Welcome back, pal. If you remember, last Wednesday I announced something new for this blog. You can check back and take a look, if you want. Here’s some more great wit and truth from my past FLAT RABBIT PRESS days.
I was perusing one of this esteemed publication's would-be competitors a few weeks ago when something caught my attention. It was an article about how the casinos are embedding radio-frequency microchips into their gambling tokens so that they can keep better track of their customers. I have to admit that a wry grin crossed my handsome, rugged face.
You see, it was yours truly who convinced the management of the Flamingo back in 1970 that they should start asking for credit cards for room deposits. God forbid that they should offend a player in those days; these days, the casinos don't seem to care who they offend. And yes, it was me who was the first casino host in the business to buy a computer and to design a database that would allow me to keep a rudimentary track of customers, what they played, how much they bet, and what amenities they liked in their rooms. A good friend of mine, John Tihista, came along shortly after and he, I and another mutual friend, Ed Joyce, put together an extravagant piece of software that became the foundation of most of the good casino marketing systems in existence today.
Another good friend by the name of Steve ended up in Taos, New Mexico. One night, I called him on his cell phone and managed to convince him that I was trying out new computer software that would allow me to precisely locate anyone's geographical location at any given time. I capped the ploy by pointing out that he was in a bar in downtown Taos.
"Where'd you get that software?" he bit the hook. "How much does it cost?" I never did tell him that I could hear the jukebox and the clinking of the bar glasses in the background, accompanied by a patron's voice pleading, "Give me another one, Dolly!"
Have you ever stopped to think about how much data there really is out there in the ethernet? Just for starters, virtually every government entity has made its records available on-line. That's not just recent stuff, either. Some states have ongoing projects whereby data-entry specialists are busily converting tidbits into bytes, and they're going back in time to cover more and more history about you and me, among other things. Take the innocent record of a committee meeting in some old mining county, for example. If you were there, chances are a simple internet search for your name, coupled with Nevada, will turn up a hit. Try my name, and you'll see what I mean.
Do you, by any remote possibility, have electricity at your place? The power company has computers. Do you have running water there? Perchance, how about an old-fashioned landline telly? Those companies all have computers and the computers talk with each other. Now, let's add Sears, eBay, U-Haul, and the cathouse down the road.
Think you have to be a privileged, authorized muckety-muck to get your hands on this stuff? Give me your name and the state and county you live in, and I guarantee you I'll get back some info that'll pique your curiosity. I can do that for free; give me a couple of black chips, and I'll hand you your date of birth, social security number, military record, and stats about your neighbors! Give me three more black chips and I can tell you when you last had sex, at what time, where, and with whom. Yeah, for $500 I can get it all, my friend.
Did you realize that there are marketing companies that gather data on everyone, their relatives, their surroundings, their health, their insurance, their employers, their wages, their savings, and EVERYTHING? Did you know that there are companies that telemarket and that they have in front of them computerized information about you, your spouse, your kids, and the car you drive? When they go into a spiel about having you refinance your home at a low interest rate, they already know down to the last cent how much you owe on the house, who you owe it to, and how much the shack is worth.
I'm sure there's more than one company, but I know of one where I can purchase a few dozen CD's along with the software that will allow me to pre-sort every person in the United States who earns more than $50,000 a year, who plays golf, whose wife knits, who works as an electrician, who owns his own house outright, who drives a Buick Regal, and who does most of his shopping at a major discount shopping store. I can narrow that down by state, county, city, and street.
Do you prefer Miracle Whip or Best Mayo? Do you buy gas at Union or ARCO? How much did you spend in medical bills last year? How many pairs of Haines panty briefs did you buy last year? When you're shopping for Haines panty briefs, do you predominantly shop at Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Penny's or Mervyn's? What percentage of your family income did you spend last year on sweet dill pickles?
These days, you get a Social Security Number within seconds after you're born. Tomorrow, there may be a government agent there at the time to sample your DNA , (all in the interest of public safety, I'm sure), take your fingerprints and tie it all into to your Social Security Number. Then, your eternal computer record will begin, my friend.
Several years ago, the Smart Card was market-tested in Europe. The idea was to put your basic identification, all of your credit card and bank information, health problems and medical insurance, all on a microchip in a plastic card. That test was successful and the Smart Card is now in growing use in the USA. The pitch? You don't have to carry an Exxon Card, five bank cards, a driver license, your health plan card, and your belly-button size. It's all contained in ONE card. Isn't that great? Yes, when you're paying for your panty briefs, you have your choice of accounts from your Smart Card; charge MasterCard, American Express, your checking account, whatever. And now, the cashier clerk can smile at you and say, "I notice you didn't purchase any Depends today. You normally purchase three packages of Depends during your visit to our store. We have a sale today on Depends. Wouldn't you like to buy some Depends?" Nice, cheeeeezy smile, lady.
Wiley was playing blackjack and he was beating the house unmercifully. Each hour, the pit boss would wander through the casino and take notes as to how each table stood, (winning or losing), and about any particular players of note. Every hour, the boss would sidle up to Wiley's table and proceed to neatly stack the growing, but disorganized pile of chips in front of Wiley so that they could be properly counted. And, every hour, just as the boss finished stacking up the chips to begin his count, Wiley would swipe has hand across the piles and mess them all up again. Yes, each and every hour, the boss would holler at Wiley and tell him not to do that again.
Eventually, the boss approached Wiley and told him that he was about to do his "count." He admonished Wiley to keep his hands off of the damned chips until the count was finished. Wiley didn't respond, as he was cunningly busy winning his next hand. The pit boss completed stacking the chips and, sure enough, Wiley knocked them down again. This time, the pit boss was really livid. "I oughta throw you out of this place!"
"Man," Wiley smiled, "I won these here chips. They're mine. If you want to throw me out, I’ll cash them out and go home and keep the damned money and you’ll get your ass fired for being a dumb shit.”
Ponder all of that until the next issue, and maybe then we'll talk about hookers.
Aren't Wednesdays going to be great?
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