If you just happen to win the Lottery tomorrow and never had to worry about money again, what would you do? Are you the type of person that goes on a gigantic spending spread, buying all those little goodies - the Mega TV, that yellow Hummer, a vacation house in the South of France- that you've always dreamed about but never thought you'd actually have? Are you the type of person that is uber responsible and pays off all your bills, debt, your parent's mortgage, your kid's college loans, and anything else that Uncle Sam wants to get you for? Or are you the type of person that doesn't really want the money, so you decide to give it away - to charities, people on the street, non-profits, etc.?
My office has a bi-weekly lottery pool where most of my co-worker put a dollar into the pot and if the ticket wins, they all share the money. I always refuse. It's not that I couldn't use the money, but I think money changes a person. It doesn't matter if you're the nicest person in the world or the Country's biggest curmudgeon, money has a way of alternating your morals and often turning you into a prima dona. You end up forgetting where you came from, how you were brought up, and suddenly you expect to be able to dismiss traffic laws, get in anywhere without a reservation, and receive prompt service wherever you go. It's like you think that since you now have money, the world should afford you unwarranted elite stature. Is money so powerful, that it instantly raises ones social status?
With that said, I think if I ever happen to win the lottery, or randomly inherit a fortune, I would be that odd person who would give most of it away. I find more joy in buying things for other people than I do for myself, but it's not because I want to be nice, it's because I'm a bastard.
If I had more money then I knew what to do with, I think it would be fun to drive through a Toll Booth and pay for the 10 cars behind me, not because it's a lovely jester, but because I know that those 10 driver's will spend the rest of the day wracking their brains to try and figure out if they know me, because that would be the only reason someone would pay their toll, right? Some would try to speed along the bridge to catch a glimpse of my face, looking for familiarity, but they wouldn't find any and that would perplex them further.
I get a perverse pleasure out of other people's confusion. We're a society of cynics, whether we think so or not, because we just can't fathom getting something for free. It's not a possibility in the world we've created for ourselves and therefore we will constantly ponder why someone is doing something nice for us unwarranted, we have to uncover their ulterior motive. This is what propels me to be charitable, people's inability to accept it and consequently their anguish in finding meaning to a random act of kindness.
I think it would be awesome to send an address-less envelope containing the deed and keys to a new home to the 18-year-old in the news who is supporting his siblings while attending University and working two jobs. It would be interesting to leave a $100 tip on a $5 dollar bill just see see the waiter's face light up and then turn confused because it such a steep percentage. It would be fantastic to go into a hospital and pay the weekly bill for all the children in the oncology ward without leaving my name because it would be like a God send to the parents. I'd like to select random people in debt and become their anonymous benefactor, helping them succeed, but never letting them know who I am.
All of these charitable donations would be very beneficial to the recipients, but I wouldn't do it because I'm Mother Teresa, more so because of the merriment I'd get from causing the beneficiaries to constantly wonder about where the money came from and why they are getting it. It's like the saying goes, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," some things just are and if you accept that, then alls well. But I know, they will never accept without knowing the reasoning and that's where I find my joy. I'm really a mean old Scrooge at heart.
What would you do with all the money in the world?
Monday, October 11, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
My 3-year-old, Vampire Brother
This is a phone conversation between my brother and I last Friday:
"Hey, what are you doing this weekend?" he calls out of the blue.
I reply, "You're gonna be in LA? ... Why?"
"How'd you know I was gonna be in LA?"
"Um, you just told me."
"No I didn't."
"Why else would you be asking about my weekend plans?" I retort.
"Can't I just be curious?"
"You only call when you want something, so, No."
Thus began a week of sibling bonding...in a way.
Jeff spent the whole weekend with his friend out in Apple Valley (if you haven't heard of it, that's because it's on the way to Victorville, Big Bear and nowhere near LA) then he decided to grace my presence on Monday by coming to Sunset Gower, the Lot I work on, treating me to lunch and proceeding to turn into his three-year-old self by dashing through half the production hangers on the Lot. I told him that if he got permission to walk on the sets (sans shooting) he could, but he wasn't allowed to just bound into the hangers with an enthusiastic smile and hope they wouldn't kick him off. Luckily all the painters and construction crews that were putting finishing touches on the sets, didn't mind a big, wide eyed child, asking questions and touching everything in sight.
"Is there real alcohol in the bottles," Jeff asks as he grabs a Patron bottle off the shelf in Dexter's Quinn's house. "Ahhh, don't touch stuff," I squeak, "You're gonna mess up continuity." But Jeff's already popped the top and is sniffing the contents. "It's just colored water," he pouts. "I could have told you that with out you rearranging the set. Now, please put the bottle back." He jams the bottle back on the shelf and is off exploring another part of the hanger - the Hospital from Private Practice.
"Look, they even have cups that say the Hospital's name...Hum, what's through here?" he mumbles, opening a door past the reception area. As I freak out over Jeff possibly opening a door into a crew member working behind it, he's vanished from my sight. It's like his attention span just takes him on a magical journey of sporadic-ness that makes me want to strap a monkey backpack with tail leash to him and yank him away from things he shouldn't go near.
I find him walking through the White House from The Event. "This looks just like the real thing," He muses, making laps around the Oval Office. His excitement is contagious and pretty soon, I'm wandering through all the open (and closed) doors, trying to see how everything is laid out and musing over all the little details that make up the sets - notebooks filled with writing (not just the front few pages), the character's logo on the stationary and cups, picture frames with the actor's photos inside, etc.
After exiting the last hanger on the Lot, Jeff utters, "I think this has made the trip all worthwhile." And I'd have to say he has a point. It's kind of cool to be able to walk on the set of a show and see a mini version of the White House or the house of a character that you watch weekly. I guess I take for granted that I work on a Lot, but I never actually take advantage of what being on a set affords me.
I eventually had to go back to work, play time was over, so I sent Jeff to my house and headed back to my desk. Over the course of the next week, the main indications that Jeff was actually staying at my house was the fact that my hand soap, body wash, shampoo, and toilet paper decreased exponentially and when I left my house at 8am, I'd look into the living room and see a giant lump on the floor, covered in a blanket. Jeff would quietly make his way into my living room somewhere between the hours of 2am and 6am, leave after I was gone and sometimes, after my roommate was gone in the mid afternoon.
I had asked Jeff on the third day of staying with me that his penance for coming and going at his leisure and using all my stuff was to buy me a new hand soap. When I arrived home that evening there was a quarter filled bottle of hand soap sitting next to my bathroom sink. My text message to my brother went like this: "What the hell is up with giving me a quarter full thing of soap. Really? A new bottle is like $2. Cheap bastard." I had thought he stole it from some bathroom he visited during the day, but after my roommate saw the soap in my bathroom, she goes, "I was wondering where the kitchen hand soap went."
He eventually bought me a proper, full bottle of hand soap and a replacement bottle of body wash while complaining it cost him $6. Poor baby. I don't know what he was doing with all my cleansing products, but most were 80% full before he visited me and when he left 7 days later, about 20% full; a lot of the items were concentrated. Overall, Jeff turned out to be one of the best houseguest I've had stay with me. My roommate even said he was cool because you never saw him. He just slept there, but didn't notably effect our house environment, except for the depleting cleaning products.
"Hey, what are you doing this weekend?" he calls out of the blue.
I reply, "You're gonna be in LA? ... Why?"
"How'd you know I was gonna be in LA?"
"Um, you just told me."
"No I didn't."
"Why else would you be asking about my weekend plans?" I retort.
"Can't I just be curious?"
"You only call when you want something, so, No."
Thus began a week of sibling bonding...in a way.
Jeff spent the whole weekend with his friend out in Apple Valley (if you haven't heard of it, that's because it's on the way to Victorville, Big Bear and nowhere near LA) then he decided to grace my presence on Monday by coming to Sunset Gower, the Lot I work on, treating me to lunch and proceeding to turn into his three-year-old self by dashing through half the production hangers on the Lot. I told him that if he got permission to walk on the sets (sans shooting) he could, but he wasn't allowed to just bound into the hangers with an enthusiastic smile and hope they wouldn't kick him off. Luckily all the painters and construction crews that were putting finishing touches on the sets, didn't mind a big, wide eyed child, asking questions and touching everything in sight.
"Is there real alcohol in the bottles," Jeff asks as he grabs a Patron bottle off the shelf in Dexter's Quinn's house. "Ahhh, don't touch stuff," I squeak, "You're gonna mess up continuity." But Jeff's already popped the top and is sniffing the contents. "It's just colored water," he pouts. "I could have told you that with out you rearranging the set. Now, please put the bottle back." He jams the bottle back on the shelf and is off exploring another part of the hanger - the Hospital from Private Practice.
"Look, they even have cups that say the Hospital's name...Hum, what's through here?" he mumbles, opening a door past the reception area. As I freak out over Jeff possibly opening a door into a crew member working behind it, he's vanished from my sight. It's like his attention span just takes him on a magical journey of sporadic-ness that makes me want to strap a monkey backpack with tail leash to him and yank him away from things he shouldn't go near.
I find him walking through the White House from The Event. "This looks just like the real thing," He muses, making laps around the Oval Office. His excitement is contagious and pretty soon, I'm wandering through all the open (and closed) doors, trying to see how everything is laid out and musing over all the little details that make up the sets - notebooks filled with writing (not just the front few pages), the character's logo on the stationary and cups, picture frames with the actor's photos inside, etc.
After exiting the last hanger on the Lot, Jeff utters, "I think this has made the trip all worthwhile." And I'd have to say he has a point. It's kind of cool to be able to walk on the set of a show and see a mini version of the White House or the house of a character that you watch weekly. I guess I take for granted that I work on a Lot, but I never actually take advantage of what being on a set affords me.
I eventually had to go back to work, play time was over, so I sent Jeff to my house and headed back to my desk. Over the course of the next week, the main indications that Jeff was actually staying at my house was the fact that my hand soap, body wash, shampoo, and toilet paper decreased exponentially and when I left my house at 8am, I'd look into the living room and see a giant lump on the floor, covered in a blanket. Jeff would quietly make his way into my living room somewhere between the hours of 2am and 6am, leave after I was gone and sometimes, after my roommate was gone in the mid afternoon.
I had asked Jeff on the third day of staying with me that his penance for coming and going at his leisure and using all my stuff was to buy me a new hand soap. When I arrived home that evening there was a quarter filled bottle of hand soap sitting next to my bathroom sink. My text message to my brother went like this: "What the hell is up with giving me a quarter full thing of soap. Really? A new bottle is like $2. Cheap bastard." I had thought he stole it from some bathroom he visited during the day, but after my roommate saw the soap in my bathroom, she goes, "I was wondering where the kitchen hand soap went."
He eventually bought me a proper, full bottle of hand soap and a replacement bottle of body wash while complaining it cost him $6. Poor baby. I don't know what he was doing with all my cleansing products, but most were 80% full before he visited me and when he left 7 days later, about 20% full; a lot of the items were concentrated. Overall, Jeff turned out to be one of the best houseguest I've had stay with me. My roommate even said he was cool because you never saw him. He just slept there, but didn't notably effect our house environment, except for the depleting cleaning products.
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