Short Book Review: Money and the Meaning of LIfe

I am currently reading Jacob Needleman's book, Money and the Meaning of Life, published in paperback by Doubleday, 1991.

Mr. Needleman explores, from a personal point of view, the relationship between money, the inner self, and the outer world.

One of his points seems to be that, while money is an important, and sometimes dangerous, factor in our existence, it is also sometimes misunderstood and assigned either too much power, or the wrong role in lives.

Money, in Mr. Needleman's view, is actually an outgrowth of the need for man to create a better, more connected community but, in the modern world, often leads one astray.

A good read, though a little turgid at times.

I do recommend "Money and the Meaning of Life" by Jacob Needleman.

I also recommend the following for those interested in this area:

Magic, Myth, And Money: The Origin Of Money In Religious Ritual

I See Dead People....Too

Years ago, I taught people to drive big trucks. In most cases, there was a certain amount of fear involved...which I thought was a good thing.

In fact, during orientation, I would talk to my students about what we were about to do over the next few days, and then ask, "Anybody nervous?"

Every once in a while, I would get somebody who said, "No! Not me."

I usually stood up at that point and offered to get them another instructor.

It was a dangerous thing we did, and I wanted people who respected that.

As instructors, we got safety reports from the company and tended to keep our eyes and ears open for safety matters.

One point was interesting to me.

New drivers had the most accidents, but "experienced" drivers tended to have the worst accidents.

You see, new drivers were scared of everything that might happen. They were worried about doing the wrong thing. What they were often intensely worried about was hurting someone...not themselves, but somebody else.

Experienced drivers tended to throw the rulebook out the window and drive based on the idea that they knew everything they needed to do. That's one of the reasons they had high speed, expensive, accidents with lots of death and destruction.

I had one student who was doing well until the day we hooked up a trailer and started pulling it around Dallas. His ability to handle the truck became worse and worse.

Finally, I had a talk with him.

Know what he said?

"Don. I see dead people."

That's a quote, by the way,

This was after the move "Sixth Sense" with Bruce Willis, had come out, so, at first, I thought he was just using that line from the movie to make a point.

After a minute, however, I began to realize that this guy probably had never even heard of the movie.

He was simply stating what was weighing on his mind.

He was scared to death that he would be the cause of someone else's death or injury.

I see dead people too. I have seen bodies covered with a blue tarp on the side of the road. I have attended funerals for people who made the wrong decision.

It makes me think.

That's often why I do the things I do...right or wrong, by the way...the dead people I have seen.

That's also often why, after the first rush of anger at someone else's thoughtless or dangerous behavior, I remind myself, that they have not seen what I have seen. They have not had the opportunity to learn what I have learned.

I hope that I'm too "experienced" with life to have most of the small accidents that newcomers to the game tend to have. I also hope that I have experienced enough life to avoid the bad ones...if I just stay "scared" enough.

I've seen enough dead people.

Finally Retiring...the Hard Way

Gave my notice the other day. I've only been working a couple of days a week anyway. However, my wife and I sat down and looked at everything that's happened and where we were financially and figured out that we could do it.

Actually, I will miss "going to work"...and the money, little as it was, of course. However, I hurt too much and have to take a fairly strong pain pill sometimes to get through a shift. Also, since my wife went into cardiac arrest recently and got a defibrillator implanted, she cannot drive and is afraid to be alone.

Can't blame her.

She is disabled and has always had a fair number of medical appointments, but there will be a few more for a while. And, with me being diagnosed with prostate cancer recently, I now have medical issues of my own, including my old friends arthritis, high blood pressure, and atrial fibrillation.

Time to stop and smell the roses, even if somebody else has to plant them for us.

Money will be tight, and my ADD/ADHD style of money management won't make it any looser, but we should be able to hold out.

Wish us luck!

Ygnition Cable Sucks. Yes, It Is That Bad!

We moved into our current apartment at Westdale Hills in Hurst, Texas. last December. The only cable provider here is Ygnition. At first, we had the basic cable package, and were not overly impressed. Service was too spotty, but, it was all that was available. After a few months, we upgraded to a premium package. Since then, we have had extended outages almost every week. We now know the two local Ygnition technicians (who are very nice, by the way) by their first names and even have one of their personal phone numbers on our cell phone. We see them at least once a week, and each visit generally means one of us is tied to the apartment for the day. After several weeks of this, and complaints to the apartment management as well, we have decided to cancel Ygnition and just get the local channels. We are also considering moving from Westdale Hills when our lease is up, as they don't really seem to care about their tenants.

I have a friend, by the way, who told me that he was ready to move from his last apartment because THEY only had Ygnition and he was fed up. Shortly before his lease ran out, they changed cable service and he stayed there.

Ygnition cable service is really, really bad.

Me and the Snake Eaters - I Report for Duty

Okay, there I was at the Fort Stewart NCO Academy at TAC-X training area. It was my first day on the job, and, as was common in the army, we were going to do PT.

I had been told that all the other cadre had been hand-picked by the Post Commander General Vaught, and the commandant, First Sergeant (P for Promotable) Julius W. Gates. I had also been told that, except for the cooks, the cadre was made up completely of people recruited from the Ranger Battalion in Savannah.

I was the member of the cadre who was NOT a Ranger. I was warned that expectations would be high as General Vaught had a personal interest in the 24th Infantry Division/Fort Stewart NCO Academy.

Rangers! Snake eaters!

Okay, they were tough and had one hell of a rep, but so what?

We were going to be running a school to train everybody....combat arms to typists. Why worry about how Rangers did things? I was an accountant/administrative specialist and was in pretty good shape. I could run a couple of miles and had no real problem with PT.

Not that this assignment was going to be a piece a cake, but I should do okay. Heck! With my background, education, training, and experience, I should turn out to be a pretty valuable part of the team.

Okay, let's get this PT session over with and get to work!

I am not sure that even the best explanation of the facts of life could have prepared me for what happened over the next hour, but I am almost glad that my day started in ignorance.

You see, this particular morning was what was known as "Commandant's PT". PHysical training was going to be led by 1SG(P) Gates...who was a Ranger...did I mention hand-picked by the General?

Maybe there was a reason he was selected....such as being one tough son-of-a-bitch.

"Commandant's PT" was another term for "Hell".

I Think I Saw My Father's Gun Last Night...

When I was a boy, my father had a Smith & Wesson Model 2, Top Break revolver which had belonged to a relative of his who had been a policeman in Atlanta.
After he died in August 1981, my mother gave it to me, along with several other guns he had bought and a couple of his rings, including his Knights of Columbus ring.

When I was about 10 years old, I dropped the revolver and broke off part of the hammer spur.

In the 1980's, while stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, a family member needed some medical attention, and not all costs were covered by the military system. I did not have a lot of money at the time, so I pawned almost everything I had of any value to try to take care of them.

I figured I would never see any of the stuff again, but, the other night, while searching onine, I found a Smith & Wesson Model 2 with a broken hammer spur which had been auctioned in 2006. I have no way of knowing if that gun was my father's, and no way of knowing who bought it. All I can do is keep looking and hope it comes up for sale again.

The Rumba Bar, Munich - Annie the Prostitute Has a Lonely Birthday

When I first hit Europe in 1967, I was exploring a new world in more ways than one. One thing I learned was that sexual mores were a bit different in Europe. To a young man of my age, this was a good thing.

I was also learning how great German beer can be, and I set about trying it in as many forms and venues as possible.

Being stationed only about 35 miles south of Munich, it was not unusual for me to wind up there with others who were interested in the seamier side of life.

That's how I came to be a welcome regular at the Rumba Bar on Goethe Strasse, just around the corner from the Munich train station.

Now, I was still a kid from the sticks and the first night there, being surrounded by prostitutes who were trying to convince me I was the hottest guy they had ever seen was a heady experience. However, at the moment I just wanted to drink beer and figure out how the game was played.

First of all, the girls were all a bit surprised at how politely and respectfully I treated them. Then, I noticed that one of the girls at the bar was crying.

I asked why she was crying. One of the other girls told me her name was Rosie and she was crying because it was her birthday and she was having to spend it trying to pick up guys in a bar. On an impulse, I told the girls I was talking to that I would be right back.

There had been a flower seller at the train station which was a little over a block away. I walked down there and bought a small but pretty bouquet of flowers. I then marched back into the bar, walked up to Rosie, handed her the flowers, and wished her a happy birthday.

The look of surprise on her face, followed by the realization that somebody really wanted her to feel special on her birthday, no matter who she was or what she was doing, was priceless. Immediately, she put her arms around me and kissed me, and most of the other girls followed.

The "party" didn't last long, however, as the owner, Eddie, who used to be a jockey, and, I later learned, carried a knife...and was good with it, made it plain that the girls needed to "get back to work".

However, from that time forward, I was always welcome in the Rumba Bar, and even Eddie eventually let me know that he respected me for the way I had treated Rosie and always treated his girls.

I went back to the Rumba Bar many times in the three years I spent in Germany, and was always welcomed, and treated, just a little bit differently than the other customers. It was a dive and the people there might have been from a different strata of society than I was accustomed to, but I was always welcome and treated like a friend (a paying one) when I was there.