You are the type of person who doesn't devote much effort to thinking about the past or planning for the future, you're satisfied just ambling along through the present. Family and friends have no idea if any deep thoughts are percolating through you head, but neither do you. Today, you are likely to spend a great deal of time strolling through a department store looking to buy either handcrafted decorations to hang on your walls or throw pillows for your bed. Be on the lookout for fairy dust that tastes like salt. You should consider shopping at stores or businesses beginning with the letter O, but do not buy any products with a serial number or product code containing the number 978298. Your preferred shopping venue is discount super centers. Your special symbol is the period (.).

As a Beige Mundortle, you are somewhat dull, somewhat boring, somewhat lusterless. You don't particularly care and you don't really care that you don't care. You know that you have a somewhat drab, lackluster life, and that's just fine with you. You shop when you need to, buy what you have to, and get on with your life. It's just another day, another expenditure. You don't really care to spend a lot of time shopping, but you don't really care to spend a lot of time doing much of anything. Life goes on. So what? Who cares?

Two notable problems are associated with inflation--uncertainty and haphazard redistribution. Inflation, especially inflation that varies from month to month and year to year, makes long-term planning quite difficult. Prices, wages, taxes, interest rates, and other nominal values that enter into consumer, business, and government planning decisions can be significantly affected by inflation. Moreover, inflation tends to redistribute income and wealth in a haphazard manner--some people win and some people lose. This redistribution might not be that desired by society, failing to promote any of the basic economic goals of efficiency, equity, stability, growth, or full-employment.

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It's a bright spring morning, the sort of day that makes poets and pedestrians pontificate profusely about our wondrous world. But, wait... IT'S TEST DAY! You're late for an exam! You hurriedly roam the school halls, opening door after endless door along an infinite hallway, in search of your exam. All you discover, though, is Maurice Finklestein who smirks knowingly while ridiculing your tardiness. Why do we do it? Why do we put ourselves through 12 to 20 years of oppression in the halls of academia, learning stuff of questionable value? Why? Why? WHY?
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-- Stendhal, writer

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