Who is this Penny Collector?
And what does he want?
Steve Nazarian is The Penny Collector. A writer, a blogger, a speaker, a husband and a father, Steve created this site to make the world just a little bit better. You can BUY THE BOOK, or READ THE BLOG. or just hang out in THE COMMUNITY. No matter what you choose, we're glad you're here and we hope you tell your friends.-----
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I have written about this subject before, but after an experience a few weeks ago I think another go-round is in order.
As my regular readers are aware, I like to work on cars. Even stronger than my love of turning a wrench (and the inevitable skinned knuckle that comes with the task), is my disdain for unnecessary expenditure of hard earned money. Even for those who know what they’re doing, working on a car and spending money are the closest of friends… splitting a double bottle of wine in 45 minutes kind of friends. […]
This weekend we celebrate Memorial Day, which honors all those who died in the service of our nation. For those who made the ultimate sacrifice, there are not enough words to express the debt of gratitude all free Americans owe. That said, I’m going to try anyway.
My regular readers know I like to tell stories to make a point, and today is no exception. As you read, you may begin to think I’ve gone off the rails, but soldier on, you won’t be disappointed… I promise. […]
Today is the 18th Anniversary of the day my bride walked down the aisle to be by my side. It was a beautiful May day on the eastern shore of Virginia. All of our families and most of our friends were there, and later that day when we headed off to our honeymoon, nearly every detail had unfolded exactly as planned.
Since that day we have, spawned four children, owned three houses, churned through nine different cars, and two dogs. My wife and I have served more meals, wiped more butts, washed more clothes, and driven more miles than either of us could possibly count. […]
It has been said that smell is the sense most closely tied to memory. Think about it… how often do you walk by a restaurant or an ice cream parlor, and the smells wafting into your nostrils transport you back to another place and time?
Last week I decided to cook Italian Sausage with peppers and onions for dinner. As the sausages were sizzling in one pan, I dumped a bowl of sliced green peppers and sweet onions into another.
As the aromas rose from the stove and co-mingled around my head, I was immediately taken back to an event from my youth, one that occurred every September. This annual experience was one of my very favorites, until the year someone tried to “improve it” and in doing so, ruined it forever. […]
I got yelled at on Tuesday. I was at my son’s spring track meet and as he tried to pole vault over a seven foot bar, I took a “live photo” with my iPhone 6s. A “live photo” is a funky thing my phone does where when you take a picture, the phone records 1.5 seconds of video both before and after the moment I pressed the button… pretty cool.
As you can see in the video below, he almost made it over. So, being an interested (and data driven) Dad, I walked over to show my son his vault with the idea he might correct his mistakes on his next attempt. […]
In High School and College, we used to write essay tests in something called “Blue Books.” If you’re unfamiliar, a Blue Book is basically sixteen pages of lined paper with a light blue cover used to keep test answers in a tidy package.
My High School A.P. American History teacher taught me a valuable lesson, but it was not something you could ever find in a textbook. One day before an essay test, he explained to our class, that even though the grading of an essay appears to be subjective, the truth of the matter is the opposite. […]
Every so often I run across a story of true selflessness. These are stories about people who go above and beyond to “do the right thing,” even though for many reasons it doesn’t make sense.
You all know the kind of story I am talking about. Someone sees an opportunity to help someone or something, and despite the risks to his or her own well being, reputation or personal safety, they plow ahead and do it anyway.
My next book is tentatively titled There’s Less Traffic on the High Road and it will be filled with stories like this – stories of risk, reward, noble kindness and ultimately human triumph. I have several tales ready to tell, but this is where I need your help. […]
As we head into spring I am reminded of a task for which I used to be responsible. For fourteen wonderful years, we owned our home on Hillrise Drive in Penfield, NY and with it the pool in the back yard. Having recently moved to North Carolina, I expect I will be missing my pool any day now. That said, the ownership of a shimmering blue hole in the ground taught me a lesson I use nearly every day.
I recognize that ownership of a swimming pool of any kind is a luxury, unique to our blessed and (to be completely honest) wealthy country. With 780 Million people the world over lacking access to clean water, it seemed almost cruel for me to keep 32,000 gallons of the stuff in my backyard for solely recreational purposes. […]
In recent years the term “outsourcing” has become a dirty word. This is of course due to the practice of US companies “outsourcing” jobs to subsidiaries or subcontractors overseas, resulting in the loss of employment here at home.
Despite the bad reputation it has garnered, outsourcing is something we all do every day. In fact, Americans are more adept at outsourcing than they are at just about anything else. […]
When I was a really little kid, Legos were nothing like they are today. Almost all of the pieces in my Lego bin were the same size, the two by four rectangular brick. There were some two by twos, and a few two by ones, but the majority of the pieces were the two by four variety, and only in three colors: red, white and blue.
Don’t get me wrong; we didn’t know any better and as a result we loved to build things with Legos… until. […]
Regular readers of my writing know I like to tinker with cars. They also know life lessons tend to hide between the nuts, bolts, grease fittings and fan belts.
A little more than two months ago, my wife and I moved our family from Rochester, NY to Charlotte, NC for an amazing work opportunity. Around the same time, our oldest teenager earned her driver’s license. The confluence of these two events resulted in the acquisition of a third car. His name is Kenneth and he is a 2005 Volvo with 165,000 miles on him. […]
This is a piece I wrote last spring, but I believe it may be more relevant now than it was when it was first published on The Good Men Project.
More so than any other time in my life, racism is at the forefront of the national conversation. I was born in 1968, the year Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated. By the time I became self-aware in the early seventies, things had calmed down some, and throughout my formative years, racism as a societal topic was less prominent.
I have been giving this topic a lot of thought recently and three specific snapshots from my life come to mind. I do not have answers. My goal is simply to keep the conversation out where we can seek solutions together.
I am a 48-year-old white male, who grew up in an upper-middle-class household. My ancestry is 50% Swedish (mother’s side) and 50% Armenian (father’s side.) Both sides of my family immigrated to the USA in the late 19th century. […]
In the short story The Necklace, Guy de Maupassant tells the story of a woman of modest means who borrows an expensive necklace from a friend. She wears it to a grand occasion, but then loses it on her way home. Not wanting to admit her irresponsibility to her friend, she borrows a huge sum of money to replace it.
It takes her ten years to pay off the debt, and in that time the experience ages her to the point where she is hardly recognizable as the same person. Not long after her decade of strife she learns the necklace she lost was a fake, worth only one-twentieth of the debt she had assumed.
It is a downer of a story, but I was reminded of it while thinking about another story. This one I actually witnessed first hand. The names have been changed to maintain some level of anonymity but I assure you this happened exactly as I am about to tell you. […]
About five years ago, my friend Fiona moved to South Dakota. She and I became friends working together on a local TV show almost a decade before, and we would get together maybe once a year for lunch, that was at least until she moved. Fiona is one of those people who you don’t see often, but when you do you’re able to pick up right were you left off, as if no time had passed at all.
Two years ago, I was driving back to Rochester from a day in Buffalo and my phone rang. It was Fiona, and she said, “Hey Steve. I have this new philosophy about far away friends. Whenever I think about them I don’t wait, I just pick up the phone and call or text them. I was thinking about you a few minutes ago so here I am giving you a call. How are you?”
We chatted for fifteen minutes, about nothing in particular, and went on with our lives… 1,500 miles apart.