NOW PLAYING: The $40 Million Man 31 March, 1998 I can appreciate that as well as the next working slob, and so can The Wife, so of course I bought a ticket. Not that it was as easy as that. The machine was Out Of Order at the gas station where I usually buy a ticket when the urge (or the size of the jackpot) comes upon me. I had to think long and hard to come up with another place to get my lotto fix. Not that it will matter. I can't quote you the actual odds, but buying a lotto ticket gives you a chance of winning that's only slightly less infinitesimal than not bothering with it in the first place. Perhaps a little more or less than your chances of having Dick & Ed pulling up with the Prize Patrol to knock on your door on Superbowl Sunday. I only buy one ticket when I occasionally get Lotto Fever. It's only a buck, and if my luck is that incredible, that one set of numbers is all I'll need. By which I mean, "No Way In Hell Will I Ever Win." Of course, the New York lottery had (maybe still has, for all I know) a cool little advertising campaign with the tag line to the effect of "Someone has to win -- why not you?" Buddy, I could give you 20 pages of reasons "why not me," but that's no fun. Instead, I tried to figure out what I'd do if, against all odds and human reason, I collected on that lotto ticket. (Oh, don't tell me YOU'VE never indulged in that little fantasy... I mean, unless you're Bill Gates and $40 million is lunch money for you on a Tuesday. Hi, Bill.) Let's see, the Infernal Revenue Stealers would grab at least 50% off the top, so we've got $20 million. Of course, you don't get the whole thing at once -- they pay you off over 20 years or something. So let's say it's a cool mil' a year after taxes. I think we could squeak by on that. The problem is that every long-lost relative, friend, and acquaintance would come crawling out of the woodwork, looking for a handout. And it's not like you can keep it quiet -- when there's a payoff this big, the Lotto people trumpet it from the rooftops. So maybe the thing to do would be to toss a little "hush money" at the immediate family and then go on an extended overseas tour to Australia. Stay there for, oh, six months or so, then head to Europe. Bop around for the next six months, and slip back into the States. If the dough is invested in something like an index fund, you could pretty much live on some of the returns (I mean, even a 5% return on a million is 50 grand), especially as it builds up over the years. Ruling out the "need" for a Ferarri or three, you'd never have to touch the principal. One of my "don't have to work anymore" fantasies is to get an old convertible, fill the trunk up with some black-and-white film and some camera gear, and go down the back roads of each state in the country. I thought maybe a '58 Corvette would be cool -- although I don't know what kind of trunk space those have. Might need something bigger. But a car like that is an instant ice-breaker. You can talk to anyone when you pull up in an old 'Vette. I think I'd be able to make a great book out of the pictures on a trip like that. I've got other daydreams -- the sailboat in the Caribbean, going from island to island; traveling around the world -- skiing in Austria at Christmas, spring in Paris. The Wife has her daydreams, too, and with that kind of cash we could fulfill them all. We could give really nice presents to our family and friends and give more money to our charities. Life is very nice in this dream. But then the alarm goes off, and its time to get up and go to work. *sigh*
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