, these reforms did not enable even one additional addicted person to be sent to treatment instead of prison.

A study conducted by the Legal Action Center found that thousands of people who have never been convicted of any violent offense are incarcerated on drug charges every year, some on first offenses, some on second. Many are addicted and committed low-level offenses. Sending them to treatment instead would save lives and, according to another of our studies, $160 million a year.

We hope that the next round of drug law reform will enable judges and prosecutors to send more nonviolent addicted individuals to treatment instead of prison.

Anita Marton
Vice President
Legal Action Center
New York, June 29, 2006
_____________

The United States imprisons the largest proportion of its population of any country in history. About 25% of the the world’s prisoners are in the U.S. corrections system, due in large part to the war on drugs, which has resulted in a 14% rise in the state incarceration rate and a 72% rise in the federal incarceration rate in the last 10 years. Moreover, more than 7 million are under some sort of supervision of the corrections systems, that is, parole or probation of one sort or another.

About 25% of jail inmates are serving sentences for drug offenses. And those that are imprisoned for drug-related offenses, that is, property-related offenses, such as theft and burglary, and public order offenses, such as driving-related offenses, may bring that number up to between 55% and 75% of the prison population.

Limited Edition

I see where Omega is coming out with a new "limited edition" watch for the upcoming movie in the tired James Bond series. So, what else does it do besides give the time accurately down to a billionth of a second ... hell, I'm good with "give or take 10 minutes." If it had some mechanism that scooped up the dog poop and bagged it while walking the dogs, I might pay $3,450 for the watch. Well, on second thought, that does seem a bit too much to pay ... re-filling the little bag dispenser would be a real bitch. And since I have a hard enough time with all the buttons on a plain old digital Timex, so much so that I never wear one ... it's analog or nothing (in case you need a great gift idea) for me.

Did you know that there is an organization called NALED, which is the National Association of Gift and Collectible Retailers? I would have thought that the acronym would have been NAGCAR or somethiong like that, but the organization was originally called the National Association of Limited Edition Dealers, of which The Limited Edition is a charter member.

I looked on "The Limited Edition" website and could not find what I was searching for ... I have an item that is purported to be "Limited Edition," which automatically makes it something that I could put on e-Bay, like, y'know, like a piece of white bread toast with Jesus on it, and sell it for a lot of money.

So, I go to the website of the company that makes the thing and I type in "limited edition" in the "Search Site" box and it comes up with "No results found," which is puzzling because I would have to say that if you are saying that the thing is "limited edition," then it's a big fucking deal ... why else would you make it "limited edition?" Just to make some sucker think it's gonna increase in value ... become a collector's piece ...

I don't understand ... so, I went on e-Bay and here's what I found: "0 items found for rubbermaid limited edition."

What the fuck?