Today's mail brought a wonderful piece of news. I can resubscribe to Smithsonian magazine for only twelve dollars. We've subscribed to Smithsonian in the past, and I've generally enjoyed the magazine, so twelve dollars sounds like a great deal.
There's one little part that bothers me. I'll admit here that I am in my mid thirties. I'm not as young as some, but I'm certainly also not old other than to the kids, or so I assume.
The bothersome part of the twelve dollar deal is that it's described in the notice as a senior discount. The sender of the letter is listed as Smithsonian, Senior Discount Services with the cover price of a year's worth next to my senior rate.
If we were living about a thousand years ago, years before America or even the Smithsonian existed, my current age, accounting for life expectancy and high mortality rates, might place me in the senior category, but such is not the case anymore.
I have to wonder if I should go ahead and order the subscription at the twelve dollar rate. I can't be the only youngster getting this letter, and at no point in the letter is age discussed as a prerequisite for accepting the offer. If they were concerned about these issues, I imagine they'd have looked a little bit deeper into me and my age. If I do accept the offer, will Smithsonian then check (to be sure) and learn of the mix up? Will they make me pay back the remaining cover price?
Apparently I have ten days to reply. I don't know if the ten days is from the date I received it or some other date, so perhaps I have less than ten days. Before ten days from now, I'm sure we'll have the extra twelve bucks for a magazine. We've let nearly all our magazine subscriptions run out to the point where whenever I do get a National Geographic or Popular Science, I'm always a little surprised. I miss piles of magazines adding to the clutter in the house.
While it sounds like a good deal, the cynical side of me imagines it's a test. Within days of Smithsonian receiving my payment, I'll get a visit from a representative of the Senior Services Department of Smithsonian. They'll act nice and friendly until they realize that I am me and not some old person. Then, quite likely, all hell will break loose. But I just want cheap magazines.
Monday, June 04, 2007
weekend update
What a weekend.
Saturday saw me sleeping much later than I should have. I stumbled around the house most of the day thinking about wishing I felt like doing something more than just stumble around the house.
Momma went into the garage, messed with a bunch of the shit that's in there, and ended up ordering it slightly better than I had when I most recently pretended to clean in the garage. The same amount of crap is still in there, but we are going to at least be rid of, as soon as we remember to sit the garbage out, one small child's ride-on, plastic tractor that is cracked and breaking in a number of places.
Sunday saw me up slightly earlier, closer to a reasonable time to wake up, though I was certainly dragging from yet another needlessly late night. I really have issues with staying up late. I think I've sort of always been this way, but I also wonder if years of late night kitchen work made me a bit more this way. I'm just a night owl I suppose.
Momma's roller derby practice was in a new location, a place that maybe (just maybe) will be the new league home. The girls mostly seemed to like it, and the added amenities, location, size, et cetera, make it a prime location. I'm not sure what needs to be worked out, and I don't know if I should even be talking about it. It can't be too damn much of a secret as the league is, at the request of the venue, adding an expo bout to the schedule to take place at this venue.
Our next bout will be at the same ol' place we've been doing it, though there will be a major difference. Unless my balls shrivel up inside me and I turn absolute rest-of-the-way chickenshit, I'll be doing the announcing. I have yet to get too nervous about it, and my worst day will be better than the best day of the guy that's been doing it.
I can only wonder how this will turn out. I have experience as a very particular sort of DJ, experience that doesn't really carry over other than that I have spent time on a microphone alerting a specific clientele to the specific show that was the basis of the business model. The model itself is similar only in that they both involve women. And that's pretty much it. There was also the childhood in a christian school, that one year that three of us, me, the preacher's son and the coach's son, decided that we'd all been called to preach, and we would get our teacher to, after lunch, allow us fifteen minutes to "preach" to the rest of the class. Fifth grade seems to sound about right for that one. Bet you didn't see that coming!
And that's the weekend. Tomorrow starts a brand new day, full of good times, fun and if we're lucky, more rain, though I imagine it's moved off. We'll see. And I'll have to get back to you about the announcing thing. I've got some work to do so I don't come off sounding like a big dick. I'll have to tone down my cheering, but what better unpaid job than to get to shout at people how much our league is kicking ass from moment to moment?
Saturday saw me sleeping much later than I should have. I stumbled around the house most of the day thinking about wishing I felt like doing something more than just stumble around the house.
Momma went into the garage, messed with a bunch of the shit that's in there, and ended up ordering it slightly better than I had when I most recently pretended to clean in the garage. The same amount of crap is still in there, but we are going to at least be rid of, as soon as we remember to sit the garbage out, one small child's ride-on, plastic tractor that is cracked and breaking in a number of places.
Sunday saw me up slightly earlier, closer to a reasonable time to wake up, though I was certainly dragging from yet another needlessly late night. I really have issues with staying up late. I think I've sort of always been this way, but I also wonder if years of late night kitchen work made me a bit more this way. I'm just a night owl I suppose.
Momma's roller derby practice was in a new location, a place that maybe (just maybe) will be the new league home. The girls mostly seemed to like it, and the added amenities, location, size, et cetera, make it a prime location. I'm not sure what needs to be worked out, and I don't know if I should even be talking about it. It can't be too damn much of a secret as the league is, at the request of the venue, adding an expo bout to the schedule to take place at this venue.
Our next bout will be at the same ol' place we've been doing it, though there will be a major difference. Unless my balls shrivel up inside me and I turn absolute rest-of-the-way chickenshit, I'll be doing the announcing. I have yet to get too nervous about it, and my worst day will be better than the best day of the guy that's been doing it.
I can only wonder how this will turn out. I have experience as a very particular sort of DJ, experience that doesn't really carry over other than that I have spent time on a microphone alerting a specific clientele to the specific show that was the basis of the business model. The model itself is similar only in that they both involve women. And that's pretty much it. There was also the childhood in a christian school, that one year that three of us, me, the preacher's son and the coach's son, decided that we'd all been called to preach, and we would get our teacher to, after lunch, allow us fifteen minutes to "preach" to the rest of the class. Fifth grade seems to sound about right for that one. Bet you didn't see that coming!
And that's the weekend. Tomorrow starts a brand new day, full of good times, fun and if we're lucky, more rain, though I imagine it's moved off. We'll see. And I'll have to get back to you about the announcing thing. I've got some work to do so I don't come off sounding like a big dick. I'll have to tone down my cheering, but what better unpaid job than to get to shout at people how much our league is kicking ass from moment to moment?
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