Saturday, November 26, 2016
For a long time, there was a thrift store in Durham called Thrift World. I don’t remember it when I was in school in the 80s, but I think it was around then. I know it was around in the late 90s when I moved back to the area.
It was on University Drive, and later it moved (I’m not sure when) to the Lakewood Shopping Center, until the air conditioning went out in the middle of summer and the landlord wouldn’t fix it and the store closed. That was the end of Thrift World.
It was a very big store, they had tons of stuff and they had good prices and you could usually find good stuff there. Many people loved Thrift World. But it was also kind of a crappy store — it felt not very clean and kind of run down.
Its (presumably un-ironic) slogan was, “The store you deserve.”
Some people I was friendly with in college enjoyed getting dressed up in crazy clothes when they would go out drinking. Thrift World was one of their favorite places to shop for party clothes.
I continued to be friendly with some of these people after college, when I lived in New Jersey and also when I was in DC, and they didn’t end their dress-up habits when they graduated from college. For a number of years afterwards (possibly continuing to the present day, I haven’t kept up with them so much lately) when they would get together for a party they would pull out the hats and dresses and Mardi Gras beads.
One of these friends worked on the Hill and lived across from Eastern Market during the time when I was living in the DC area.
I remember one winter in the 1994/1995/1996 range when my friend planned a party and told me to come and bring whoever I wanted. When I got to the party and saw that most of the people in the room were dressed in party attire that was not typical for your average Capitol Hill party, I called my friend Sue, who I had previously invited to the party, and who had hung out with these friends a fair amount, both in New Jersey and in DC, so she was used to this kind of behavior, but she was planning on bringing her boyfriend with her and he was not so much the kind of guy who would pull out a sari for the average Saturday night out. I figured I should warn them.
I said, “Okay just letting you know, they’re in costume. You might want to prepare Mike.”
She laughed. “Okay! Duly noted.”
Half an hour or so later, Sue and Mike get to the party and I’m standing on a sofa drinking a beer wearing this huge fake fur coat. Sue sees me and starts laughing. “Look at you!,” she says. “You look like a pimp!”
[Side story: At one point, my friend who worked on the Hill was complaining about how he felt like people didn’t take him seriously. I was telling Sue this and Sue said, “Wait, he doesn’t think people take him seriously? Here’s an idea. Maybe he should stop running around wearing a toga and a pith helmet. Maybe that would help.”]
I moved from DC to Durham in spring 1998. My 10-year college reunion was the following year, and instead of doing the official reunion activity on Saturday night I had a party at my apartment for my friends and whoever else wanted to come.
My dress-up friends came to the party, in full dress-up regalia.
I was complimenting one of them on his outfit and he told me they had gone to Thrift World for the new duds. He quoted the slogan: The store you deserve.
Then he said, “I always thought that was kind of harsh.”
That made me laugh, and forever after, whenever someone would mention Thrift World, the store you deserve, I would think of my friend’s comment.
After the recent election, that phrase came to mind.
I feel like we have ended up with the president we deserve.
We have a country where our leaders act as if the sole purpose of education is to enable people to get a job, as if there were no difference between a university and a trade school. Critical thinking skills? Who needs those.
We have an educational system that is very good for high achievers — our top performing students do as well as kids from any other country, we have the best university system in the world, students from everywhere want to come here to study — but that often leaves average or below average students behind (especially those with low incomes, who aren’t able to supplement their education with enriching extracurricular activities). This dynamic has contributed to income inequality — wealthy educated people (and their kids) do better and better while the less educated (and their kids) fall further and further behind.
We have more free time than ever, but what do with it? We watch movies and binge watch television shows. We watch sports (and bet on sports, and participate in fantasy sports leagues). We spend hours on Facebook. We play World of Warcraft/Candy Crush/Angry Birds/Pokemon Go.
The average person spends more than 5 hours a day watching television. The highest paid, most envied people in our culture are celebrities. It’s what kids want to be when they grow up — they want to be famous.
Of course we’re going to vote for someone famous who says he’ll solve all of our problems the minute he gets into office over someone who outlines actual policies. Of course we prefer a celebrity to a politician. We don’t like politicians. We don’t trust the media, so we don’t believe what they say when they expose actual corruption (illegal payments to lawmakers, misuse of tax laws and the like) as opposed to false equivalence “corruption,” when media outlets need to report something on the other side, too, so they take things out of context and make legitimate things seem nefarious. We believe all kinds of conspiracy theories regardless of how nonsensical they are. A significant portion of Americans believe not that Hillary Clinton is a typical politician, or even that she is a corrupt politician, but that she is an actual murderer. They think she started with Vince Foster and just kept going.
So no, we don’t like politicians.
But we love celebrities, no matter what kinds of outrageous behavior they exhibit. In fact the more outrageous the better. Rich celebrities, especially. We love them.
And now we have one as our President.
(Who knew that the memorable commercial from decades past, “I’m not a doctor but I play one on TV,” was our future politics.)
How will it turn out?
We’ll all just have to wait and see.
And watch. Very, very closely. Because We are the People, and We the People are the government. We the People created this American democracy and it is up to us, We the People, to keep it from running off the rails.
(I was also thinking recently about Wangari Maathai’s bus metaphor, what do you do when you are on the right bus but it is taken over by a bad bus driver.)
So everyone needs to do their job — stay alert, watch what is happening, contact your representatives and senators in the U.S. Congress to tell them your position on areas of concern to you — and everyone needs to remember that We are the People and democracy depends on us.
And that is your thought for this holiday weekend.
Friday, August 19, 2016
My laptop died on Monday. It was on, I went and did other things, when I came back the screen was dark. It’s an old computer, every now and then it gets tired and turns off. Weird, but whatever. You push the button and it comes back on.
Except this time it didn’t.
And actually the exact same thing happened last year, it went dark and stayed dark. I took it to my IT friend Tom and he looked at it and declared it a lost cause but took out the hard drive and transplanted the hard drive into a different body (separate story there, I will spare you the details) and that was fine, it booted right up, no problems at all. I was back in business.
So in my mind, on Monday, this is the same thing. I know we won’t be able to transplant again, but that’s okay, it’s time for me to move on from this computer anyway, it was barely functional even before the screen went dark. The reason I hadn’t gotten a new one is because I’m still feeling a bit in between things at this point and I hadn’t figured out what I should get to replace it. And I had all of my systems set up for this computer, and adjusting to a new computer is so hard for me — the autistic person who lives inside my brain is completely change averse. Especially with computers. Man, I just hate getting a new computer, I put it off as long as possible, and even when I do it, I never quite adjust to the change, there are always things I miss about my old computer. If it were up to me, I’d still be using DOS. (Oh, XyWrite how I miss you!)
And given the age of my computer, my extreme attachment to my data, and my general level of technical competence (seriously, I am technically competent, I am the person you call when you can’t figure out how to get your printer to work or just what is going on with your computer), you’d think I would have been really on top of the data backup thing. I’d have local backups and cloud backups and some kind of syncing thing so everything was totally covered. All of that. Right?
So I get a replacement laptop from my friends at Triangle Ecycling and I take my Mac to my IT friend Tom and he takes out the drive and plugs it into a different computer and … nothing. Doesn’t show up. Drive not readable.
I am not expecting this. At all. I’m like What? What do you mean it isn’t showing up?? My heart starts racing. My mind goes blank. I’m sure the color drained from my face.
I am a crazy data tracker. The great value of my data is that I have a giant data set — most of my emails dating back to 1993, all of my spending since 1995, time logs from 2003 on.
I have a good memory, I remember much more than the average person, but I also have a huge amount of data that I can mine. If we are trying to figure something out and we can’t remember what happened, I say, “Okay let’s go to the tape.” I can look through emails to see what we said, review spending records to see what I actually spent money on, look at time logs to see what I was working on. It’s like a huge external brain where all of our collective past is stored.
So of course I have this all backed up. Right?
All I can say is F*k Me.
And I also have to say that I have been feeling conflicted about this element of my personality for a while now, my great love of random information from my past, and my ongoing devotion to data tracking. It sometimes feels like a burden, to have all this stuff that I have to worry about keeping track of, to carry around with me for the rest of my life. When does it end?
And apparently this conflict prevented me from properly managing this storehouse of data. I just didn’t back things up, even after I bought a new external drive and was totally going to be organized. The drive is still in its packaging, I never even opened it.
So apparently when this ends is right now, in 2016, two weeks after my 49th birthday and two weeks before my last CPA exam.
This is like someone ignoring their girlfriend — la la la, I don’t need you — until she leaves and then he is like no, wait, I totally didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry! Come back!
I remember telling a story to my friend Christine about a friend who dated a guy who she was really into but who was totally a jerk to her and they had broken up and she went on a trip with another guy and all of a sudden jerky boyfriend was like wait, I miss you! And he was all nice to her and telling her how sad he was and how much he wanted to be with her and how he couldn’t live without her.
So I’m telling Christine about my friend and she says, “Okay so he’s a jerk until she goes away with someone else and then he can’t live without her?”
And I say, “Yup, pretty much.”
And Christine says, “Oh, cry me a river, cowboy.”
So there you have it. Cry me a river, cowboy. My data is gone.
And it’s not like I don’t have any backups, I do, I have most of the older stuff, but I don’t have any of the most recent stuff and the thing about the recent stuff is I can’t even say what’s valuable. The data is only valuable in retrospect, when I can look back and see what happened, or remember stories that I told in emails that completely disappear with the passage of time (remind me sometime to tell you the Courtney the Clown story), or write things that later turn out to be worth reading. And also just because the sheer volume of it — the value is that I have everything.
Except now I don’t. How will I know I was even here?
I talked to my friend Ann after I found out. I said maybe it’s time to turn over a new leaf, to start fresh and not track data anymore. Just live in the moment.
She said, “Yeah. Let me know how that goes.”
Then we looked up the stages of grief to see where I was at (3=bargaining, (4=loneliness).
I miss you my data friends. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you. So sorry.
So anyway, that was my day on Thursday.
And then I tried to study and focus on accounting for pensions and you can just imagine how that went.
But Friday is a new day.
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
I was cleaning up some files on my computer the other day and ran across a message I wrote to a friend in spring 2015 describing the origin and context of what my law professor had dubbed The Currie Rule.
(I was in an accounting program, but I took all of the business law classes that were offered. Which was totally a good call, understanding basic legal concepts at this point in my life is completely useful.)
I’m posting a slightly reworked version of the message here because I think it is funny that this became a thing in class, and also I think that it is an oddly accurate representation of my world view.
That glass may look half-full now, but someday it will be empty.
So my law classes are taught Socratic method — professor asks question, student answers, general discussion ensues. Back and forth, questions and answers.
I talk some in class, but I try to not talk too much. If other people are willing to give answers, then they can just go ahead. Sometimes in the law classes I end up talking because the 24-year-olds can be so dumb, they just have no common sense. So a lot of times when I talk it’s to say something completely obvious that no one else seems to be able to think of. My professor appreciates that about me. (In the Mod One class I had with her, she told me I was “exceptional.” Yay, me.)
I don’t remember exactly how this came up, but it was in the partnership class during Mod Two, we were talking about getting everything written into the partnership agreement in the beginning, making sure everything is figured out up front, including how losses will be handled.
The professor asks why you want to do this in the beginning. Why do want to go through all of this detail from the start, talk about both profits and losses?
Some bright young thing gives a narrowly correct answer — something like because you need to file the paperwork in the beginning. Professor says, “Yes, that’s true … what else?” Another 24-year-old with another technically correct but incomplete answer, “Yes … what else?”
Sometimes this goes on for a while. I don’t remember how long it went in this case, but eventually I decide that the 24-year-olds aren’t going to come up with the answer. I raise my hand. Professor sees my hand and calls on me, “Yes, Ms Currie?”
I say, “Because in the beginning, no one ever thinks anything is going to go wrong. No one starts a business to lose money. And then once you’re losing money, you don’t want to have to figure out what to do. Things are already a mess and then it just turns into a bigger mess.”
She said, “That’s exactly right.”
So then for the rest of the year in her classes, any time the answer had to do with things going south and people losing money, she would call on me.
“Why is this, Ms Currie?” she’d say.
And I’d say, “Because no one ever thinks they’re going to lose money.”
She called it The Currie Rule.
In the ethics class that she taught in Mod Three, we had a class on sexual harassment. I was in the day’s second session. When I walked in to the classroom, she saw me and said, “Oh, there you are Ms Currie! I was looking for you in the earlier class.”
She said they were talking about office romances. She said she was looking for me to invoke The Currie Rule. All I could think of was about losing money, I was confused about how that related to an office romance.
She said, “No one ever thinks they’re going to break up.”
I said, “Oh yeah, that too.”
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
My mom likes to give me something I want for Christmas so she asks me to send her ideas. Sometimes I do and she’s happy, but sometimes I don’t have any ideas. This year I didn’t have any ideas so she wasn’t very happy with me and she gave me a check. She said, “You didn’t tell me anything you want so this is what you get.” My grandmother used to send a check, too, for my birthday and Christmas.
Because I am a crazy data tracker, it’s not hard for me to keep track of what I’ve spent my gift money on and how much I have left.
With the money my grandmother would send, I would use it to go out to lunch when I wanted a treat. I would think about it like it was my grandmother taking me out to lunch, and I’d write her a note and tell her that I’d spent it that way. She liked that.
With the money I got from my parents this year I took my friend Ann out for an end-of-year lunch at Pizzeria Toro. I’ve eaten there with my parents a few times and we’ve had very good meals. I thought my dad especially might like that I spent some of my gift money on that.
Shortly after the Pizzeria Toro meal, a few days or a few weeks — who’s to say, it’s all blurring together these days — I was thinking about how I could have bought something with that money, but instead I spent it on lunch. Call it buyer’s remorse on pizza. (Though the meal was excellent, and I don’t actually regret it — just a passing thought.)
This made me think about Experiences vs. Things and their relative values.
There is a great bias today toward Experiences — there is a moderately pervasive idea that Experiences are valuable and life affirming, while Things are just a bunch of crap that you’re going to have to get rid of someday and that weigh you down. Marie Kondo and all that.
I think that previous generations would be baffled by this idea — that going out to lunch would be considered better than buying something special that you could have and keep and use for a long period of time.
Back in the day, going out to lunch with gift money might more likely be thought of as “squandering.” Like playing the ponies — at the end of the day, you’ve got nothing to show for it. But today, going to lunch (or playing the ponies) is an Experience, and all to the good.
One blog I read and like wrote a post a few years ago about marginal utility and the idea that people value Experiences over Things today because most people have an abundance of material goods but limited free time. This increases the relative value of experiences and decreases the relative value of things.
And I think this is true, but I think other factors are at work as well.
For instance people in any given social circle don’t necessarily live near each other or visit each other’s houses regularly, and many interactions are conducted online. Having a nice car or a Persian rug might go unnoticed unless you posted pictures, which might look like you were trying to show off, and, depending on your social circle, might look crass.
But of course it’s perfectly natural for you to post pictures of your vacation, or Instagram your Pizzeria Toro crispy pigs’ ears.
[Side note: I read a book a year or two ago by a foodie economist about how to find the best cheap food, and one of his pieces of advice is that if something on the menu sounds bad, you should order it. Because if it sounds bad, the only reason it would be on the menu is because it tastes good. Case in point, if you are at Toro, order the crispy pig’s ears. They are good.]
This also made me think of one of the studies that Juliet Schor describes in her book The Overspent American. She talks a lot in the book about conspicuous consumption and status symbols. And this seems obvious now that I’m writing it out, but she makes the case that status symbols are things that other people see. She describes an interesting study about cosmetics that women use in public (lipstick) vs. cosmetics that women use privately (cleanser), and notes that only lipstick fit the pattern of status object purchasing.
So I really feel that a lot of the Experiences vs. Things dichotomy is driven by status objects and what can be advertised to your social group to show how successful you are.
Experiences say, “I am an interesting person who is expanding my horizons. I have the time and the money to explore the world. Don’t you wish you were me.”
Things say, “I am a shallow materialist.”
My experiences at the moment involve trying to answer many multiple choice questions like:
For the next two years, a lease is estimated to have an operating net cash inflow of $7,500 per annum, before adjusting for $5,000 per annum tax basis lease amortization and a 40% tax rate. The present value of an ordinary annuity of $1 per year at 10% for two years is 1.74. What is the leases’s after-tax present value using a 10% discount factor?
No one is jealous of me. So I will turn to Things.
With the money I didn’t spend at Toro, I’m buying a new wall clock. Because the one I had broke like four years ago and I still — STILL — look on that wall to see what time it is. But alas I have no clock there.
But someday soon I will. And I will be able to look at it every day. And when I look at it I will think about I got it as a Christmas present from my parents. And that will make my mom happy too.
Experiences are good. Things are good. You just have to buy the right Things.
Monday, January 25, 2016
When I lived in Northern Virginia, I played soccer on a bunch of teams — at least two different co-ed teams and then a few different iterations of a women’s team, and lots of different tournament teams. It’s sort of a cult thing around there. Once you start playing with one team, you just keep getting sucked in.
The problem with being even a little bit organized is that you invariably get stuck being in charge of things. After a few years of playing on the main women’s team I played with, I ended up being made the organizer. Despite my protestations. And then we won our division and got moved up into the top division. So then I had to organize a much better team, which was significantly more challenging.
The season we moved up, the people in charge of the league decided to have a one-day pre-season tournament to get everyone ready to play. I was still trying to pull my team together, so this was a bit of a hurdle, but it seemed like we had everything together and we were pretty much ready. But then at the eleventh hour, the fields changed — instead of being out at the Linton Hall fields in Manassas, the games were moved to the Fort Belvoir fields in Alexandria.
Linton Hall and Fort Belvoir are nowhere near each other.
This was spring 1995. Some people in 1995 had cell phones, but normal people in 1995 did not have cell phones.
We did a phone tree (remember those?) to get the word to everyone, and it worked well. We managed to get in touch with all but one person — Michelle Verrier was the only person we couldn’t reach.
Michelle Verrier worked crazy hours and lived at her parents’ house. She had told us she couldn’t make the early game because she was taking a class, but she said she’d be there for the 2pm game. Her plan was to head straight for Linton Hall as soon as she got out of class.
Which was fine, except that now no one would be at Linton Hall when she got there.
When we tried to call her in the morning, she’d already left for class. Tegan, who was helping me with phone calls and had talked to Michelle’s dad, was like “Oh, too bad. Well at least we got everyone else. We did what we could.”
Michelle Verrier happened to be a really good player. And a really nice person. I’d only played with her a few times, but she was someone I definitely wanted to play on my team. On all of my teams in fact. The more teams I could play on with Michelle Verrier, the better.
But everyone else who ran a soccer team felt this same way. Michelle played with like 5 or 6 teams, but she wouldn’t commit to any of them, because her work schedule was so crazy. She would just play when she could.
I knew that if Michelle Verrier got out of class and hauled her butt out to Linton Hall, and when she got there all she found was a bunch of empty soccer fields, I would never see her at one of my games again.
This is what was running through my head when Tegan told me she hadn’t been able to get in touch with Michelle.
I told Tegan I needed more information.
I said, “Where is the class?” And I don’t know if she knew that, or if she had to call Michelle’s house again, but we found out that the class was at Georgetown. And my brother had gone to Georgetown, so I knew that area fairly well, and I knew that (at that time) there was only one main parking lot.
I said, “Find out what kind of car she has.”
So I got a description of the car — make, model, color, distinguishing bumper stickers (and it turned out it had a baby seat! it was her sister’s car, that would make it easier) — and headed to the Georgetown University parking lot.
I found the car.
I wrote a big note on a piece of paper:
MICHELLE — GAMES HAVE BEEN MOVED!!!
TO FORT BELVOIR!
SEE YOU 2PM
I put it under her windshield wiper and hoped for the best.
Now we had done what we could.
I went to the fields. We played the first game. We were sitting around waiting for the second game and I saw a player walking in our direction. It was Michelle!
I was so happy! I said, “You found us!!”
She said, “Oh my gosh, that was SO WEIRD to get to my car and have a note to me on it. How did you do that???”
And she played with us that season, and for the next two years, and after a year she told her other teams she couldn’t play with them anymore and just played with my team.
And I remember this as being one of the crowning achievements of my pre-cell phone days — getting a message to someone I barely knew by leaving a note on her car.
I was reminded of this story on Saturday, when I got a call from one of the people I work with, who was supposed to be going to a conference on Sunday. She said our other co-worker who was supposed to go with her was sick, and she herself wasn’t able to get out of her neighborhood because of the snow, so she thought we would have to cancel the trip to the conference, since neither of them could go.
And I was like, no. We paid for it, it’s important to be there, and there is just not enough snow to cancel this trip.
A similar situation occurred in 2010, we got hit with winter weather the weekend of this same conference. For that one, I was actually scheduled to attend the conference, but the person I was supposed to go with didn’t think it was safe to drive. I thought it would be fine, but I wasn’t going to make someone who didn’t feel safe go with me, so I went by myself.
It was fine.
So when I got the call on Saturday, it seemed like ultimately we might not be able to get there, but I decided before we cancelled, we should at least try to see if we could get something to work.
I hadn’t been out of the house in two days, so a walk over to the building didn’t seem like a bad idea, and I figured I could see how the roads looked, if people were able to drive and things looked icy or clear or what. And if things looked good, I could drive the van back to my house and then leave in the morning. Everything would be fine.
I walked over to the building, picked up the van and drove it home. We left for Charlotte in the morning. Everything was fine.
I feel like people sometimes give up and say they can’t do something before they’ve even tried to see if maybe they can. Because they’ve only thought of one option, the thing they would normally do, and that won’t work. So they think they’re done.
But really, people, you just need to keep thinking. Because maybe something else will work. You just need to think of it.
You just need to make it happen.
Thursday, November 5, 2015
As previously mentioned, I recently read the Marie Kondo book. I am still formulating my final opinion about the entirety of it, but one of her ideas that I can completely get behind is the idea that coins go “into your wallet.”
She commented that many of her clients’ homes, when she would first visit, would have loose change scattered about: in the bottom of bags, dropped on the tops of dressers and end tables, stored in jars.
(Similarly, in The Happiness Project, Gretchen Rubin refers to a “scum of clutter” that “filmed the surface” of her family’s home; when she sizes up her bedroom, she notes that “CDs, DVDs, cords, chargers, coins, collar stays, business cards and instruction booklets were scattered like confetti.”)
I myself have noted this phenomenon — people leave change everywhere. Including strewn on the floor.
I can understand why someone would put it in a jar, and I can even see how it could end up on a dresser or tabletop, but having it scattered across the floor baffles me. Why? Why would you ever drop change on the floor and not pick it up??
When I lived in Virginia in the mid-90s, my housemate Ted saved his pennies in a jar and when he moved to Utah he said he was leaving them behind for me and our other housemate, Chip. Chip pooh-poohed the pennies so I took possession of them. There were a lot. My bank was near my office, and I commuted to work by bike, so I had to carry them in to the office in my bag on my back. It was heavy.
The teller at my bank told me the way it worked is that I put a deposit slip with my account number in the bag with the pennies and they would run them through the counting machine then credit my account for the total amount. Easy enough. As soon as I handed the bag over to the bank, I promptly forgot about it.
My next month’s bank statement had a mystery deposit for seventeen dollars and some change on it.
I was like what the heck is this? I finally figured out (possibly by contacting the bank) that it was the pennies. I told Chip about the deposit. He said, “Hey! Half of that is mine!”
No go dude.
When my grandmother died and we cleaned out her apartment, we found so much change that I gave up on counting it all and instead separated it by denomination and weighed each pile and divided them into thirds and gave three approximately equal piles (roughly equal by denomination, which totalled a roughly equal cumulative pile) to my three nieces. I told them they could count it up themselves. My estimate was $83.07, and I feel like I was pretty close to the actual total, but I don’t remember what the final count was.
I’m not sure why my grandmother had so much change. She played penny poker with it, so some of it was for that, but there really was a lot.
When I was growing up, my grandmother would save her quarters and put them in a small blue glass candy dish that she kept in the coat closet near the front door. When she had accumulated ten dollars worth, she’d put the quarters in a roll, and when she had two rolls, she’d give one to me and one to my brother.
This is good thing to do with your change — save it as a special treat for your grandchildren.
Scattering your change across your floor and never bothering to pick it up is a not a good thing to do with it.
Nor is not taking it in the first place.
I was at the Green Market a few weeks ago buying a churro. The woman in front of me ordered $4.25 worth of treats and when the vendor tried to hand over her $0.75 change, she refused it. I can only imagine what my faced looked like. I almost stuck out my hand and said, “I’ll take it.” But I bit my tongue and let the vendor keep it.
TAKE YOUR CHANGE PEOPLE.
So the point of this post is to provide a short public service announcement in case anyone out there is confused about the nature of coins given as change for dollar bills.
Change is in fact actual money that you can spend just like dollar bills. It is legal tender. You do not need to take coins to a machine at the supermarket and pay money to turn them into dollar bills. You can start spending them right now, every time you buy something. Carry a little coin purse with you and see if you can make exact change on every purchase.
If you have really a lot, separate out the quarters and start with those. Eventually you will get through it all.
And then try to remember: Coins go into your wallet.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
A few weeks ago I became mildly obsessed with the Marie Kondo thing. I hadn’t read the book, just heard about it, and I start reading things on the internet and watching YouTube videos to try to learn more.
Everyone just loves loves loves this book. And I have not come to my final opinion on it yet. (I did read the book but at the moment I’m having trouble getting past the part where she tells people to throw out all their papers … that will make tax season fun for everyone…) But while I was reading about it on the internet, I started making notes, because some things were getting under my skin.
One comment I had was about the before and after photos/videos that people were posting. My god people, you have so much stuff! Look at all that crap.
In one video, a woman who was posting about cleaning out her linen closet said that in the past when she ran the washer and forgot about the towels and they mildewed, she would THROW THEM AWAY. Because they smelled. She would just buy new ones.
No wonder no one has any money.
But the thing that really got me rolling was a post (which of course I now cannot find, so you will just have to take my word for it) where a guy talked about cleaning out his books.
He said he went through his books and discovered that 20% of them weren’t even his, and no one had ever asked for them back. He said that just goes to show that people have so much stuff they don’t even notice or care when it’s gone.
And I’m like DUDE!!!!
It’s now up to the person who loaned the book to ask for it BACK?
That’s not how it works!!!!
The person who BORROWED the book gives it back when they’re DONE with it. Or if they realize they’re never going to GET to it. Then they give it back and say thanks man, I appreciate you letting me borrow that.
You just kept people’s books and didn’t even know and now it’s THEIR fault for not asking for them back?!?!
Talk about BLAME THE VICTIM!!!
I once loaned a book to a friend, and later saw it on her bookshelf when I was at her house for dinner. Eventually I asked her if I could get it back and she said, “Oh, I gave that back to you.” And I said I didn’t think she had, but she insisted. And short of going to her house and going through her bookshelf and pulling it out and saying, “No, see, here it is right here,” which seemed like not a very friendly thing to do, I didn’t know what to do. I just let it go.
So that one struck a nerve.
Okay rant over.
But here is a short message for any of my friends who may be reading this…
If in your great KonMari purge of 2015, you find anything of mine that no longer sparks joy in you — books you borrowed, letters I wrote you, mix tapes I made you in the 80s — feel free to send them back to me.
I love that shit.