Fuss-Budgets of the World, Unite!

Oh, Lileks! You, witty little situation administrator, you!

I just spent a few minutes, for example, trying to get the office change machine to convert a fiver into quarters. There was no reasoning with it. Possibly the machine wasn't recalibrated to the new fivers, with their big honking Lincoln Pic. Whatever. Off to the credit union, then. Cashed part of a check, got some twenties, and was reminded how the recent currency changes have made life slightly more complicated for anal-retentive types (man, I hate that term. A person has an utterly reasonable desire for a certain amount of order, and they're slapped with a term that makes it sound like they've been using yogic powers to keep their bowels blocked for decades) in that we now have three different kinds of 20s. There's the "legacy," or "Classic" 20s, which look like stately old money Mr. Mooney would recognize. Banker-tested, merchant approved. Then you have the big HEEEEERE'S ANDY twenties with Jackson looking stonily into a grim future -- he had hoped for better but expected as much. These come in two varieties; the most recent has counterfeit-defeating peachy hues, and I've come to like it. But. You can't just jam them all willy-nilly in your wallet; you have to arrange them in order.

I had this conversation with the Giant Swede, a while ago. I asked him if he arranged his bills by denomination.

"Of course," he said.

I paused, wondering if I was on the verge of making a humiliating admission here, but then I remembered he's more of a control freak (and there's another term I can't stand, mostly because of the "freak" part. I'd prefer situation administrator or perhaps orderliness enthusiast. "Freak" has sixties / seventies vibe. [As does "vibe," for that matter. Half the slang used by aging boomers was tired when it was used by some guy in a white jump suit and aviator-framed sunglasses, nodding his head to the Love Unlimited Orchestra as he made his way across the fern bar with a White Russian in one hand, fingering the coke spoon around his ne[ck] with the other. I do not belong to that era. I do not belong to any era, except perhaps the era when all your friends' dads looked like Bill Cullen.] It was a term of approval: let your freak flag fly! Shock the man! Make Anita Bryant wet herself in fear and disgust!... Is that a good enough reason? No? Fine.) than I am. I mean, the Giant Swede is an engineer. He was born wearing a belt and suspenders.

"Do you arrange your twenties by style?" I asked . "You know -- colors, type of bill?"

He gave me a look that was almost... disappointed. Sad that I had to ask.

"Of course," he said.

Okay, even I'm not that bad... though I do arrange my money by denomination and stamp end.

Shut up, Tef.