This morning, I was given this dollar by a stranger. There were strings attached.

I was attending a "Caffeinated Mornings" event in Boulder. The featured speaker, Norm Shearer, posed a provocative challenge. He gave 30 audience members (including me) a crisp one-dollar bill each and asked that we do as much good with that dollar as we can—and then report back to him.

He's done this many times before, so he shared a few examples: A woman who bought a bag of clothespins, wrote complimentary and kind statements on them, and surreptitiously clipped them to people (on a backpack, say). A man who invested in a balsa wood airplane and took the time to play with a neighbor-kid who seemed to get left out of his large family's activities. A woman who lent order and courtesy to her apartment complex's chaotic dirt parking lot by spray-painting parking spots (which continued to be used after the paint wore away).

So, my ideas are percolating.

I'm reminded of my friend's cousin, who, finding himself completely broke in Paris, wrote out some recipes, used his last few francs to photocopy them, sold them on the street, and began his rise out of poverty.

I'm a writer, so I wonder if there are letters I could send. Or signs I could post. My daughter had a good idea—create and disperse a list of hotlines.

My daughter also thinks it's "cheating" if I ask for ideas here. I disagree. I say that when it's a good idea you're aiming for, the more minds, the merrier.

So: Any thoughts?

As it turns out, advertisers can be deceptive.

Let's look at Exhibit A, above. In the '70s, this ad appeared in comic books and depicted what I thought I was going to receive when I ordered... a family? a colony? a kingdom? of Sea-Monkeys. I genuinely thought I was going add water and create sentient bipeds. It gave me a moral dilemma, really. Would they be my prisoners? My slaves? Surely "pets" wasn't the right term. How could I withstand the responsibility of caring for them?

Well, I needn't have worried. Because this is what Sea-Monkeys actually look like:

Seriously, advertisers? You make credulous little kids believe they're going to raise mermaids and mermen, and you give them what are essentially microscopic water impurities?

Look at the ad. Beneath the garbage about how you can train these little aqua-bugs, down at the very bottom, you can see the disclaimer "Caricatures shown are not intended to depict Artemia salina" (the miniscule brine shrimp you'll actually receive).

What are they meant to depict, I wonder? 

As I've mentioned before, Sears is in its death throes. What makes this especially tragic is how fabulous this company used to be. Just take a look at their 112th catalogue, which seems to have been published in 1901. You'll see everything from wallpaper and sewing machines to buggies and pianos. Not to mention food and tobacco and stoves. Whatever you needed, Sears, Roebuck & Company had it.

I downloaded catalogue #112 here, and you can, too. It's a fascinating journey. Here are just a few of the highlights from the "Cheapest Supply House on Earth":

A "jet black curly dog coat" for $20.