Eight days ago I opened a birthday package from my son Stan, from Seattle. The number 8 is significant because it is the perfect square of 64. And 32 multiplied by 2 is 64.
If you’re able to associate the photo on this column with my visage, please tell me what you see. Do I have the letters S-U-C-K-E-R stamped across my forehead?
Let me explain. If I were in a crowd of say 50 people, the one panhandler in the group would find me to hit me up for a couple of bucks–to buy a meal. Yeah, right!
In the 60-plus years I’ve known this city, I can attest to radical changes when it comes to growing up: people walked all over town and thus made constant contact.
Bank checks used to be free; you could help yourself to a pack of them at almost any bank. Each pack of checks was coded to a particular bank, but the idea of personalized checks was still a ways off.
When was the last time you were asked whether you’d accept charges for a collect call?
In the past few years, such calls have usually featured a computerized voice that asks you to press 1 to accept or 2 to decline. This call, about a month ago, was different.