Winslow Junker

Today in the NYT: "Derivitives are Focus of Antitrust Investigation." 

I post this link at the risk of spreading more negativity about the whole situation. The alternative, though, is that we just let it all go in the belief that investment professionals have been guilty of nothing more than slapping each other on the back and exclaiming, "See, there is a free lunch after all!"
 

Though certain of my friends are rabid on the issue, I'm not a crank about Starbucks. I'll go there if I want coffee and there's no other reasonable choice. Still, I prefer my local coffee houses and have always quietly cheered the Delocator's effort. 

At Christmas last year we received a Starbucks gift box from our lovely friend Sharon. In it, among the coffee samples, biscotti, etc., were two mugs, one red and one white. They keep my coffee warm (I'm a sipper), have handles that fit my fingers nicely, and are a wonderful shape, size and color. I love them and use them regularly and without shame, as you can see.

Ever notice how a few days freed from normal routine sends our internal planners into manic mode?

I took Meredith to the airport this morning. She's off to the Bay Area to visit our oldest daughter and meet our future son-in-law. On the way home I started thinking of all the exciting, busy things awaiting me. Three full days on my own -- the reading, the writing, the inevitable projects . . . continuing Flash lessons, refreshing (perennially) my Chinese, giving some long-delayed attention to the piano, attacking the stacks of acting books and plays that represent this year's revival of interest in theatre . . . rearranging my office, hanging out with my father over crosswords (that's him, there), making soup for next week . . . not to mention the usual filing and bills and housework and such.

As I write I've been home 20 minutes. I reheated this morning's coffee and sat down to look at my e-mail. There's a cat dozing on my lap. The sun streams in on us. E-mail is done and I feel perhaps a game of Freecell coming on . . . or a little snooze . . .
 

I'm impressed with the lengths the movie industry goes to present trailers that should not (they seem to be saying) offend anyone or damage young minds. I can munch my popcorn assured that the bloodiest violence will be left out, as will bare breasts, bad language, explicit sex and other less seemly body functions. (To the modern TV or movie producer an hour without a cookie toss is an hour wasted.)

How is it, then, we let them jack the sound up to a level that stuns the senses and sends the nervous system reeling?