To quote a line from the Beatles' Sgt Pepper album, “I read the news today, oh boy.”
Thursday, December 11, 2008
With the airwaves filled with stories about the arrest of the governor of Illinois, I purchased a copy of the New York Daily News today in the hopes of finding more local news.
Here’s what I got for my fifty cents:
Page 1 told me that the Yankees will pay CC Sabathea $161,000,000.00 to pitch a baseball starting next year. That should throw the economy a curve.
Page 2 informed me that Queens Assemblyman Anthony Seminerio was indicted for allegedly selling his Albany clout for $1,000,000.00. I didn’t know clout was worth so much in Albany.
On page 4 I read the disturbing story of a 16 year old Bronx Center for Science and Mathematics student who was stabbed and slashed by the owner of a 2005 BMW because the student placed his bookbag on the hood of the parked car. The student was in critical condition after “he died and came back to life.” To make matters worse, is there any doubt this will end up as an episode of Law and Order?
Page 5 had a story of a female secretary who lost her $75,000.00 a year job at Versace, allegedly because she refused to repeat, verbatim, answering machine messages, which her male boss received from his male lovers. Of all the stories, this was the least surprising.
Also on page 5 were the following two stories: (1) A husband and wife were charged with stealing more than $200,000.00 from Columbia University by way of phony neurological studies. What the hell are they teaching these days? And (2) two female students from Delaware and New Jersey, who, while attending Manhattan’s Fashion Institute of Technology, allegedly sold cocaine to undercover police officers on at least 8 different occasions. Well, they do say cocaine is the drug of fashion.
On page 6 there was a story of a passenger who slashed a female bus driver in Queens and stole her ring. Could you ever imagine this happening to Ralph Kramden?
The story on page 8 was the one that made me stop reading the news and skip directly to the comic pages. It seems that recently elected Manhattan Surrogate Nora Anderson, age 56, was arrested for accepting illegal campaign contributions from an 81 year old male lawyer. Under our system of “innocent until proven guilty,” it is possible this woman can take the bench on January 1, 2009, long before the case against her is brought to conclusion. Is this crazy, or what?
Unfortunately, the comic pages brought little relief to this insanity. The Blondie strip showed the mailman telling Dagwood there were rumors that his neighbors were giving the mailman money for Christmas. When questioned by Dagwood, the mailman admitted he, himself, started the rumors. Seems everyone has their hand out during the holiday season - wanting a tip just for doing their job.
But the saddest comic strip of the day was called Jump Start. It showed a young boy named Tommi telling another young boy that what he wanted for Christmas was for this young boy to stop stealing his toy and flushing it down the toilet.
A Merry Christmas, indeed.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Laughing at My Faith
They say politics and religion do not mix.
But sometimes humor and religion do.
Three of the funniest things I’ve ever read involve my Catholic faith. The first was about thirty years ago; the second about 15 years ago and the third was last week.
The National Lampoon magazine evolved from the Harvard Lampoon and became a national monthly humor magazine in the early 1970s. It lasted for about 25 years and inspired several movies staring Chevy Chase. The magazine was not as well known as the movies, but it was sort of a MAD magazine for adults. Like most monthly publications, there were letters to the editor at the beginning of each issue. Unlike most monthly publications, the letters were fake, but sometimes very funny. The one I specifically remember, asked a simple question: “Did the Corinthians ever write back?” This is hilarious to anyone who has attended Mass regularly and who remembers hearing scripture readings from St. Paul’s Letters to the Corinthians.
I have no idea where I read the second item which mixed humor and religion, but I’ve repeated it many times. You might recall there was a move awhile back to have the United States convert to the metric system. Someone commented that if God wanted us to use the metric system there would have been only ten apostles. Brilliant. And funny.
Finally, last week I was killing some time in a bookstore and came upon David Letterman’s book of Late Show Fun Facts. I picked it up and began flipping through the pages. As if by fate, I stopped at a page and read the following little known fun fact:
“At the Last Supper, five apostles ordered dessert.”
It doesn’t get much funnier than that.
But sometimes humor and religion do.
Three of the funniest things I’ve ever read involve my Catholic faith. The first was about thirty years ago; the second about 15 years ago and the third was last week.
The National Lampoon magazine evolved from the Harvard Lampoon and became a national monthly humor magazine in the early 1970s. It lasted for about 25 years and inspired several movies staring Chevy Chase. The magazine was not as well known as the movies, but it was sort of a MAD magazine for adults. Like most monthly publications, there were letters to the editor at the beginning of each issue. Unlike most monthly publications, the letters were fake, but sometimes very funny. The one I specifically remember, asked a simple question: “Did the Corinthians ever write back?” This is hilarious to anyone who has attended Mass regularly and who remembers hearing scripture readings from St. Paul’s Letters to the Corinthians.
I have no idea where I read the second item which mixed humor and religion, but I’ve repeated it many times. You might recall there was a move awhile back to have the United States convert to the metric system. Someone commented that if God wanted us to use the metric system there would have been only ten apostles. Brilliant. And funny.
Finally, last week I was killing some time in a bookstore and came upon David Letterman’s book of Late Show Fun Facts. I picked it up and began flipping through the pages. As if by fate, I stopped at a page and read the following little known fun fact:
“At the Last Supper, five apostles ordered dessert.”
It doesn’t get much funnier than that.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Clutter
I had been married for three years when I moved into my present house with my meager possessions three decades ago. Over the years, my wife and I have kept the economy going by purchasing things we thought we needed at the time. In retrospect, we didn’t need nearly half the things we purchased, but that’s another story. The incoming items became part of our physical possessions, just as much as the house itself. A number of years ago we lost our attic storage space when we expanded the living area. As a result, the bedrooms and basement have become quite cluttered.
As is usually he case in most homes, each year we take in more than we get rid of. Thus, since the laws of physics have not changed, we have more and more things to store in the same amount of space. Our storage has even expanded to the garage, effectively dispossessing two cars in the process. The only hope, other than renting a dumpster or tossing things out willy-nilly, is to selectively go through our possessions little by little, getting rid of anything we no longer need, while at the same time, making a concerted attempt to bring fewer things into the house.
I have identified two large sources of the clutter: old magazines and childhood papers/mementos. Over the years I subscribed to a number of weekly and monthly periodicals, which began to pile up when work and other activities did not permit much time for leisure reading. Since I also had a phobia about tossing unread magazines, each publication began to pile up at a rate of about 50 or so a year. This, combined with the monthly publications, created quite a pile. I did my best to sort and stack them, turning every other issue 180 degrees to make the pile more stable. But I was afraid to toss any of them without turning each page for fear of missing something important. I call this fear magazineaphobia.
Now, however, the time has come when I realize I will never catch up to these old issues. So I’ve developed a plan to grab about ten magazines a day, go through them quickly, page by page, tearing out articles of interest. This method reduces the pile greatly, adds to my recycling total and not surprisingly, uncovers a few very interesting articles, which when viewed with 20-20 hindsight vision, are truly eye-opening.
Someone once wrote that life could only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards. Reading ten year old articles gives you a true sense of history.
At the rate I’m going through these old magazines, it will be quite some time before I’m up to date. But at least it’s a start.
The second clutter culprit is my penchant for saving everything from my children’s childhood. I suspect that is because there is so little remaining from my own childhood and because I watched too many episodes of Antiques Roadshow, which taught me that a collectible was much more valuable if one had the original box it came in. So while my baseball cards and comic books were tossed by my parents even before I moved out of the house, I was determined to keep every scrap of paper my children wrote or drew on and every box their toys came in. I figured that when they got to be close to my age, they would appreciate having something they had as a child. But I now understand how parents feel about things when their children grow up.
Somewhere I have an article I clipped from a Sunday New York Times about the day the Barbie dolls left the house. Ours never did. My daughters haven’t played with Barbie dolls in almost 20 years, but I still have them and their accessories somewhere in my basement. Why? I’m beginning to understand how my mother could throw out a shoebox filled with baseball cards – she could not foresee the value of them in years to come. And I’m beginning to wonder if the Cabbage Patch dolls that we scoured the city to find for our children will ever have any value. Time marches on and those Cabbage Patch Kids may be about to march out the door.
Right after the last of the magazines.
As is usually he case in most homes, each year we take in more than we get rid of. Thus, since the laws of physics have not changed, we have more and more things to store in the same amount of space. Our storage has even expanded to the garage, effectively dispossessing two cars in the process. The only hope, other than renting a dumpster or tossing things out willy-nilly, is to selectively go through our possessions little by little, getting rid of anything we no longer need, while at the same time, making a concerted attempt to bring fewer things into the house.
I have identified two large sources of the clutter: old magazines and childhood papers/mementos. Over the years I subscribed to a number of weekly and monthly periodicals, which began to pile up when work and other activities did not permit much time for leisure reading. Since I also had a phobia about tossing unread magazines, each publication began to pile up at a rate of about 50 or so a year. This, combined with the monthly publications, created quite a pile. I did my best to sort and stack them, turning every other issue 180 degrees to make the pile more stable. But I was afraid to toss any of them without turning each page for fear of missing something important. I call this fear magazineaphobia.
Now, however, the time has come when I realize I will never catch up to these old issues. So I’ve developed a plan to grab about ten magazines a day, go through them quickly, page by page, tearing out articles of interest. This method reduces the pile greatly, adds to my recycling total and not surprisingly, uncovers a few very interesting articles, which when viewed with 20-20 hindsight vision, are truly eye-opening.
Someone once wrote that life could only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards. Reading ten year old articles gives you a true sense of history.
At the rate I’m going through these old magazines, it will be quite some time before I’m up to date. But at least it’s a start.
The second clutter culprit is my penchant for saving everything from my children’s childhood. I suspect that is because there is so little remaining from my own childhood and because I watched too many episodes of Antiques Roadshow, which taught me that a collectible was much more valuable if one had the original box it came in. So while my baseball cards and comic books were tossed by my parents even before I moved out of the house, I was determined to keep every scrap of paper my children wrote or drew on and every box their toys came in. I figured that when they got to be close to my age, they would appreciate having something they had as a child. But I now understand how parents feel about things when their children grow up.
Somewhere I have an article I clipped from a Sunday New York Times about the day the Barbie dolls left the house. Ours never did. My daughters haven’t played with Barbie dolls in almost 20 years, but I still have them and their accessories somewhere in my basement. Why? I’m beginning to understand how my mother could throw out a shoebox filled with baseball cards – she could not foresee the value of them in years to come. And I’m beginning to wonder if the Cabbage Patch dolls that we scoured the city to find for our children will ever have any value. Time marches on and those Cabbage Patch Kids may be about to march out the door.
Right after the last of the magazines.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Tradition? They haven't got a clue.
Anyone who grew up in the last 50 years will instantly recognize a phrase like “Colonel Mustard in the billiard room with the lead pipe” or “Miss Scarlet in the conservatory with the wrench.”
This is the classic board game CLUE, created in 1949 and a staple of most of our childhoods.
The idea of the game is to guess who did it - which of six characters, using one of six weapons, in one of a number of rooms, committed a murder in the mansion.
Now, however, Hasbro Inc. has announced a change that affects all aspects of the game. The idea, they contend, is to modernize the game to make it more relevant to today’s generation. Thus, although the last names of the six suspects remain the same, their first names and identities will change. Colonel Mustard will become Jack Mustard, a former football player. Professor Plum will be Victor Plum, a billionaire video game designer; Miss Scarlet, Kasandra Scarlet, a famous actress; Mr. Green, Jacob Green, an African-American “with all the ins.” Rounding out the group will be Eleanor Peacock and Diane White.
Of the six original weapons, only three remain unchanged: the candlestick, knife and rope. Gone are the classic lead pipe, revolver and wrench. Six new weapons include a dumbbell, a trophy, a pistol, a baseball bat, an ax and poison. Finally, rooms in the house have been changed to add a theater, spa and a guest house nearby.
This will not simply be another version of the classic, like the Simpsons version produced earlier, but rather a total replacement of the original version.
So, who did it? Who committed the murder, with what weapon and where?
The answer is clear: Hasbro, with new ideas, in the marketplace.
Tradition be damned.
This is the classic board game CLUE, created in 1949 and a staple of most of our childhoods.
The idea of the game is to guess who did it - which of six characters, using one of six weapons, in one of a number of rooms, committed a murder in the mansion.
Now, however, Hasbro Inc. has announced a change that affects all aspects of the game. The idea, they contend, is to modernize the game to make it more relevant to today’s generation. Thus, although the last names of the six suspects remain the same, their first names and identities will change. Colonel Mustard will become Jack Mustard, a former football player. Professor Plum will be Victor Plum, a billionaire video game designer; Miss Scarlet, Kasandra Scarlet, a famous actress; Mr. Green, Jacob Green, an African-American “with all the ins.” Rounding out the group will be Eleanor Peacock and Diane White.
Of the six original weapons, only three remain unchanged: the candlestick, knife and rope. Gone are the classic lead pipe, revolver and wrench. Six new weapons include a dumbbell, a trophy, a pistol, a baseball bat, an ax and poison. Finally, rooms in the house have been changed to add a theater, spa and a guest house nearby.
This will not simply be another version of the classic, like the Simpsons version produced earlier, but rather a total replacement of the original version.
So, who did it? Who committed the murder, with what weapon and where?
The answer is clear: Hasbro, with new ideas, in the marketplace.
Tradition be damned.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Change
The other morning I was listening to the radio and heard Kinky Friedman asking Don Imus if he had ever heard of Heraclitus. Imus said no. I would have answered the same. Kinky then paraphrased what Heraclitus said: A man can’t step into the same river twice. Because the river changes. And so does the man.
Thanks to the internet, I was able to learn that Heraclitus lived from 535 to 475 BC, in Ephesus, somewhere near what is now Turkey. According to the internet, the exact quote is: “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
Both the paraphrased saying and the actual quote make the same point. It’s the same reason you “can’t go home again” – you can’t go back in time because, as Heraclitus said, “everything flows.”
I recall a saying from my youth: Life can only be understood backwards; unfortunately it must be lived forward.
Maybe that’s why anticipation is 90% of the fun and when the event finally arrives, it usually doesn’t live up to its billing.
Okay, I have to admit this is all a little too deep for me. I guess I’d have difficulty making a living as a philosopher. But then again, aren’t we all philosophers, even though no one employs us as such? We all have our own unique philosophy of life.
But back to Heraclitus’ statement. It’s probably more theoretical than practical. Of course you can step into the same river and of course, your DNA does not change. It’s like the physics theory that you could never reach the wall across the room because before you do, you have to travel half way, then half way again, etc., so you can never actually get there. But in reality, your face bumps into the wall even though you theoretically haven’t reached it.
I just returned from a vacation at a beach I’ve been visiting every year since my age was measured in single digits. The people have changed; the buildings have changed; but the sun still sets over the surf, and the sand and water still feel glorious, refreshing and relaxing. It was actually a better vacation than I anticipated.
So, even though, as Heraclitus pointed out, I’ve changed, maybe change isn’t such a bad thing after all.
Thanks to the internet, I was able to learn that Heraclitus lived from 535 to 475 BC, in Ephesus, somewhere near what is now Turkey. According to the internet, the exact quote is: “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
Both the paraphrased saying and the actual quote make the same point. It’s the same reason you “can’t go home again” – you can’t go back in time because, as Heraclitus said, “everything flows.”
I recall a saying from my youth: Life can only be understood backwards; unfortunately it must be lived forward.
Maybe that’s why anticipation is 90% of the fun and when the event finally arrives, it usually doesn’t live up to its billing.
Okay, I have to admit this is all a little too deep for me. I guess I’d have difficulty making a living as a philosopher. But then again, aren’t we all philosophers, even though no one employs us as such? We all have our own unique philosophy of life.
But back to Heraclitus’ statement. It’s probably more theoretical than practical. Of course you can step into the same river and of course, your DNA does not change. It’s like the physics theory that you could never reach the wall across the room because before you do, you have to travel half way, then half way again, etc., so you can never actually get there. But in reality, your face bumps into the wall even though you theoretically haven’t reached it.
I just returned from a vacation at a beach I’ve been visiting every year since my age was measured in single digits. The people have changed; the buildings have changed; but the sun still sets over the surf, and the sand and water still feel glorious, refreshing and relaxing. It was actually a better vacation than I anticipated.
So, even though, as Heraclitus pointed out, I’ve changed, maybe change isn’t such a bad thing after all.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Where Things Are
I sometimes forget where things are.
I chalk this up not to old age, or even to “senior moments,” and hopefully not to that dreaded disease which begins with the letter “A,” but rather to the fact that, as the late George Carlin observed, we all have too much “stuff.”
It’s easy to keep track of five items, more difficult to keep track of 500 items, and nearly impossible to remember where 5,000 items are kept.
Take books, for example. When I buy a book, whether I read it or not, I do not throw it out. It will eventually end up in one of several bookcases – or elsewhere in my house. I now have thousands of books, many of which have a special meaning to me. But how can I possibly remember where a book I bought in 1983 will be found? I know it’s somewhere in the house (because I don’t throw books away), but where? If I were a librarian, I suppose I could keep my books in alphabetical order by author, but then I’d have to remember all the authors. And putting a paperback next to a hardcover or coffee table book doesn’t look attractive. And then there would be the problem of constantly moving the books to make room for new ones.
To solve the problem of not remembering where things are, I’m developing a system. It’s simple, really. My system is to take a basic spiral notebook and list where things are.
Here are some examples:
batteries are in a blue box on shelf near computer
cell phone equipment and info is in the bottom drawer of dresser
light bulbs are in the second floor hall closet
You get the idea.
Now all I have to remember is to make entries in the notebook.
And remember where I put the notebook.
I chalk this up not to old age, or even to “senior moments,” and hopefully not to that dreaded disease which begins with the letter “A,” but rather to the fact that, as the late George Carlin observed, we all have too much “stuff.”
It’s easy to keep track of five items, more difficult to keep track of 500 items, and nearly impossible to remember where 5,000 items are kept.
Take books, for example. When I buy a book, whether I read it or not, I do not throw it out. It will eventually end up in one of several bookcases – or elsewhere in my house. I now have thousands of books, many of which have a special meaning to me. But how can I possibly remember where a book I bought in 1983 will be found? I know it’s somewhere in the house (because I don’t throw books away), but where? If I were a librarian, I suppose I could keep my books in alphabetical order by author, but then I’d have to remember all the authors. And putting a paperback next to a hardcover or coffee table book doesn’t look attractive. And then there would be the problem of constantly moving the books to make room for new ones.
To solve the problem of not remembering where things are, I’m developing a system. It’s simple, really. My system is to take a basic spiral notebook and list where things are.
Here are some examples:
batteries are in a blue box on shelf near computer
cell phone equipment and info is in the bottom drawer of dresser
light bulbs are in the second floor hall closet
You get the idea.
Now all I have to remember is to make entries in the notebook.
And remember where I put the notebook.
Monday, July 28, 2008
My wallet
I don’t remember when I began carrying a wallet, but I remember when I lost it for the first time. It seems like only yesterday.
In fact, it was yesterday.
My wife and I were returning from a barbeque/pool party. I had removed my wallet from my pocket when I changed into my bathing suit. I carefully placed the wallet in the bag which contained our beach towels and dry clothes. It was still in that bag as we drove home, stopping only to drop off a relative.
As I waited in the passenger seat of our vehicle, I decided to use the time to make sure the wallet was still in the bag in the back of the vehicle. I got out and checked. It was still there. For some reason, and don’t ask me to explain it, I thought it wise to remove it, for safe keeping, to the front of the vehicle where I was sitting.
The next morning, when I got ready to go out, I couldn’t find my wallet.
Instant panic.
I searched everywhere, including inside the vehicle and the driveway, with no luck. Nevertheless, I was convinced it had to be somewhere inside my house because I was certain I had it with me when I got home the previous night.
I left the house without my wallet, but confident I would find it upon my return.
That, however, did not stop me from worrying about it all day. I tried to recall what was in my wallet. There were the usual credit cards, driver’s license, library card, supermarket cards, and assorted other documents. I tried to keep the items I carried in my wallet to a minimum in order to reduce the size of the wallet in my pocket. Many years ago I had photocopied all the items I carried in my wallet, but that list was long outdated, even if I could locate it.
More panic set in as I imagined someone pulling up to the pump and using my credit cards to get gas. I’d be maxed out in a matter of minutes.
My wife, knowing of my predicament, had called the relative we dropped off that night and asked her to look in her driveway for the wallet. Sure enough, in hour 7 of the missing wallet, I received word that it had been located in the driveway, a little wet (it had rained overnight) but still intact.
A feeling of relief spread over me.
From now on, I won’t leave home without it.
In fact, it was yesterday.
My wife and I were returning from a barbeque/pool party. I had removed my wallet from my pocket when I changed into my bathing suit. I carefully placed the wallet in the bag which contained our beach towels and dry clothes. It was still in that bag as we drove home, stopping only to drop off a relative.
As I waited in the passenger seat of our vehicle, I decided to use the time to make sure the wallet was still in the bag in the back of the vehicle. I got out and checked. It was still there. For some reason, and don’t ask me to explain it, I thought it wise to remove it, for safe keeping, to the front of the vehicle where I was sitting.
The next morning, when I got ready to go out, I couldn’t find my wallet.
Instant panic.
I searched everywhere, including inside the vehicle and the driveway, with no luck. Nevertheless, I was convinced it had to be somewhere inside my house because I was certain I had it with me when I got home the previous night.
I left the house without my wallet, but confident I would find it upon my return.
That, however, did not stop me from worrying about it all day. I tried to recall what was in my wallet. There were the usual credit cards, driver’s license, library card, supermarket cards, and assorted other documents. I tried to keep the items I carried in my wallet to a minimum in order to reduce the size of the wallet in my pocket. Many years ago I had photocopied all the items I carried in my wallet, but that list was long outdated, even if I could locate it.
More panic set in as I imagined someone pulling up to the pump and using my credit cards to get gas. I’d be maxed out in a matter of minutes.
My wife, knowing of my predicament, had called the relative we dropped off that night and asked her to look in her driveway for the wallet. Sure enough, in hour 7 of the missing wallet, I received word that it had been located in the driveway, a little wet (it had rained overnight) but still intact.
A feeling of relief spread over me.
From now on, I won’t leave home without it.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Kipling
I don’t know if the works of Rudyard Kipling are still taught in the classroom these days, but his is one of the names I remember from my school years.
Long before the internet, and in the early days of television, we read books. Someone decided whose works were important enough to be widely distributed and Rudyard Kipling made the cut. I often wonder if he would be relevant in our new technological age if his writings had not already been deemed to be important.
As a young student, I remember this joke:
“Do you enjoy Kipling?”
“I don’t know – I’ve never kippled.”
Kipling’s star may be fading, though. In this age of Harry Potter novels, I wonder how many young people could even tell you who he was. After all, he died almost 75 years ago.
And when was the last time you hear of parents naming their child Rudyard?
Long before the internet, and in the early days of television, we read books. Someone decided whose works were important enough to be widely distributed and Rudyard Kipling made the cut. I often wonder if he would be relevant in our new technological age if his writings had not already been deemed to be important.
As a young student, I remember this joke:
“Do you enjoy Kipling?”
“I don’t know – I’ve never kippled.”
Kipling’s star may be fading, though. In this age of Harry Potter novels, I wonder how many young people could even tell you who he was. After all, he died almost 75 years ago.
And when was the last time you hear of parents naming their child Rudyard?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Senior Coffee
The other day I was at McDonald’s for breakfast. I ordered a breakfast sandwich and a small coffee. The small coffee currently sells for $1.09 plus tax. I prefer it to most expensive coffees sold elsewhere. As I waited for my order, I observed a man step up to the next cashier and order a “senior” coffee. He was charged 53 cents, which I assumed meant the “senior” coffee was 50 cents plus tax. Since he didn’t look that “senior” to me, when there was a break in the action, I asked the counterperson who served him how old you had to be to qualify for a “senior” coffee. She replied, “Fifty.”
I was stunned and muttered, “You mean I’ve been overpaying for years?”
Later in the day, I sent an e-mail to corporate asking this question: “What is the minimum age to be eligible for a senior coffee?”
Several days later I got a reply from McDonald’s. It read in part:
“Because we value senior citizens' patronage…we spoke with many of our senior customers to learn what they'd like from a discount program. They told us they wanted a uniform policy that promises them a good value and doesn't require a purchase. As a result, we encourage all restaurants to offer a discounted senior program. However, because 85 percent of our restaurants are independently owned and operated, participation, age requirements, and pricing may vary.”
So it seems there is no set policy or age – each store makes it’s own.
Later in the week I was again at a McDonald’s during breakfast hours. This time I ordered a sandwich and a “senior” coffee. When I looked at the receipt, I saw I was charged only 35 cents for the “senior” coffee. So the price does vary from store to store.
It seems McDonald’s cash registers have a button for “senior” coffee. The cashier doesn’t ask for proof of age, but simply presses the button when you request a senior coffee. The "senior" coffee is exactly the same as a small coffee.
So, the bottom line seems to be if you are of a certain age, even if you don’t look or feel old, simply ask for the senior beverage.
As the old adage goes: There’s no harm in asking.
I was stunned and muttered, “You mean I’ve been overpaying for years?”
Later in the day, I sent an e-mail to corporate asking this question: “What is the minimum age to be eligible for a senior coffee?”
Several days later I got a reply from McDonald’s. It read in part:
“Because we value senior citizens' patronage…we spoke with many of our senior customers to learn what they'd like from a discount program. They told us they wanted a uniform policy that promises them a good value and doesn't require a purchase. As a result, we encourage all restaurants to offer a discounted senior program. However, because 85 percent of our restaurants are independently owned and operated, participation, age requirements, and pricing may vary.”
So it seems there is no set policy or age – each store makes it’s own.
Later in the week I was again at a McDonald’s during breakfast hours. This time I ordered a sandwich and a “senior” coffee. When I looked at the receipt, I saw I was charged only 35 cents for the “senior” coffee. So the price does vary from store to store.
It seems McDonald’s cash registers have a button for “senior” coffee. The cashier doesn’t ask for proof of age, but simply presses the button when you request a senior coffee. The "senior" coffee is exactly the same as a small coffee.
So, the bottom line seems to be if you are of a certain age, even if you don’t look or feel old, simply ask for the senior beverage.
As the old adage goes: There’s no harm in asking.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Ten Cents
Recently a young man asked if I had a nickel. He wanted to purchase something from a vending machine and was apparently five cents short. I told him I did not have a nickel, but I did have a dime, which I gave to him.
He proceeded to make his purchase and sat down near me without saying a word.
Frankly, since he only needed a nickel, I was expecting five cents change from the dime I gave him. But either I was too optimistic, or the young man didn’t know much math. He did not give me a nickel, nor did he thank me for the dime, but that’s another story.
My father taught me that if someone asks to borrow money, and you have some to lend, go ahead and make the loan. If the person never pays you back, the wise course of action is not to hound him for it, or hold a grudge, but rather to simply remember never to make a second loan to that person.
Based on that philosophy, there are quite a few people who won’t be getting a dime from me.
He proceeded to make his purchase and sat down near me without saying a word.
Frankly, since he only needed a nickel, I was expecting five cents change from the dime I gave him. But either I was too optimistic, or the young man didn’t know much math. He did not give me a nickel, nor did he thank me for the dime, but that’s another story.
My father taught me that if someone asks to borrow money, and you have some to lend, go ahead and make the loan. If the person never pays you back, the wise course of action is not to hound him for it, or hold a grudge, but rather to simply remember never to make a second loan to that person.
Based on that philosophy, there are quite a few people who won’t be getting a dime from me.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Reading between the lines
A lawyer friend of mine recently called another attorney regarding an overdue settlement check on a personal injury case. The latter lawyer told him, “I love saying this when it’s true – the check is in the mail.”
Of course, this implies that he also says it when it’s not true – he just doesn’t love saying it then.
Of course, this implies that he also says it when it’s not true – he just doesn’t love saying it then.
Truth in Labeling
I’m thinking of suing someone for false labeling.
The other night we ordered Chinese takeout. As usual, after spooning some brown rice onto my plate, I reached for a packet of soy sauce. For some reason, I began to read the ingredients listed on the packet. I knew from past experience that ingredients are listed in descending order. This particular packet listed a total of six ingredients: water, salt, vegetable protein, corn syrup, caramel color and 1/10 of 1% sodium benzoate.
Buy wait! Where was the soy?
It turns out there is no soy in American made packets of “soy” sauce.
Just to make sure I wasn’t missing something, I went to the refrigerator and located a bottle of Kikkoman soy sauce. Sure enough, the ingredient label read: water, wheat, soy beans, salt, less than 0.10% sodium benzoate as a preservative.
So, should I sue the Chinese takeout restaurant or the American manufacturer of “soy” sauce for false labeling? Or should I just shut up and eat?
Either way, I’ll probably be hungry about an hour later.
The other night we ordered Chinese takeout. As usual, after spooning some brown rice onto my plate, I reached for a packet of soy sauce. For some reason, I began to read the ingredients listed on the packet. I knew from past experience that ingredients are listed in descending order. This particular packet listed a total of six ingredients: water, salt, vegetable protein, corn syrup, caramel color and 1/10 of 1% sodium benzoate.
Buy wait! Where was the soy?
It turns out there is no soy in American made packets of “soy” sauce.
Just to make sure I wasn’t missing something, I went to the refrigerator and located a bottle of Kikkoman soy sauce. Sure enough, the ingredient label read: water, wheat, soy beans, salt, less than 0.10% sodium benzoate as a preservative.
So, should I sue the Chinese takeout restaurant or the American manufacturer of “soy” sauce for false labeling? Or should I just shut up and eat?
Either way, I’ll probably be hungry about an hour later.
Customer Service
The other day, a friend who works at the customer service desk of a department store told this story:
A woman called and said. “ I just got home and I noticed there was only one shoe in the box of shoes I bought today.”
Customer Service Rep: “Didn’t you check that there were two shoes in the box when you bought them?
Customer on the phone: “No. I tired the shoe on and didn’t realize the other one was missing.”
CS Rep: “Okay, just bring it back and we’ll refund your money.”
Customer: “Oh, no, I like the shoe. I just want you to look for the missing one.”
You can’t make this stuff up.
A woman called and said. “ I just got home and I noticed there was only one shoe in the box of shoes I bought today.”
Customer Service Rep: “Didn’t you check that there were two shoes in the box when you bought them?
Customer on the phone: “No. I tired the shoe on and didn’t realize the other one was missing.”
CS Rep: “Okay, just bring it back and we’ll refund your money.”
Customer: “Oh, no, I like the shoe. I just want you to look for the missing one.”
You can’t make this stuff up.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Fortune
At dinner the other night, I opened three Chinese fortune cookies. They were very specific. One read: “You will inherit some money.” Another read: “Your love life will be happy and harmonious.” The third read: “It is a sunny day.”
In fewer than 24 hours, one of them came true.
Then it got dark again.
In fewer than 24 hours, one of them came true.
Then it got dark again.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
A Perry Mason Surprise
I grew up watching television in the 1950s. One of my favorite shows was Perry Mason, the criminal defense attorney who always won his case before the end of the hour. He had a secretary/gal Friday named Della Street and a private investigator named Paul Drake. His usual opponent was prosecutor, Hamilton Burger.
As I recall, there was never anything mentioned about Perry’s home life. Was he married? Did he have children? What did he do in his spare time? None of that seemed to matter since the show was all about the courtroom drama and how Perry figured out who the real criminal was. It always amazed me that he only defended innocent people – he never won a case based on reasonable doubt, a standard whereby even guilty people were acquitted because of a lack of evidence. There was always another person who confessed from the witness stand before the episode ended.
Perry Mason was one of the reasons I became a lawyer. It should be noted that I was also a big fan of TV westerns, but there didn’t seem to be much of a future in being a cowboy.
I must also admit that E.G. Marshall of The Defenders was also an influence. His young associate was played by actor Robert Reed, who later came out of the closet, but who displayed no hint of gayness on the show. Which brings me to the shocking revelation that the actor who played Perry Mason, Raymond Burr, old Ironsides himself, was gay.
I learned this by reading a newspaper article by the author of a book titled, “Hiding in Plain Sight: The Secret Life of Raymond Burr.” The author, Michael Starr, wrote this:
“…he did a complete about-face from his TV alter-ego, concocting a web of deceit that included two dead wives and a dead son, fabrications repeated so many times that Burr dug himself into a hole – forced to play the heartbroken husband-and-father role to the end of his life….no one ever questioned Burr’s ‘biography,’ even though family members as close as his sister said they never met any of his dead wives or his son – and even though the dates Burr gave for his tragic losses didn’t compute when matched to the verifiable facts of his life.”
As Jerry Seinfeld so correctly stated in an episode of his classic sitcom, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” It’s just that I never imagined Raymond Burr in that way. I guess I should be thankful that they never showed Perry Mason’s home life, or I might have concluded that he, too, was of that persuasion.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
As I recall, there was never anything mentioned about Perry’s home life. Was he married? Did he have children? What did he do in his spare time? None of that seemed to matter since the show was all about the courtroom drama and how Perry figured out who the real criminal was. It always amazed me that he only defended innocent people – he never won a case based on reasonable doubt, a standard whereby even guilty people were acquitted because of a lack of evidence. There was always another person who confessed from the witness stand before the episode ended.
Perry Mason was one of the reasons I became a lawyer. It should be noted that I was also a big fan of TV westerns, but there didn’t seem to be much of a future in being a cowboy.
I must also admit that E.G. Marshall of The Defenders was also an influence. His young associate was played by actor Robert Reed, who later came out of the closet, but who displayed no hint of gayness on the show. Which brings me to the shocking revelation that the actor who played Perry Mason, Raymond Burr, old Ironsides himself, was gay.
I learned this by reading a newspaper article by the author of a book titled, “Hiding in Plain Sight: The Secret Life of Raymond Burr.” The author, Michael Starr, wrote this:
“…he did a complete about-face from his TV alter-ego, concocting a web of deceit that included two dead wives and a dead son, fabrications repeated so many times that Burr dug himself into a hole – forced to play the heartbroken husband-and-father role to the end of his life….no one ever questioned Burr’s ‘biography,’ even though family members as close as his sister said they never met any of his dead wives or his son – and even though the dates Burr gave for his tragic losses didn’t compute when matched to the verifiable facts of his life.”
As Jerry Seinfeld so correctly stated in an episode of his classic sitcom, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” It’s just that I never imagined Raymond Burr in that way. I guess I should be thankful that they never showed Perry Mason’s home life, or I might have concluded that he, too, was of that persuasion.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Teaching Children
Here’s an interesting quote, which I came across quite by accident:
“Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel? You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy of its children.”
Pablo Picasso (1881–1973)
Even without ever seeing this quote before, I think I raised both my daughters with this philosophy in mind. Maybe that’s why one of them once thought the capital of the United States was England. LOL.
One daughter teaches third grade students and the other prosecutes juvenile delinquents. Yet, each in their own way, is working to make the world worthy of its children.
But one thing scares me. It seems that one of my daughters has taken up boxing at her gym. I hope it’s only for defensive purposes!
“Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel? You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy of its children.”
Pablo Picasso (1881–1973)
Even without ever seeing this quote before, I think I raised both my daughters with this philosophy in mind. Maybe that’s why one of them once thought the capital of the United States was England. LOL.
One daughter teaches third grade students and the other prosecutes juvenile delinquents. Yet, each in their own way, is working to make the world worthy of its children.
But one thing scares me. It seems that one of my daughters has taken up boxing at her gym. I hope it’s only for defensive purposes!
Senior Citizens
Someone e-mailed the following to me and I thought I would share it. Normally I would just e-mail it to friends, but if I'm not violating protocol, I'm posting it here. I think it speaks for our generation, much like Billy Joel's "We didn't start the fire" and I wish I had written it.
Here is the e-mail:
Hi ah,....Hummm let me think ,...why did I send you this......don't tell me it's coming to me.....Oh yeah....Senior citizens are constantly being criticized for every conceivable deficiency of the modern world, real or imaginary. We know we take responsibility for all we have done and do not blame others.HOWEVER, upon reflection, we would like to point out that it was NOT the senior citizens who took:
The melody out of music,
The pride out of appearance,
The courtesy out of driving,
The romance out of love,
The commitment out of marriage,
The responsibility out of parenthood,
The togetherness out of the family,
The learning out of education,
The service out of patriotism,
The Golden Rule from rulers,
The nativity scene out of cities,
The civility out of behavior,
The refinement out of language,
The dedication out of employment,
The prudence out of spending,
The ambition out of achievement, or,
God out of government and school.
And we certainly are NOT the ones who eliminated patience and tolerance from personal relationships and interactions with others!!And, we do understand the meaning of patriotism, and remember those who have fought and died for our country.Does anyone under the age of 50 know the lyrics to the Star Spangled Banner? Just look at the Seniors with tears in their eyes and pride in their hearts as they stand at attention, on veterans day and our great country's birthday .
YES, I'M A SENIOR CITIZEN!
I'm the life of the party...... even if it lasts until 8 p.m.I'm very good at opening childproof caps... with a hammer.I'm usually interested in going home before I get to where I am going. I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up.I'm smiling all the time because I can't hear a thing you're saying. I'm very good at telling stories; over and over and over and over... I'm aware that other people's grandchildren are not nearly as cute as mine. I'm so cared for --- long term care, eye care, private care, dental care.I'm not really grouchy,I just don't like traffic, waiting, crowds, lawyers, loud music, unruly kids, Jenny Craig and Toyota commercials, barking dogs, politicians and a few other things I can't seem to remember right now.I'm sure everything I can't find is in a safe secure place, somewhere.I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy, and that's just my left leg.I'm having trouble remembering simple words like.......I'm beginning to realize that aging is not for wimps.I'm sure they are making adults much younger these days, and when did they let kids become policemen?I'm wondering, if you're only as old as you feel, how could I be alive at 150?And, how can my kids be older than I feel sometimes?I'm a walking storeroom of facts..... I've just lost the key to the storeroom door.
Yes, I'm a SENIOR CITIZEN and I think I am having the time of my life!
Now if I could only remember who sent this to me, I wouldn't send it back to them, but I would send it to many more!Now- Have I already sent this to you???????If so, I'll try not to do it again (for a while.)
Here is the e-mail:
Hi ah,....Hummm let me think ,...why did I send you this......don't tell me it's coming to me.....Oh yeah....Senior citizens are constantly being criticized for every conceivable deficiency of the modern world, real or imaginary. We know we take responsibility for all we have done and do not blame others.HOWEVER, upon reflection, we would like to point out that it was NOT the senior citizens who took:
The melody out of music,
The pride out of appearance,
The courtesy out of driving,
The romance out of love,
The commitment out of marriage,
The responsibility out of parenthood,
The togetherness out of the family,
The learning out of education,
The service out of patriotism,
The Golden Rule from rulers,
The nativity scene out of cities,
The civility out of behavior,
The refinement out of language,
The dedication out of employment,
The prudence out of spending,
The ambition out of achievement, or,
God out of government and school.
And we certainly are NOT the ones who eliminated patience and tolerance from personal relationships and interactions with others!!And, we do understand the meaning of patriotism, and remember those who have fought and died for our country.Does anyone under the age of 50 know the lyrics to the Star Spangled Banner? Just look at the Seniors with tears in their eyes and pride in their hearts as they stand at attention, on veterans day and our great country's birthday .
YES, I'M A SENIOR CITIZEN!
I'm the life of the party...... even if it lasts until 8 p.m.I'm very good at opening childproof caps... with a hammer.I'm usually interested in going home before I get to where I am going. I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up.I'm smiling all the time because I can't hear a thing you're saying. I'm very good at telling stories; over and over and over and over... I'm aware that other people's grandchildren are not nearly as cute as mine. I'm so cared for --- long term care, eye care, private care, dental care.I'm not really grouchy,I just don't like traffic, waiting, crowds, lawyers, loud music, unruly kids, Jenny Craig and Toyota commercials, barking dogs, politicians and a few other things I can't seem to remember right now.I'm sure everything I can't find is in a safe secure place, somewhere.I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy, and that's just my left leg.I'm having trouble remembering simple words like.......I'm beginning to realize that aging is not for wimps.I'm sure they are making adults much younger these days, and when did they let kids become policemen?I'm wondering, if you're only as old as you feel, how could I be alive at 150?And, how can my kids be older than I feel sometimes?I'm a walking storeroom of facts..... I've just lost the key to the storeroom door.
Yes, I'm a SENIOR CITIZEN and I think I am having the time of my life!
Now if I could only remember who sent this to me, I wouldn't send it back to them, but I would send it to many more!Now- Have I already sent this to you???????If so, I'll try not to do it again (for a while.)
Protecting our children?
The other day I was browsing in a store and came upon the CD section. One jewel case in particular caught my attention. Not because of the title or artist – I had never heard of either – but because of the sticker affixed to the outside. It read: PARENTAL ADVISORY.
I had heard of these warning labels, which I think came about when Tipper Gore campaigned to have the recording industry notify parents of material which they might find objectionable for their children. Nothing wrong with that, as long as it doesn’t interfere with free speech. But this particular Parental Advisory Label struck me as odd. Underneath the bold letters were slightly smaller letters indicating the type of potentially objectionable material.
There were only two words. The words were not “sexually explicit” or “violent language” as one might expect. The words were: “Christian Lyrics.”
Now I can understand that some atheists, like the late Madeline Murray O’Hare, might not want their children to hear such dangerous lyrics, for fear that they might come under some cult-like spell. But I have to wonder what our founding fathers would have thought of this warning label when they indicated we were one nation, under God.
As Walt Kelly wrote in the comic strip POGO, “We have met the enemy and he is us.”
I had heard of these warning labels, which I think came about when Tipper Gore campaigned to have the recording industry notify parents of material which they might find objectionable for their children. Nothing wrong with that, as long as it doesn’t interfere with free speech. But this particular Parental Advisory Label struck me as odd. Underneath the bold letters were slightly smaller letters indicating the type of potentially objectionable material.
There were only two words. The words were not “sexually explicit” or “violent language” as one might expect. The words were: “Christian Lyrics.”
Now I can understand that some atheists, like the late Madeline Murray O’Hare, might not want their children to hear such dangerous lyrics, for fear that they might come under some cult-like spell. But I have to wonder what our founding fathers would have thought of this warning label when they indicated we were one nation, under God.
As Walt Kelly wrote in the comic strip POGO, “We have met the enemy and he is us.”
Monday, March 3, 2008
Published!
I’ve only written three letters to magazines in my life. The first was in 1977 when I wrote to Time Magazine to protest the limited coverage of the death of Groucho Marx compared to the multiple pages devoted to the death of Elvis Presley, who died the same week. I got a reply by mail from someone at Time, explaining that the reason for the disparity in coverage was that Groucho was old and the death of Elvis was unexpected. My letter was not published.
The second letter I wrote was to Reader’s Digest circa 1982. I sent what I thought was a humorous story for publication. It was this: My four-year-old daughter was watching Saturday morning cartoons on television when an ad for a movie came on. She turned to me and said, “Daddy, will you take me to see that movie?” “Okay,” I said. “Where is it playing?” My daughter replied, “At a theater near you.” Reader’s Digest did not publish the story.
This year, I was surfing online and I came across the website for Real Simple magazine. There was a question of the month: “On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you worry about money and why?” I submitted what I thought was a clever response:
“I don’t worry about money. I worry about the lack of it. I’m a 10. Notwithstanding what they say about love, it’s money that makes the world go around. The lack of it makes you stand still and worry.”
Shortly thereafter, I received an e-mail from someone at the magazine asking permission to publish my response. I gave it. In the March, 2008 issue of Real Simple magazine, you can read my response at the top of page 56.
I have finally been published!
The second letter I wrote was to Reader’s Digest circa 1982. I sent what I thought was a humorous story for publication. It was this: My four-year-old daughter was watching Saturday morning cartoons on television when an ad for a movie came on. She turned to me and said, “Daddy, will you take me to see that movie?” “Okay,” I said. “Where is it playing?” My daughter replied, “At a theater near you.” Reader’s Digest did not publish the story.
This year, I was surfing online and I came across the website for Real Simple magazine. There was a question of the month: “On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you worry about money and why?” I submitted what I thought was a clever response:
“I don’t worry about money. I worry about the lack of it. I’m a 10. Notwithstanding what they say about love, it’s money that makes the world go around. The lack of it makes you stand still and worry.”
Shortly thereafter, I received an e-mail from someone at the magazine asking permission to publish my response. I gave it. In the March, 2008 issue of Real Simple magazine, you can read my response at the top of page 56.
I have finally been published!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The writers are back
If there was ever any doubt that writers were needed for late night talk shows, this joke from Jay Leno on Monday night proves they are back:
I paraphrase: “President Bush said we honor President Washington and President Lincoln on President’s Day, or as he calls them, Mr. Quarter and Mr. Penny.”
Now, that’s comedy.
I paraphrase: “President Bush said we honor President Washington and President Lincoln on President’s Day, or as he calls them, Mr. Quarter and Mr. Penny.”
Now, that’s comedy.
Monday, February 11, 2008
A penny for your thoughts
I just heard on the radio that the price of a first class stamp is increasing from 41 cents to 42 cents in May, 2008. In other words, it is going up one cent. And this after watching a story on 60 Minutes last night that contended it costs the government two cents to make a one cent coin because of the high price of the metal used. I guess they need that extra penny from the stamp to cover the cost of making the extra penny we will need to buy the stamp.
When you consider this is the government, it makes perfect cents.
When you consider this is the government, it makes perfect cents.
Friday, January 18, 2008
A break in the line
Technology was stopped dead in its tracks the other day. The world did not come to an end, but for one brief moment in time, everything stood still.
I was at the checkout aisle of a local supermarket, behind a man who had actually read the overhead sign inviting those with six items or less to come forward (it should actually have read “six items or fewer” but that’s a subject for another post).
The fellow had his first two items scanned by the red laser light embedded under the glass on the counter top. But his third item brought things to a screeching halt. It was a large can of soup, but the label contained no barcode and thus, could not be scanned. To complicate matters, there was no price sticker on the can itself.
The cashier had become so used to simply scanning each item that she was at a loss as to what to do. Finally, she directed the customer to go back to the shelves and get a can which did have a barcode.
In the meantime, the line was stopped dead in its tracks, as we waited for the customer to complete his errand.
He finally returned, only to tell the cashier that none of the cans had a barcode or price sticker. He did, however, inform her that the price on the shelf indicated the can cost $3.29. The cashier took his word for it and manually entered the amount on the cash register.
The rest of the transaction went smoothly and the fellow was on his way.
But for one brief moment in time, technology brought our world to a stop because of a missing barcode.
I was at the checkout aisle of a local supermarket, behind a man who had actually read the overhead sign inviting those with six items or less to come forward (it should actually have read “six items or fewer” but that’s a subject for another post).
The fellow had his first two items scanned by the red laser light embedded under the glass on the counter top. But his third item brought things to a screeching halt. It was a large can of soup, but the label contained no barcode and thus, could not be scanned. To complicate matters, there was no price sticker on the can itself.
The cashier had become so used to simply scanning each item that she was at a loss as to what to do. Finally, she directed the customer to go back to the shelves and get a can which did have a barcode.
In the meantime, the line was stopped dead in its tracks, as we waited for the customer to complete his errand.
He finally returned, only to tell the cashier that none of the cans had a barcode or price sticker. He did, however, inform her that the price on the shelf indicated the can cost $3.29. The cashier took his word for it and manually entered the amount on the cash register.
The rest of the transaction went smoothly and the fellow was on his way.
But for one brief moment in time, technology brought our world to a stop because of a missing barcode.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Observation
People tend to look at the obvious and rarely notice that which is hidden in plain sight.
This point was made clear to me the other day. I usually drive home from work by a different route than I drive to work. Thus, I see the sights from one direction only. On this particular day, there was a huge traffic jam on my regular route to work, so I decided to take the route I usually take going home. In other words, I was traveling the same route but from the other direction. It dawned on me that the sights I was used to seeing seemed strange because I was seeing them from a reverse perspective.
A recent game show asked this question: “On the back of which U.S. paper currency is the White House pictured?”
Before you reach into your wallet, read on.
Everyone knows the basic denominations of U.S. paper currency: $1, $2 (though rarely seen), $5, $10, $50, and $100. There are higher denominations but they don’t circulate ($500, $1,000, $5,000, $10,000, $100,000).
Most people know that George Washington is on the front of the one dollar bill; that Abraham Lincoln is on the five; Alexander Hamilton on the ten; Ulysses Grant on the fifty and Benjamin Franklin on the hundred (“It’s all about the Benjamins”). You might even know that Thomas Jefferson is on the rarely used two dollar bill. But unless you are a collector, or serious student of currency, you wouldn’t know that McKinley is on the five hundred; Cleveland is on the one thousand; Madison is on the five thousand; Salmon P. Chase on the ten thousand and Woodrow Wilson on the one hundred thousand.
Now, with regard to the reverse, or back, of each bill, everyone knows what’s on the back of a one dollar bill – the Great Seal and a pyramid with an eye at the top. And it’s pretty easy to recall that the reverse of the Lincoln five dollar bill has the Lincoln Memorial, the same as the reverse of the Lincoln cent (at least since 1959). But what is depicted on the back of the other bills, and which one pictures the White House?
The answers:
The reverse of the $2 bill depicts a painting of The Declaration of Independence
The reverse of the $10 bill depicts the U.S. Treasury Building
The reverse of the $20 bill depicts the White House
The reverse of the $50 bill depicts the U.S. Capital
The reverse of the $100 bill depicts Independence Hall
The higher denominations just have words on the reverse.
So, as you are reaching into your wallet to pay for gasoline these days, just turn those bills over, and as Yogi Berra once said, “You can observe a lot just by watching.”
This point was made clear to me the other day. I usually drive home from work by a different route than I drive to work. Thus, I see the sights from one direction only. On this particular day, there was a huge traffic jam on my regular route to work, so I decided to take the route I usually take going home. In other words, I was traveling the same route but from the other direction. It dawned on me that the sights I was used to seeing seemed strange because I was seeing them from a reverse perspective.
A recent game show asked this question: “On the back of which U.S. paper currency is the White House pictured?”
Before you reach into your wallet, read on.
Everyone knows the basic denominations of U.S. paper currency: $1, $2 (though rarely seen), $5, $10, $50, and $100. There are higher denominations but they don’t circulate ($500, $1,000, $5,000, $10,000, $100,000).
Most people know that George Washington is on the front of the one dollar bill; that Abraham Lincoln is on the five; Alexander Hamilton on the ten; Ulysses Grant on the fifty and Benjamin Franklin on the hundred (“It’s all about the Benjamins”). You might even know that Thomas Jefferson is on the rarely used two dollar bill. But unless you are a collector, or serious student of currency, you wouldn’t know that McKinley is on the five hundred; Cleveland is on the one thousand; Madison is on the five thousand; Salmon P. Chase on the ten thousand and Woodrow Wilson on the one hundred thousand.
Now, with regard to the reverse, or back, of each bill, everyone knows what’s on the back of a one dollar bill – the Great Seal and a pyramid with an eye at the top. And it’s pretty easy to recall that the reverse of the Lincoln five dollar bill has the Lincoln Memorial, the same as the reverse of the Lincoln cent (at least since 1959). But what is depicted on the back of the other bills, and which one pictures the White House?
The answers:
The reverse of the $2 bill depicts a painting of The Declaration of Independence
The reverse of the $10 bill depicts the U.S. Treasury Building
The reverse of the $20 bill depicts the White House
The reverse of the $50 bill depicts the U.S. Capital
The reverse of the $100 bill depicts Independence Hall
The higher denominations just have words on the reverse.
So, as you are reaching into your wallet to pay for gasoline these days, just turn those bills over, and as Yogi Berra once said, “You can observe a lot just by watching.”
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Paying attention
I recently received a bill from my fuel oil company which listed the price per gallon at a higher rate than my contract called for.
I called the company and spoke with a representative. He checked the file and said that I was correct and admitted I was being overcharged.
"Thank you for paying attention," he said, as he made the adjustment.
"Paying attention is better than paying extra," I replied.
I called the company and spoke with a representative. He checked the file and said that I was correct and admitted I was being overcharged.
"Thank you for paying attention," he said, as he made the adjustment.
"Paying attention is better than paying extra," I replied.
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