How much is $207,000,000 divided into, say 15?
(More than my cell phone calculator can compute, apparently).
It actually works out to $1,380,000. Before taxes and all that.
Of course, I didn't need to calculate it. It's been calculated more than a dozen times by several participants of our office lottery pool.
The publisher's secretary started one Tuesday to go after that night's Mega Millions drawing. In the course of collecting the money, the math was done. Over and over and over and ...
We learned our fate today. We got a $16 return on our $77 investment (which considering the odds you're talking about, isn't completely a bad thing).
But I think I'm more amazed at the reaction. We all had it spent.
One co-worker wanted to quit her job and become more of a freelancer. Everyone wanted to pay off their debts. Another one was ready to jet off to Europe.
Of course, the money won has been reinvested. And those who didn't play before, now want in.
Is it desperation, wishful thinking or both? What is it that's driving this mini-frenzy?
I can tell from my office that people are tired. Maybe this isn't about the money. Maybe it's about hanging on to the hope that we're all going to find a way out. That, despite the huge job losses and the amount of added work being piled on to the remaining workers, maybe, just maybe, luck will smile upon us and we'll find an exit.
Isn't that what we all want? We're all on this wild roller coaster ride called recession where we've been plummeting for a long time. And now we just want to stop and get off. Not even take the ride to the top again - just get off.
The conversation about the lottery has been fun. Watching people's growing enthusiasm for something that is a 1-in-a-billion or so chance is fascinating. But for me, there's this undercurrent of financial urgency to everyone's escapist fantasies.
But wouldn't it be nice if we won?
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Commentary: How insurance firms drive debate
(CNN) -- Having grown up in one of the most conservative and Republican places in the country -- East Tennessee -- I understand why many of the people who are showing up at town hall meetings this month are reacting, sometimes violently, when members of Congress try to explain the need for an expanded government role in our health care system.
I also have a lot of conservative friends, including one former co-worker who was laid off by CIGNA several years ago but who nonetheless worries about a "government takeover" of health care.
The most vocal folks at the town hall meetings seem to share the same ideology as my kinfolks in East Tennessee and my former CIGNA buddy: the less government involvement in our lives, the better.
READ THE REST
I also have a lot of conservative friends, including one former co-worker who was laid off by CIGNA several years ago but who nonetheless worries about a "government takeover" of health care.
The most vocal folks at the town hall meetings seem to share the same ideology as my kinfolks in East Tennessee and my former CIGNA buddy: the less government involvement in our lives, the better.
READ THE REST
Friday, August 7, 2009
Memories of our trip
So I'm still hung up on my trip to Costa Rica. What can I say? When you have that much fun, it's hard to let go. So here is a video that Bill made (with my input). It's a chronological photo account of the parties.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Costa Rica conversations (Part 2)
I’m back. And I’m bound and determined to finish my blogging on Costa Rica. A tough thing to do when you get swallowed by your work.
But I’ve been anxious to finish with some of my memories. Yesterday, I was reflecting back to the trip to the Volcan Arenal, Costa Rica‘s active volcano. The whole thing was a bit wild, literally and figuratively …
The long winding road
“Wow, that’s some bridge,” I told our tour guide Rodolfo in Spanish.
The van wagon, or micro-bus as they called it, had rolled up on a line of cars waiting for oncoming traffic to cross a very narrow bridge.
It wasn’t rickety. It seemed sturdy. But it was surrounded by twisted rusting metal. It spanned the length of a rushing river. That river’s banks and the mountain slopes near it were denuded.
“They built this after a landslide destroyed the original bridge,” Rodolfo said. Since we were not moving, he was able to turn from his seat and point to the towering cliff above us. We were just outside the borders of San Ramon. “About two years ago, we had heavy rains. It rained and rained. It finally brought the mountain down. It took everything out, the road, the bridge, everything.”
When we finally get moving, we could see the rushing water as we drive over. It just rains a lot, he said. Fortunately, no one was one the road at the time of the slide, so there were not injuries, he said.
This was one of the first introductions Bill and I got to the jungles of Costa Rica. I had traveled around them as a child. But obviously, the wilds change. And I was anxious to see, hear and feel it all.
From Ciudad Colon, where my cousin lives, out to the volcano was a two-hour drive. As we drove, a part of me just wanted to enjoy the fact I was being driven around. He had driven past the city, which then became rows of home.
Before long, the space between homes increased, until they almost entirely disappeared and thick jungle hugged the sides of the tiny road. The tropical moisture has taken its toll on all of Costa Rica’s roads. But this road to Arenal has been especially hard hit th
anks to the merciless weather. Holes are not unusual. In some cases, the road has been cut in half.
Along one mountain side was a piece of the highway that had been reduced to one lane because the land that had been holding it was washed away. About half of the lane on the cliff side was gone. To remedy the situation, warning signs have been put up and cars must yield in an orderly manner.
Our poor tour guide. I treated him like we were in Cash Cab. I was full of questions, which he patiently answered. He told me a lot about the terrain. He took us to a lake with a view of the volcano and introduced us to the captain of a small tourist boat who took us out on a tour.
When we arrived, it was pouring rain. Despite that, the captain was out giving a tour. So we took shelter under a tarp that covered a small vendor’s truck. It was manned by a young man who was selling everything from coconuts to chips and drinks.
And we started to chat.
“Hopefully it will warm up so you folks won’t get too cold,” the young man said. “I’m freezing.”
I hated to say anything to him, but I felt warm. It was almost humid to me, even though it was pouring rain. Even Lucky was fine, running around and having the time of his life in the rain. I finally did cave and tell him that we had come from a dry desert climate and were rather enjoying the rain.
“Really? I’m freezing,” he said. “Actually I do have an uncle in California. I’m not sure where he lives. He lives somewhere near Los Angeles.”
“Really? Well then while your freezing, he’s baking,” I told him. “It’s over 100 degrees where
we live in the desert areas. Los Angeles is in the high 90’s. It’s like sitting in an oven. Even when you get in your car.”
“Wow,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to go to the U.S. But I need to learn more English. I’ll be going back to school. I’ll make it there one day.”
I told him he’d be surprised how many people in the U.S. speak Spanish. He smiled. We chatted some more. I got the sense he really wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Physically, he was selling pipas (coconuts) by the side of the road. Mentally, he was trotting about the promising streets of California. I didn’t want to burst his bubble. Who cares if life here is more am/pm and less Spagos. I let the boy dream.
Soon enough, I would learn that our economy is not the only one suffering, though. After we finished up there, we went to grab some lunch and I finally got the chance to have a conversation with Rodolfo about the tourism, one of Costa Rica’s biggest industries.
“It’s terrible right now,” he said.
Terrible?
Yep. Rodolfo has been providing tours for eight years. And business has always been good, he said. But when the economy collapsed here, it did there, too.
“I run bicycle tours for companies,” he said. “A lot of cyclists come here wanting to pedal around the roads. I take them around anywhere they want to go. And they are happy. But the companies are just not spending the money anymore. We had eight tours scheduled earlier this year. Guess how many actually happened?”
I shrugged, “Half?”
“One,” he said. To make ends meet, he has started working at a friend’s auto repair shop. Fortunately, his buddy lets him almost freelance. This is how he’s biding his time until the economies start to recover.
We talked some more, mostly about the volcano and the insanity of living and taking a vacation at hotels so close to an active volcano.
“I stayed at a hotel here once,” he told me. “I was lying in bed and I swear I could feel the vibrations. I heard the booms. I don’t know. It just seems like a bad idea to live so close to it. But everyone here just seems used to it.”
I had to agree. Not long after that, we got our meal, filled out tummies and headed down past the lush greenery back to the city and … into the horrid traffic.
Exhausting, yes. But beautiful. And memorable. I want to take that tour again and get another chance to talk to Rodolfo.
Anyone want to come with us?
But I’ve been anxious to finish with some of my memories. Yesterday, I was reflecting back to the trip to the Volcan Arenal, Costa Rica‘s active volcano. The whole thing was a bit wild, literally and figuratively …
The long winding road
“Wow, that’s some bridge,” I told our tour guide Rodolfo in Spanish.
The van wagon, or micro-bus as they called it, had rolled up on a line of cars waiting for oncoming traffic to cross a very narrow bridge.
It wasn’t rickety. It seemed sturdy. But it was surrounded by twisted rusting metal. It spanned the length of a rushing river. That river’s banks and the mountain slopes near it were denuded.
“They built this after a landslide destroyed the original bridge,” Rodolfo said. Since we were not moving, he was able to turn from his seat and point to the towering cliff above us. We were just outside the borders of San Ramon. “About two years ago, we had heavy rains. It rained and rained. It finally brought the mountain down. It took everything out, the road, the bridge, everything.”
When we finally get moving, we could see the rushing water as we drive over. It just rains a lot, he said. Fortunately, no one was one the road at the time of the slide, so there were not injuries, he said.
This was one of the first introductions Bill and I got to the jungles of Costa Rica. I had traveled around them as a child. But obviously, the wilds change. And I was anxious to see, hear and feel it all.
From Ciudad Colon, where my cousin lives, out to the volcano was a two-hour drive. As we drove, a part of me just wanted to enjoy the fact I was being driven around. He had driven past the city, which then became rows of home.
Before long, the space between homes increased, until they almost entirely disappeared and thick jungle hugged the sides of the tiny road. The tropical moisture has taken its toll on all of Costa Rica’s roads. But this road to Arenal has been especially hard hit th
anks to the merciless weather. Holes are not unusual. In some cases, the road has been cut in half.Along one mountain side was a piece of the highway that had been reduced to one lane because the land that had been holding it was washed away. About half of the lane on the cliff side was gone. To remedy the situation, warning signs have been put up and cars must yield in an orderly manner.
Our poor tour guide. I treated him like we were in Cash Cab. I was full of questions, which he patiently answered. He told me a lot about the terrain. He took us to a lake with a view of the volcano and introduced us to the captain of a small tourist boat who took us out on a tour.
When we arrived, it was pouring rain. Despite that, the captain was out giving a tour. So we took shelter under a tarp that covered a small vendor’s truck. It was manned by a young man who was selling everything from coconuts to chips and drinks.
And we started to chat.
“Hopefully it will warm up so you folks won’t get too cold,” the young man said. “I’m freezing.”
I hated to say anything to him, but I felt warm. It was almost humid to me, even though it was pouring rain. Even Lucky was fine, running around and having the time of his life in the rain. I finally did cave and tell him that we had come from a dry desert climate and were rather enjoying the rain.
“Really? I’m freezing,” he said. “Actually I do have an uncle in California. I’m not sure where he lives. He lives somewhere near Los Angeles.”
“Really? Well then while your freezing, he’s baking,” I told him. “It’s over 100 degrees where
we live in the desert areas. Los Angeles is in the high 90’s. It’s like sitting in an oven. Even when you get in your car.”“Wow,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to go to the U.S. But I need to learn more English. I’ll be going back to school. I’ll make it there one day.”
I told him he’d be surprised how many people in the U.S. speak Spanish. He smiled. We chatted some more. I got the sense he really wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Physically, he was selling pipas (coconuts) by the side of the road. Mentally, he was trotting about the promising streets of California. I didn’t want to burst his bubble. Who cares if life here is more am/pm and less Spagos. I let the boy dream.
Soon enough, I would learn that our economy is not the only one suffering, though. After we finished up there, we went to grab some lunch and I finally got the chance to have a conversation with Rodolfo about the tourism, one of Costa Rica’s biggest industries.
“It’s terrible right now,” he said.
Terrible?
Yep. Rodolfo has been providing tours for eight years. And business has always been good, he said. But when the economy collapsed here, it did there, too.
“I run bicycle tours for companies,” he said. “A lot of cyclists come here wanting to pedal around the roads. I take them around anywhere they want to go. And they are happy. But the companies are just not spending the money anymore. We had eight tours scheduled earlier this year. Guess how many actually happened?”
I shrugged, “Half?”
“One,” he said. To make ends meet, he has started working at a friend’s auto repair shop. Fortunately, his buddy lets him almost freelance. This is how he’s biding his time until the economies start to recover.
We talked some more, mostly about the volcano and the insanity of living and taking a vacation at hotels so close to an active volcano.
“I stayed at a hotel here once,” he told me. “I was lying in bed and I swear I could feel the vibrations. I heard the booms. I don’t know. It just seems like a bad idea to live so close to it. But everyone here just seems used to it.”
I had to agree. Not long after that, we got our meal, filled out tummies and headed down past the lush greenery back to the city and … into the horrid traffic.
Exhausting, yes. But beautiful. And memorable. I want to take that tour again and get another chance to talk to Rodolfo.
Anyone want to come with us?
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