Galloping InflationAs all armchair horse players
know, bookmakers don't pay track odds. They limit payoffs to $60 for
win, $24 for place and $12 for show on a $2 bet. Of course, this takes
care of most wagers, but with hardenedhorse players it isn't the principle, it's the money.
some bookies have cut the prices in half, paying $30, $12 and $6 on a
$2 bet and there's a roar of disapproval from the players. They point
out the bookies' average net is 20% of the handle -- that's $200 of
every $1,000. They could pay track odds, the players contend, and still
make a substantial profit.
BOOKIES who have cut the odds
say it isn't so. They point out in rebuttal that accepting bets on
horses is fraught with peril. They say protection costs are mounting
and worse, protection is spotty and unreliable. In short, there's
always the risk of aknockover, which means attorney fees, bail bonds and perhaps going to jail.
The players scoff at this and there's talk of organizing the Amalgamated Assn. for the Protection of Horseplayers.
Now please pretend you didn't read the above. There aren't supposed to be any bookies.
has squirmed in the throes of the familiar, frustrating dreams. There's
the one in which you fall endlessly into space. Another in which you
are being stalked relentlessly through an abandoned warehouse by a mad
killer. Another in which a fierce dragon is chasing you, snapping at
your heels as you run and you are at the point of exhaustion.
a lady dreamer confides that she awoke in a cold sweat the other night,
quivering from what she now, having calmed down, calls her "inflation
In it she was rushing to the bank to deposit some money
so several emergency checks she'd written wouldn't bounce. Her mad race
was delayed first by the tie-up on the freeway, then by a detour
because of a street excavation, then an accident which held up traffic.
she arrived at the bank to find it closed. Seeing people inside she
pounded on the door but they ignored her. She pounded and pounded,
frantically, then woke up.
Though times are improving, the lot of the girl
In the office is hardly a cinch.
For her boss is becoming more playful, the churl,
And she is still feeling the pinch.
:: JUST INSIDE
the wire fence at the northeast corner of 2nd
and Hill Streets where the new State Building is under construction, a
huge tomato plant grows, apparently seeded from a discarded portion of
a workman's lunch. It gets no care, no water, has no blight or worms
and looks as if it will soon have a big crop.
What nettles Bruce
Hooker as he passes it every day is that he recently spend more than
$10 on poison, dusting powder and sprays for the aphids, snails,
grasshoppers and other bugs which infest his weak-willed plants. But
life is like that.
:: CLASSIFIED AD
in the employees' publication, Lockheed Star: "Cute Kittens, white and tricolor, to good homes for lite mousekeeping" ... Most effective highway sign Mrs. Richard Lujan knows is the one as you leave Ensenada, in Spanish: "Drive carefully. We can wait. Vasquez Mortuary."
MISCELLANY -- Man with the letters MTA on his license plate can hardly wait to get it changed. People glare angrily at him, apparently thinking he's an MTA
official ... All his life John Grover has been curious about the phrase
"ice cream pants." Now he knows. The ice cream cone he was carrying to
his daughter, 9, at Disneyland, dropped all over them ... By the way,
if you want to start an argument, inquire why "pants" is/are plural.
After all, there's only one of them. On the other hand, it/they
has/have two legs.