Big Money Behind Little Dollars

Anyone following the financial headlines has to marvel at the game of steal the bacon being played out by three very similar companies, Dollar Tree, Dollar General,and Family Dollar Stores  Their merchandise is consumable products -- paper products, cleaners, clothing, gadgets and chachkas and the like -- primarily aimed at low- and middle-income consumers.  Most of the goods are imported from cut-rate factories in China or 3^rd world countries. Basically, Family Dollar Stores has been the object of takeover bids by their rivals, Dollar Tree and Dollar General. 

Although we’re talking about a generally low margin business, there are a lot of consumers in this category, and the owners of these businesses know it.  So what is Family Dollar’s 5.36% operating margin and almost $10 billion in sales (that’s a lot of purchases at $1.00 each:-) worth to the highest bidder, Dollar General: $9.1 billion.  It’s amazing that low margin businesses can carry this kind of price, but we’re talking about next to nothing interest rates, so just borrow it!  And of course there is the magic of synergy.

But if you look at the principals and the major individual stockholders of these three businesses, making millions of dollars personally in compensation and stock options every year, it brings up the issue of the 1% and the huge disparity of income between them, their employees and their customers. That’s the sad reality of the issue, the magnitude of that income discrepancy unprecedented until Wall Street overshadowed Main Street.

Maybe all three can get together as General Family Tree Dollar Stores?  Cheap goods for the poor and riches for the job creators!  Money rules!

Personal Space

Once upon a time people were considerate of others’ personal space. I’m old enough to remember those days.  Perhaps today’s “it’s all about me” mind-set is partially the result of the very technology I’m using to write and post this and especially social networking sites such as Facebook and Twitter.  Population growth and prosperity are equally responsible, everyone “fighting” for space.

And by personal space I mean the right to enjoy life without the in-your-face encroachment of someone else’s lifestyle. I love Sondheim’s music, but don’t think I should “broadcast” that love affair at ungodly decibels in public places.  How many times have you been at a stop light and a car pulls up in the other lane with its stereo blasting a base so loud it vibrates your car?  It’s even worse at the beach as it is prolonged. You’ve already planted yourself under an umbrella, only to be accosted for the rest of your stay unless you move.  Or even while you are trying to enjoy a quiet dinner at home, hearing a neighbor’s woofer banging out what now passes as “music.”

I’ll put this under my audio effrontery section: robocalls. The one I love is the automated, breathless but recorded message, that happily announces that I’ve been chosen (one of the select few : - ) to be eligible to have my debt consolidated, please hold on for a representative.  A few times I’ve actually held, trying to get the name of the company.  Call recognition doesn’t work for those calls and if it did, reporting it to Do Not Call seems to do nothing. They simply rotate their phone number (or use Skype). Political and charity calls are exempted from Do Not Call and during political season it’s a free for all invasion of your telephone line and your private time.

Probably one of the main reasons we rarely go to the movies now are the bombastic, extra-loud trailers that you are forced to sit through.  One also has to contend with people checking cell phones, texting during the film, those phones glowing in the dark or ringing their owners’ favorite melodies.   Or, the people nearby talking “huh, what did he say?”

While one’s audio senses are being increasingly assaulted, so are one’s olfactory rights.  Yes, there are much more stringent laws governing smoking, but few apply to outdoors.  A particular bête noire are cigars which seem to defy the laws of being “upwind” of that particular kind of smoke.  Cigars simply stink 360 degrees.  Stay at home and smoke that stogie, or go to a cigar bar.

Air travel has taken the loss of personal space to still another level.  After being required to partially disrobe with your fellow passengers, you board an aircraft only to find you are sitting behind someone who immediately reclines his/her seat – to its fullest extent -- for a lengthy flight, leaving you with the rear of the seat in your face and the tray table in your gut.  We’re told that common sense etiquette should prevail.  Ha, in this day and age.  Recently a number of flights had to be diverted because of unruly passengers duking it out over this issue, one person even carrying a “knee defender” device which prevented any reclining of the seat in front.

A friend of mine was seated behind a lady with very long hair and as he tried to eat what now passes as a meal on an aircraft, she decided to recline her seat, but did not want to rest her head on her precious hair so she flipped all of her hair up and over her headrest and directly into his dinner!  Welcome to 21^st century air travel!

Then, the coup de grâce:  Are we ready for the implications of what Amazon, Google and even Domino's Pizza are testing? -- drones to deliver “goods.”  With GPS technology they could be spaced only feet apart, why not?  There goes our entitlement to viewing a serene sunset, a conga line of drones going by, delivering the essentials of life such as pizzas, dog food, and might as well throw in cigars and boom boxes as well!   We of the “me” mentality must have what we want immediately when we want it! 

Probably I will not be around to witness the ultimate battle of the drones.  And no doubt, as I age I am more sensitive to all these issues, feeling increasingly powerless to do anything about individual incidents. And down here in Florida, people pack pistols, so you might get shot by asking someone to refrain from some of the things I’ve mentioned.  There is no Department of Common Decency and Consideration to complain to and even if there was, let’s face it, nothing would be done. 

Coda

Our “vacation” on our boat in Connecticut wrapped up in a frenzy, meeting friends for dinner, saying our goodbyes, and spending our last night with Jonathan and Anna, first dinner at Westport’s lovely Blue Lemon, and then a night of splendid theatre at the Westport Country Playhouse.  We’ve been going to the WCP for some forty years and the one constant is the quality of their productions.  No wonder the Wall Street Journal named it one of the four leading regional theatres in the United States, along with our other favorite here in Florida, Dramaworks.  You could say we have the best of both worlds, having seasonal access to each.

The current production at WCP is Alan Ayckbourn’s Things We Do for Love, a typical Ayckbourn play exploring relationships with a comedic touch. Perhaps not as well known as his Absurd Person Singular, The Norman Conquests trilogy or Bedroom Farce, all of which we’ve seen over the years, either in London, Westport, or NY,  this play has that distinctive Ayckbourn signature, and as a later play, perhaps a bit more maturity.

The set itself (and the photograph fails to do it justice) is actually on three levels, the living room being the main one, in the home owned by Barbara, a professional woman, dedicated to her job as an executive assistant. The basement flat below is rented to a postman, Gilbert, who also serves as handyman plus having a crush on Barbara (of which she is unaware).  Barbara is 30-40 something, and being visited by her high school friend, Nikki, who is in love and in fact engaged to a Scotsman, Hamish.  Barbara has agreed to sublet the upper flat to them while their house is being renovated, and this level, too, can be seen by the audience.  Barbara and Hamish take an instant dislike to one another. Need I say more?  So the play takes place on multiple levels -- physically and metaphysically -- with interesting and entertaining twists. In the course of the evening, we learn much about the “things we do for love.”

Part of the success of the Westport Country Playhouse’s production is its fine casting; I think a hallmark of both WCP and Dramaworks.  I could single out Michael Mastro who plays Gilbert for special recognition, a difficult role to play.  But all – Geneva Carr as Barbara, Matthew Greer as Hamish, and Sarah Manton as Nikki – are first rate, and make this a memorable production, under the fine direction of John Tillinger.  And kudos to James Noone for his scenic design.

Ayckbourn once said “The joy of the English language is its infinite capacity for being misunderstood.”  Indeed, and how lucky we are to have a playwright of his stature still in our midst.  While viewing his plays, one has the impression one is experiencing a light farce, but his plays linger in one’s mind, a testament to the more substantive themes he weaves with his unique comedic touch.

By the way, I wrote this before a review appeared in yesterday’s Wall Street Journal.  Terry Teachout essentially agrees with me!

The following morning we were on the road returning to Florida.  At the last minute we decided to take a detour to Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello.  We had never seen this UNESCO World Heritage Site and it had been on our so-called bucket list.  We heard that they now conduct smaller tours of the home which, for the first time, includes the upstairs and the dome and decided that was for us. 

It was fascinating to see Jefferson’s use of octagonal forms in his designs such as the dome room and many of the bedrooms.  Unlike most of the home where photography was forbidden, we were able to photograph this part.  His use of a skylight was radical for the time.

We are glad we booked this “Behind the Scenes” tour, arriving early in the morning before the crowds, being able to more leisurely appreciate the genius of the man, a self trained architect as well as author of the Declaration of Independence.  Did he know no earthly bounds?  Surveying his land and buildings, one can say that indeed necessity was the mother of invention.  Jefferson knew how to produce what he needed from the land to transform his entire estate, using his imagination and stunning ingenuity. 

 

I suppose the only blemish on his reputation was his adherence to slavery, something he knew was wrong, but as it was such an ingrained part of the American south at the time, he felt powerless to change it.  Let another generation do it, he thought.  When one thinks that as recently as the 1960s we had segregated facilities in many parts of the US, one can appreciate the enormity of the conundrum.

Besides the grounds and his home (of course the focal point of the visit) we were impressed by The Thomas Jefferson Foundation’s wisdom in setting up the visitor’s center a short shuttle ride from the plantation, with a 20 minute introductory film, museum, a well stocked restaurant, and a beautiful shop.  From there it is but a 5 minute shuttle ride to an experience of a lifetime.  The small carefully timed tours were especially appreciated.

 

It reminded us of visiting The Biltmore in Asheville, and the neighboring Carl Sandburg home in Flatrock, NC.  The Jefferson plantation had the intimacy and livability of the Sandburg home and grounds, and, as a self sustaining home, a little of The Biltmore, but not the grandeur.  However, if one considers accomplishments of the intellect an element of grandeur, Monticello soars

Since we started out early for our tour of Monticello, and we were now continuing on our way to FL, we thought we’d push on setting a target for Florence, SC for the night.  We understood our friends, Harry and Susan, were on their way north and that’s where they normally stay for the night, so wouldn’t it be fun if we met there for dinner?  We knew where they were staying, so we called while on the road and booked a room there. We were driving some 475 miles from the northwest and they some 575 miles from the south.  We both arrived within a minute of each other!  If one had planned to meet that would have been impossible timing.  It makes one believe in serendipity.

It was fun to catch up with each other after being away for nearly two months.  The next morning we left the hotel at 5.30 am.  Great to get some miles under our belt at that time while I95 is nearly empty, except for the trucks of course.  By 3.00 PM we were home, sadly leaving our other life behind at the South Norwalk Boat Club in Connecticut.

But wait ‘till next year!

Maelstrom

It was a night to remember on the boat.  Islip, NY, only some 25 miles away as the crow flies, had more rain than they have in an entire summer, 13 inches, in the early morning hours of Wednesday night.  Here we had only about two inches, but the wind was unrelenting out of the east and southeast, the most vulnerable direction in the Norwalk Harbor.  Plus it was an astronomical high tide.  Our boat is half way out into the Norwalk River so at about 1.30 AM around high tide, with the wind roaring and the rain horizontal, our boat began to pitch and roll.  Anticipating this weather, I had tied redundant spring and bow lines but within a short time, those stretched and we found ourselves occasionally banging into the piling on our port side.  Go out and put more lines on or tighten the existing ones a part of me said – no way; nothing would help, said the other.  Try to sleep I told myself, although it felt as if we were underway.

Sleeplessness was aided by anticipation.  The weather forecast for most of Wednesday was for more wind and rain, here and in NYC, the day we were going in for lunch and the theatre, something we had planned for months. By the time we could get off the boat and dock, and onto the train, we’d be like a couple of drowned rats, not to mention the difficulty of getting to the theatre, walking from Grand Central Station to the New York City Center between 6^th and 7^th on 55^th Street.  We’re veteran New Yorkers and know how to book it to time the lights, but rain and wind would make that impossible, not to mention getting a cab.

Months ago, as soon as I heard it would be appearing as part of the Lincoln Center Festival, I had booked tickets – 3^rd row orchestra, practically center, to see the Sydney Theatre Company’s production of Jean Genet’s The Maids starring Cate Blanchett.  We’ve long admired this hugely talented actress, who has not only appeared in scores of films, but has been supportive of live theatre, particularly the Sydney Theatre Company which she and her husband helped to make known internationally after taking over the reins from Robyn Nevin. An added bonus in this production included two other highly acclaimed movie and stage actors, Isabelle Huppert and Elizabeth Debicki.  Having never seen Genet’s masterpiece, and always being a “fan” of the Theatre of the Absurd, and given the cast, how could we go wrong seeing this production?

Well, the weather and forecast Tuesday night / early Wednesday morning almost made us regret the obligation to go into the city, arriving soaked (if we arrived at all, given the reports of flooding). But miraculously, the skies cleared as we got off the train at Grand Central Station and we had a leisurely walk to a restaurant, Milos, near the theatre.  As it was recommended by our son, Jonathan, we met him there for lunch.

It is “restaurant week” in New York City so we were able to order a lovely and delicious Mediterranean meal at “reasonable” prices, compared to the typical astronomical ones. NYC restaurants of that distinction are frequented by executives seeking a power lunch and by “ladies who lunch” (as Sondheim put it). 

As we entered the theatre we learned that our tickets were being scalped for $700 apiece, ironic I thought, people going to see a play by Genet who clearly despised the class of people who could afford to see his play.  I suppose the movie star cast, and the very limited engagement led to those prices – supply and demand!

The stage set looked placid enough, but within only minutes into the play we knew that it would be our second maelstrom in 24 hours.  Crude gutter language, bodily fluids (spit and drool galore), and raw sexuality with the help of readily available props on stage unfolded. Voyeuristic views of what went on in the off stage bathroom shot live with hand held cameras and projected on a huge screen on stage, and close ups, sometimes of flowers (there were hundreds of them in vases all over the stage), but frequently of the actresses faces slapping on powder and lipstick at the “mistress’” make up table, or close ups of humping or physical abuse on the bed or floor, accosted us for almost the next two hours, with no intermission.  And then there is the “plot” – really the imaginary murder of the “mistress” by the two maids, one pretending to be the mistress (Cate Blanchett) and the other the maid (Isabelle Huppert), fantasizing the murder, in anticipation of the arrival of the “mistress.”  Genet’s play was loosely based on a real life incident, but of course he extrapolates it to its most outrageous and sordid extreme.

This production puts a 21^st century spin on Genet’s work, not only with the innovative use of viewing the characters using two video cameras and projecting those emotions close up, but casting a much younger woman, Elizabeth Debicki, as the “mistress.”  She not only has the class advantage over her imprisoned Maids, but she has youth and indeed, she struts it – all six feet three inches of her gorgeous young body. And when she finally arrives about half way through the play, one can appreciate Blanchett’s impersonation even more.

Above all, there is an energy level that is poured into this production which is incomparable to anything we’ve seen on stage – all three of them playing their roles on the borders of frenetic madness.  How, we thought, would it be possible for these same actors to do an evening performance? After all, we, the audience, left exhausted, and can only imagine what they would have to do to recover.

Afterwards I wondered to myself why any actor – especially well-established screen actors – would take the risks of these roles on stage, in front of a live audience.  Film acting must be so, so, much easier.  But I think it says something about these particular actors, accepting a gauntlet thrown, the challenge to excel overwhelming the perceived risk.  They are just that good.

The philosophical merits of what Genet has to say are clear from 50,000 feet, but I’d have to read the play to have a better, detailed understanding.  My one criticism concerns the maid Solange played by Isabelle Huppert, a French actress of renown, and perhaps selected for the role as homage to the French playwright, Genet, but her strong French accent sometimes caused many missed words.  We all were desperately trying to make sense of her complete dialog, so important, I think, in understanding Genet – and particularly the impassioned monologue at the end of the play. 

That comment, however, is not to detract from the overall production, something we’ve never experienced in the theatre, and with a standing ovation at the end, we cried Brava! Brava! many times over during their multiple curtain calls.