Okay, so I kind of blew it last week. Whatever. If you lost money taking my advice you deserved it. Anyway, let’s try this again.
St. Louis at Detroit (-)
Two teams with a combined record of 1-12. Generally speaking, the home team gets a 3-point bump, but if the even odds stick through the weekend, that must mean nobody thinks anybody is going to show up. St. Louis, though, somehow, still has an easier game coming up in Week 14 when they play the winless Tennessee Titans. This isn’t a toss up game, though. The Lions have had a considerably harder schedule and hung around most of their games--unlike the Rams who couldn’t drive a Durango 80 yards. (Seriously, 60 points in seven games?!) Add in the Lions bye-week advantage and this just might be one of the safer bets this weekend. Detroit wins and there’s no reason to think the Lions won’t try to take out two years of impotent frustration on the Rams during the second half.
Minnesota at Green Bay (-3.5)
If the Superbowl was played between a team of giant squids and the 82nd Airborne division, this would still probably be the most hyped game of the season (though it would be close). With the average age of a Green Bay Packer being 25.7 years and Brett Favre not a day under 63, there really isn’t any personal vendettas here though. Minus the quarterbacks and Minnesota wins. Add in the quarterbacks, Minnesota still wins. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not a believer in Favre’s Viagra-assisted viability for the entire season, but it’s still to early for his arm to get sore from handing the ball to Adrian Peterson. Vikings cover and Green Bay gets over it. God I hope nobody actually named their kid “Brett” because of this man.
Denver at Baltimore (-3.5)
Both teams had last week off, meaning Baltimore should have had time to stop their bleeding after three straight losses. Conversely, Denver’s had time to cool down after hot wins against Dallas, New England and San Diego. I can’t see Denver going undefeated, so they have to be at the sucker end of an upset sometime. This year, Baltimore is as sure to lose in a game of luck as Denver is to win, so this game better not come down to the last thirty seconds, because quoth the Raven, "I will never score"…that was awful, I apologize. For real, the Ravens consistently put up bigger points and are playing with a gun to their head (two games behind Cincinnati and Pittsburgh in their division). Ravens defense wins the game.
New York (Giants) at Philadelphia (+1.5)
The Giants have dropped their last two and did so with as little dignity as possible. They got throttled by New Orleans and lost convincingly, at home, against the wily Cardinals. The Eagles, though have stumbled into a 4-2 record almost by accident. Philadelphia doesn't have the personnel problems the Cardinals do, so they'll stick to the basic defensive strategies Eli Manning can handle. Meanwhile Andy Reid will flush half a dozen offensive plays down the toilet by putting in Michael Vick, which teams might not even being preparing for anymore. If the Giants lose here, they have serious problems. Luckily they don't: Giants win.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Life or Something Like It
I was reading the newspaper last week and saw somebody quoted in an article that couldn’t have been less interesting. In a sense, I didn’t know the person, in another sense: I did, and very well. This might be a true story.
I knew this girl. She was a girl who had no name. She had a face and history. She had real parents, friends, a bedroom and a TV in her bedroom--after 8th grade. But she had no name.
Upon recounting her life, the girl always felt apologetic. She didn’t want to bore anybody with her life story. Oh sure, she had fun, but for some reason she felt her fun, her life, never translated well into a good story, or even anecdote. Her friends were like her; the friends that weren’t like her weren’t her friends for very long. She’d go down a different road in life or they would.
In college she fell in love. Years later she’d admit she more fell into convenience. She needed a boy, she found a boy. When she didn’t need a boy, she got rid of the boy. She wrote some poetry when she felt blue or inspired but never showed anybody any of it. It wasn’t that she was modest, though she was, but it just wasn’t very good.
This girl with no name traveled occasionally. She went to Chicago and Austin. Once she went to Branson, but she didn’t care for it too much. She might have been a journalism major in college, but at times, even she couldn’t remember right away. After her freshman year, she switched and became a business major. She didn’t have any specific ideas for a business, but it seemed like a major that would help her be more successful in life. At one point she thought about opening a used-clothes store. She never would.
Around this time in college, the girl with no name decided to give herself a name. She had been in some school plays years ago and really liked it back then, so it made sense that she would choose the name: Madison Starr-the actress. Oh and what an actress she became. She auditioned for a play and everything. Hell, she auditioned for three plays in her first month of being an actress. Everybody knew she’d be famous someday. After all, her name was Madison Starr; she could do anything she wanted.
But after some time, Madison didn’t want to be an actress anymore. Being an actress has to be something you really, really, really want. And Madison only really wanted to be an actress. Madison eventually came to the conclusion that she was better suited to being a writer.
Madison had written some poetry when she was younger, remember? Granted it wasn’t award-worthy, but she felt she just needed some practice. And a new name of course. It was here that Madison became Joelle Johnston--but she preferred to go by “J.J.” She took a poetry class and went to some open-mic readings. She might have even read a poem or two to the crowd, but nobody really remembers, except for her. J.J. took up smoking around this time. It was kind of gross and kind of expensive and J.J. never really felt she was addicted, but her new friends smoked and well…peer pressure has a way of being pressure-less.
But being a writer wasn’t getting J.J. anywhere. She never liked the work she did a month after writing it. She was never going to get published, much less make a career out of being a “Greenwich Village wannabe”--her words. She was just plain tired of feeling miserable, so she stopped being a writer. She decided life is short and she should give something back to the world.
So Joelle, er, J.J., became Aleka Goodwin. Aleka was a social worker, whatever that is. She basically just helped people. It didn’t pay well, as any job that really helps people doesn’t, but she felt good about it. She felt she was making at least some difference in a few people’s lives. Aleka met some really great people. Some were volunteers and some were “travelers”--as many don’t want to be called “homeless”. But after a couple of years, Aleka’s energy started to fade. She became bored by the monotony. Same people. Same job. Same place. Same place. Same place.
That's when Aleka decided to go on a real adventure. Really do something exciting. Something that she could put down on a resume years later for a job she may not actually want. Aleka was going to find out who she really was, in her own unique way. Aleka went to Europe.
In Europe, Aleka became somebody else. The name doesn’t really matter anymore. At first she was an American backpacking the tourist spots, but over the months she became a European. It doesn’t really matter which country she was in, just so long as she could frown on the annoying American tourists.
But over time she became less a girl and more of a woman and went back to being an American again. Years later she became a mother, which brought along the name “Mommy”--and also some other name. Then she was the chapter president of some local club. As one name she owned a boat. As another name she owned a dog. Life continued. Names came and went. Emma, Hailey, Olivia, Sarah, Grace, Emma (again), Lilian and Cairo--though that one didn’t last very long. Eventually she decided to have grandchildren. Later she became the vice-president of another local club. At some point she received recognition from somebody about something. Two years later, the name on the plaque was wrong. Then she died.
And as stated in her will, her tombstone is altered accordingly every few months or years.
This might be a true story.
I knew this girl. She was a girl who had no name. She had a face and history. She had real parents, friends, a bedroom and a TV in her bedroom--after 8th grade. But she had no name.
Upon recounting her life, the girl always felt apologetic. She didn’t want to bore anybody with her life story. Oh sure, she had fun, but for some reason she felt her fun, her life, never translated well into a good story, or even anecdote. Her friends were like her; the friends that weren’t like her weren’t her friends for very long. She’d go down a different road in life or they would.
In college she fell in love. Years later she’d admit she more fell into convenience. She needed a boy, she found a boy. When she didn’t need a boy, she got rid of the boy. She wrote some poetry when she felt blue or inspired but never showed anybody any of it. It wasn’t that she was modest, though she was, but it just wasn’t very good.
This girl with no name traveled occasionally. She went to Chicago and Austin. Once she went to Branson, but she didn’t care for it too much. She might have been a journalism major in college, but at times, even she couldn’t remember right away. After her freshman year, she switched and became a business major. She didn’t have any specific ideas for a business, but it seemed like a major that would help her be more successful in life. At one point she thought about opening a used-clothes store. She never would.
Around this time in college, the girl with no name decided to give herself a name. She had been in some school plays years ago and really liked it back then, so it made sense that she would choose the name: Madison Starr-the actress. Oh and what an actress she became. She auditioned for a play and everything. Hell, she auditioned for three plays in her first month of being an actress. Everybody knew she’d be famous someday. After all, her name was Madison Starr; she could do anything she wanted.
But after some time, Madison didn’t want to be an actress anymore. Being an actress has to be something you really, really, really want. And Madison only really wanted to be an actress. Madison eventually came to the conclusion that she was better suited to being a writer.
Madison had written some poetry when she was younger, remember? Granted it wasn’t award-worthy, but she felt she just needed some practice. And a new name of course. It was here that Madison became Joelle Johnston--but she preferred to go by “J.J.” She took a poetry class and went to some open-mic readings. She might have even read a poem or two to the crowd, but nobody really remembers, except for her. J.J. took up smoking around this time. It was kind of gross and kind of expensive and J.J. never really felt she was addicted, but her new friends smoked and well…peer pressure has a way of being pressure-less.
But being a writer wasn’t getting J.J. anywhere. She never liked the work she did a month after writing it. She was never going to get published, much less make a career out of being a “Greenwich Village wannabe”--her words. She was just plain tired of feeling miserable, so she stopped being a writer. She decided life is short and she should give something back to the world.
So Joelle, er, J.J., became Aleka Goodwin. Aleka was a social worker, whatever that is. She basically just helped people. It didn’t pay well, as any job that really helps people doesn’t, but she felt good about it. She felt she was making at least some difference in a few people’s lives. Aleka met some really great people. Some were volunteers and some were “travelers”--as many don’t want to be called “homeless”. But after a couple of years, Aleka’s energy started to fade. She became bored by the monotony. Same people. Same job. Same place. Same place. Same place.
That's when Aleka decided to go on a real adventure. Really do something exciting. Something that she could put down on a resume years later for a job she may not actually want. Aleka was going to find out who she really was, in her own unique way. Aleka went to Europe.
In Europe, Aleka became somebody else. The name doesn’t really matter anymore. At first she was an American backpacking the tourist spots, but over the months she became a European. It doesn’t really matter which country she was in, just so long as she could frown on the annoying American tourists.
But over time she became less a girl and more of a woman and went back to being an American again. Years later she became a mother, which brought along the name “Mommy”--and also some other name. Then she was the chapter president of some local club. As one name she owned a boat. As another name she owned a dog. Life continued. Names came and went. Emma, Hailey, Olivia, Sarah, Grace, Emma (again), Lilian and Cairo--though that one didn’t last very long. Eventually she decided to have grandchildren. Later she became the vice-president of another local club. At some point she received recognition from somebody about something. Two years later, the name on the plaque was wrong. Then she died.
And as stated in her will, her tombstone is altered accordingly every few months or years.
This might be a true story.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Gays Admit Diabolical Plans
In a startling public confession, leaders of the homosexual community in the state of Washington admitted their plans to undermine traditional, God-fearing marriage. What many reasonable-thinking Americans assumed was morally righteous, hypocritical, paranoid-induced fear mongering has now been confirmed.
“It’s true,” boasts Lars Thunderbottom, president of all gay people, “As homosexuals, we’ve always wanted to outlaw Christianity, do illegal drugs, teach children to be homosexual and just overall gross normal people out.”
Apparently, the arguments for Washington’s Referendum 71 were all made up to get attention from a gay-loving liberal media, including: hospital visitation rights, legal adoptions, employer-heathcare coverage, pension benefits and death benefits already granted to heterosexual (or “traditional”) couples.
Now, of course, the obvious solution (expanding the rights of legally-bestowed “civil unions” to the same rights of denominationally-bestowed “marriage” rights) is void. Turns out this whole time, gay people (as they now prefer to be called) have wanted to re-write every Christian’s bible.
“They don’t need to buy a new pro-gay Bible,” explains Dani Jo, “That’d be crazy. Just let us come into your home and re-write some passages with a Sharpie.”
Jo would go on to concede that American society was just overall better 20, 40 or 60 years ago. Back then, all families stuck together (see the documentary “Leave it to Beaver”) and honest Americans treated each other right. Also there were no gay people.
The effects of gay marriage in other states and countries have already been felt, surely sending a damning message to the people of Washington. As previously reported by “Protect Marriage in Washington,” Scandinavia’s drug use doubled 19 times since approving gay marriage (without even being a country) and suicide rates in Massachusetts have equally skyrocketed (according to some guy whose nephew is a lawyer).
In Washington the effects can only be hypothesized but should probably be unconscionably ridiculous. Children growing up around gay teachers, doctors and even adoptive parents will become gay themselves. Upon turning gay, the children will then listen to new music that hardly even sounds like music and only watch football for the ass-slaps. So consumed by their “gayness,” the children will then grow up with no work ethic, never believe in a Christian god and let the Chinese devour us all (economically, of course).
The effects of the marriage legislation are already being felt by the future generations.
“I don’t know,” said little Timmy, “I guess I feel a little gayer now.”
There’s no telling how the rest of the country will react to this new, gay news. It’s likely Clint Eastwood will make a de-saturated period piece movie about a gay man over coming obstacles placed down by a demonized society...likely starring Morgan Freeman and oh…I don’t know, let’s just go with Matt Damon, he’s in a lot of shit. Of course then the Academy will give them all a bunch of Oscars because Hollywood has officially come out of the closest as a gay city.
When reached for comment, that guy who works at the coffee shop--who you’ve always suspected was gay--said, “I am a little frustrated that the normal, real Americans in this country have finally proven that morality is not subjective. Everyone knows the country was built on the idea of having a repressive majority--despite the fact that every immigrant in the last 500 years was clearly a minority in some context, whether it was religion, race, nationality or sexual orientation.”
“It’s true,” boasts Lars Thunderbottom, president of all gay people, “As homosexuals, we’ve always wanted to outlaw Christianity, do illegal drugs, teach children to be homosexual and just overall gross normal people out.”
Apparently, the arguments for Washington’s Referendum 71 were all made up to get attention from a gay-loving liberal media, including: hospital visitation rights, legal adoptions, employer-heathcare coverage, pension benefits and death benefits already granted to heterosexual (or “traditional”) couples.
Now, of course, the obvious solution (expanding the rights of legally-bestowed “civil unions” to the same rights of denominationally-bestowed “marriage” rights) is void. Turns out this whole time, gay people (as they now prefer to be called) have wanted to re-write every Christian’s bible.
“They don’t need to buy a new pro-gay Bible,” explains Dani Jo, “That’d be crazy. Just let us come into your home and re-write some passages with a Sharpie.”
Jo would go on to concede that American society was just overall better 20, 40 or 60 years ago. Back then, all families stuck together (see the documentary “Leave it to Beaver”) and honest Americans treated each other right. Also there were no gay people.
The effects of gay marriage in other states and countries have already been felt, surely sending a damning message to the people of Washington. As previously reported by “Protect Marriage in Washington,” Scandinavia’s drug use doubled 19 times since approving gay marriage (without even being a country) and suicide rates in Massachusetts have equally skyrocketed (according to some guy whose nephew is a lawyer).
In Washington the effects can only be hypothesized but should probably be unconscionably ridiculous. Children growing up around gay teachers, doctors and even adoptive parents will become gay themselves. Upon turning gay, the children will then listen to new music that hardly even sounds like music and only watch football for the ass-slaps. So consumed by their “gayness,” the children will then grow up with no work ethic, never believe in a Christian god and let the Chinese devour us all (economically, of course).
The effects of the marriage legislation are already being felt by the future generations.
“I don’t know,” said little Timmy, “I guess I feel a little gayer now.”
There’s no telling how the rest of the country will react to this new, gay news. It’s likely Clint Eastwood will make a de-saturated period piece movie about a gay man over coming obstacles placed down by a demonized society...likely starring Morgan Freeman and oh…I don’t know, let’s just go with Matt Damon, he’s in a lot of shit. Of course then the Academy will give them all a bunch of Oscars because Hollywood has officially come out of the closest as a gay city.
When reached for comment, that guy who works at the coffee shop--who you’ve always suspected was gay--said, “I am a little frustrated that the normal, real Americans in this country have finally proven that morality is not subjective. Everyone knows the country was built on the idea of having a repressive majority--despite the fact that every immigrant in the last 500 years was clearly a minority in some context, whether it was religion, race, nationality or sexual orientation.”
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Scholaristics
Rena was baffled, she was flabbergasted, she was…really baffled. Rena was frustrated by her synonym disparity.
Never before had Rena felt so dumb. Not dumb in the way she commonly embarrassed herself through unspeakable acts of physical discoordination; but dumb in the sense that everyone around her was smarter than her. Rena thought about the word “discoordination”; unsure if it was a real word.
She asked the group.
They laughed. Rena smiled, not knowing anything more than she had a minute earlier. Everybody liked Rena’s sense of humor. That must mean I have a smart sense of humor, Rena thought. When Rena was introduced to the group, she was described as “the illustrious Rena Becket.” An hour later, Rena had to look up the word “illustrious.” Upon reading the definition, Rena sighed at the unfulfilled prophecy.
Is it blasphemes to entertain the notion Abe Lincoln was shot for talking during a play? Rena never had her thoughts on one place for too long, even if she really wanted to.
For the next hour, Rena listened to the intellectuals around her discuss things of a different world. They were playing a cerebral game in a stadium of the mind. For example: “The Evolution of Pessimism.” Rena understood each of those words individually, but together opened up a context that itself was adapted and discarded before Rena stopped thinking about dinosaurs.
Should Rena ask someone to pass the plate of crescendos or were they called something else? Nevermind, she didn’t want them anymore.
Rena may have felt dumb but she wasn’t a fool. Or if she was going to be a fool, so was going to be a quiet one. Adalai Stevenson once said, “it’s better to remain a fool than to speak up and be a bigger fool…or something like that.” Rena pondered the self-remembered quote. That probably wasn’t exactly what President Stevenson had said. In fact, he probably wasn’t even the one who actually said it.
While trying to remember her presidents and quotes, Asher addressed Rena directly. His demeanor indicated he was giving some kind of friendly push, that he was trying to integrate her with a little teasing, but Rena would again have to look up a semi-joking word describing her: laconic.
Rena thought and she thought quickly. Say something smart. Something someone else once said. Nietzsche said something once, right? The stoner at the record shop talks about him all the time; or more accurately, one of the stoners at the record shop. Actually, a couple of them do. Nietzche must have been that traveling bongo player.
Rena had never played the bongos before but she used to love a guy who played the drums. She would have gone to Nebraska and back for him, she loved him so. But he was in a garage band. And like what happens every time girlfriends get mixed in with bands, the relationship gets strained and the rock star dumps her to save the band. Now he and his pals, known as “Free Beer,” are rounding out their tour circuit in North Grove, Indiana.
Her temporary disconnection from the group of young thinkers, poets and philosophists allowed Rena to miss the growing tension across the room until it degenerated into the lowest and loudest form of communication that evening.
“You are not an intellectual! You are a parrot on an intellectual’s shoulder!”
“Whatever! Your literary criticism is nothing more than a parlor trick!”
“That’s exactly what my insult was: you did it again!”
“No! You did it again!”
“Shove it!”
At this point Rena decided she’d had enough of this crowd. She was going to do the smartest thing anybody could do. After looking up a few words in the dictionary, Rena would down half a bottle of UV blue vodka while watching “I Heart New York” and pass out in her living room.
Never before had Rena felt so dumb. Not dumb in the way she commonly embarrassed herself through unspeakable acts of physical discoordination; but dumb in the sense that everyone around her was smarter than her. Rena thought about the word “discoordination”; unsure if it was a real word.
She asked the group.
They laughed. Rena smiled, not knowing anything more than she had a minute earlier. Everybody liked Rena’s sense of humor. That must mean I have a smart sense of humor, Rena thought. When Rena was introduced to the group, she was described as “the illustrious Rena Becket.” An hour later, Rena had to look up the word “illustrious.” Upon reading the definition, Rena sighed at the unfulfilled prophecy.
Is it blasphemes to entertain the notion Abe Lincoln was shot for talking during a play? Rena never had her thoughts on one place for too long, even if she really wanted to.
For the next hour, Rena listened to the intellectuals around her discuss things of a different world. They were playing a cerebral game in a stadium of the mind. For example: “The Evolution of Pessimism.” Rena understood each of those words individually, but together opened up a context that itself was adapted and discarded before Rena stopped thinking about dinosaurs.
Should Rena ask someone to pass the plate of crescendos or were they called something else? Nevermind, she didn’t want them anymore.
Rena may have felt dumb but she wasn’t a fool. Or if she was going to be a fool, so was going to be a quiet one. Adalai Stevenson once said, “it’s better to remain a fool than to speak up and be a bigger fool…or something like that.” Rena pondered the self-remembered quote. That probably wasn’t exactly what President Stevenson had said. In fact, he probably wasn’t even the one who actually said it.
While trying to remember her presidents and quotes, Asher addressed Rena directly. His demeanor indicated he was giving some kind of friendly push, that he was trying to integrate her with a little teasing, but Rena would again have to look up a semi-joking word describing her: laconic.
Rena thought and she thought quickly. Say something smart. Something someone else once said. Nietzsche said something once, right? The stoner at the record shop talks about him all the time; or more accurately, one of the stoners at the record shop. Actually, a couple of them do. Nietzche must have been that traveling bongo player.
Rena had never played the bongos before but she used to love a guy who played the drums. She would have gone to Nebraska and back for him, she loved him so. But he was in a garage band. And like what happens every time girlfriends get mixed in with bands, the relationship gets strained and the rock star dumps her to save the band. Now he and his pals, known as “Free Beer,” are rounding out their tour circuit in North Grove, Indiana.
Her temporary disconnection from the group of young thinkers, poets and philosophists allowed Rena to miss the growing tension across the room until it degenerated into the lowest and loudest form of communication that evening.
“You are not an intellectual! You are a parrot on an intellectual’s shoulder!”
“Whatever! Your literary criticism is nothing more than a parlor trick!”
“That’s exactly what my insult was: you did it again!”
“No! You did it again!”
“Shove it!”
At this point Rena decided she’d had enough of this crowd. She was going to do the smartest thing anybody could do. After looking up a few words in the dictionary, Rena would down half a bottle of UV blue vodka while watching “I Heart New York” and pass out in her living room.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Economics on Tips: Tips on Economics
Me-“When you give a server a tip, you’re not giving him or her advice. You’re rewarding them for giving you special attention, whether they did or not. To me, it makes more sense to tip a server, or any professional, before they’ve provided their services. If you tip well, or at least adequately, than the money is not going to waste—for you—because the server will take your early tip into consideration and give you the appropriate amount of service.”
Louis-“But our tipping is meant as a reward system, not the classical acronym: To Insure Prompt Service, as you are implying.”
Me-“Implying nothing, I’m saying straight up: It’s inefficient. Besides a false sense of moral righteousness, what’s the benefit to tipping well? And don’t say karma.”
Louis-“The server will remember you for next time.”
Me-“Exactly. But the server has scores of customers every night, seems like that’s a lot to keep track of even if a well-tipping customer shows up say…once every other week. However, this hypothetical customer only needs to remember one server. Much, much more doable; especially if the server responded notably well or not after a previous tip.”
Louis-“Would this mean people would tip less?”
Me-“I don’t think so, because then you get a societal, blind, silent auctioning for the limited number of servers. Every customer is then directly competing with every other customer. Also, these customers will feel like they are purchasing something--the server’s attention--with their tip. And people always pay more when they know more. I'm sure we'll come back to this.”
Louis-“Okay, but if the restaurants thought their servers would get more tips, couldn't they pay them even less? But I guess that could mean the food prices would go down."
Me-“Cool it Adam Smith. First thing: restaurants are only able to pay their employees less than minimum wage because they expect the tips. However, if a server gets no tips, for whatever reason, the restaurant legally has to compensate the server to the minimum wage salary. So at no point does a server make less money than anybody else working at minimum wage. Secondly, servers only have to work below minimum wage because other people would if they didn't. If nobody would work for $3/hour, nobody would have to. Thirdly, there is no reason to think food prices would go down if the restaurant could cut costs.”
Louis-“Sure there is. The restaurant can make the same profit on an individual item, they’ll lower their prices to reach out to more customers. It’s supply and demand.”
Me-“Okay, it's not exactly. It's the power of knowledge. Supply and demand is not the three-word answer to every economics discussion—especially when it’s more fun to use a few hundred. If society is functioning, as time goes on, people make more money and things cost more.”
Louis-“You’re talking about inflation.”
Me-“Winner. Now, every business is trying to maximize profits. No business can afford to just be content and sit on their hands. Everybody raises their prices until demand for said item or service starts to decrease. Think of it this way: if a $20 streak costs a restaurant $5, but then a cold snap kills a million cattle and $5 cost shoots up to $10, there is no inherent reason the $20 cost to the customer should raise to $25.”
Louis-“Sure there is. Less beef, or supply, means there’s more demand for what’s left.”
Me-“But that only works if the people know about the less supply so they can feel validated with their increased costs. However, if the number of people willing to pay an extra $5 decreases more than the profit gained of the remaining, extra $5-paying customers, the restaurant will not raise it’s prices. It would take the direct hit into the profit margin and keep the larger amount of customers. If people, without knowledge of a cattle-killing cold snap, would largely pay $25 for a steak—then you better believe the restaurant will charge $25 for a steak that still only costs them $5.”
Louis-“This is all very complicated.”
Me-“Of course. People spend their entire lives trying to figure it out. Just remember that people are not victims of economics, they are the driving force. If you want to know why anything costs any amount of money, it's because people will pay for it. Gas is $2.60 because people will pay for it. Gas will cost $3.50 because people will pay for it later. The toll both from Topeka to Lawrence cost 85 cents at exit 202 and a buck at exit 204 because…”
Louis-“People will pay it. But why does Taco Bell charge 99 cents for regular nachos, that is, cheese and chips but only 89 cents for their five-layer nachos?”
Me-“...”
Louis-“…”
Me-“Because Taco Bell is an a economic world between dreams and nightmares. An eatery between mysticism and reality. A place we can see, smell and hear but cannot comprehend. It is…the Twilight Zone.”
Louis-“But our tipping is meant as a reward system, not the classical acronym: To Insure Prompt Service, as you are implying.”
Me-“Implying nothing, I’m saying straight up: It’s inefficient. Besides a false sense of moral righteousness, what’s the benefit to tipping well? And don’t say karma.”
Louis-“The server will remember you for next time.”
Me-“Exactly. But the server has scores of customers every night, seems like that’s a lot to keep track of even if a well-tipping customer shows up say…once every other week. However, this hypothetical customer only needs to remember one server. Much, much more doable; especially if the server responded notably well or not after a previous tip.”
Louis-“Would this mean people would tip less?”
Me-“I don’t think so, because then you get a societal, blind, silent auctioning for the limited number of servers. Every customer is then directly competing with every other customer. Also, these customers will feel like they are purchasing something--the server’s attention--with their tip. And people always pay more when they know more. I'm sure we'll come back to this.”
Louis-“Okay, but if the restaurants thought their servers would get more tips, couldn't they pay them even less? But I guess that could mean the food prices would go down."
Me-“Cool it Adam Smith. First thing: restaurants are only able to pay their employees less than minimum wage because they expect the tips. However, if a server gets no tips, for whatever reason, the restaurant legally has to compensate the server to the minimum wage salary. So at no point does a server make less money than anybody else working at minimum wage. Secondly, servers only have to work below minimum wage because other people would if they didn't. If nobody would work for $3/hour, nobody would have to. Thirdly, there is no reason to think food prices would go down if the restaurant could cut costs.”
Louis-“Sure there is. The restaurant can make the same profit on an individual item, they’ll lower their prices to reach out to more customers. It’s supply and demand.”
Me-“Okay, it's not exactly. It's the power of knowledge. Supply and demand is not the three-word answer to every economics discussion—especially when it’s more fun to use a few hundred. If society is functioning, as time goes on, people make more money and things cost more.”
Louis-“You’re talking about inflation.”
Me-“Winner. Now, every business is trying to maximize profits. No business can afford to just be content and sit on their hands. Everybody raises their prices until demand for said item or service starts to decrease. Think of it this way: if a $20 streak costs a restaurant $5, but then a cold snap kills a million cattle and $5 cost shoots up to $10, there is no inherent reason the $20 cost to the customer should raise to $25.”
Louis-“Sure there is. Less beef, or supply, means there’s more demand for what’s left.”
Me-“But that only works if the people know about the less supply so they can feel validated with their increased costs. However, if the number of people willing to pay an extra $5 decreases more than the profit gained of the remaining, extra $5-paying customers, the restaurant will not raise it’s prices. It would take the direct hit into the profit margin and keep the larger amount of customers. If people, without knowledge of a cattle-killing cold snap, would largely pay $25 for a steak—then you better believe the restaurant will charge $25 for a steak that still only costs them $5.”
Louis-“This is all very complicated.”
Me-“Of course. People spend their entire lives trying to figure it out. Just remember that people are not victims of economics, they are the driving force. If you want to know why anything costs any amount of money, it's because people will pay for it. Gas is $2.60 because people will pay for it. Gas will cost $3.50 because people will pay for it later. The toll both from Topeka to Lawrence cost 85 cents at exit 202 and a buck at exit 204 because…”
Louis-“People will pay it. But why does Taco Bell charge 99 cents for regular nachos, that is, cheese and chips but only 89 cents for their five-layer nachos?”
Me-“...”
Louis-“…”
Me-“Because Taco Bell is an a economic world between dreams and nightmares. An eatery between mysticism and reality. A place we can see, smell and hear but cannot comprehend. It is…the Twilight Zone.”
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