It's Christmastime out there, and it's got me thinking about money.
Money is a funny thing, mostly how we go about trying to earn it, save it, spend it and keep track of it.
Also asking for it is a funny and daunting process.
Asking for money is cute when a Girl Scout does it or that child with the lemonaid stand does it in the form of selling you something that you don't really need, like diabetes-inducing confections or over-sweetened liquid. I have two adorable little girls who will surely be a boon to the local Girl Scout troop when the time comes. They might see their best quarter ever when the Caldwell girls sign up for the year.
And asking for money can be noble, like those Salvation Army bellringers that brave the cold every Christmas time, raising funds for those in need. These folks deserve your time and whatever you can spare for the effort they put in. I am particularly fond of them when they sing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs and wear Santa hats. These folks deserve a special place in heaven for their efforts.
Asking for money can be a reputable, responsible thing, too. I have worked before as a professional fundraiser with a development organization (the real kind, not a telemarketing firm) and I enjoyed every minute of it because I really believed in the good the organization was doing, and the money raising was done in a measured, respectable way. It was not at all like selling vacuum cleaners door-to-door, which I did for a brief week in college. That was just strange. (Shampoo your rug, Ma'am?)
But asking for money can also be a fairly awkward thing, as well, like asking your dad for a thousand bucks to see you through the rest of the semester, or borrowing a few quarters from the in-laws' change bucket to pay for the tolls on the way back home. (A big overdue thank-you goes out to both Mom and Dad and the in-laws, Mimi and Pop, for their monetary assistance time and again.)
What's funny about this is that my two wonderful daughters, as young as they are, have started asking to "borrow" a few coins for the gum machine at the supermarket or to go get chicken nuggets or to buy their friends a birthday present. I'm not so sure I'm going to see that money again, because the earning potential of a two-year-old and a four-year-old is fairly limited. (It mostly consists right now of a chore chart on the wall and the occasional dollar from a relative in the birthday card bit.)
So why all this talk about asking for money, you say?
Well, aside from my lucrative and prestigious life as a humorous columnist and award-winning talking head (that was me on that new public access show, New Hampshire's Funniest Home Videos), I'm also writing a book, which I am raising funds to help with the self-publishing costs.
But I'm not going to ask you for your money.
Oh no.
I'm going to get the money the old-fashioned way, by massively overcharging.
If you have ever laughed at something I have written, I would like to formally charge you ten dollars for that laugh.
This might seem a bit steep, but I assure you, it is much less than they charged for the laughs on old episodes of Seinfeld.
But who can really put a price on laughter, anyway? It's invaluable. Where would you be without it, and as one of the vehicles of that laughter, I know you will understand this new "laughter compensation" system.
Thanks for your time and for your money. You can settle up your bill here.(Also, you can see a great little film I put together to plug the book featuring my afore mentioned daughters)
I heard that laugh!
