Look at this.
We have 60 seconds in a minute and 60 minutes in an hour: 3,600 seconds an hour.
24 hours a day: 86,400 seconds a day.
365 and 1/3 days a year: 31,564,512 seconds a year.
Let's say the average person lives to be 80. It's a nice round number that I'd like all my loved ones to surpass, but nonetheless: 2,525,160,960 seconds in a lifetime.
WE ONLY LIVE 2 BILLION SECONDS! To put that in perspective. If you wanted to count to a TRILLION, you'd have to count 396 numbers a second, for EVERY second of your life, to reach 1 trillion. I mean, I can count "1234567" before the next second ticks. That's it. I could maybe get to 10 each second. But 396?! Per second? For the rest of my life? Now that's just counting to a trillion.
As of 10:37 and 8 seconds Central Standard Time, the US National Debt stood at: $13,253,598,236,404. That's 13 TRILLION! So that means that based on my elementary math skills, it's roughly 13.2 times 396 to figure out how many numbers you'd have to count per second to make it all the way to 13 trillion. That would be 5,248 digits. You would have to count 5200 digits a second (thats, 12345678910,11,12,13,14...5,248 in your head) EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF YOUR LIFE to reach the number 13.253598236404 trillion.
Or to look at it differently, if you were to get paid for every second you lived, some poor schmuck (I guess China at this point) would have to write you a check for $5,248 EVERY SECOND in order to total 13 TRILLION DOLLARS by the time you died. I'm lucky to make 5 grand in 2 months! But EVERY SECOND?
Or what if you only get paid for how many seconds you actually work in a lifetime.
Average day we work: 8 hrs or 28,800 secs.
Work week: 40 hrs or 144,000 secs.
Work year: 50 weeks (leaving out 2 weeks vacation, unpaid) or 7,200,000 secs.
Avg working lifetime: Age 25-65 or 40 years or 288,000,000 secs.
Total earnings per "working" second: $46,019
That's enough to cover a family of four for a year. 40 g's a second is about the only way to become the world's first trillionaire.
Need more perspective? Alex Rodriguez signed a $275 million contract in 2007. For 10 years. That's $27.5 million a year. If a game is roughly 4 hours in duration, and a season is 162 games a year (not including injuries or the postseason), then that is 38,880 seconds of playing time (or "working" time) over the course of one season. That means ARod is paid around $707 per second he is playing (I know his contract is not structured based on seconds played but on other criteria, most of which, if not all of, are guaranteed). To reach the total of the US National Debt, he'd have to get paid 65 TIMES what he is making currently! If we're making $40,000 a year, we're paid approximately $.00625 per second. That's less than half a penny per second! ARod is making 113,120 times as much as us per second, and yet his salary is 65 times less than the rate of the national debt. Just for fun: we'd need to get paid 7,363,040 TIMES what we are currently making per "working" second of our lives.
I don't know if I'll ever take the time to count to a million. Certainly not a billion. And the fact that it's physically impossible for me to count to a trillion is incredibly sobering. Our national debt is gargantuan, and it isn't going anywhere but up. I don't know the way to solve it--tax cuts or higher taxes, spending cuts, freezes or increases. But I can tell you this: the debt has gone up $106,063,860 in the few minutes I've been writing this. That's 1/3 of ARod's contract in just a few minutes. Or in terms of life-seconds, it will take 3.35 years for you to live another 106,000,000 seconds.
If counting sheep doesn't work for our insomniacs, try imagining them as dollars in the national debt. That oughta knock you out. Nothing like counting to a trillion.
Today I went up and down 10 aisles, from the Asian aisle (seriously, it's called that) to the Mexican aisle (again, seriously) to the soup, then the canned veggies, then the mac & cheese and finally giving up at the coffee aisle. All for a tiny 3 oz jar of pimentos. After the scavenger hunt was over, I asked for help, and the lady pointed me to the aisle I presumed all along. Except there was only one brand, they weren't pulled to the front of the shelf, and they were playing hide-and-seek with the liquefied sun-dried peppers and canned pickled pickles (they had some weird juice in their bottled can). I don't like grocery shopping in the day because of the nonagenarians, but it's only magnified when my last resort is asking an employee for help and she's as lost as I. That's a good example of why humans are being phased out.
Now I know this might not seem like a wise business investment to provide to shoppers, but I'm telling you, I'd rent one depending on how much shopping I had to do. If I'm going to be spending $200 on groceries, what's another $5 anyway for a little sanity boost. If we provide motorized carts for the old people, why not offer GPS devices to the busy people? Now it shouldn't be mandatory; I'm not going to need it when I'm zipping in on my usual ice cream run. But if my shopping excursion involves a shopping cart, I want the option for a rent-able tracking device.
Tag and bag it.
The following is loosely based off a true story. Well it was my dream last night. Up until the ending. That's where you come in. Choose your own adventure. Are you Tarantino, the Coen Brothers, Bruckheimer, Shamylan, Apatow, Speilberg, Abrams?
I'm in an Army cafeteria and Chef Ramsay shoots a guy in the shoulder for arguing with him. Later we are competing on Hell's Kitchen and standing around, and Chef pokes fun at my mustache. So I poke fun at his shooting another man in the shoulder. He gets upset, and kicks me off Hell's Kitchen. Next thing I know, I'm the new head coach of the New Jersey Nets (sorry, Avery Johnson). Then I lie down to go to sleep on a friend's tiled living room floor with a fan at my head. Gordon Ramsay shows up at the door.
Then I woke up.
B. Insult me.
I feel like one of the girls who puts pictures of her baby all over the internet. Having a cute puppy (cuter than almost all babies) has helped me understand that urge. (Though I'll never enjoy or condone the half-naked pictures of pregnant women and their bellies.)