Block the Noise

A few months ago I decided to invest in a pair of noise-canceling headphones to use on the T. It turned out to be a very good purchase, but I didn't get it right on the first try.

I had been thinking about the purchase in a non-specific way, meaning I hadn't done research on specific models. Then one day I found myself in the Sony store in Copley Place, and they had a pair for $50. This was the arbitrary price ceiling I had assigned to the item in my mind, so I went ahead and bought them, but I made sure to ask about the stores' return policy. "30 days" was the response. "Even if I'm just not satisfied with their performance?" I clarified. "30 days, any reason." Sold.

They required batteries for the noise-canceling circuitry, but if I remember correctly, they were included. Maybe I found some in the supply room at work; either way, I was able to try them out on my way home that day, which is what I wanted. I was instantly impressed with how well they worked. They really blocked a significant portion of the train's rumble, and not only could I hear the music more clearly, but I didn't have to have it as loud as I usually did.

But... after about 20 minutes, they started to hurt my head. I've been wearing earbud-style headphones since long before there were iPods, because I find them more comfortable, and because they are easier to use in the winter, when I'm typically wearing a hat. These things were big, honkin' over-the-head style headphone "cans" that fit my skull very tightly. I tried adjusting them and wearing them in slightly different positions, but nothing made a difference. I knew they had to go back, which meant I had to find something to replace them, because they worked too well for me to go back to using ordinary headphones on the T. The Sony store had earbud-style noise-canceling phones, but they were twice as much.

I hit the web, started looking for other noise-canceling earbuds. Through PriceGrabber I found a pair by Panasonic, with an $80 retail but available for $35, so I ordered them. I felt their noise-canceling circuitry wasn't quite as good as the Sonys, but that may also have been due to the added sound isolation gained from the over-the-ear design. For the money, they worked well enough.

As an added bonus, I took them with me on the trip to California. I think these headphones were originally developed to block airplane engine noise. They aren't going to block the sound of a screaming infant, but on the plane they made a marked difference, reducing much of the engine roar. I'd highly recommend them to anyone who flies frequently.

West Coast Observations

It's stating the obvious to say that California is quite different from Massachusetts. But it's driven home when you experience it firsthand.

For one thing, I noticed a distinct lack of litter on the streets of Santa Cruz. I don't know if this is because the city is especially vigilant about picking it up, or the citizens don't litter in the first place, or both, but a look around any street in any part of this area is enough to leave me embarrassed. Littering is something I have always had difficulty comprehending. Boston and its surrounding cities deserve a share of the blame (I often see trash cans full to overflowing because they don't get emptied frequently enough, then a wind comes along and strews the trash all over), but people are just as much at fault.

Over the course of several days of driving around, I also noticed that no one honked their horn at us. Not once. No one was in danger of having an aneurysm because we didn't accelerate away from a stoplight or make a left turn quickly enough. And it's not because they are slow drivers; they drive just as fast on the highways as we do here. They're just a lot more relaxed about the journey. Around here people treat driving as if getting to any destination, no matter how trivial, is a matter of life and death.

But the most amusing contrast came, of all places, at my nephew's birthday party. As I listened to the parents of the other guests talk to and about their children, I noticed that almost all of them were named things that I'd never heard used as names before. Here are some examples (I made sure to write these down during the party because I didn't want to forget any of them):

• Sienna
• Justice
• Trinity
• Zephyr
• Denali
• Rider
  

Clearly there's a lot of fruit-flavored crack being passed around up in those hills. I was relieved to hear that one girl's name was Brianna; that one's practically a townie classic. (Maybe her parents relocated from Saugus?)

But here's the thing about these names: half of them are current or former names of cars or trucks. If you're going to make the extra effort to saddle your kid with a weird name, shouldn't it signify something other than a vehicle? Unless, like the kid named Dodge on My Name Is Earl, it's in honor of where s/he was conceived.

Travel and Travail

Hi folks, I'm back from my west coast jaunt. Actually I've been back for several days, but I had a pretty rotten sinus headache for the first 36 hours or so, and then I just kind of vegged out for the weekend, hibernating from Saturday's storm, sitting in front of the TV catching up on what my TiVo had recorded while I was away, watching the Patriots come from behind and finish the job against the Colts, and so on.

Overall it was a good trip, with excellent weather and some interesting activities and diversions. The travel itself was, to our enormous relief, largely painless. Nonstop transcontinental flights are a great thing; I have always found air travel to be especially tedious, which is a little silly considering we crossed the breadth of the continent going west in a bit over six hours, and returned in exactly five (awesome night view of Chicago from over Lake Michigan), but not having to switch flights somewhere in the middle (or worse, very close to one end or the other) makes things a good bit more tolerable.

JetBlue's planes have more legroom than any other commercial aircraft I've ever been on, and being six feet tall and long of leg, this makes it possible to actually be comfortable, and even to stretch my legs without standing up. They dish out lots of cool snacks, and they get bonus points for serving Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

We got to see most of game 3 of the World Series, thanks to the onboard satellite TV. It was a bit strange and surreal to be sitting in the quiet plane, with most people tuned to the game and everyone using headphones, but with the occasional bursts of applause at Dice-K's strikeouts and Sox hits. After we landed and got our bags, we listened to the rest of it in the car. Sunday evening found us watching game 4 in a bar in downtown Santa Cruz called 99 Bottles, which provided the obvious libations, the required large television, and some pretty good pub food as well. We were sitting upstairs, and we could hear some fellow Sox fans applauding from the downstairs bar area, which was sort of like the week before, when they were beating Cleveland and we could hear cheering coming from one of our neighbors' houses.

The only glitch in the proceedings was the health of the Mrs.' father, who hasn't been doing so great lately. He lives east of Los Angeles and made the seven-hour drive up to see the rest of the family, but he was lethargic and weak most of the time, and it quickly became clear that (a) he shouldn't have come, and (b) he was incapable of driving himself home. Plan A was for me to come back home to relieve our dog caretaker while the Mrs. drove her dad back to his home, then flew back from there. But by the day of my scheduled return he'd gotten worse, and it was necessary for him to go to a hospital. So the Mrs. postponed her return flight, stayed on while her dad was stabilized in the hospital, drove him home over the weekend, got him admitted to another hospital there, and finally flew back to San Jose and caught her return flight home early this morning. The dog and I are very happy she's back.

Departures

So, tomorrow we leave for our trip to California (thankfully, not the part that's on fire), and today is the Mrs.' last day at her job. She's quitting because she's burned out, which is completely understandable after six and a half years in her field, human services.

It takes a certain sort of person to do this work, and the Mrs. is definitely that sort of person, but unfortunately the work has a tendency to chew people up, so she's pulling the plug before she loses the ability to care at all. We often joke about each other's jobs, how I couldn't stand doing hers because I don't like dealing with people, and how she would die of boredom if she had to do mine because she can't stand sitting at a desk and staring at a computer all day.

Last night she made up gift bags to give to her immediate group of coworkers. Along with a couple of other trinkets, each one contained a little bottle of vodka and two equally small bottles of mixers. It's kind of a joke, but not really, since she's said that drinking seems to be everyone's favorite pastime in her office. I certainly don't condone drinking to excess, but I understand it: my father was a police officer for twenty years, it's how he coped with the stresses of the job, and there are a lot of similarities between human services and law enforcement. Maybe it's a good thing she's leaving, after all.

She doesn't know what's next, and at the moment it doesn't really matter, hence the vacation. We'll spend some time with her family, and she can try to clear her head, maybe give some thought to what she might want to do.

My biggest dilemma regarding the trip? We're going to be staying in a home with no TV reception and no cable, so I'm probably going to miss the rest of the World Series and Sunday's Patriots game. Also, I'm pretty sure her sister still has only dial-up internet access, so I'm going to experience some web withdrawal as well. I don't even recall any bars in her little town. I guess I'm going to be forced to relax too. Hopefully I'll have something interesting to tell when we get back...

Assault with A Tasty Waffle?

I know this happened a few days ago, but I do have a job and a few other responsibilities, so I'm just getting around to it: over the weekend, Kid Rock was arrested for beating up a guy in Atlanta.

Now, let me state up front that I really don't care about Kid Rock one way or the other. To me, he's a human cartoon, and I'm certainly not interested in his music. (I try to stay away from celebrity trash culture as much as possible, though I do watch The Soup on the E! network, and that half-hour per week is just about enough).

The main reason the story caught my attention in the first place is because the assault happened at a Waffle House. First, the idea of a B-list celebrity and his entourage throwing down with a guy at a branch of the Southern roadside institution is about as perfect a scenario as it gets; seriously, you'd be hard-pressed to come up with something better. Second, I've been to a couple of Waffle Houses, and they're pretty awesome. Decidedly low-rent, but that's part of what makes them awesome.

I know people, like my father-in-law, who turn up their nose at the place, but they've been around for over 50 years, so they must be making some people happy. If you're driving in the South, it's pretty much a mandatory stop, something you really should experience for yourself at least once. I recommend the waffles.

ADDENDUM: While I was writing this piece, I was having trouble coming up with a good, catchy title, so I asked the Mrs. if she had any ideas. Unfortunately she didn't, and I didn't either--I was not happy with this one, but it had to have something. Days later, I was describing the story about the assault to one of our friends, and the Mrs. suddenly blurted out "Waffles and Whup-Ass!" I looked at her and said, "Where was that when I needed it?"

I Saw Stars

Not the ones in the sky, and not the kind you sometimes see when you whack your head on something. These Stars are a band from Montreal, and Friday night's concert at the Berklee Performance Center turned out to be one of the most enjoyable shows I've seen in many years.

I first heard of them in a New York Times review of their third album, Set Yourself on Fire, which came out in late 2004 in Canada and early '05 in the US on the independent Arts & Crafts label. The album resonated deeply with me, because the lyrics of several songs seemed like they were describing events from my own life. Their music is difficult to categorize: sometimes orchestral, sometimes intimate, sometimes aggressive, sometimes tranquil. I wondered how some of it would translate to live performance.

Beautifully, as it turned out. The house was gratifyingly full, and the band jumped right into the songs from their new album, In Our Bedroom After the War, later coming back around and playing much of Set Yourself on Fire. Sometimes, there is a real connection between performers and audience, and if you're lucky, you get to experience that and feel it as it's happening. That's what happened Friday night. Rarely have I seen a band so completely invested in every moment of its performance, and so grateful for the opportunity to share its music with its fans.

The stage was decorated with flowers, and during the course of the show, the band members threw them out into the audience. By the end, the lucky recipients were holding their flowers up as they sang along.

Now, the good part: you can listen to a live Stars performance right here, courtesy of NPR's All Songs Considered online concert series. Unfortunately it isn't of Friday night's show, but the night after, when they performed in Washington, DC. Still, it will give you an idea of what they're like, and what you missed.

Warehouse Wanderings

Last night I found myself at our local Costco, because that's what happens when you're married and it's Tuesday. But I'm not complaining; I like going there. It's usually pretty calm on weeknights, and there are almost always some unusual or interesting items for sale. I spent a few moments gazing longingly at the new high-definition TiVo, but I didn't buy it. Yet. Maybe I'll drop some hints about it for Christmas. And I found a nice pair of black Calvin Klein jeans for $22, something I was kind of looking for anyway.

But practically speaking, the main reason I go to Costco is because I like being able to buy large quantities of certain things. There's usually some savings involved, but often that isn't my primary motivation. I just don't like to run out of stuff, so as long as it can be stored without too much difficulty, I'm there.

On last night's visit I picked up a package of 24 rolls of Breath Savers. (I don't like Altoids because they're noisy and the dust gets everywhere.) Single rolls of these mints can cost as much as a dollar each, depending on where you buy them. Even if you buy a five-pack at CVS or Target, that's typically around $2, and I'll go through that package in a couple of weeks. (I'm slightly obsessed with avoiding bad breath.) This way I can keep some in my desk at work and some at home, and it will be a couple of months before I need to buy them again.

I also got two pounds of whole bean coffee for $10. It's a custom blend roasted for Costco by Starbucks, using Fair Trade beans, so that's a pretty good deal, and it will last about a month.

As I wandered around the store, I became aware that I could hear "Jingle Bell Rock." I felt suddenly queasy and thought, no way, could they possibly be piping in the Christmas music already? A minute or two later I didn't hear anything, then a few minutes later I heard a different holiday song. I believed that what I was hearing wasn't coming from the store's sound system, because I'm fairly certain they don't have one. But they did have Christmas trees and decorations on sale and on display, and that's where the music was coming from. After I'd heard it the first time, I had moved away to a different part of the store where I couldn't hear it, and I hadn't yet noticed the trees.

Even so, it gave me a scare to realize how close we are to the holiday-season onslaught and all that goes with it. It's only October 17th, but when I get back from my upcoming vacation, it will be a mere three weeks until Thanksgiving. I plan my shopping ahead as much as possible, and I do as much of it as possible online, in order to avoid the crowded, overheated, soul-crushing experience of being in stores during the holiday season. (A decade-plus of working retail will have that effect, and many others, on you.) When I do have to make a holiday visit to a store, I need time to prepare. I don't like being ambushed by Christmas music without warning.

Revolver

I haven't complained about people's behavior in at least five or ten minutes, so...

What is it about revolving doors that causes most people's brains to instantly calcify? I'll grant that they are annoying, but they aren't really that difficult to operate. Or are they? Because it seems like about 75% of the time when I'm approaching one, someone in front of me, or on the other side of the doorway, has some sort of problem negotiating the door.

I've seen people try to crowd into the same section as their friends. I've seen people walk up to an already-moving door and just stop dead in their tracks, not knowing what to do (and of course, since I'm behind them I also have to come to a sudden stop). I've seen the same thing happen with a door that isn't moving. I've seen someone step into a door that was slowing down and, when it stopped, just stand there instead of pushing--maybe they thought it was motorized or self-propelled in some way?

I guess the revolving door is the pedestrian equivalent of the rotary: even if you know what to do when you come upon one, you can't assume that other people do.

Full-Contact Commuting

As I was getting off the bus this morning to head into work, the guy exiting in front of me nearly got impaled by a kid on a bicycle. Fortunately, the bicyclist was able to skid to a stop before hitting the other guy. And it wasn't a messenger type, as you might expect given their general behavioral tendencies (you don't see many of them in the Longwood area), but a teen on a BMX bike.

The same thing happened to me twenty years ago on Commonwealth Avenue, except I was the person getting off the bus, and the bicyclist did hit me. Somehow I managed to avoid any injuries, I think because the bicyclist wasn't going very fast.

But come on, this is just stupid. You're pedaling along on your bicycle, and you see that bus up ahead of you slow down and pull to a stop, and the doors open. What do you suppose is probably going to happen next?

Screw That Noise

So now we have to suffer music in T stations. Swell.

For the moment, at least, "T-Radio" (why is it hyphenated?) is an experiment and is only being tested in North, South, and Airport Stations. I pass through North Station twice a day, on my way to and from work. In the morning I stay on the Orange Line, unless I'm running really late, but on the way home I switch from Green Line to Orange Line, so I have been subjected to this a couple of times.

Just in case there's any ambiguity, I'm less than thrilled. There's already plenty of noise in the stations, and from my brief exposure, I thought the music was far too loud. If it was played at a low enough volume, it might just blend into the background and be innocuous, but that isn't the plan.

The music is basically the same sort of middle-of-the-road junk you'd hear in the supermarket. Fine, so be it. But what the press release conveniently omits is that there is also going to be advertising. Ah, now the picture becomes a little clearer: the T is looking for additional revenue. I guess I can't blame them, but there must be other ways to do so without making the ridership any more angry than it is already.

I can appreciate the idea of wanting to use the system to promote local cultural and entertainment destinations that are T accessible, but there's already a PA system in place that finally, after years of futility, seems to be audible most of the time, so why not just use the existing system? I'd rather hear those types of announcements than the incessant platitudes of the general manager every two or three minutes, assuring us that "safety is our number one concern." (Shouldn't attempting to keep the trains running on time be the T's number one concern? Just asking.)

Amazingly, the T has provided a convenient way for riders to express their opinions on this experiment: on their web site there is a feedback form, which is also accessible via a link on the main page of the MBTA site. I encourage everyone reading this to use the form to offer your thoughts, whether for or against. If the T hears from enough people, they will know we are paying attention. And if you happen to see the students that the T is hiring to survey riders about the project, it might be good to give them a couple of minutes of your time as well.

One more thing: I have to wonder what this experiment says about the T's priorities. Is piping crappy music into stations really more important than working to reduce the crime rate on the T, or than trying to find ways to improve the system's performance? Or is it possibly meant to distract us from those issues?

Back from a Break

Wow, has it really been a week? Well, I've been sort of busy. I got stuck in some of that T madness last Friday. With the morning chaos on the Orange Line, I ended up leaving Wellington station after standing around for about 30 minutes staring at trains that were too full to get onto and weren't moving anyway; I backtracked on my usual bus route to a point where I could connect with an express bus that took me into Haymarket. Ultimately I was about an hour late for work, not that anyone's keeping tabs on me. Then in the afternoon, there were some Green Line delays as a result of the fire in Park Street, though thankfully I did not experience the Red Line problems firsthand.

We also had representatives of our Midwest-South contingent in town for a few days, which necessitated a drive to Maine for some eating and shopping. The rest of the long weekend was taken up by watching football and baseball, reading, and general hanging around.

Now things are back to the normal routine, though we are gearing up for an actual vacation at the end of the month to the environs of the Mrs.' sister, otherwise known as Santa Cruz, CA. It's quite a beautiful and pleasant place, and I imagine that I will forego blogging for a few days while there, and report on our activities after we've returned. But the trip isn't for another couple of weeks, so in the meantime I will (hopefully) get back to something resembling a normal posting schedule. Stay tuned...

Blog Design 101

I've been keeping this one to myself for a while, but I can't hold it in any longer. To all the cool kids who think white text on a black background is the best-looking and most stylish choice for their blog's template: guess what? No one can read that without going blind, cross-eyed, or both. Your blog might be something I'd actually want to read, but if you choose this color combo, I'm not even going to try.

Year of the Blog

Yes, I have indeed been blogging for a year. Time flies, huh? The actual anniversary of my introductory post was yesterday, but I was sorta busy. There were haircuts, errands, dinner with the Mrs. to celebrate our ninth wedding anniversary. Before I knew it, it was after midnight, and at that point, being tired, I decided I might just as well wait until morning.

In fact, one thing I've noticed over the past year is that there tends to be a lag time between events and my blogging about them. I think it's just my style: I like to digest and filter things, and it's not like what I'm covering hard news or anything. I'd like to think this process makes me a better writer, which was one of my original goals when I started.

I have learned a lot through this experience. I was never much of a journal keeper, so this is the most sustained writing I have ever done. It's been beneficial to me in many ways, and what has been probably the biggest surprise to me is how thoroughly satisfying it is to do this on a regular basis. I'm enjoying it far more than I would have expected.

In looking back, I think I have remained true to my original ideas of what I wanted to accomplish, and at the same time I have added dimensions to the scope of this blog that I would not originally have considered, to its benefit and mine. I hope that next year at this time, this will be even more true. Thanks for coming along on this ride.

Live in Concert

I was able to nab a pair of tickets to see Bruce Springsteen when they went on sale on Monday. I'm excited about the show, largely because I've never seen Bruce live. But I did experience some guilt and hesitation before making the purchase, because the tickets were so expensive.

A hundred bucks is a lot of money for a concert. When I went to see my first rock concert, which was Queen at the Providence Civic Center back in 1977, I think the ticket cost $8.50, which seems like a pretty solid deal in retrospect. I have long had an unofficial ceiling of what I am willing to pay for a concert ticket, somewhere in the vicinity of $50. Normally this amount is only exceeded by the biggest acts at the biggest venues, so it hasn't been much of an issue. I've passed on seeing U2 one or two times in the past decade because I didn't feel like it was worth $75, and I'd seen them two or three times back in the 80s anyway.

So when the Springsteen shows were announced with tickets priced at $65 and $95, plus Ticketbastard's outrageous fees and "service" charges, at first I balked. I can afford it, but that isn't really the point. Would it be worth it?

I know that Broadway show tickets broke the $100 barrier a while back, but I don't necessarily have a problem with that because, even though I don't care for musicals and would be very unlikely to go to the sort of big, elaborate, mainstream show that is Broadway's bread and butter, I understand how expensive they are to produce, and how many performers and crew members are required to stage those shows night after night. Even though a concert tour also requires support staff, to my mind it just isn't on the same level of magnitude.

Then I looked at it from the other side. I've been a fan of Bruce's music for thirty years. (Before I started working, I used to babysit for friends of my parents, and once I accepted a copy of Darkness on the Edge of Town as payment for an evening's babysitting.) Since I've never gone to one of his shows, I've never spent money on tickets to one of his shows, so after all this time a hundred bucks doesn't seem like such a big deal. (A bit of rationalization, I know.) And the seats are excellent, right at the front corner of the stage (the venue's web site has a cool tool that lets you see the view from your seat), but a few rows up, high enough so I won't be craning my neck the whole time. I'm sure it's going to be an excellent show, and I'm sure when it's over I'll feel like it was worth it. But I probably won't do it again, at least not for a while.

Got Milk?

A little while ago I went next door to the cafeteria to get some coffee. I had sworn off going there a while back, and I have not gotten any food from there in close to a year, but I'm finding these days that, instead of stopping for coffee on the way into work, I'm coming into the office and then going to get coffee about an hour later, which obviously limits my choices. Also, the cafeteria's coffee has improved (I'm not sure why), and if you bring a travel cup to use, they give a decent discount (around 25%) as a sort of reward for not using another paper cup, heat sleeve, and plastic lid.

As I was adding cream to my coffee, a student-looking young woman appeared next to me and asked, "Do you know if the milk is hot?" I had no idea, but I suspected not. I pointed her in the direction of the dining-services person in charge of the coffee and its associated fixings. Only then did it occur to me that her question was somewhat curious. Hot milk? Is this a standard option at the fancy coffee places I don't patronize? Was she trying to fall asleep? What sort of school had she attended previously where hot milk would be considered typical dining-hall coffee fare? I'm left to wonder.

Wrong Way

Driving through Medford Square last night around 7:15, on the one-way section of route 60 westbound between city hall and the light at Main Street, we encountered a car driving toward us the wrong way. Several cars honked at the oncoming vehicle. As we passed, we saw that the driver had her cell phone up to her left ear. Maybe she was trying to get directions?

Mirror, Mirror

I was in the shower this morning, trying to think of something to write about, when I realized the answer was literally in front of my face.

See, I'm a shower shaver. I started about two years ago. I have very sensitive skin and used to suffer nicks all the time, but since I started shaving in the shower, I almost never cut myself anymore, because the moisture and water vapor helps keep my pores open, resulting in smoother shaves. I know doing this uses more water, but I only have to shave a couple of times a week; if it was a daily necessity, I would be more hesitant.

If you're going to shave in the shower, obviously you have to have a mirror, preferably one that resists fogging. I had one of these that I had bought from the Improvements catalog web site, but recently I found that it was losing its non-foggingness. I felt like I should get another one, but I didn't want to buy the same thing only to have it happen again down the road, so I wasn't exactly expending a lot of effort to find a replacement

So a few weeks ago, I found myself in Bed Bath & Beyond, a place I don't venture too often. I was looking for something; I don't quite remember what it was, but I think I found it. I also found this non-fogging mirror for only $10, which I figured was cheap enough. To my surprise, it's much better than the one it replaced. It really stays clear, it's not distorted like the old one was, and the suction cups are stronger so it doesn't fall off the wall. I like it so much that I'm going to go back and buy another one and put it aside, so if this new one also loses its ability to stay fog-free a couple of years from now (which I suspect it will), I'll have another one at the ready.

Shop 'Til You Nap

Being a dedicated shopper, I had to get out to Natick this past weekend to check out the hugely expanded mall (let's just establish now that I'm never going to call it the "Natick Collection," and I don't think most others will either). I wanted to go last weekend, but the Mrs. dislikes crowds more than I do, so she wasn't having any of that opening-weekend madness.

We probably could have waited a little longer before going, because there are still about a dozen stores (out of more than 70) that are not yet open. I'm sure the opening day for the expansion was firmly established a long time ago, so it's a little surprising that so many retailers would miss the guaranteed publicity and crowds generated by the opening. But none of those were stores I was interested in, so I didn't feel I was missing anything.

The addition is nearly as large as the rest of the mall. If you come off the Pike you'll approach the mall from the back, which means the first thing you'll see is Neiman Marcus; you might want to refrain from eating beforehand, because the outside of the building looks like some sort of regurgitated Frank Gehry nightmare that could cause you to lose your lunch.

Many of the stores (NM, Gucci, Vuitton, Burberry) are Metrowest outposts of high-end stores already in Boston's Copley Place or Back Bay, but that wasn't why I wanted to go, since I don't shop in those places anyway. My primary interest was in visiting several retailers that previously had no presence in this area, and who don't (yet? ever?) sell their stuff online. I'm highly bored with the stores I already had access to around here; one of the reasons I was excited to visit Uniqlo in New York earlier this year was because it was a store I hadn't been to before.

I was eager to see fresh merchandise, and I had hopes of finding some interesting new stuff. And yet, yesterday I came away empty-handed. Here are some brief thoughts on these new-to-us stores:

Zara: Zara originated in Spain and has hundreds of stores on four continents, but is relatively new to the US market. Their business model is somewhat similar to that of H&M, in that new merchandise is constantly flowing into the stores, but from what I saw, I would say Zara's stuff is of higher quality. Stylewise, the closest reference points are probably Club Monaco and Banana Republic. Men's suits were only $259 (I didn't check to see if that was for both pieces or just the jackets, but they were all displayed with both pieces on the same hanger). I noticed a number of non-English-speaking couples shopping and buying, which tells me that Zara is known to a lot of people from other parts of the world, by reputation if not by experience, and that people have been waiting for them to open here.

Everything seemed very small; I tried on a vest I liked that was supposedly a large, but it was way too small for me, and there was only the one piece in that style, so I couldn't compare it to another size. Even the stacks of pants seemed like they were made for very, very skinny Eurodudes (they are thinner than us porky Americans, right?). In general, the clothes were far more dressy than what I generally wear to work. Not that I don't like dressing up, I just don't often have cause to do so, and when I need to, I already have plenty of appropriate clothing. I suspect this will be a store I will go into, take a spin around, and leave. The Mrs. assessed the women's section: she wasn't impressed. She said the higher-priced items didn't seem like they were of good enough quality to justify their prices.

Ruehl: In an effort to be all things to all demographic groups, Abercrombie & Fitch has started Ruehl to try to attract customers who have aged out of their other brands' target markets. They are attempting to conjure a hipster Greenwich Village vibe: the outside of the store has been made to look like a brownstone (ooh, how cool!), there are only two narrow entrances, and the name appears only on one awning on the far left, so it would be easy to look at this store from out in the mall and have no idea what it is, which is kind of their intent.

When I went inside, I was greeted by a faux-cheerful college-age gal. I felt like she should have been handing out candles or glow-sticks, because Ruehl is without doubt the darkest retail store I have ever been in, and that includes the gargoyle place on Newbury Street. I almost expected to find couples making out in the dim corners; indeed, instead of A&F's trademark oversize, black and white photos of naked guys, Ruehl has oversize, black and white photos of naked guys and naked girls together.

The clothes are on tables with pin-spots pointing down on them, or in vitrine-like cubbyholes in the walls that are lit from within. The walls are painted black, the wood flooring is medium-dark, and the doorways from one room to the next are narrow and dim, which only enhances the sense of disorientation and claustrophobia. If you stand near the front of the store and look toward the back, it looks like it could be one of those fun-house places where the ceilings become too low for adults to stand upright. Oh, the clothes? A lot of $80 shirts, for one thing. They were made of very nice, substantial cotton and, as far as I could tell without a flashlight, were devoid of any logos, but I don't spend that much for my shirts. Maybe when they start marking things down...

Martin+Osa: Like A&F's Ruehl, M+O is a concoction of American Eagle aimed at older customers, but that's where the similarity ends. Whereas Ruehl seems like merely a more expensive and slightly more grown-up variant of its parent brand, you would never know this store has anything to do with AE. Apparently Martin and Osa Johnson were real people, world travelers and adventurers in the early decades of the 20th century, and they are serving as the inspiration for the stores' design (woodsy lodge + Zen garden) as well as the clothing. That's swell, but does a clothing store really need a "back story," as it's described on their web site? Did I hear someone say "marketing overkill"?

However, some of the clothes at M+O were things I could actually see myself wearing. There's a (slightly) rugged, outdoorsy touch that reminded me a little of Orvis, but a without that brand's stuffy-CEO-weekend-wear vibe. I wasn't wildly excited about anything, but it feels like they have potential. Also, it seemed like there was a lot of open space in the store; this may be by design, or it may be that not all the merchandise has arrived yet, but either way the offerings seemed a bit thin. I'll check back in a month or so, when stores start bringing in their holiday-season collections, which tend to have slightly more distinctive items than the regular collections.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention Nordstrom, even though it doesn't quite fall in the same category as any of these stores. Nordstrom is not new to New England; they opened a store in Providence several years back. But this is the first one in Massachusetts, and it's a good bit closer (although I can get to the Providence Place mall via public transit, whereas I can only get to the Natick mall by car). I don't buy a lot of clothing at Nordstrom, but over the years I have bought a few things, and the shopping experience is always so pleasant that it makes me want to go back. There are plenty of stores that could learn from the way Nordstrom treats customers; it makes me wonder why they don't.

A Word of Thanks from Your Host

I'd like to take a moment to say hello and thanks to everyone who stopped by for the first time last week. Adam over at Universal Hub has linked to my posts several times, including last week's bit about the cupcake place that brought a lot of new visitors; a link in a posting on the same topic on LiveJournal's Davis Square page did the same.

In fact, I had over 400 visitors last week, making it my best week yet, for which I'm very appreciative--it's nice to know someone is reading (besides my friends). The cupcake critique also got more comments than anything else I've yet written, so please keep commenting as well. (And to "George Bush": I rejected your comment because it was offensive, but I suspect you already knew that.)

I don't know if all of you will keep coming back, but I certainly hope so. I suppose it's really up to me to make it worth your time. My one-year blogiversary is approaching, and I am pondering ways to celebrate. To that end, I welcome your suggestions.

Regular programming will resume shortly...

T Time

Some randon, T-themed observations:

--I guess the T has decided that summer is over, because it seems like the Orange Line trains I rode on today didn't have their air conditioning on. It wasn't hot outside, but it was still warm enough on the trains that the AC would have been nice.

--Since the bus I take in the morning runs at fixed intervals, I tend to catch the same bus (unless I'm running late) and thus I see a lot of the same people from day to day. One guy who has been on my usual bus for the past couple of weeks emanates a funkiness that suggests that either he or his clothing, or possibly both, have not been cleaned in a while. This isn't unusual on the T, but since he's on the same bus most days, it stands to reason that he's going somewhere specific, and he does not otherwise have the appearance of someone in indigent circumstances. If he's going to a job, his coworkers must be starting to feel a little uncomfortable.

--Remember a few months ago when the T announced that they were going to try to keep stations cooler this summer by installing water misters in some locations? So, did they ever do it? I saw a few stand fans around Downtown Crossing this afternoon, and it made me realize that I didn't hear anything else about it after that initial story. If they did do it, did anyone feel like it made a noticeable difference? If they didn't do it, why not? I tend to go through downtown without getting off the train, so it may have happened and I just hadn't been around to notice.

Doggie Styling

The dog was looking a little dingy and smelling a little doggy, so on Sunday we paid a visit to LaundroMutt, the dog-washing place near Fresh Pond in Cambridge.

I know that some people are quite content to bathe their pets at home, in the tub or the yard. Our outside faucets only deliver cold water, and since greyhounds have very little body fat and a thinner coat than a typical dog's, they get cold very quickly, even on a hot day. As for the tub, well, she's kind of big to wrangle in and out, plus we don't have a hand-held spray or any other way of directing the water.

This is why LaundroMutt exists: because many dog owners don't have the necessary facilities, or it's just easier to take care of the dog-cleaning somewhere other than your home.

The tubs for larger dogs have ramps so you don't have to lift your dog up and over the side. Once your dog is aboard, a staff member slides the ramp out of the way underneath, and inserts a removable piece of the tub wall to block the opening. There are vinyl aprons to protect your clothing. You can bring your own shampoo, or they will supply it for you. You can adjust the water temperature to your dog's liking, and use the hose to spray the water where it's needed.

After the bath, you can opt for a hot-air blow-dry, but on a previous visit London did not like that one bit, so we went with the standard method: they give you a towel and a chamois, just like you'd use to dry your car after washing it. Of course, the dog is going to shake itself silly at the first opportunity, regardless of how well you dry it.

The basic wash-and-dry without the hot-air dryer costs $15. That would probably be an indulgence if we were doing it monthly, but we brush her thoroughly a couple of times a week, and we were told by a professional trainer that dogs, if brushed regularly, do not need to be bathed very frequently, as long as they stay out of nasty stuff. Our dog does not get opportunities to roll around in mud or do other messy things. (This might be a disappointment to her, but since she can't talk, we'll never know for sure.) So, for the two or three trips we make per year, it's totally worth it, and as I like to point out, it's also supporting a local business.

LaundroMutt also sells a variety of treats, so you can reward your dog for putting up with the trauma of being bathed. We got London a turkey jerky patty, which she had inhaled within about 20 seconds of getting in the car. Poultry seems to have magical properties for her.

Hey, Cupcake

The Mrs. and I are avowed sweet lovers. We love good (dark) chocolate, we love pastries, we love baked goods of all kinds. So when I heard that a new cupcake place was opening in Davis Square, I knew we had to check it out.

The place is called Kick Ass Cupcakes, which is cute, and it's located on Highland Avenue just outside the square proper. We headed over there on Friday night (they're open til 10 PM on Friday and Saturday nights), their first day open for business. Their web site promised about ten different varieties of cupcakes, including some unusual flavors, so we were anticipating some good stuff.

Unfortunately, the cupcakes were practically microscopic. Now, there's nothing wrong with mini cupcakes, but these were almost small enough to be considered mini-sized, yet they cost $2.75 each. By way of comparison, when we went to New York in June, we ate lunch in the basement cafeteria at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where we split a delicious, gigantic cupcake filled with raspberry goo that was $3.50.

We did end up buying some cupcakes, and they weren't even that good. The Mrs. said she felt like she wanted to go back to talk to the proprietor, to give her some friendly advice. I don't like to say bad things about someone trying to make it running their own business, because I know how difficult it can be, and I like to support local businesses whenever possible. But I fear that a lot of people are going to visit Kick Ass Cupcakes once, and not go back. I hope the people running the place rethink their pricing or their sizing, or both.

Saturday we stopped in Ball Square to get a snack at Lyndell's bakery. They make some pretty great pastries; I'm quite partial to their raspberry danish. And they also make cupcakes, which are generously sized and cost 90 cents each.

Today's Special

I've been getting lunch from the cafeteria of one of the hospitals down the street. It isn't great food, but it does the job. I've determined that I should pretty much stay away from the cooked food, but since I usually get a sandwich anyway, it works out fine. It solves the lunch problem quickly, cheaply, and with a minimum of fuss.

As with most institutional cafeterias, there are a number of daily specials. How special they are is fairly subjective; whether or not I get the special depends on what it is and what I'm in the mood for that day. Today's deli special was an Italian sub. I love Italian subs, though I don't eat them as much as I used to, because they're pretty bad for me (and you, and everyone else).

It's been a while since I've indulged in one, so I decided that I would go ahead and get the sub. There are two servers at the deli station, and the woman behind me ordered the same thing at about the same time, leading to both of us being asked more or less simultaneously, "Do you want mayonnaise on it?" I looked at the woman, who looked back at me. We both said no, then looked at each other again. I said, "Mayonnaise? On an Italian sub? That's just...wrong." She nodded in agreement. Ugh.

Mayonnaise has its place, but the idea of it on an Italian sub is stomach-turning. I thought maybe this was another of those quirky local food things that people think are so charming (like getting rolls with Chinese food, or what everyone else calls a milkshake is a frappe around here), but I'm local and I've never heard of it in my entire life. I think maybe the cafeteria ladies decided to embellish on their own. Good thing they asked first, or today's lunch wouldn't have been too enjoyable.

Getting Out

So, another long weekend is over, and what did I do with my three days of freedom? Not much. We ate our way around greater Boston, did a few errands, and watched Zodiac, but as is frequently the case, I'm left with feelings of post-long-weekend regret. We should have planned some activity, should have taken advantage of the great weather and the freedom from work and other commitments to do something fun. But we didn't.

We tend to not plan much ahead of time. We like to pretend that this is an advantage of not having children--that we can do what we want, when we want--but the truth is we're just lazy, and the result is that on many weekends we end up not doing much of anything. As I put out the trash on Sunday evenings I often think to myself, "Where did those two days go, and what do you have to show for it?" I don't like this. It feels like we're prematurely old or something, and it isn't good for us. It's a rut we need to get out of.

The Mrs. has a tendency to sleep a lot on weekends. I don't begrudge her the extra rest, because her job is stressful and she needs more sleep than the average person anyway. But I often find myself sitting around waiting for her to wake up. I try to make use of that time by doing household chores, but I still end up feeling bored and restless. At times I have gone off to do things by myself; spending time separately is healthy, but one point of weekends is that we're supposed to spend time together, so even if I just run off to the mall for a couple of hours, it sort of feels like I'm abandoning her.

I think we need to try harder. I think it might help if we start planning something, anything. Each weekend we should have at least one planned activity, no matter how minor or trivial. Find a new place for brunch. Take the dog somewhere that she can romp and play for a while. Hit some yard sales. Take a drive somewhere we haven't been before. It isn't hard to come up with ideas, but it is going to require some effort to get off the couch and make them happen.

Breakfast Blues

I've always been a breakfast eater. Even in college, I would trek to the cafeteria for a bowl of cereal before heading to class. (I also felt it was a way to ensure I was getting my money's worth out of the meal plan.) But the Mrs. and I are not particularly good at keeping the house stocked with food, so I ran out of suitable breakfast foods. The obvious solution is to stop and get something on the way to work, and since I usually stop for coffee anyway, this isn't too difficult to accomplish. Or so I thought.

[Side note: I always have coffee at home along with breakfast, but by the time I get to work I'm ready for more. When my office moved recently, we got a new coffee-making machine, the kind that uses the little individual cylinders that are pre-filled with coffee and a tiny filter. Unfortunately, this coffee tastes only slightly better than the vile, nasty stuff we used to have that came in individual pouches, so for the foreseeable future, I will have to continue to buy coffee on the way to work. If the T ever has the (unlikely) common sense to install cupholders on its vehicles, I will consider a travel cup, because I need one hand to hold on and the other to hold the newspaper.]

Today I decided I was in the mood for a treat, something along the lines of a pastry, a danish, a cinnamon roll, that sort of thing. That pretty much excludes Dunkin' Donuts. I love doughnuts, but I do not care for Dunkin's doughnuts, and while their muffins are decent, that wasn't what I was after today. So I headed for the Espresso Royale Cafe on Gainsborough Street in the vicinity of Symphony Hall, which is on my way to work and which has a very nice selection of baked goods. I'm particularly fond of the coffee cake they sell, which is served in nice, thick squares with a dollop of raspberry syrup (or something) and a drizzle of icing on top. Mmmm...

The folks at Espresso Royale make an excellent cup of coffee, and the goodies are yummy (I don't know if those are made on the premises or brought in from elsewhere). But they are, collectively, not exactly the fastest group of baristas I have encountered. I'm sure they're all very nice people, but this is Boston after all, the land of people with zero patience who are always in a hurry (myself included). I've been in there probably about forty times over the past three months, and the staff have a distinctly... leisurely way of going about their work. Add in the fact that the students are in the process of returning to the area, and you get a line ten deep that isn't showing any outward signs of moving.

I turned around and headed back to Huntington Ave. There's a Starbucks around the corner. I'm not a big fan of the Seattle leviathan for various reasons, but they do have these maple-frosted scones that I like. Of course, the line in Starbucks was even longer than the line in ERC, so that was the end of that idea. I ended up walking a couple of blocks up Huntington to the Au Bon Pain at Northeastern, where I got a gigantic tub of iced coffee (seriously, it's like a quart) for only $2 and a mediocre cinnamon scone. Now I guess I should start thinking about lunch...

Gift, Interrupted

I love receiving gift cards, but it seems like the ones I get tend to be for stores where I don't find much I like these days. It's a terrible feeling to go into a store with a gift card to spend, look around for 20 minutes (making a second circuit to make sure you didn't miss anything), and not find a single thing you want to get.

I received a Banana Republic gift card from my brother, but I haven't bought anything from BR in probably a year or more. This is pretty much my fault, because he asks my mother what to get me, and my mother thinks I still like to shop there because I have not told her otherwise. Clearly I will need to do that before Christmas rolls around.

I saw a couple of things I did like, but I felt they were overpriced by at least 25%. I saw a couple of other things that I could have gotten but don't need, and I can't see the point of getting something that's just going to hang in the closet and get dusty. I could wait a couple months for some different merchandise to rotate in, but I'm not known for being a terribly patient person in general, and with gift cards, the thing might as well be leaking plutonium. (It's sad, I know.)

I know about the various sites where you can sell and trade gift cards, but they typically charge a fee, and you typically have to sell the card for at least 10% off its face value to get anyone to buy.

So I'm going to try a different approach. At work we have an intranet, and on it there is a craigslist-type bulletin board. Today I posted under Barter looking for someone who wants to swap gift cards, and we'll see if anyone is interested.

The Right to Bare Arms?

Yesterday it was extremely hot (96 degrees) and very humid, so we spent most of the day holed up in the comfort of the house, and ventured out around 6:30 PM to get a birthday present for my brother and have dinner.

In line at the store, I noticed that there were two men of roughly my age ahead of me, one with a wife or girlfriend, the other with a young daughter. Also, both of them were wearing tank tops. I'm used to seeing this choice of clothing among young guys on the T, but on middle-aged guys it gives me pause. I'm not talking about being in shape; I'm talking about dignity. I don't own a tank top, but if I did, I would not wear it out in public. I feel that some items of clothing are appropriate for inside your house, and that's it, and tank tops are one of those items. Exposed armpits and hot, humid days--ugh, I don't even like thinking about it.

Later, at the restaurant, I saw another guy wearing a tank top. Now, shopping on route 1 on Saturday evening is one thing, but going out to dinner? We're not talking about the dining room at the Ritz-Carlton (oh wait, that got sold and is now called the Taj Boston), but we're not talking about the corner diner either. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, or just old, but when I go to a semi-nice restaurant, I don't expect to see male patrons wearing tank tops. Many restaurants used to have dress codes, but they have all but vanished due to the continued overcasualization of every aspect of public life in our society.

To be fair, I was wearing a short-sleeve shirt, cargo shorts, and fisherman sandals, so there are probably more than a few places I would have been turned away from back in the Rat Pack days. (Yes, I have been watching Mad Men, and yes, it does make me nostalgic for a time when men and women knew instinctively, or were taught, how to dress appropriately for any occasion.) The line between casual dining and upscale dining, and the differences in attire and behavior that go with it, pretty much no longer exists, and maybe that's the problem.

Every year around this time, the men's magazines start talking about how "this fall, men will be dressing up again!" But it seems like they're trying to convince themselves rather than their readers. Maybe some intrepid restauranteur needs to step up and be willing to reinstate a dress code and stick to it. You know how certain clubs have a rule about no sneakers or ball caps? No one seems to care much about that, except the occasional frat dude that gets turned away, and you can bet he'll either go home and change or remember how to dress when he comes back next time.

I would be willing to put on long pants, even on a 96-degree day in August, if I knew that it meant all the other patrons at that restaurant had to do the same thing, and if it would assure me I wouldn't have to see any men in tank tops.

The Kindness of Strangers

At lunch today I went to the box office at the Berklee Performance Center to get tickets for the show by the awesome Montreal band Stars on October 19th (I highly recommend going to this show; the BPC site describes them as "beautiful, eloquent indie pop with a flair for the dramatic," and it's only $20, well worth it). As I negotiated the throngs of Berklee students clustered on the sidewalk along Mass. Ave. (is their school back in session already?), I pulled my eyeglass case out of my pocket to get ready to take off my sunglasses when I stepped inside.

As soon as I'd done this, I realized that I had carelessly allowed a $5 bill to slip out with it. I turned around to retrace my steps, and a young guy was already coming toward me with the bill in his outstretched hand. Naturally I thanked him, and then I thought, how refreshingly honest. He could have just put his shoe over it and I never would have found it. So thanks again, unknown Berklee dude. You restored my faith in humanity, at least for today.

Behind the Wheel

Last night we were invited to a casual supper at a friend's house, so on the way there we stopped at the grocery store to pick up the requested beverage and snack. As we pulled into a parking space, we saw a very elderly woman being helped to her car with her groceries by a member of the store staff. She was stooped and it seemed that she could barely walk.

I went inside and got the needed items. When I went to pay, the kid bagging was the same one who had helped the woman outside, and he and the cashier were talking about her, how frail she was, how banged-up her car was. I hadn't noticed that when I'd gotten out of the car, but as he continued, he gestured out the window and said, "She's still out there."

I went outside and saw she was indeed still parked in the same spot, but her car was now running. She had the donut spare tire on her left front wheel, and when I passed to the other side, I could see that the passenger side of the car was scraped from end to end, as though she had driven it along the side of a building or something.

She drove away oh so slowly, and we ended up behind her heading out of the parking lot. The Mrs. said, "She probably shouldn't be driving. She could be dangerous to other people as well as herself." I didn't really have anything to add to that, other than to agree. It's unfortunate, but often true, that as we age our bodies fail us in various ways.

I wondered if she had children, and if so, if they had thought about how to deal with the situation. And if she doesn't have any children, or any other close relatives monitoring her health and well-being, then whose responsibility is it? Should we have called the police? What would we have said? "Yes, there's a woman on Salem St. that we suspect is driving while old."

Bus Stop Musings

When you ride the T regularly, at some point you will be faced with the dilemma of having to choose between two different routes to the same destination, and woe is you if you make the wrong choice. T riders live in dread of making the wrong choice.

Today I went to do a couple of errands in the Prudential Center at lunch, and when I was ready to head back to work, I realized I could either take the 39 bus or the E line down Huntington Avenue to Brigham Circle. I tend to prefer taking the bus along this corridor, mostly because I find the stops to be situated more conveniently for my purposes; because it seems like the bus moves faster (even if it's only an illusion); and also because of my long-standing hatred of all things Green Line, going back to my BU days in the 80's, when I rode and loathed the B line.

So I opted to wait for the bus, which today was the wrong choice. As I stood watching for a 39 bus coming west down Huntington, three buses came from the other direction and made the turn onto Dalton Street within about two minutes of each other. This was a clear warning that I should go down into Prudential station and wait for an E train, because it was going to take at least 15 minutes for the first of those buses to make its way to Back Bay station, discharge its passengers, pick up new passengers, and make its way back around to where I was standing.

For some reason, this warning did not register in my brain. Perhaps I was addled by the heat, but I can't say for sure. (You'd think the heat would have been enough reason for me to opt not to stand around outside waiting for a bus.) I naively hoped that another bus was already on its way from Back Bay, but of course it wasn't.

When you're waiting around for 20 minutes or so, you have time to think about ways the T could do better. Like GPS. The buses are already equipped with it, but it's only used for the stop announcements. How idiotic is that? How hard could it be to come up with some sort of a readout on the bus stop sign posts that indicates how long until the next bus comes? Because, you know, that's information that might actually be useful to someone.

I went to London 20 years ago, and even back then the Tube stations had signs indicating how many minutes until the next train arrived, so I know it's technologically possible, but it would imply a level of accountability that the T is too gutless to undertake. Or they would say, "Oh, that would cost too much." And how much did the new fare collection system cost? The one that allows more fare evasion than before?

Not Buying It

I know the blog posts have been a bit sparse lately, and there are a couple of reasons for that. In the torpor of August, everything seems to slow down, including my brain. The heat and humidity sap my energy, and I just haven't felt especially inspired or come up with any good topics lately. Also, I tend to do my posts during the workday, but I have a new project at work in addition to my regular stuff, making it a bit more difficult to steal time to blog on the employer's dime, as it were.

Our state is about to celebrate the joys of capitalism and potential indebtedness with the latest edition of its annual tax-free shopping weekends. You might think I would be excited, but I am not. As much of a shopper as I am, I'm not planning on buying anything this weekend, at least not anything that I wouldn't be buying anyway. Though the Mrs. and I have discussed some potential large purchases, there is no urgency around them. I've been giving some thought to getting a new computer, but it's not a necessity, and nothing else is pressing enough to entice us to whip out the plastic this weekend.

And really, that's probably a good thing. Sure, everybody loves saving money, but it's kind of irresponsible to go buy something just because you'll save a few bucks on sales tax. If you're a savvy enough shopper, you can probably find the item in question available somewhere (online, probably) at enough of a savings to equal or exceed the money you'd save by not paying sales tax. And most people are already in too much debt as it is.

(Wow, listen to me. I must be getting sensible in my old age. What a drag.)

I've also been thinking about the news reports that say the state loses in the neighborhood of $25 to $30 million in revenue by not collecting sales tax for these two days. That money could do a lot for our cash-strapped state government. I wonder how many shoppers will be thinking about that this weekend, or later on, when they might be deprived of some state program or service because there isn't enough money to fund it?

If you need something, you're going to buy it anyway, whether or not a tax break is involved. And many (probably most) Massachusetts shoppers know they can get a year-round tax holiday by investing in a tank of gas and heading over the border to tax-free New Hampshire for big-ticket purchases. Not everyone would agree that the trip is worth the time and gas money, but it is an option.

We're going to spend this weekend visiting our "country mice" friends out in the rural middle of the state, which will help us me resist the temptation to buy something big and shiny.

Wave That Flag

Boy, it's such a comfort to know that the state of Oklahoma is doing its part to support freedom and sustain our American way of life by issuing "Global War on Terror" license plates. Perusing the list of other special plates available, I see they also have NRA and pro-life plates. What's next, "Secure Our Borders" plates?

(Courtesy of the SmartRoutes "On the Road" blog.)

The Whole Thing

I had an interesting shopping experience the other night. We were in need of a few staple food items--coffee, cream, yogurt--and something to eat for supper. The Mrs. suggested going to Whole Foods because she likes their deli chicken salad, and with some fresh bread it would make a quick, easy meal. She also needed to stop at the Medford library, so after that we kept going through west Medford and Winchester to Woburn, where a new Whole Foods Market opened a year or so ago.

I had never shopped at Whole Foods. I'd been in a few of the stores over the years for various reasons, but I had never gone into one of their stores with the intention of doing any real food shopping for myself or my household. I guess I've always been content with being a mainstream grocery shopper, and Stop & Shop, Shaw's, or Foodmaster was always close enough and convenient enough for me. Also, while I'm aware of the issues surrounding food safety and the desire for food that is less processed, I've always felt that Whole Foods was overpriced, that part of what you're buying there is a lifestyle statement--I want the best, and I can afford it--that I don't identify with.

Over the past couple of years the chain has worked to undo the perception of being too expensive by introducing a line of private-label products, and by placing advertisement inserts in the newspaper showing that their prices are competitive with other grocery chains. But those inserts featured only a dozen or so items each week. and the prices on the rest of the items you'd likely need for your weekly shopping weren't necessarily as competitive.

Their produce is legendary, and yes, it's fantastic. But it's also pricey, and at this time of year, I'd much rather go to a local farmer's market. Nothing tastes as good as locally grown vegetables at their seasonal peak, and more farmers are embracing organic growing techniques. We also have a couple of very good farm stands Calareso's in Reading and Wilson Farms in Lexington, within a short drive, so the produce angle is pretty well covered, and as I think I've said before, I would rather support local farmers and businesses anyway.

Coffee is absolutely essential for me to start my day, and I have to give Whole Foods a thumbs-up for their selection. I saw packaged beans from a couple of local roasters, but what got my attention was the loose bean varieties and blends that are store-roasted. I chose a blend that had been roasted that very day. It was more expensive than the Peet's I've been getting at Stop & Shop, but I chose that out of convenience more than anything else, and I'm definitely willing to pay more for coffee if there's some clear advantage in freshness or quality.

There's a whole section of natural cosmetics that didn't really interest me, but the Mrs. could have stayed there all night until the store closed and they kicked her out.

Some of the store-brand items are a reasonably good deal, others not so much. You could certainly do most if not all of your weekly shopping at Whole Foods, but there's no question you would pay a lot more for it. To some people I guess it's worth it, but I'm also left with the feeling that there are those that do it more to show off than for any other reason, just as there are people who have to drive around in a Lexus when a Hyundai would serve their transportation needs just as well.

And the chicken salad? It was all right, but the chunks of chicken are way too big. It's harder to eat that way, that's all.

Sleep on It

Over the weekend we went back to Jordan's Furniture to check out mattresses. Well, actually we went there for some Richardson's ice cream, but our mattress is getting on in years and is a little lumpy, so while we were there we had a look around the mattress department, which Jordan's somewhat pretentiously calls the "sleep lab." Both the Mrs. and I have back issues, and we realized some time ago that our current mattress probably wasn't firm enough when we bought it back in early 1999.

On our way to test-drive some mattresses, we passed through the bedroom furniture. At one point I decided to climb on a display bed and test the mattress. It was very firm and quite comfortable, so I flipped up the covers to look for a label. There wasn't one, so it seemed logical to me to go into the mattress section and ask someone if they could tell me what kind of mattress was on the bed in question.

The "sleep technician" looked at me a little oddly, but when I asked my question a second time she seemed to understand. "Oh, those aren't for sale." Now it was my turn to look confused. She continued, "the display beds have what we call demo mattresses, they are old and they're just there to fill the space in the bed frames."

Maybe I'm suffering from a failure of logic, but this seems like a lost opportunity to me. I realize the mattress department is right next to the bedroom furniture department, but why wouldn't you want to put mattress you sell on those beds? It couldn't hurt, and might result in some additional sales. And I'm quite sure that when we bought the previous mattress and foundation (from a different furniture store), it was set up on a display bed. I guess they just choose to do things differently at Jordan's.

A Tip of the Glass: Deep Ellum

Summer weekends can be kind of a challenge. On the one hand there's the feeling that I should be making the most of the free time and the nice weather to do fun summer stuff. But if it's too hot and humid, I would much rather spend my days off in a bookstore, a coffee shop, or a dark, chilly movie theater. Or even better, a dark, chilly bar.

One thing I do like about summer is that there aren't as many people around. Many of the students are elsewhere, and from mid-July to mid-August, a lot of people go away on vacation. The city seems to empty out for a while, and things slow down a bit. There's less traffic on the Fellsway when I'm waiting for the bus in the morning, and the subway trains are noticeably less crowded, increasing the chances of getting a seat for the whole ride. Restaurants and bars have fewer patrons, meaning shorter waits and potentially more attentive service.

This weekend I opted not to partake in the hoopla surrounding the Police reunion concerts at Fenway Park; while a great place for a baseball game, it's far from the ideal venue for live music. I also chose not to alternately swelter in the midday humidity and get drenched by downpours at the Lowell Folk Festival. I did, however, pay a visit to the newish, beer-centric neighborhood place Deep Ellum in Union Square, Allston. The food is very good, there are something like a hundred different beers available (about twenty of those on tap), and it's a very eclectic and well-informed selection. They also have a list of intriguing cocktails for folks like the Mrs. who like to get their drink on in a non-beer way.

I neglected to get our server's name, and now realize I really should have because he did an excellent job. He was completely unfazed by the squirmy preschooler in our group, immediately picking up on his desire for a hot dog. He gave honest, informed opinions and recommendations for beer and food, paid attention to us after he'd brought our orders, cleared empty dishes promptly, and generally treated us like visiting dignitaries. He was a true professional, and that's very refreshing. We will almost certainly go back.

Dinged

The Mrs. and I went to the library, and on the way home we stopped to get something to eat. We were walking back to the car, which was parked in a lot behind the building. and turned the corner just in time to see someone backing out of a space and into the driver's side of our car. The Mrs. ran up and knocked on the other driver's window, which was a good thing because she was about to drive away. We're not sure if she even realized she'd hit our car.

Fortunately she was going very slowly, so there's only a tiny little dent no more than a couple of inches long. The other driver looked to be about eighteen and probably was not very experienced. I say this not to pick on her, but because there was a very generous amount of room between the row she backed out of and the perpendicular space where we had parked, and even as someone who doesn't drive, it was clear to me that she had more than enough room to negotiate out of her space without needing to get as close to our car as she did. Hopefully she will incorporate this incident into her future driving experience.

Oh, and by the way, Colleen's in Medford Square has decent sandwiches and excellent frappes.

Road Rage Champions

A couple of the car-oriented sites I read regularly mentioned this story about a highway project that drew so much road rage from drivers that the California Department of Transportation decided to close the road to traffic completely for the duration of the project. One worker was hit by a thrown burrito, one was allegedly clipped by a driver, and one guy threatened to climb a tower and start shooting at the road workers.

First, you have to wonder what sort of brain-damaged subhumans would commit acts of violence against the very people working to improve the road they use. The closure of the road in question has added miles and minutes to drivers' commutes.

Second, how is it that something like this hasn't already happened here in the land of the Massholes?

Verbal Jousting on the T

Yesterday I got on the Green Line at Brigham Circle to head home from work. The train operator came on the PA and said, "The other conductor neglected to mention that we'll be standing by for a few minutes."

A moment later the PA crackled again and another voice said, "Sorry about that, folks. The conductor in the other car is having some issues with his medication."

Short pause. First voice: "Once again, we are standing by for a few minutes. The other conductor's wife picks on him and beats him up regularly."

Pause. Second voice: "Folks, he's going to classes to learn how to be a better human being."

Now this might have been a bit unprofessional, but it certainly was funny. Who knew T operators had senses of humor?

Sure Don't Feel Like Kenmore Square

So Mr. Butch died last week, in a motor scooter accident. This might be news to some of my friends who read this blog from outside the Boston area. It's not my intention to pay tribute, mainly because a lot of other people have already written about it, but also because I didn't have any kind of personal relationship with him. But reading about his death did give me cause to think about how much has changed in the city since I came up from Rhode Island to start college in the fall of 1981.

In the 80's and a good bit of the 90's, anyone who went to BU, or hung out at the Rat, or even just went to Red Sox games during that time, is likely to have encountered Mr. Butch at some point. He was, in his own unique way, as recognizable a part of the fabric of Kenmore Square as the Citgo sign. The Square was, well, scuzzy would be a nice way to put it, I guess. Parents delivering their college-bound kids to school for the first time would come through the "gateway to BU" and raise their eyebrows in apprehension: this is where you're going to school?

I remember going to orientation after arriving at BU and hearing someone say, "the city is your campus," as though apologizing for the school not having rolling hills and a nice big quad. But for those of us who were looking for the opportunities only an urban college experience could provide, Kenmore Square was our quad, and we were okay with that. The grime was part of its charm and allure. It was real, authentic, earned.

Sure, things got a little iffy sometimes. There were frequently fights on weekend nights, particularly outside Pizza Pad, where the bridge-and-tunnel club kids would clash with the in-town rockers, or something like that. A friend was menaced by a crazy old lady with a knife in Charile's Cafeteria. And once when I was walking home alone after a late movie, a guy tried to "make friends" with me. But I never really felt unsafe, because there was always so much going on and so many people around.

But about a decade ago, the rumblings of gentrification started to hit the Kenmore area. BU had long wanted the area cleaned up, and as owner of a significant amount of property, eventually the school was able to exert some influence. They had managed to get rid of the nightclub Narcissus; it became a Gap and eventually a Bertucci's restaurant. Pizza Pad got turned into a McDonald's.

It's my understanding that around this time, Mr. Butch was told by the BU Police that he was no longer welcome in Kenmore Square. I suspect he knew what was to come and probably didn't want to stick around there anyway, so he headed up Comm. Ave. to Harvard Ave. in Allston, which did (and thankfully still does) manage to maintain its funky rough edge, and where he was welcomed by the community.

It was touching to read that a memorial service for Mr. Butch has been organized for this Sunday, including a New Orleans-style jazz funeral procession along Harvard Ave., and that his family will be in attendance. It's clear that he was loved by many, which is really all any of us can hope for in our time here.

A while back the BU alumni magazine Bostonia did a back-page piece on the changes in Kenmore Square, the most dramatic of which was the demolition of almost an entire block and its replacement with the Hotel Commonwealth. I don't get over to Kenmore much these days, but I was there the other night to go to a baseball game, and looking across the square at that hotel, it just doesn't look right.

Sure, Eastern Standard is a nice restaurant, but I look at it and think, that's where the Rat should be. It was never my favorite club, but who I was seeing was more important than where I was seeing them, and I have so many great memories from seeing bands there over the years; its significance in the local music scene cannot be denied, and young kids just starting bands will never experience the rite of passage of playing there.

Instead of Kenmore Army-Navy, there's now Jean Therapy, selling high-end designer denim. Instead of the IHOP that replaced Charile's, there's a boutique chocolate shop. There was an old-school Dunkin' Donuts with sit-down counter service (anybody remember that?), and Deli Haus, and Planet Records, and the India Quality restaurant--now all gone. The hotel has tried to reference the Square's past by designing its street-level retail space with some stores one flight above the street and some one flight below, but it seems like an empty gesture. Maybe the Square is nicer these days, but it feels a lot less vital, and somehow less real.

On the other hand, the Kenmore T station is finally getting a long-overdue fixing-up; it even has an elevator now, and they're building a snazzy new glass-canopy bus shelter that's going to look pretty cool when it's finished. So some progress is good, but some isn't; progress is inevitable, but we don't have to like it.

Would You Call It a "Spiser" or a "Mender"?

Overheard, out of context, in the bleachers at Wednesday night's Red Sox game:

"I'm such a miser."
"You're kind of a miser and a spender."
"Well, I'm bipolar, so that's why."

Supercrap

I'm deeply disturbed by something, and I need to gripe about it: it seems that one of the worst music groups of the entire half-century of the pop/rock era is popular again. I'm talking about Supertramp. I keep hearing them on that damn TD Banknorth commercial that runs nearly every morning on New England Cable News. Blessedly, the name of the specific song in question escapes me, and I'm not about to make any effort to find it out, so you'll have to take my word for it. And if you know, don't tell me--I really don't want to know.

Typically I mute the TV when commercials come on, but I watch a little NECN in the mornings while having breakfast, then I leave the room to get dressed, and the commercial always seems to come on when I'm out of the room. By the time I can make it back to the TV, the song has already triggered that alcove of my brain that stores memories of songs, and it's too late: even though it's been three decades since its inexplicable popularity, it's lodged in there until I can get out the door, get my headphones on, and force it out with something else.

Then the other day I was in a store, minding my business doing an errand, when another song of theirs came on. I felt trapped. I felt queasy. I wanted to run away without buying my shampoo. I know that retailers pay a lot of money to companies to select the music that gets played in their stores, and that makes me think: really? This is the best you could come up with? The soulless, musically bankrupt, late 70's analogue of the Dave Matthews Band? I was only in junior high back then, and I didn't like it the first time.

I know whose fault it is, too. I can pretty much guarantee that some baby boomer working at an ad agency or "branding consortium," someone probably a couple of years older than me, who lost his or her virginity in the back seat of a Duster (look it up, kids) a couple of hours after seeing a Supertramp concert, is responsible for this travesty being forced upon us. I don't care about your blissful memories of sexual awakening. Just stop it. Stop torturing us. I think I actually liked it better when everyone's songs weren't for sale, and we were forced to endure cheesy jingles.

(Beer) Blast from the Past

When summer rolls around, I like to change up my beer choices a little. In winter I like to drink moderately heavy stuff--the various Sam Adams and Harpoon offerings, Sierra Nevada, Brooklyn Brewery, and of course Guinness--but in warmer weather I prefer lighter beers.

The Mexicans have the combination of decent flavor and light body down pretty well, and each year I enjoy reacquainting myself with the pleasures of ice-cold Dos Equis, Tecate, Carta Blanca, etc. (Corona is okay in a pinch, but it's kind of like drinking colored water.) I used to like Rolling Rock as my summer beer, but since it was bought by Anheuser-Busch last year and is no longer brewed in Latrobe, PA, I can't bring myself to buy it anymore.

A couple of weeks ago I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about a guy who bought back the rights to the Narragansett brand and has reintroduced the beer to the marketplace, at least in New England. This was news to me, but being a born-and-raised Rhode Islander, where the beer originated back in 1890, I was curious, so on the way home from work I stopped at the liquor store. They did indeed have it, though only in 16-ounce tall-boy cans. I never buy beer in cans because drinking it tastes like drinking the can, but in the interest of, um, "research" I went ahead and got a six-pack.

I thought it might be amusing to sit on the front steps drinking it out of the can to see what sort of reaction I might get from the neighbors, but I decided that might be a little too Larry the Cable Guy. So I sat on the back porch instead, and used a glass. The results of my unscientific testing? It's not bad. It isn't going to win any awards, but it certainly tastes better than Miller or Budweiser (I've long held that I would rather drink tap water than either of those) and kind of reminds me of Coors, which is probably just a coincidence.

I'm not saying Narragansett is a great beer, but the company's new leadership understands the beer's heritage here in New England. For a couple of decades it was the official beer of the Red Sox, and for many people it was their one and only beer. Both my grandfathers and my great uncle on my mom's side were loyal Narragansett drinkers. Its recipe had been altered several times under its various owners, so the new president went to the trouble to find the company's old brewmaster to return Narragansett to its original flavor.

It was decades of ownership by companies like Pabst and brewing in places like Wisconsin that caused the world to forget about Narragansett. Currently it's being brewed in Rochester, NY, which is a lot closer than Wisconsin and close enough to be almost New England. The company president says he hopes to start brewing it in Rhode Island again next year. I think that would be great. It would be like the Rolling Rock situation in reverse: in an era when it seems like everything is the same no matter where you go, it would be nice to have something with a distinct local flavor again.

Cock Blocks?

Some people in Oregon think the traffic-blocking posts the town had installed are too suggestive-looking. See for yourself.

(From KOMO-TV Seattle, via Jalopnik.)

Hacked-Up Hairball

Friday night we did a couple of errands, then went home to relax (yes, we are boring, thank you). In our cable TV lineup we have this group of movie channels that are not considered "premium" (like HBO or Showtime) but show movies unedited and with no commercials. Frequently there's nothing interesting on any of them, but sometimes we find movies worth watching. In this case, we stumbled on a movie so lame, so cheesy, so stunningly awful, we had no choice but to watch: Hackers.

This 1995 debacle might just be the most awesomely bad movie I have ever seen. It's nominally about a group of high-school kids in New York City (who all happen to be whiz-kid hackers) who must fight an evil computer genius bent on unleashing some sort of virus. At least I think that's what it's about. The main character is supposed to be some sort of super-hacker who caused the catastrophic crash of thousands of computers worldwide, and he's supposed to have done this when he was like ten or eleven years old. Wow. As a result, he is banned from using a computer until his eighteenth birthday--such a cruel punishment!

Whoever wrote it had clearly read a bunch of William Gibson novels and was trying to emulate some of the cyberpunk aspects of his writing, but in a contemporary, non-scifi setting. I like Gibson's books, but you can't copy him; it just doesn't work. Whatever Hackers is, it's a mess. Much of it makes no sense, and as with most movie and TV portrayals, the "hacking" is completely unrealistic. Decent soundtrack though: Underworld, Stereo MC's, Massive Attack, to name a few. (According to IMDB, there were actually three soundtrack albums released for this movie.)

One of the great pleasures of watching cinematic fertilizer like this is spotting the otherwise-respectable actors who stopped by to pick up a quick paycheck and maybe, if we're lucky, chew some scenery. The girl-hacker crush object is played by none other than Angelina Jolie, in one of her earliest film roles, sporting a Peter Pan pixie haircut to make her look tough but still sexy and vulnerable. I give her a pass because she was young and probably didn't know any better.

Hey, there's Lorraine Bracco, in an obvious midcareer slump between Goodfellas and The Sopranos, and blonde no less (dye job or wig?), playing some sort of vixenish criminal mastermind. Huh? Wait, here comes Mr. Lopez himself, Marc Anthony, playing... a Secret Service agent? Yeah, credible. Other folks making brief (luckily for them) appearances include Penn Jillette as a bad-guy hacker minion, Dave Stewart of Eurythmics as a white-hat hacker helping the kids, and Felicity Huffman as a prosecutor.

Now, I have to be honest: we missed the first ten or fifteen minutes of the movie, so there were a couple of things we didn't get that may have been explained in that early portion. But really, it just made us want to see it again, and it looks like we'll get the chance: as the credits were rolling, a message at the bottom of the screen told us what movie was coming on next, then said, "You've been watching Hackers. See it again on July 21st at 9 PM." Hmm, bad movie-watching party at our house?

Markdowns

The Mrs. and I celebrated our nation's independence in a most patriotic and quintessentially American way: we went shopping. But we didn't go to just any old stale suburban mall; no, we went outlet shopping.

Outlet shopping is one of the few things I can't do on my own, because of the locations. The outlet center we visited on Wednesday is located about 35 miles southeast of Boston. It is not close enough to any public transit, so you have to go by car. There is a company that runs bus charters, but it costs around $35 round trip, which is just outright robbery. The other relatively nearby outlet option is Kittery, Maine, just over the border from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. This too is beyond the reach of public transit. As such we go maybe three times a year, which realistically is often enough, considering the time and travel involved.

I first discovered the joys (and disappointments) of outlet shopping in the early 80's on a visit to L.L. Bean in Freeport, Maine. The surrounding storefronts on Main Street had been filled by retailers looking to take advantage of the Bean faithful flocking to Freeport by unloading some of their past-season merchandise on them. Outlet retail has grown into its own entity; companies like Gap and J. Crew now produce separate product lines specifically for sale at their outlet stores.

This can sometimes lead to confusion among less-savvy shoppers. The thing about shopping at outlets is, the "bargains" are often dubious. There's a lot of merchandise that just isn't very good, and some things that I would be interested in but that aren't discounted enough for my liking. Then there are the near-misses: not the right color, not the right size. My friend David says, "You have to know what things cost," meaning that having some idea of what the item sells for in the non-outlet world gives you a sense of whether or not you are in fact getting a good deal at an outlet store.

I tend to have the best luck when I'm not looking for anything in particular. I have in the past gone looking for a specific item and found it, but that doesn't happen often. This time around I was hoping to find several things, so naturally I didn't find any of them. I didn't come away empty-handed, but it wasn't as successful a trip as some others have been. The Mrs. has a bit of a bag fetish, so I was not surprised that she bought a new bag, but I was surprised that it was for her sister and not herself. But she got a new bag when we went to New York a couple of weeks ago, so maybe next time.

Office Space

My office at work moved to new office space yesterday. Fortunately it was within the same building, so it wasn't as traumatic as it might have been. The move was handled by professionals, so all we had to do was pack our belongings into plastic crates and label everything with numbers corresponding to our locations in the new office.

Yesterday was designated a work-at-home day, because we would have just been in the way. I'd never worked at home before, but it meant I had to bring my work laptop home to use, because it has all the software I use daily as well as the needed setup to access the work network remotely. But being at home was distracting, and when I went to make something for lunch, there wasn't anything to eat (because we're bad about shopping regularly). So today I'm back in the office, in my new workspace.

To be honest, I have mixed feelings about it. I'm in a cubicle, like I was before; that doesn't bother me. But my cubicle is at the far opposite end of the office from my boss and the other people in my department; any further away and I'd be out in the courtyard. I'm stuck outside the big bosses' offices, across from their administrative assistant. I'm not sure how or why this happened, and my boss didn't seem too sure either, because originally he'd told me I would be at the other end, in the same general area with everyone else. The overhead lighting is too bright, and it's several degrees warmer than the other part of the office.

On the other hand, this space is newly built, so we have much better kitchen facilities including a new coffee-making device, a nice new conference room (the old "room" was a table in the middle of the office, right next to my cube), and some incidental stuff like new phones and desk chairs. And there's a secondary exit next to my cube for when stealth getaways are needed. On balance I guess it's all right. It is nice to be in a space that on one else has used, and that was configured specifically for the department's needs. If I can get them to turn off or undo a couple of the fluorescent lights, I'll be fine.

Weekend Bits

—On Saturday night the Mrs. and I went to see Richard Thompson at the Berklee Performance Center. I've seen him at least half a dozen times, but this was the first time I had seen him perform with a full electric band since about 1998, and it was a killer show. He never fails to entertain, but this time the combination of material from his new album and a choice selection of older songs made it the second-best show I've seen him do, after his awesome "1000 Years of Popular Music" in the fall of 2004.

The Berklee has great sound, but the seats are just awful. They're old, lumpy, and uncomfortable. Over the course of a two-hour show, they really take a toll on your back. There must be a famous music-star graduate out there who would be willing to cover the cost of new seats.

—A while back I said I would do a post about the newly expanded SoundBites restaurant when I had a chance to visit the new space. We finally made it there yesterday (I think they moved next door about a month ago), but they aren't entirely up to full speed yet. We waited in line much longer than usual; according to the owner, the new kitchen has some limitations that are affecting preparation and/or cooking. We definitely waited a long time for our food; typically the plates are on the table within five minutes of ordering. He's planning to add a second kitchen to handle the weekend crowds, and when that happens things should even out somewhat.

The new room is very attractive, with a couple of distinct sections, a roomier self-serve coffee area, and a full bar, a holdover from the location's previous incarnations as a Mexican cantina and, before that, a barroom of varying levels of seediness depending on the crowd it was trying to attract. So we'll have to check back in to see how things are progressing.