Hedging Your Bets

Wake up!  It’s time for a riddle: What do you consistently buy that is very expensive, but that you never want to use, and that the seller doesn’t really want you to use either?

If that doesn’t ring your chimes, the clue is in your checkbook. Minimally, you insure your life, your body parts, your home and your car, and if that isn’t good enough, you spend some more money on a million-dollar umbrella policy to protect you from a litigious cloud burst.

There are other insurances such as coverage for lost packages, floods, or termites that can chew you out of house and home, and the most recent insurance is coverage for a wedding. The average American wedding now costs around $26,000.00, so a number of companies now insure certain losses due to problems with vendors, and issues such as hurricanes, illness and cold feet. However, if the couple decides to break-up, it has to be nine months before the happy event to collect. I think that wedding insurance stops the moment the couple says, “I do!” I doubt if any company is solvent enough to insure a moment after that.

I was happy to have car insurance when an old lady confused her gas pedal for her brake pedal and rear-ended me at a stoplight. The police officer suggested that she stop driving when he saw a man carrying her radiator back to her car.

For most of us, insurance is a necessary but annoying expense, however for some people it serves another purpose such as publicity. Lloyds of London was the go to company for odd insurances. In the 1940’s executives of 20^th Century Fox insured the legs of the popular pin-up and actress, Betty Grable for one-million-dollars each.

In 1957, food critic, Egon Ronay insured his taste buds for $400,000.00. That was before the popularity of jalapeño peppers, and people still had taste buds.

Thirteen-year-old Harvey Lowe won the 1932 World Yo-Yo Championship in London, and toured Europe with his up and down toy. His sponsor, the Cheerio Yo-Yo Company of Canada insured his hands for $150,000.00.

Michael Flatley, star of Riverdance, must have thought his legs were prettier than Betty Grable’s because he insured them for forty-seven-million dollars.

The comedy team of Bud Abbot and Lou Costello took out a $250,000.00, five-year policy to protect against a career-ending argument. Unfortunately, that didn’t include a career-ending argument with the Internal Revenue Service.

Bruce Springsteen insured his voice, Rod Stewart his throat and Bob Dylan his vocal cords.

Actuaries, who work for insurance companies, use mathematical, statistical and financial theories to study uncertain future events and the consequences of covering clients. They help to determine who is the biggest risk for the insurance company, and ask questions such as: “How many times has this bozo gone sky diving without opening his parachute in the last year?” If it’s more than once, forget the Whole Life Policy!

Esther Blumenfeld (“Can you really count on unpredictability?”) WSB

"We Are Not Amused" (Elizabeth II)

God had better save the Queen of England, because I’m not sure who else will step up with $83 million to fully repair the “crumbling” Royal palace. Hemophilia ran in the Royal Romanoff family of Russia, but the folks at Buckingham Palace seem to hemorrhage money. You’d think they were a bunch of American yuppies the way they have piddled away their savings from $58 million to a measly $1.6 million.

Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle are in such bad shape that employees are using buckets to catch water from leaking roofs. No doubt about it, the household must get a firm grip on cost cutting measures as well as their umbrellas.

In the last five years, the English government cut their spending by 33%. The Royals slashed their spending by 5%. They got $51.4 million from taxpayers, but spent $55.2 million, so they had to dip into most of their savings. I don’t know where they cut their budget, but in 1987 Queen Elizabeth did say, “I never see any home cooking---all I get is the fancy stuff.”

Elizabeth I, who came to the throne in 1558, inherited a realm afflicted with debt. Even though her father, Henry VIII saved money by not paying alimony, he had a bad credit rating among European money lenders, because of his habit of collecting all the silver and gold paid to him as loans, mixing them with alloy, and paying out a quarter of what he received by reducing the value of the coins. The cagey King made Bernie Madoff look good in comparison.

Besides a massive debt, Elizabeth I inherited an untidy mess of religious intrigue and war. No wonder she tore out her hair and wore a wig.

I recently read that Queen Elizabeth II has decided to gradually hand over royal duties to Prince Charles. He said, “Sure, Mummy. Now that I am 65-years-old, and the roof is leaking, you’ve decided to hand the whole mess over to me. Thanks a bunch!”

Esther Blumenfeld (“I have to be seen to be believed.”) Queen Elizabeth II

No Gene For The Killer Instinct

Once upon a time, we lived in an old wooden house in Missouri---my mother, my father and I---and several mice in the attic. Periodically, Mother would set wooden spring-traps, baited with hunks of cheese, in order to catch the uninvited guests.

The mice were usually agile enough to grab the cheese before the traps sprung into action catching their tails. So sitting downstairs, we would hear the overhead, “thump, thump, thump” of mice dragging their traps behind them.

Dad’s job was to go to the attic and dispose of the critters. Reluctantly, he’d go upstairs and the thumping would stop. Then, he’d come downstairs, step outside the house and release the mice, so they could scamper off suffering no worse than hurt egos and very sore tails.

My father couldn’t kill anything. He taught me to cover roaches and beetles with a drinking glass, slide a piece of paper under the glass, and then throw the bugs outside. My aunt told me that when he was a boy, he’d pull flies off of sticky fly paper, so they could fly away to carry on with whatever nasty business flies achieve.

When I was five years old, he saw me stepping on ants, and gently chided, “Even ants have a purpose. You are disrupting the balance of nature.” I never forgot this lesson. Consequently, when I recently opened my garage door and discovered a big rattlesnake sunning itself on my driveway, I thought of Dad. No way could I run over it and mess up my driveway. It didn’t want to move, so I stamped my feet thinking that the vibration would make it slither away. Sure enough, it disappeared into the ivy lining my driveway.

I called the fire department snake removal division and the dispatcher told me to keep my distance from the snake, which I did. Forty-five minutes later a big red fire truck and baby fire man arrived. I don’t think they send the A-team for snake removal. He said, “Did you keep an eye on it?” “No,” I replied, “Dispatch told me to stay away, but the last time I saw it, it slithered into the ivy.” “Can’t get it in there,” was his reply. “I’ll come back when you see it out in the open.”

So, next time the snake decides to show himself, I will cajole, “Hello, Snake!” Just stay there for forty-five minutes until the fireman returns.” Dad would be proud of me!

Esther Blumenfeld (“The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” Steven Wright)

Gremlins In My Furnace

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend because they appreciate in value. Unfortunately, even though they cost the same, not only do furnaces and air conditioners not appreciate in value, they seem to age faster than grandma’s fruitcake. So, in October, not looking forward to another air conditioning breakdown in the summer, I decided to bite the bullet and replace both existing units with top-of-the-line energy saving machines.

Included in my purchase, was a Wi-Fi programmable touch screen thermostat, with Internet connections to both my computer and the computer of the installing company. This amazing contraption does everything except bake bread. Everything was installed, everyone left and all was well with the world--- until in the middle of the night--- my super-duper thermostat lit up the hallway with an alert, “Watch guard Flame failure on Ignite!”

I woke up and thought, “Oh, My God, I’m going to die!” I frantically pushed some functions on my touch screen, and then I called the emergency number of the installing company. A sleepy technician patiently assured me that I was in no danger. “Thanks,” I said. “Now tell me how to unlock my thermostat.” He said, “Hold you finger on ‘Lock,’ and then it will automatically unlock.” Now, I was a wiz on my programmable thermostat. The flame obviously was working, because the house was warm.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning of the “Failure On Ignite” messages, and after several service calls, it became clear that there was an hour delay between ignite and heat, but not consistently. And, by the time the service folks arrived at my house, the gremlin in my furnace had started the heat cycle.  So, the owner of the installing company called the engineering guru at the prestigious furnace company for advice. The engineer suggested that something might be amiss with the regulator on my gas line.

Southwest Gas sent an old man to my house, who had obviously been inhaling gas fumes for many years. After knocking down all of the brooms, mops, rakes and buckets in my storage room, and examining my gas lines, he looked at me and said, “There is nothing wrong with your gas.” “How about my furnace?” I asked. “I don’t know about furnaces, I just know about gas,” he replied. So much technology. So little talent.

Now it was time to install a new control panel in the furnace. The brave technician came on a Saturday to install the panel. It didn’t work, so he put the old panel back into the furnace. He called me that evening and told me that his boss had informed him that after installing the new panel; he needed to reprogram the Wi-Fi thermostat. He returned on Sunday morning at 8 a.m. with the new panel, determined to fix the problem. So far, so good!

My friend, Barbara told me that it took her heating company two years to find the problem with her new furnace. It kept blowing cold air, and they couldn’t find the reason. A roofer solved the problem. While standing on her roof, his hair kept blowing in the wind---on a day when there was no wind. He climbed off the roof, looked at her thermostat, and informed her that a fan had been programmed to run constantly. Problem solved!

I can’t wait to try my new air conditioner in the summer.

Esther Blumenfeld (Getting messages from my thermostat, that I never wanted in the first place, is giving me a new sense of purpose.) 

How Big Was That Fish Anyway?

I’ve been a trusting person my whole life. Anyway, I usually start out that way. But, if someone lies to me, I tend to remember it.

When I was a little girl, my best friend, Leigh Ann bit me. (When I grew up I chose less violent friends.) I ran into the house crying and told my Uncle Harry what had happened. He said, “I’m going to kill her!” That was quite comforting, until I realized that Leigh Ann would live on to bite her way through life, and that Uncle Harry had lied to me.

Lies have a life of their own, and now with modern technology, lies can spread faster than diaper rash on a baby’s bottom. When telling the truth, you don’t even have to remember what you said, but if you tell a lie, you’d better get it straight if you intend to repeat it.

One day, as I was loading groceries into the trunk of my car, a well-dressed man, carrying a gas can, approached me. He told me that he had just arrived from Philadelphia. He was on his way for a job interview, but had run out of gas. He had left his wallet with his wife, who was waiting in the car with their two children. All he needed was money, so he could get some gas. I was dubious, but gave him some money for the good story.

Two weeks later, he approached me again with the same sob story---except this time he was from Detroit. I said, “Two weeks ago you told me you were from Philadelphia.” “Well,” he said, “I guess that two weeks ago I was from Philadelphia.”

When telling a half-truth, a person should be sure to remember which half to tell. Lies make suckers out of us all. Napoleon Bonaparte said, “History is a set of lies agreed upon.” Several juicy lies have entertained us for generations.

The story goes that the Greeks presented the Trojans with a peace offering in the shape of a wooden horse. When the Trojans pulled the gift into their fortified city, they discovered it was filled with vengeful Greeks. True or not, it’s a good story and perhaps an elaborate lie.

Anna Anderson claimed to be the missing Anastasia of the royal Romanov family, until DNA ruined that hoax. And who, in the 1950’s, wasn’t enthralled with the discovery of the skull of the Piltdown man---the supposed link in evolution---until it was proven that the skull was only 600 years old, and that the attached jawbone came from an orangutan.

Sometimes it takes a long time, but the truth usually prevails. Those who are habitual liars don’t go unpunished. George Bernard Shaw explained the fate of liars very well. He said, “The liars punishment is not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“The income tax has made liars out of more people than golf”) Will Rogers