Economic stimulus

I got a notice from the IRS recently about the economic stimulus check they're going to send me. That got me to thinking. How much stimulus does the economy need? Will a lousy "up to 600 dollars" be enough for me to do my part for my country, and why can't they be more specific than "up to $600"? Are they going to run out of money before they get to me, and have to cut back so I won't be overstimulated?

There's an Internet joke going around saying that these checks aren't going to help the economy because the only thing left made in America are beer and hookers. Given that women do the bulk of the spending, it looks pretty grim for an economy based on that joke.

Paul McCartney has a lot of money, and his ex-wife Heather Mills is trying her best to get her hands on it to spread some around. I'd hate to think that the fate of the American economy depends on whether or not a gold-digging bimbo gets her hands on money that rightfully belongs to the Cute Beatle. Yeah, he's British, but she's no doubt a global spender. But do we need the cash that badly? Leave Sir Paul alone; preferably with me. He needs consoling.

There seems to be plenty of money being spent already. There's those two young women who just recently netted $1,350 on an e-Bay auction for a cornflake that looks like Illinois. That transaction just goes to show that some people have too much money. But if someone wants to spend it on state-shaped breakfast cereal, then that's his privilege. If that person would just get in touch with me, I've got some cold oatmeal that looks like the profile of Alfred Hitchcock. Or I will fairly soon.

And what about former New York Governor Eliot Spitzer? If he's got $1,000 for one hour with a tough-looking hooker — and we all know he sprang for more than an hour — he's got money to throw around and kick up the economy a bit. No doubt his wife will make the most of his excess cash when she takes him for all he has and then some. You go Silda! Spend your way out of your public embarrassment! Start with Tiffany's.

And if the hooker is making a grand an hour, assuming she's working a 40-hour week like the rest of us, she's probably socking some back for when her looks and youth head south and she has to rely on her — what? Wits? Job skills? Yeah right. She surely has a little money she can spread around like a social disease.

But if the government wants to give me up to $600 to stimulate the economy, I"ll do my best to help. I can buy gasoline with it, maybe a couple of trips to the supermarket to buy some cornflakes that might look like Rhode Island. But I buy gas and groceries anyway. If I'm going to be a good American and do my part to help the economy and spread some bucks around, then let's do it right, and add another zero on the right-hand end of that amount.

Hey, why settle for being a good American when I can be a great American?

It's in the cards

I think I've made a huge mistake, and I don't know what to do about it. In fact, I've made this mistake many times. I simply had no idea.

Last week I bought some items at a health food store, and the checkout guy stuck a health-related magazine in my bag of stuff. I flipped through it and saw one of those subscription cards in it. You know the cards; all magazines have at least a dozen of them. Normally I just mindlessly rip them out and throw them away, but for some reason, I read this one. It had a checkoff list of health concerns I might want information about in future issues, and a box to check indicating that I wanted a free subscription to the magazine. Next to that was a little box to mark if I didn't want a free subscription.

Huh?

I'm supposed to fill these things out if I DON'T want a subscription too? Think of how many of those cards I failed to fill out and mail thinking that if they didn't get a card from me, then they must know that I decline their invitation to subscribe.

I wonder how many people are searching for all those people who, like myself, failed to turn in a card saying "No thanks. I don't want one."

I am so, so sorry. I didn't know.

All those little cards are postage pre-paid, so you don't have to use your own stamp. I wonder what kind of tizzy the people at the magazine office get into when they get cards back saying, no thanks, but no one bothered to fill out the rest of the card. They'd have a rejection, but wouldn't know who it came from. And they'd have to pay for it too.

Some years ago I saw author Calvin Trillin on a TV program talking about those little prepaid cards. He said he would politely write something cheery on the face of them and send them back so as not to waste the prepaid postage. Something like "no, I don't want the free offer, but thank you for asking anyway."

Web sites exist that are devoted to suggestions for doing the same thing with those prepaid envelopes that come with offers for credit cards, with a cautionary note to be sure to remove anything that can be traced back to you. Some even suggest even shredding the offer, stuffing it in the prepaid envelope and mailing it back. What a clever thought: it frees up landfill space and makes good use of the postage paid envelope.

Some subscription offers come on post cards where you can indicate that you do want the subscription and want to be billed, or you can check a little box that says "check enclosed." On a post card. Where do they think you're going to put the check? If you fill out the card, write a check and put it in an envelope, you've wasted the money they spent on prepaid postage, not to mention your own stamp. So it takes twice as much postage than it should to get the card to its destination. Considering this, why does the price of postage go up every year? The Postal Service should be rolling in money.

So now I wonder what to do with that card from the health magazine. Should I fill it out and check the box that says no, and send it back? If I do, will they send me a letter asking why I turned down something free? If I don't fill out my name and address, but send back the check-marked card, will someone track me down? I also wonder how much they spend on postage to get a pile of blank cards back? Who's writing the copy on those cards, anyway? What were they thinking? Or did some higher-paid higher-up look over a submitted prototype and say, "you know, this is good, but I think we need a box for people to say they don't want it."

And as soon as I figure out all that, I'm going to work on why voice mail messages say, "If you have a touch tone phone, and you know your party's extension, you may DIAL it at any time.

A little Boomer whining

Three ice storms in three weeks' time is getting a little redundant. Not to mention depressing.

And now a snow storm is on the way.

DId I mention this was getting redundant and depressing?

The Groundhog is no fool. He came out, predicted more winter, and hotfooted it back into his burrow where no weather-crazed people can get to him. If he'd predicted early spring, it would be open season on groundhogs by now.

I'm going to indulge in a little Boomer whining. Boomers are good at that; we've had at most 60 years of learning how, and even the youngest Boomers have had a while to perfect their skills. Winter is whining weather.

I'm cordially sick of boots right now. They're no longer a fashion statement; they're an instrument of pain. My feet hurt when I try to balance myself on ice-covered sidewalks and yards while encased in all that leather. Since I can't kick them off under my desk like I do my shoes, my feet feel trapped. Boots remind me of bad weather. I wanna wear my flip flops again. Better yet, I am counting the days until I can go barefooting through the clover.

Whine, whine, gripe.

I long for the bright yellow happy face of dandelions. And I ache to see tulips and crocus poking up through the ground. Dandelions, tulips and daffodils are sure signs of spring. So are robins, but they've been at my bird feeder lately, and they've been launching attacks on the chickadees and cardinals who also visit. The robins are no doubt as depressed by all the ice and gloom as I am, and are taking it out on the other birds. Bird rage, as it were. If it weren't for watching the enjoyment my cats get out of sitting in front of the door that separates them from the bird feeder, the bird battles would put me in a real funk.

Whi-i-i-i-nnne!

Now here's the real problem. Some yahoos in Washington, D. C., took an already bad idea and made it worse. They made daylight saving time start earlier this year. This weekend. After three weeks of sleet and freezing rain and another week of snow, it's going to be daylight saving time. What daylight? Storm clouds keep hiding the daylight. Daylight saving time has always been a stupid idea. The days get longer anyway. So what's another hour? It doesn't save any utilities - it just shifts the hours we use the same amount of energy. What's the point of that?

But when one thinks of DST, one thinks of summer coming. Spring warmth; sunshine. An end to winter blahs, ice and snow and scraping windshields and knocking the blocks of cruddy snow off the bottom of the car. Now we have DST AND all the blahs associated with winter. It stinks!

So this weekend I'm really going to go deep into my suffering. A heavy accumulation of snow is predicted. It'll be dark. Gloomy. Cold. Slippery. Confining.

And with the early advent of daylight saving time I'll lose a valuable hour. The sun, such as it is, will be out longer, but I'll lose an hour. Of pouting time.

Might as well get a start on it now.