Con

Con: a ruse used to gain another's confidence.

— Merriam-Webster Unabridged Dictionary

Texas is suing a Christian "influencer" for falsely claiming she could cure eating disorders, Insider reports.

The state accuses Brittany Dawn of misleading customers about her expertise and of falsely promising custom nutrition plans she never delivered.

A self-proclaimed "Jesus seeker" with a half million Instagram followers, Dawn also promised customers regular phone check-ins that never occurred and charged them "shipping fees" for emails.

Allegations against Dawn first surfaced in 2019, when followers began to call her a "scammer" on her Facebook page. Their complaints led to an investigatory report on ABC's Good Morning America.

When the heat grew too much to bear, Dawn shuttered her nutrition business and turned to monetizing Jesus, producing hotel shows for vendors of Christian tchotchkes.

    Jesus clears the "den of thieves"

Brittany Dawn is only one of thousands of scammers we innocents encounter on line every day.

They've made the web a den of thieves.

But who was America's first big scammer?

The credit goes to William Thompson, known to history as the original "confidence man."

Operating in New York City in the 1840s, Thompson would dress up as a gentleman, walk up to a wealthy mark on the street, and begin a conversation, as if an old acquaintance. After a minute, Thompson would borrow the mark's watch, then disappear from his life forever.

Thompson's haul each time was considerable. A gentleman's watch in the 1840s cost $4,200 in today's money.

Thompson capitalized on the instinct of the genteel to avoid a faux pas at any cost; in this case, the cost of a fancy watch. His consummate skill at appearing trustworthy earned Thompson the newspaper nickname "Confidence Man," a moniker that quickly became synonymous for scammer; and, in its shortened form con, synonymous for scam.

Herman Melville immortalized William Thompson's nickname in 1857, by using it for the title of a novel. 

The Confidence Man features a cast of characters who are card sharps, stock swindlers and snake-oil salesmen, cheats who Melville thought symbolized all that was wrong with America.

NOTE: The word scam, by the way, entered American usage in the 1960s. Meaning a "trick," scam is a carnival barker's term derived from the 18th-century British word for a "highway robber," scamp.

POSTSCRIPT, FEBRUARY 10. 2022: Axios today announced that Maggie Haberman's Confidence Man, the "book Trump fears most," will be published in October.    

Openly Gray

The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young.

— Oscar Wilde

Marketing researchers have known for decades we think we look 10 or more years younger than we really are.

The discrepancy is due to the workings of a psychological defense mechanism against anxiety—anxiety over our inevitable physical and mental decline.

I suffer more than my share of that anxiety, so my defenses work on overtime and I think I look... great!

Until I pass any plate-glass window.

That's when my defense mechanism breaks down.

But generally speaking, I like to think I'm openly gray and proud of my chronological age.

No age fabrication for me! 

I'm authentic through and through.  

Besides, I like a senior discount now and then.

The trouble arises when I get away from plate glass for a while and my defense mechanism kicks back into gear.

Then, I begin to speak and act once again like I'm a decade younger.

I go outdoors in flip flops and a tee-shirt when it's 20 below; eat cookies and candy like a famine is coming; and drive like Mad Max when I'm cut off on the highway.

These are not the behaviors of a 70-year-old.

Comedian Jack Benny had the solution.

He perpetually claimed to be 39, because "there's nothing funny about 40."

There's even less funny about 70.

Maybe I'll go for 29.

That was a very good year.

Who cares if I'm gray?

Or grey, for that matter.

Gray, ICYMI, can also be spelled grey.

The former is just the American English spelling of the British English grey, meaning the "color between black and white."

Despite our preference for gray, grey is used a lot in the US. 

There's Grey Poupon, Grey Goose, "Grey’s Anatomy," and, of course, Fifty Shades of Grey.

But that's another story.

Our Caligula

I judge you harmful and cruel, selfish and conceited, but I cannot hate you since I believe you’re unhappy.

— Albert Camus, Caligula

Caligula, Rome's emperor from 37 to 41 AD, was so capricious and cruel that his name became synonymous with despot.

Infamous for his misdeeds, Caligula humiliated enemies, butchered allies, plundered the treasury, chased after vanities, and even declared himself a god. While wallowing in vice and luxury, he taunted and tormented those who served him, dressing in weird costumes and staging vast orgies with senators' wives. 

His favorite expression was, "I have the right to do anything to anybody.”

But Caligula discovered he did not have that right. After four years on the throne, he was assassinated by the head of the Praetorian guard. A Roman historian said, "Caligula learned by experience he was not a god.”

We have our own, home-grown Caligula.

In his four years on the throne, he too humiliated enemies, plundered the treasury, dabbled in vanity projects, and tormented the people around him—all the while wallowing in luxury.

So, like a modern-day Praetorian guard, we deposed him.

I've been bellyaching about Donald Trump since January 1, 2017. It's been wearying to have had him around.

 

Like the majority of Americans, I wish now he'd simply vanish from the earth.

Though he's harmful and cruel, selfish and conceited, we cannot hate him, because we know he's unhappy.

But we can hate the sight of him, and the sound of his despotic voice.

Factory Seconds

Serious flaws in manufacturing result in a product that's unusable, but smaller flaws may only represent an inconvenience.

— Fred Decker

When I was a kid, I was fascinated by factory seconds, those flawed products sold at discount.

They represented to me a brute fact of life: namely, that adults would do anything for profit, even if they looked foolish and incompetent.

To err is human, I understood; but to sell errors was—cheesy.

Six decades later, I'm less critical of manufacturers and retailers who monetize boo-boos. After all, caveat emptor.

I also accept another brute fact of life: we're all ourselves factory seconds.

Something went seriously amiss in quality control the day they released each of us into the world.

And when someone neglects or disappoints or crosses me, I try to take a deep breath and remind myself, "he's flawed, yes; but his flaws only represent an inconvenience."

Minding Your Business

 

Wish not so much to live long as to live well.

— ​Poor Richard’s Almanack


Science and medicine can help us live longer, but not necessarily better.


To live well you must mind your business.


The original penny-pincher Ben Franklin understood the importance of minding your business.


When he designed the back of the US' first penny, he included that motto and an ovaloid sundial—a sharp reminder that "time flies." (Coin collectors call Franklin's penny the Fugio, Latin for "to flee.")


Time indeed flies, Franklin wished us to know, and you'll never live well unless you mind—that is, take care of—your business.


But what is your business, when the whole world conspires to call you "retired," the filthiest word in our language?


The answers to that question are many and varied.


Some retired people find second-act professions. 


They reinvent themselves full bore, emerging butterfly-like as entrepreneurs, investors, philanthropists, consultants, writers, publishers, artists, filmmakers, musicians, tutors, teachers, hoteliers, tour operators, historians, farmers, florists, sailors, carpenters, clerics, and chefs.

Others become daycare providers, gardeners, world travelers, or pilgrims; join nonprofit boards; start a "mastermind" networking group; or enroll in the Peace Corps.


Some run for office; some are consumed by a sport or hobby; and some quickly "boomerang," returning to their former jobs.


But many retired people don't mind their business. 


They putter all day, watch TV, surf the web, yak on the phone, read the paper, and take long naps.


How sad!

The world's your oyster. 

Are you minding your business?