Skip to main content

The Thing About the Lotto

What’s all this rubbish that the Lotto is a ‘tax on people who are bad at maths?’ I’m great at maths. I’m even aware that statistically you are 600 times more likely to be hit by lightning than you are of winning the lotto. But that’s rubbish, because every week you hear about people winning the Lotto but you seldom hear about people being struck by lightning. So you could say that the Lotto is taxing on people who are good at maths.
I spend €4 a week for the pleasure of lying in bed planning how I’m going to spend my winnings, and €4 is a cheap high. So saying that the Lotto is a tax on people who are bad at maths ( or ‘math’ pronounced with a lisp if you’re American), is like saying that going for coffee is a tax on people who are bad at understanding health issues.
Let’s face it, life is about getting high: sugar, drugs, drink, ambition, fear, greed, anything that gets you out of bed in the morning. Playing the Lotto is about the buzz of being in with a chance.
I know that I’m unlikely to win; however, being good at maths (math) I’ve figured out that my chances are slightly higher than other peoples. You see, there’s a story somewhere in my family that somebody called to my great grand uncle’s house asking directions. He walked out to the gate to point this guy on the right road. As he stood pointing he was struck by lightning and killed.
So with that in mind, I wonder how the statisticians would work out what the chances are of winning the lottery given that someone in your family has already been struck down by lightning. I reckon higher, because if somebody in your family has already been struck by lightning, then there must be less chance of it happening to you. So given that I’m unlikely to be struck by lightning but come from a family where freak things do happen, it must surely mean that the freak thing I’m likely to experience is a Lotto win.  So I’m off now to play Lotto with that in mind. After all, it could be me!



Popular posts from this blog

A Packet of Solpadeine and a Lecture Please

Years ago I was a respectable lady married to a nice German doctor, and it was he who brought to my attention that in Germany you can only buy pain killers in a chemist and not in a petrol station, pub or supermarket and that there was not a chance in hell that you could ever buy a pain killer with codeine in it directly from a pharmacy, which in Ireland, you can - Solpadeine.
Then a friend of mine who is a pharmacist told me that Solpadeine was her best seller. So lucrative were the sales that she did not have enough room to store the stuff in her pharmacy. But that was also back in the time when I was respectable, and in the meantime the Solpadeine police seem to be out on patrol.
Now if you ask me, I think it's pure madness to sell substances with codeine in them over the counter at a pharmacy, and I'm also a bit iffy about buying paracetemol in the supermarket, given that any 13 year old can go in and stock up on a drug that is lethal in relatively small doses. But there a…

The MoMa, a Beggar and my Limp

There’s a woman who walks up and down the streets around West 82nd and Amsterdam Avenue asking people if they’ll give her a dollar. I’d put her around 80. Small, wiry, bent, wispy hair. Brittle bird legs in black tights, but still a follower of fashion in a knit skirt with a tartan pattern, more the kind of skirt you might see on a 20-year-old Asian student. Pale pink lipstick, and a crimson red blouse topped with a cream overcoat despite the muggy August New York heat. I wonder what she does with the money she collects. She doesn’t look like she eats anything, can’t tell if she drinks. She’s sober when she pushes her trolley bag up and down 82nd, asking ‘do you have a dollar for me?’ I don’t give her one. I keep my dollars for the MoMa. My feet are killing me after walking into the city, but I’m scared of the subway. I did make a weak attempt, but have no idea what they mean by uptown and downtown. Both of these expressions mean the same thing where I come from: Uptown – as in, I’m…

The Now or the Nervous Breakdown?

There’s a thin line between reaching a state of inner peace comparable to that of a Buddhist monk and being bang on in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Thing is, I’m never sure which state I currently find myself in. It’s true that one feeds the other at times. You need to have a proper meltdown to let the storm settle and find your peace. And peace wouldn’t be peace if you didn’t allow the true tempest of this life to enter your accepting and non-judgemental state of whatever you want to call not letting stuff get to you.
The buzz word nowadays is ‘Mindfulness’. If I understand it correctly, it means that you should mind your mind, like think of it as a place where you set yourself up for feeling good or bad, and as with all of these pop psychology hits, it’s about living in the now. Like Buddhism it involves meditation and sitting cross legged on a straight-backed chair, and then you have to focus, focus, focus…
So far, I’m pretty good at not sweating the small stuff. I don’t worry…