A lot is going on out there! Our blog resumes today after about a month of inactivity with a couple of items by Sid Bolotin and an old short story from my "archives" which seems appropriate as the baseball season draws to a close. First however, I will burden you with a few comments about Wall Street and the banking industry.
JL
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Wall Street and the Banks
The shenanigans perpetrated on the economy by Wall Street (default swaps, bundled derivatives laced with garbage, insider trading violations) are part of the cause of the economy’s malaise along with the “too big to fail” banks, propped up by the Fed’s miniscule interest rates but still unwilling to lend money out to enable businesses to grow and torturing the real estate market with their inept handling of foreclosures.
We certainly can’t do away with Wall Street or the banking industry. Without them, our free enterprise capitalist system wouldn’t work, and there has never been a system that worked better. (Forget about the Roman Empire. They had slavery and colonies which they bled, and thus, they survived.)
But the survival of Wall Street and the banking industry depends on regulation. Without it, their excesses will lead to their descent into chaos, and a government takeover of their functions. Wherever and whenever money is involved, and that is the commodity that Wall Street and the banking industry deal with, greed is present. Criticizing Wall Street and the banks doesn’t accomplish as much as strict regulation of them does so that greed, speculation and a disregard for the country’s welfare does not destroy our economy.
Good starting points would be a restoration of the Glass-Steagall Act’s separation of commercial and investment banking, legislation to encourage local community bank growth, strict regulation of hedge funds and private investment groups and market trading rules which distinguish between investment and reckless speculation.
JL
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And here's that poem from Sid ...
THE MOTHS
Sid Bolotin
Alone for the summer
To escape the city’s heat
Lonely in the spare bedroom
Grandparents close by…but
Beyond the living room
And across the kitchen
He lies in the dark
Gazing out the window
Avoiding the door to the attic
Watching the moths dancing
Round the street lamp
Hundreds of gyrating creatures
Lulling him to sleep each night
Sid also had an interesting restaurant experience that he would like to share with you.
He comments that ...
"Sometimes a gentle complaint brings results as evidenced below…"
On Wednesday, 8/24/11, at about 10:00 a.m., I emailed the following to Corporate Headquarters…
Dear Customer Service
For many years I have been a very satisfied patron of your Boynton Beach Carolina Ale House, preferring it to the nearby Boynton Ale House. Therefore I feel compelled to write this complaint regarding my experience last night, Tuesday, 8/23/11.
My friend, Lew, had your chicken with pasta, and I ordered your fish and chips. When I asked the waitress if I could have a bowl of chili as the add-on 99-cent soup, she said, “Sure!”
She then offered me onions, cheese, and sour cream for the chili which I accepted.
Because Lew cursorily reviewed the bill, I never saw it until after we signed off on our credit cards. It was then that I saw that there was a 50-cent up-charge added to each of the three garnishes on the chili.
I spoke to the assistant manager as we were leaving to tell him that I’ve never been up-charged for chili garnishes in any restaurant, and that I considered it poor policy, compounded by the failure of the waitress to inform of such. He then told me that subbing chili for the 99-cent soup is not allowed, and that was a $1.99 charge, which I also was not told and missed on the billing as well. He said that there was nothing he could do except to speak to the General Manager.
Unfortunately I did not get the name of either employee; but I’m sure you can find the transaction on your computer if you want to research it.
I’m not faulting your employees as much as I am your policy of 50-cent up-charges for garnishes. I live in one of those gated communities where a favorite pastime is comparing restaurant experiences. In these economic times and the off-season you might want to consider a policy change.
By the way, the chili and the fish were both delicious.
Respectfully,
Sid Bolotin
Two hours later I heard from the local General Manager and was able to notify Lew…
Hey, Lew, I just had a call from Andy, the General Manager, at Carolina.
He apologized profusely for the error of the ways of their computer...charging 50-cents per garnish all these past 3-years...agrees that it is ridiculous to charge such for a sprinkle of cheese and onion and a dollop of sour cream.
He fixed it as we spoke and is sending me out a gift card...urging me to ask for him when I come in.
whoop-dee-doo!!!!
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The Worst Ballplayer on the Field
Jerry was the worst baseball player of all the kids at the ball field in the park. Every time there was a choose-up game, he was picked last. Whenever he swung at the ball, he missed. In games, he always struck out. In the outfield, where he always played, he couldn’t catch the ball, even if it came straight to him. The others often laughed at him.
One afternoon, as Jerry was walking to the park, he heard a voice coming from the hedges beside the sidewalk. “Hey, Jerry, are you on your way to the park to play ball?” Jerry stopped and looked behind the hedge. To his surprise, he saw a little man with a wrinkled face sitting on a rock smiling.
“Jerry, I’ve a present for you,” the man said.
“Who are you, Mister?” Jerry asked, despite having been taught never to speak to strangers.
“I’m an elf! The kind you read about in fairy tales. I’ve been sent by your fairy godmother to help you.”
Jerry looked at him, replying, “I don’t believe in elves or fairy godmothers! But tell me your name. And what’s this about a present for me?”
“Well, I’m glad you’re being reasonable, Jerry. My name is Mr. Fafuffnick, and whether you like it or not, you do have a fairy godmother. Everyone does. Anyway, yours doesn’t like what has been happening to you at the ball field. So she asked me to give you these.” And with that, the elf took a well-worn baseball glove and a bat from a satchel he was carrying. “Use these, Jerry, and you will never have any more problems at the ball field.” And with that, the elf vanished in a puff of smoke.
That afternoon, as usual, Jerry was picked last and sent to play in the outfield.
The very first batter hit the ball high and far toward that part of the field where Jerry stood. He didn’t even see the ball, but somehow found himself running backwards toward the fence at the edge of the field. Sensing that it was time to leap up, he flew almost three feet off of the ground and reached over the fence. When he came down, the ball was in his glove.
The next batter hit the ball to another part of the outfield, where one of Jerry’s teammates futilely chased it as it rolled and bounced along the grass. Jerry ran, with a speed he never knew he possessed, across the outfield and picked up the ball which was continuing to elude the other outfielder. By this time, the batter was rounding third base. Jerry cocked his arm back, and from the farthest part of centerfield, threw it toward home plate, where it landed precisely in the center of the glove of the catcher, who easily tagged the runner out.
When the inning was over, Jerry’s teammates cheered him. When his turn at bat came, he hit the first pitch far over the centerfield fence for a home run. Each time he came to the plate, he hit another home run. At the end of the game, Jerry’s hand was sore from the number of times his teammates had high-fived him.
Walking home, as he passed the hedges where he had met the elf, he heard a voice. It was Mr. Fafuffnick.
“Nice game today, Jerry, baby,” he called out, offering still another high-five. “That last shot of yours must have gone 450 feet! And now, may I please have the bat and glove back?”
“No way, Mr. Fafuffnick,” Jerry answered. Suddenly, the bat and glove, which he had been carrying, dropped from his grasp and, as if they had legs of their own, they waddled over to the elf, leaving Jerry’s hands stinging.
“Jerry, you underestimate the power your fairy godmother has given me. In the future, when I ask you to give something back, I hope you will comply, and not force me to repeat what I just had to do. You see, part of my job is to take the bat and glove back to your fairy godmother each night so that she can recharge them. But don’t worry, I will be behind these hedges every day to give them back to you when you pass by on your way to the park.”
Mr. Fafuffnick was true to his word, and every day, he gave Jerry the glove and bat. Jerry continued to catch any balls hit his way, throw runners out at the plate and get hits each time he came to the plate. All of the other players, and even some of the grown-ups who came to the ball field, agreed that Jerry was the best player who had ever played at the park. At the end of the summer, they even gave him a little trophy saying exactly that.
“Pssst,” a voice came from behind the hedges, as Jerry headed home from the park for the last time that summer.
“Hello, Mr. Fafuffnick,” Jerry greeted the elf. “Here’s the bat and glove back. The season’s over now, and I really want to thank you and my fairy godmother for all that you have done for me.”
“Think nothing of it, Jerry, and this time, you get to keep the bat and the glove. They’re yours permanently. Good luck with them!” Mr. Fafuffnick replied.
“But how is my fairy godmother going to recharge them if I don’t give them back to you each time after I use them,” Jerry asked.
Mr. Fafuffnick looked at the boy. “Jerry, baby, I thought you might have caught on by now. After the first week or so, I stopped taking them back to her for recharging. You know, fairy godmothers exist to give you a hand once in a while when you need it, but no fairy godmother has ever guaranteed anyone a free ride for the rest of their life. From now on, Jerry, what you accomplish is up to you.”
And with that, Mr. Fafuffnick disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Jack Lippman
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