Written on the subway wall

There are whole sites devoted to finding the poetic in the commonplace and thrown away -- witness Found magazine.

I found something of my own today, but didn't keep it.

Waiting at the head of the 6 train to go uptown I noticed someone had very carefully taped up a computer-created (and colored) sign, basically expressing the hope that someone the person had seen on the train the day before would email him, as they didn't exchange any information and he'd like (I say he, but I don't know) to see her (again, don't know) again. Each line (and some words) were colored differently, each thought separated by line of space. It almost read like free verse and began:

"I should have said hello yesterday (Tuesday)"

Which sounds like the title of a poem or a song lyric.

It said what "you" had been like: Blue eyes, gray Calvin Klein bag; "I" had a red hat on. It all ended:

"Email me and tell me what I had in my hand."

That's just interesting and strange and enigmatic enough to be poetic, to me. I only had a minute to scribble down the first and last lines, and I didn't get the email address (it wasn't simple like "meonsixtrain@yahoo.com") but I got enough. I can't decide if it's worth creating a story around. I just like thinking about it.

And I hope they reconnect.

The Inbox

I got a spam today.

Inside, it was trying to point out in big block blue letters the importance of:

Spur-M.

Those spam-filter evaders have now given us the next big rap star name, I'm sure of it.

Losses

I lost two things this week: My great Aunt (who was a little crazy and not much in touch with us and 88 and it was sudden) and my wallet (which was with me about 2 years).

Guess which one gets more sympathy at work?

Anyway, I'm not writing about dead relatives. I'm writing about the purse. Damnit! I'm fairly sure (like about 90 percent) that it's my fault. I took out money so I'd have it in my pocket to buy a croissant from one of those street vendor guys. Now, in my right mind I'd have zipped up the wallet and put it back in my backpack, hopped out at 8th Street and gone on my way. Instead, I stopped in a store, realized the backpack was open and of the three objects in there -- the purse was the one missing.

It is possible someone saw my stupid backpack open, reached in and grabbed it, but there wasn't all that much time (and very little standing-still time) from the time I got up to the time I got to the store, so I think I just had it on my lap and it fell off. The thing is, how could I not see it fall? It's a fairly big thing for a wallet (more like a clutch purse).

At work, everyone was very sympathetic, and all but forced me to borrow money. The only nice thing about the wallet loss is I had all the money already in my pocket, only one credit card (now cancelled) and my driver's license. The rest of it was just things like a nearly-empty phone card, a photo or two, an ACLU membership card, a Blockbuster card -- that kind of stuff. Some coupons. A photo. Stuff I'd have liked to not lose, but which will not be valuable to anyone who finds it. The thing is, I really liked that purse. Damnit.

I hope it comes back to me. Lost Property on the MTA say they won't get it until next Wednesday.

Poor lonely purse.

Oh, and bye to Aunt Beatrice. She was a decent sort, in a nutty way. Even if she did wear 60's style librarian glasses in 2005.

New meaning of the concept of a facial

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Social insecurity

There's a great scene (one of many) in "It's A Wonderful Life," where Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey attempts to explain the banking system to an unruly mob of scared neighbors who think the bank's going to run out of money.

In it -- I don't have exact quotes here -- George entreats everyone to understand that their money isn't physically at the bank right now, not every single penny and dollar for every single person, because it's in their homes, it's invested elsewhere so that they can have some kind of rate of return. Not everyone gets him, and so he ends up having to pay out the money he was about to use on his honeymoon to quell the fearful and keep the bank open so that Potter can't take it all over.

This movie is hugely popular at Christmas, and for some all the year round. People have internalized it to the point where they know what you mean by Pottersville, and Zuzu's Petals was even the name of a band.

So why would anyone agree that privatization of social security makes sense?

I sure don't know about all of the math, fuzzy or not. And I do believe we need some rehauling to keep this viable another 50 or more years. But the idea of letting Joe Average use his money to invest in the stock market to save up money for his social security is not only precarious and dangerous -- it avoids the basic understanding of social security money. I'm not getting my money when (if) I start drawing on it in my 60s -- I'm getting someone else's, just as someone ahead of me is now getting my money. Like the Building and Loan in "Wonderful Life," the money isn't just sitting there idle waiting for you to claim it -- it's working to pay part of the expenses of the latter years for the elderly right now. It's over there, and over there. So if Joe Average makes a killing in the stock market, he's going to want his money when he's ready for it. Not someone else's, who didn't invest -- or who didn't do well.

The whole concept came out of a period where the government and many of the masses believed that as a prosperous nation, we had an obligation to help one another. It wasn't just "all for me, and if you can grab some, fine, some for you." It makes me ill to see how all of that is being torn down, because that's not something that just springs back up with a new cycle.

Social Security needs help -- but it does not need this help, President Potter.