Roll 'em Roll 'em Roll 'em - again

Here's the thing. In the never ending journey to be productive during the lockdown, I decided to start rolling all the spare change I have cluttering up my dresser top, jean pockets and random dishes around the house.

Then I thought it might be a fun blogpost. That's when I remembered it was a fun blogpost because I wrote about this very subject about five years ago.

And of course, being big on not reinventing the wheel and wanting to get back to bingeing Breaking Bad (again), instead of writing a whole new post I thought you'd enjoy reliving the joy, humor and insight of this one. I know I will.

It's the blogpost that keeps on giving. Don't be surprised if you see it again when we're in month six of self-quarantining. Please to enjoy.

They're everywhere. In jars on the bookshelf, glass bowls on the dresser, the bottom of drawers and jean pockets.

Pennies. The Fredo of the coin world.

I've always been a big proponent of change (SWIDT?). Especially since I drive a car that has a special compartment for it. Armed with quarters, nickels and dimes, I fear no parking meter.

The problem is the thing I use change for the most I can't use pennies for. I know there's a movement to do away with the penny. But I'm not for it.

After all, what will we leave for the next person in that little plastic dish at the car wash and liquor store if we banish the penny? It's a cheap way of feeling like you're doing something good for someone else without actually doing anything good for them.

I know it costs more to make a penny than the penny's worth, but I don't believe that's the issue.I believe it's an organizational problem. So I decided to be an example for my family and the nation by doing something about it.

Today I took all my pennies and dumped them on the bed. Then, counting in two's fifty-cents at a time, I rolled them into bank coin sleeves.

I wound up with $3.50. That's 350 pennies. See how easy math is with pennies?

I even found a relatively rare 1956 D penny in the pile. Depending on which eBay listing you believe, it's worth either $1.60 or $498. I choose to believe the second one.

I'd be curious to know how many people think the same way as I do about pennies.

And I'll bet you know exactly how much I'll pay for your thoughts on it.

Winning

I don't know whether I have good luck or bad luck. As a rule, I feel like I'm pretty lucky in life. Things seem to go more or less my way when I need them to, and I never seem to want for too much. God knows I'm not going hungry.

Still, I do have my own wing at the Venetian in Vegas, so good luck clearly isn't always riding shotgun.

But every once in awhile, Lady Luck doesn't have a date for the night and decides to plant a big wet one on me.

For example, the reason I joke so much about becoming a lotto winner as a profession is because I've actually been one. Back when the state lottery was first introduced - when they only had scratcher tickets - on the third day they were out I won $5000 with a ticket similar to the one above. My wife-to-be was with me when I bought a ticket in the little market between the towers at Santa Monica Shores, where I lived at the time. After I'd scratched off two $5000 squares, I remember turning to her and saying "How funny would it be if there were a third one under here?"

Which to our unbridled surprise there was.

My feeling was since it was the introduction, they top-loaded the scratcher tickets with winning ones. Fine by me. I wound up using the money to buy my 1986 Toyota Supra (the first half of the year model, before they ruined it by rounding out all the edges).

Years ago on channel 9 in L.A. there was a local show called The Dick Curtis Show, which everyone always confused with The Lloyd Thaxton Show (feel free to look up both of them). Anyway, the show aired live, and one afternoon they had one of those "...and the fourth caller wins a months supply of frozen pizza!"

Guess who was the fourth caller?

I remember they sent a certificate for ten frozen pizzas, which we had to pick up from the market. It was as exciting as it was challenging, because we didn't have a freezer nearly big enough for ten frozen pizzas. But we had hungry neighbors and I'm a giver, so we made it work.

Just this past week, I won something I desperately needed: a luxury car wash. I take my car to Rossmoor Car Wash in Los Alamitos for two reasons. They do a great job, and it's owned by good friends of mine. Which is why I thought winning their Facebook question of the week contest was a total fix.

Come to find out they had nothing to do with it. It's entirely overseen by their manager, who also selects the names randomly from what I can only assume is an empty carnuba wax container.

So I claimed my prize yesterday. Just my luck, as I was driving home it started to drizzle.

Oh well. Can't win 'em all.

My second career

I own a black car. Do I own it because I think it looks sleek and stealthy?

Of course.

Because it matches my limited wardrobe on most days?

Absolutely.

The statement it makes about me those other colors can't?

Definitely. Although I do think it'd be a better statement if it were a black Porsche instead of a black Lexus.

Which reminds me, I have to raise my day rate. These agencies have no idea what a bargain they're getting. Recession my ass. They're whining like babies "waaa waaaa our budgets.." "waaaa waaaa client won't let us..." "waaa waaaa you know if it was up to me...." all while they grind freelancers so they can pad their bottom line. Don't get me started.

I feel I may have wandered off point.

What I was going to say is that the main reason I own a black car is because I'm a glutton for punishment. If you've ever owned one - and I've owned five of them, in a row - you know it's nothing short of a second career keeping it clean.

I don't know what percentage of cars that go through car washes are black, but I'm going to guess it's disproportionally high (not unlike some agency people I work with - BAM! Thank you, I'll be here all week).

And really, why even bother washing it? As the car is drying, you can actually see the dust settling on the hood, laughing at you on its way down.

But for that minute and a half they're actually clean, they do look, dare I say, sexy (again, Porsche not Lexus).

Every once in awhile I try to convince myself I could be fine with another color. That's right up until I see my car on the road in Champagne, or Desert Sand or Dusty Rose or whatever the hell that color is. Right then is when it hits me: I don't have any choice. I'll keep buying black cars.

Perhaps this story sums it up best. A few years ago my wife and were in Seattle. We were going to have dinner with Jim Walker, a creative director I used to work for. My wife called to tell him we were running a little late, to which Jim replied, "How come? Is Jeff having trouble deciding which black shirt to wear with which black pants?"