I used to play this game with my mom, when we'd missed the 203 Ridge bus and were walking downtown, sometimes in the rain, like today. Back then, the unimaginable lottery sum was $1,000,000. Now it's more like $85,000,000.

So, take the taxes off and that's what, $56 million? Well, I would put a sizable chunk, say $10 million, into some kind of an income producing fund for Solidarity, my socialist group. That would be interesting, to see what our group would do if it had enough funds for organizers.

Then I would take two-thirds of the remainder and find a smart tax lawyer to do the same for me. How much income would 21 million produce in a year? After googling, let's say it produces (after taxes) $300,000 per year. That would be extremely relaxing. And no, I would not work a job. I am almost never bored, and I would be prolonging my life without the stress of working, I swear to god.

That leaves another $15 million. I would pay off my sister's mortgage and establish college accounts for my nieces. I would buy a nice craftsman house, possibly in Rockridge, possibly in the Upper Dimond district. I would put in a saltwater pool, with whatever pool service that requires. I think I would also buy (this is fantasy, and there are still several million left) a nice craftsman for my father and stepmother, so they could live in Lake Geneva AND out here. I might buy their Evanston house, too, which they're trying to sell -- so they wouldn't have to, and could be in Evanston when they wanted. I guess I'd buy a car -- my sentimental favorite would be a Subaru Outback station wagon, maybe forest green instead of dark red. I don't really have a ton of other material objects I'd like to own.

With the rest of the money I think I would travel. I'd go to England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Norway, Sweden, Holland, France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Greece, North Africa, Egypt, possibly Iran, Pakistan, India, Australia, maybe Japan, Argentina, Brazil, and Mexico.

Urghh. I feel like I've done this before. Very briefly: I go to work -- I get there around 7:20 AM and leave around 4:30 or 5 PM. Wednesdays are early days, but we have meetings, so effectively I leave at the same time anyway. Most weeknights I can't deal with doing anything except going home and reading or messing about on the internet, except that I often eat at least once a week at my sister's. Weekends I socialize with friends, usually Friday and/or Saturday evenings. I also spend time with my nieces and my sister and brother-in-law most weekends. Sundays are chores (I have laundry in right this minute) and sometimes the Sunday night blues. That's my week in a nutshell.

Ew. No. God, I am glad I am older than this meme author. I never wanted to be a power ranger of any hue, or any of those crappy Renaissance-named teenage mutant ninja turtles. Whoever thought that up was HI-igh.

I am hard pressed to think of my generation's equivalent. I liked some scary live action TV show with talking trees (like in the Wizard of Oz) and a witch and a boy marooned on this island. I can't remember what it was called, though.

I'll take that as plural. And I'll give the American version, which is closer to the original French.

Arise ye prisoners of starvation
Arise, ye wretched of the earth
For justice thunders condemnation
A better world's in birth
Away with all your superstitions
Arise ye slaves, no more in thrall
The earth shall rise on new foundations
We have been naught, we shall be all
Tis the final battle
Let each stand in his place
The Internationale unites the human race

English version:

Arise ye starvelings from your slumbers
Arise ye prisoners of want
For reason in revolt now thunders
And thus ends the age of cant
Away with all your superstitions
Servile masses, arise, arise
We'll change forthwith the old traditions
And spurn the dust to win the prize!
So comrades come rally
And the last fight let us face
The Internationale unites the human race!

You know, normally these quote questions leave me cold, but one Marx quote just popped into my head, so I am going to use it. I feel like it is an easier instruction than most.


From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.


I didn't know that was so late -- from the 1875 Critique of the Gotha Programme. I think that is my philosophy of grading, too, come to think of it.

No.

I use it, but much more to keep track of friends' pronouncements and life events. I don't update all that often, though occasionally I have a flurry of them. I liked my Lenin-and-cats and Trotsky-and-rabbits photos. It's good for reminding me of birthdays.

That's actually kind of a cool question. Let me think.

I am always a sucker for someone who makes it clear that he is really into me, in a "wow, I feel lucky, you're amazing way". It's pretty rare. I need that someone to be aware of how fucking intelligent I am, and not to be threatened by it. I am touched by someone who is as interested in my history and stories as I am in his. And I kind of need really good writing. Fluent writing, pleasure in writing, desire to write -- email, letters, texts, whatever. I also like a dry wit, and a deep knowledge of music, with the generosity to introduce me to new stuff.

YES!

Also arghhh. I've done this before, and I don't feel like writing a public letter to a friend right now. It is Sunday, end of the weekend. I am clean and showered and ready to drink tea and eat a bagel. My mom and I are going to go see a matinee of Argo, which has great reviews, but which I am slightly, just slightly worried about because I am utterly fascinated with the Iranian revolution, its early days, and the hostage crisis, and I don't want this to be a gung-ho Fuck Iran piece, but suspect that despite what all the reviews say are large helpings of humor, it may be rah rah jingoism. The late 70s should militate against that, damn it.

This week: five days. Next weekend: three days. Next week: four days, one short, and then a week off for Thanksgiving, hallefuckinglujah. My mom leaves for Chicago on the 18th. I'm trying to convince her to come back early -- BEFORE Xmas, instead of after it.

Have I done this one before? I might have. That random generator is starting to cough up repeats, a LOT. Well, maybe I will come up with some different places. I will not confine myself to Oakland. In fact, I will focus on my youth.

Favorite restaurant of my childhood: My father firmly believed that one way to broaden his children's cultural appreciation of the world was to eat in different (cheap) ethnic restaurants many Friday nights. I mean, he enjoyed it too, obviously. And usually ordered whatever national or regional beer went with that cuisine. We ate at: Ethiopian, Polish, Salvadoran, Brazilian, Cuban, Vietnamese, Thai, Mexican, Indian, Himalayan, Chinese (Szechuan usually, but not always), German, French, Korean, Greek, Generally Middle Eastern, Persian, Lebanese, Portuguese, Japanese, Pakistani, and Swedish restaurants. Chicago was an ideal place for that. But of all of those types of cuisines, and all of those various restaurants, my favorite by far was (this is not going to be a surprise, if you've read me for a while) an Indian restaurant on Devon Avenue called The Family Corner. This was an unusual name for an Indian restaurant on Devon, and it was a somewhat unusual Indian restaurant. It had the basic familiar Indian dishes -- of those, my favorite, and the dish that made me want to learn to cook Indian food, was Kheema Matar, which was basically ground lamb and peas in a subtle and complicated curry, over rice. MMMMmmmm. But the restaurant also had Indian-adapted pizzas, and honest to god, they were the best pizzas I've ever had. I don't actually like tomato sauce, so pizza is usually a lukewarm experience for me. Sometimes the cheese and pepperoni and mushrooms and/or spinach can MAKE UP for the tomato sauce. But this pizza... man, it was good. It was the other kind of Chicago style -- not deep dish or stuffed, but a sort of floppy-ish, grease-laden thin crust. And the pizza sauce tasted different, but not outrageously so. It wasn't sweet. And the pizza had well-cooked (not crunchy) cauliflower under the cheese. It was MONSTROUSLY good. The restaurant closed when I was a teenager, sadly, and I've regretted it ever since. I wish I knew their pizza recipes. I learned how to make kheema matar as good as (and very similar to) theirs -- from Madhur Jaffrey's recipe. But the pizza eludes me.