Plasmatastic

A few weeks ago I made that most bourgeois of purchases, a high-definition plasma TV. Those of you who are around me with any frequency know that I've been working up to this for about a year, and you're probably sick of hearing me go on about it. But rather than just say "this is what you should buy," I'm hoping that what I learned during the process may help some of you make the right decisions, or at least avoid making the wrong ones. I apologize for the length of this post, but this is a substantial purchase, one you don't want to make impulsively.

I didn't buy a big TV to show off. My 12-year-old 32" TV was acting cranky for the first few minutes every time it was turned on, and I figured it was the beginning of the end. (In 1995 it was the cheapest set available in that size, and I've definitely gotten my money's worth from it.) Also, because of my poor eyesight, I've always had to sit closer to the TV than I would like, so I wanted a bigger set to give me a little viewing flexibility. At first I considered just getting another tube TV. The largest cathode-ray tube TVs still available are 36", but let's face it, the CRT is old technology that's on its way out; manufacturers have sharply cut their production of tube TVs and are offering few choices these days. So there wasn't any advantage there, even before I'd factored the advent of high-definition broadcasting into the consideration.

For sheer size, nothing beats a projection set (now generally referred to as DLP). They are the least expensive of the large (42" and up) HD sets on the market, and considerably slimmer than the hulking styles of a few years ago, but after viewing several models in stores, I decided against them. Except for the most expensive ones, DLP sets don't offer as sharp a picture as other formats; they have a lamp or bulb that needs to be replaced after a few years; and there are still issues with viewing angle--in one store, I had to crouch down to avoid the darkening of the picture that occurs when you look at it off-angle, and that was the deal-breaker.

So it came down to plasma vs. LCD. Both have some pluses and minuses, but the bottom line is the bottom line: LCD sets cost more than plasma sets in comparable sizes. This is supposedly going to change in a few years, but for now it is still more expensive to manufacture the larger LCD panels. I was comparing a 50" plasma to a 46" LCD, and even at the end of the model year, the LCD cost 20% more. LCD sets do weigh less than comparably-sized plasma sets, but how often do you need to pick up your TV anyway?

Plasma sets are susceptible to burn-in if you leave the set on the same channel for too long (from news crawls or "bugs," those network logos that are always in the same spot on the screen), or watch lots of standard-definition broadcasts with the black bars on the sides, but the risk declines after the first 100 hours or so of use, and if you've bought one of these things, you should be making the most of HD anyway (and thus filling the entire screen area).

I knew exactly which model I wanted four months ago, but I decided to play the waiting game because I knew the price would be dropping when the newer models appeared in the spring. I read up on the models that were being introduced this spring, but the consumer electronics industry has a tendency to remove features in order to achieve specific price points. I wanted a certain feature that had largely been eliminated on the 2007 crop of TVs in my price range, and since there weren't any significant changes to the technology, I wasn't losing anything by choosing an outgoing model, and I saved several hundred dollars by waiting and buying strategically--after prices had been reduced, but before the remaining stock sold out. The drop in price between January and April amounted to 25% of the price I ultimately paid.

Then there was the matter of where to make the purchase. I imagine there are plenty of people who would just wander on over to the nearest shiny-gadget emporium and get whatever model is on sale that week, but that's not me. The big stores' selection tends to be broad, but not deep. I found only two local stores that purported to carry the model I wanted, and both were charging full retail (which you saw if you followed that link up above), which was hundreds (eventually thousands) more than what some online stores were charging. I checked at Costco; they have a fairly liberal return policy, and I figured a good price would be worth the trouble of asking my one SUV-owning friend to help me get the thing home, but they typically carry just a few models, whichever ones they've been able to negotiate the best deals on that quarter, and the one I wanted wasn't one of them.

Beyond these factors, I've mentioned that I like to be mindful of where my money goes, and I prefer to support independent businesses when possible. There are plenty of those online, but most savvy shoppers these days know that not all online stores are created equal. This is particularly true with items like heavy, bulky TVs. Shipping them is expensive; some sites just pass that cost along to you, while others offer free (but painfully slow) delivery; the best sites offer a variety of delivery options, depending on how much you're willing to pay and how fast you want your TV to arrive. You can pay upwards of $200 and get only "curbside delivery," which means just what you think it means: the box comes off the back of the truck and gets put on the ground, and from there you're on your own. Hopefully you've called a friend or two to help you up those two flights of narrow steps.

The other crucial piece of information is that many online electronics retailers will not accept returns of big TVs for any reason, even if it doesn't work right out of the box, and even if they are an authorized dealer for the brand. This is basically because they don't want the trouble and expense of coming back to pick up that lemon set you just bought. In cases like this, you have to deal with the manufacturer directly. This can be a wildly variable experience, and there are horror stories all over the web that may put you off buying the thing completely, or may just drive you back to your local shiny-gadget emporium.

You really have to read all a site's policies carefully in order to make an informed decision. I was determined to get the "white-glove" treatment: full, indoor delivery service and setup, and I was willing to pay extra for it if necessary, but what I really wanted was to get it for free. Ultimately I found the model I'd chosen, at a substantially reduced end-of-model-year price, at Crutchfield, an independent catalog and online retailer with a superb reputation, excellent customer service, a 30-day return policy, and free delivery and setup. It took a bit of effort on my part, keeping tabs on price drops every week or so over the course of several months, but it was worth it. Deciding on a specific model first, and being familiar with the company, kind of knowing that's where I wanted to buy from, made the process a lot easier.

We've been enjoying the TV for a month now, and it's as great as I expected it to be. The cable company just added three more high-definition channels last week, and hopefully more will be added soon. And in case anyone's wondering, I didn't throw away the old TV. It still had some life in it, so I passed it along to a friend.

Call Waiting

On Thursday evening I kicked off my extra-long holiday weekend (that's right, I didn't have to work Friday either) by attending a play at the BU Theatre, courtesy of my friend Anne, who got the tickets for free through her employer. Before the show began, there was a reminder to turn off cell phones.

The performance was the Huntington Theatre Company's production of Present Laughter by Noel Coward. I confess to knowing very little about him, but the show was quite entertaining, funny and drily witty. Near the end of the first act, during a brief lull onstage, I caught the muffled but noticeable sound of a vibrating cell phone coming from a couple of rows behind me. I suppose there are people, doctors and such, who are required to be on call for emergencies and who cannot turn off their phones completely, so I decided to give whoever it was the benefit of the doubt.

During the second act, from somewhere further back came the even more distinct sound of the Nokia ringtone. (I'm sure you all know the one I mean, even if you don't realize you know it.) It wasn't at full volume, but it was loud enough to be a distraction. The phone's owner succeeded in silencing it after a few rings. To their credit, the actors either didn't hear it, or they chose to ignore it. Trying to maintain the spirit of generosity, I thought maybe someone used their phone at intermission to check in with the babysitter, and forgot to turn it off again. Fortunately there were no interruptions during the third act, but during the intermissions (there were two), I noticed several men tucked into the various corners of the theater, hunched over their BlackBerries.

I don't have access to email or the web on my cell phone. Actually, I do have access, but I've chosen not to enable it. I've been tempted by the Treo, having worked for a while for a company owned by Palm; there are times when I'd love to be able to look up directions or restaurant info on the go, but I don't think it would happen often enough to justify the additional cost each month. I have the feeling I'll give in at some point, but for now I'd like to think I can live without being connected during those times when I'm neither at home nor at work.

On Saturday afternoon, the Mrs. and I went to a movie. About half an hour in I hit the trifecta: the phone of one of the people sitting behind us rang. The woman answered it, but she immediately whispered, "I'm at the movies, I'll call you back" and hung up. A noble effort, but again I have to wonder: was this necessary? Are people really so careless, or are they just selfish? When I go into a movie, a play, or even a restaurant, I immediately silence my phone. It's become a reflex action.

I think our electronic tethers are inflating our sense of self-importance. It's one thing to call home to check on the kids, but is it possible that everyone at the theater last Thursday was such an important person that they couldn't (or wouldn't) turn off their cell phones even after being asked to, and had to check their email during the breaks in a play that had a total running time of about two hours and forty minutes? It seems excessive. Entertainment is supposed to be a respite from our everyday lives, not an interruption of them.

Shack Attack

The other day I was upgrading some of the cables and connections of my A/V setup (more on that soon) and determined that I needed to split the signal that comes in through the coaxial cable so it could go to two separate devices. This is easily done with a little doohickey called, accurately enough, a splitter. But getting one meant I had to go to an electronics store, which is one of my least favorite shopping destinations.

This might be surprising to some, considering my love for technology, but I generally find these places highly annoying and depressing, and tend to buy my gear online from privately held, customer-focused companies like J&R or Crutchfield. (I considered buying the splitter online, but it seemed silly for something so small, plus I needed/wanted it quicker.)

The sole purpose of a store like Best Buy or Circuit City is to get you to part with as much of your money as possible. I'm sure you're thinking, isn't that the purpose of all retail stores? Sure, but consumer electronics chains are more blatant and sleazy about it than, say, Nordstrom. They want your money too, but they aren't going to try to push you into an extended warranty for that pair of pants.

I decided I could either stop at a store on my way home from work, or make a special trip on a day I wasn't working. I opted to do it on the way home, making the errand slightly less painful and not wasting my free time. Then I started wondering if there might be another place I could get the part, and into my brain drifted the words "Radio Shack."

Remember them? They're still around. How that's possible is anyone's guess, since they ceased being relevant to the marketplace nearly three decades ago, around the time the CB radio craze had run its course (I'm speaking from personal experience here, but don't judge me; I was still pretty young, and pretty bored). And just last year there was the CEO who resigned after lying about his academic credentials, and a few months later the company's decision to inform several hundred employees that they had been laid off via email. A real shining star in the retail firmament there.

But they are still in business, somehow. In the scheme of things my few dollars wouldn't make much difference either way, and I wasn't planning on buying anything else there for, oh, ever. And when I considered it, stopping at a Shack was actually on my way home, not even half a block from a T station, which made it less trouble than going somewhat out of my way to Best Buy. (Maybe that's how they've managed to keep going--by being more convenient?) I was also sort of curious to see what the place was like, since I hadn't been in one for at least ten years. What were they selling? Who shopped there?

The answer to the first question was mostly cell phones and the mountains of crap that go along with them, and other miscellaneous stuff of about the same quality (poor) as the electronics you'd find at Target. The answer to the second question, at least at 5:30 on a Thursday afternoon, was nobody, or rather nobody else besides me. Three clerks were standing around, talking and looking excruciatingly bored. I found the splitter in less than a minute, paid for it, and got on my way.

Back in the day, if you bought something at Radio Shack, you could be assured of being put on their mailing list for what seemed like the rest of your life. Instead of putting their flyers in the Sunday newspapers like everyone else, they chose to mail them to millions of customers, roughly every couple of weeks. If you asked not to give your name to cut down on the junk mail, the clerk would tell you it was store policy and that you had to do it. It got to the point that, when I did have to buy something there, I always paid in cash and gave a fake name at an old address, simply out of spite. I guess they finally figured out that wasn't the most customer-friendly way of doing things.

Before I went to the store, I had checked the web site to make sure they did in fact carry what I needed, and to confirm that the store I wanted to stop at was indeed still open. The site was actually pretty okay, with decent navigation and lots of subcategories to narrow my search. As with some other clicks-and-bricks retailers, I could place an order and have it shipped to a store to pick up, and not have to pay a shipping charge.

It made me think that, while they might have missed the bus with regard to their store operations, they seemed to have grasped the basics of online retailing. Maybe that's the future of the company, after the stores wither and die. And we can all look forward to spam from them for the rest of our lives.

Monday Morning MBTA Blues

It was bad enough that I started the morning commute by missing my usual bus (which I think is coming earlier, because I'm leaving the house at the same time) and had to wait 20 minutes for the next one. When I made it to the Orange Line, the train went one stop, then the doors started closing and reopening repeatedly. Eventually we started moving again, but I could tell it wasn't going to end well.

Sure enough, when we got to State, two of the three sets of doors on the station side of the car didn't open at all, and the third opened and closed again immediately. It wasn't even open long enough for anyone to start moving, so luckily no one got caught in it. But the people who were trying to get off the train started banging on the windows and yelling, as though some sort of poison gas had just been released into the car. I mean, sure, I'd be upset too; we've all had trains and buses miss our desired stop for some reason. But it just seemed like a slight overreaction.

The train went one more stop to Downtown Crossing, and naturally the doors on the other side of the car didn't open either. The train sat there for a couple of minutes, as passengers started muttering to themselves or each other about the havoc wreaked on their commutes by the T on a regular basis. Then the door at the back of the car opened and a conductor came through. She did something to override the system and the rearmost door opened. The people who wanted that stop, and those who had been unable to get out at the previous one, exited the train. We sat for another minute or two, and then came the inevitable announcement: "All passengers please exit this train. This train is coming out of service." Somehow they managed to get all the doors to open, but only to let everyone out more easily.

As we all stood on the platform, we were assured that the next train was just back at State and would be arriving momentarily. This of course was a lie (as it is every time T personnel claim that there is another train "directly behind"), but it was only a small lie, as the train did arrive about five minutes later. But it was still rush hour, so as you'd expect, that train was already pretty full, and there was no way it was going to be able to absorb the contents of another train. I opted not to try to squish in with everyone else, and stayed on the platform.

Once again we were told there was a train at State that would be arriving right away. Once again it was a lie. This time the wait was closer to ten minutes. I thought to myself, could they be having problems with another train? Then I saw the lights in the tunnel. The train approached, and as it came into the station, I saw that the first car was dark, which meant no passengers were in that car. Yes, there had indeed been trouble with another train, and they were only two trains apart. What fun.

But there was enough room on that train for everyone, and I did eventually make it to work. It took about 30 minutes longer than usual, not counting the extra time due to the missed bus. If I do include that, then it took me two hours to get to work today. Let's see how the ride home goes...

UPDATE Tuesday 5/22: This turned out to be a slightly bigger deal than I thought. It actually made the Globe today. And I guess those doors were open a little longer than I'd realized (admittedly, I was reading the paper at the time), because a guy got his arm stuck between the doors. He was able to pull it back in, but lost his briefcase in the process. Nice. I wonder if he can file any sort of claim with the T?

UPDATE Wednesday 5/23: For those of you who may be arriving at this story from the link on Universal Hub, I want to be clear that I was in no way making fun of the man whose arm was caught in the train doors. I admittedly was not paying full attention to what was going on, since this sort of thing is unfortunately a not-that-infrequent occurrence on the T, so I didn't realize the full extent of what was happening. I'm very relieved to hear that he is okay, and that he was reunited with his briefcase due to the unselfish action of a fellow passenger. But the T still screwed up big time.

Paper or Plastic?

On Wednesday I received a letter from my bank telling me that VISA had informed them that my debit card had been "compromised," and that I should call to have it canceled and replaced. Since the card was still in my wallet, I wondered how that might have occurred.

Then I remembered the TJX data breach that was reported in January. While I'm not a particularly frequent shopper at TJ Maxx, Marshalls, or any of the company's other chains, I have bought things from them here and there, and odds are I've used my debit card in one of their stores at least once in the past several years. Since the data thefts supposedly went back as far as 2003, that would increase the likelihood that my card data was among the millions that were stolen.

This is actually the third time my personal information has been stolen or otherwise compromised, and considering that, I'm very fortunate that the outcome has not been worse. A bit over a year ago, the Boston Globe's delivery company wrapped some bundles of newspapers in printouts with customer information on them, mine included. Two years ago, I got a phone call from my credit card company because someone was attempting to make a purchase using my credit card in Japan.

Neither the card company nor I ever figured out how the crook had gotten hold of the card number, but it hardly seems to matter. It's probably going to become more prevalent, as thieves continue to try new techniques that are easier and less risky than armed robbery.

My mother refuses to shop online because she's afraid of data theft, but I bet she's used a credit or debit card at Marshalls at least once, so her personal info is therefore just as vulnerable as if she did use her card online, and in the wake of the TJX and Stop & Shop incidents, it's beginning to seem like online stores' data security may be better than that of brick-and-mortar stores.

So what's the answer? Do we return to a cash-only economy? Is that even possible? These days it's kind of difficult to live without a some sort of credit or debit card, but these episodes showed that the infrastructure--banks, credit card companies, and especially retailers--are not doing their part to make our transactions as secure as they can possibly be. To me, this is basic customer service, and should be spelled out right along with a store's return policies. The Web has entities such as VeriSign that assess and certify the security of online stores; perhaps we need something similar for their counterparts in the physical world.

Extra-Happy Meal

Oh yeah, the week needed a story like this: a kid working at a McDonald's in Illinois hid his pot stash in a Happy Meal box, then gave it to a customer at the drive-up window, along with the food. Story courtesy of Consumerist, one of my favorite sites.

Junk Drawer

I'd like to say that I haven't posted anything lately because I've been out enjoying springtime. I could say it, but it would be a lie. It's just laziness, and a general lack of ideas. Thus, a few scraps:

—I managed to drink my usual three cups of coffee between 7 and 10 AM (two at home and the third after getting to work), but when I was starting on that third cup I realized that I'd forgotten to eat breakfast. As a result I was buzzy and hungry all morning, and couldn't concentrate for more than two or three minutes at a stretch. Getting lunch early seemed like the solution, but I guess I was still out of it, because I got mustard all over the cuff of my shirt.

—May is an expensive month: sister's birthday, wife's birthday, Mother's Day gift, Mother's Day dinner, all within the space of two weeks. Consequently I should try to curb some of my usual spending urges for a while. Yeah, we'll see how that goes.

—Yesterday was the Mrs.' birthday; though we had celebrated with some friends on Saturday night, I wanted to mark the actual day by taking her to dinner or something else she would enjoy. But she wasn't feeling well, and has been so stressed out from work that she said even if she was feeling all right, she wouldn't have wanted to go out. So we'll have to hold onto that thought for a bit.

Personality Plus

I don't write about work, because there isn't really anything to say. I go to work, I do my work, I go home, I come back the next day and resume where I left off. I am left alone to do what I'm supposed to be doing. Work is, thankfully, not a source of stress in my life. Getting to and from work via public transit tends to be more stressful. When I get home, the Mrs. always asks "How was your day?" and I always say "Fine." (And yes, I do ask her about her day, which typically includes large amounts of stress.)

But there is something about work that bothers me. I've been here fifteen months, and everyone has been very welcoming and friendly from day one, except for one person. She happens to be the person who trained me when I started the job, because she did it before me. During that first week she struck me as shy and introverted, and though it was pretty obvious she wanted to get back to her own work as soon as possible, she did a good job of getting me oriented and up to speed.

But as soon as my training was finished and she went back to her other work, she stopped talking to me. Not even a "hello" if I passed her in the hall. Occasionally I would see her outside the building or on the subway, and she would avoid eye contact and ignore me. She might as well have had a guide dog. And she's completely normal in her interactions with everyone else in the office, so it's not some generalized personality disorder.

This is how it's been the whole time I've been here, with very rare exceptions. From time to time I have had to email her about something, and her responses are always prompt and polite, as though we had a normal coworker relationship. And a couple of times she has appeared at my cubicle to ask me a question, and again the exchanges were perfectly normal. But we've never had any other sort of conversation, and she still avoids eye contact. We've had roughly eight or ten elevator rides of awkward silence, the kind you have when the other occupant is a total stranger.

Naturally, this bothers me. I've been working for almost thirty years, and I have never experienced anything like this. I have worked with people that I thoroughly disliked, and who disliked me just as much, but we still said hello to each other out of simple civility. Not that I think this coworker is uncivil; I just don't get her. She's breaking the social contract of the workplace, and I don't know why. I have an overwhelming urge to break through her wall of slience and just blurt out "Hi, how's it going?" in the most obnoxiously friendly voice I can muster, just to see what sort of reaction I'd get. But I haven't done it, and I probably won't.

I can handle not being liked, but being ignored? No one likes to be ignored, whatever the reason.

Following the Money Trail

When I started this blog, I did it as a place to share my opinions, but I also had a slightly higher goal: I wanted to help people become smarter about spending their money. That means not just which brand of widget is best, and which retailer you should buy it from and why, but also about that retailer's values, including where your money goes after you spend it.

With this in mind, please take a minute to read this article on Consumerist about donations made by corporations and their executives to various political organizations and groups. While I do not consider myself an activist and I have no intention of making this into a political blog, the intersection of politics and commerce is inevitable in our society, and knowledge and awareness are powerful tools. If you believe in buying things like fair trade coffee or eggs from cage-free chickens because of the policies those items represent and uphold, then you should consider what's at work behind some of your other purchases.

It comes as no surprise to me that Steve Jobs gave money to the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, but I was surprised to learn that Home Depot and its CEO gave so much money to Republican causes and political action committees. It reminds me of years ago, when the word was you shouldn't go to Domino's Pizza because the company's founder was a staunch pro-life advocate. He sold his interest in the company quite a while ago, and I don't eat at Domino's anyway because there are plenty of other pizza places around and I would prefer to support local businesses, but the point is, it's important to know where your money is going, and you can use it like a vote, by supporting companies whose values align with your own or by choosing not to support companies whose values do not.

I'll bet there are plenty of registered Democrats, and independent voters as well, who have spent big chunks of money on home improvement project materials at Home Depot who might not have done so had they known about the company's donations. Not being a homeowner, I don't spend a lot of money there, but I did buy two air conditioners there last summer, and if I had known this information at the time, I would have chosen to buy them elsewhere. For now Lowe's is looking like the better bet in the home improvement category, but I'd to want to know what causes and organizations they support as well, before spending money there.

(Another) Weekend Wrap

The Mrs. was away this weekend at a family event in Ohio. I was invited, but there was no compelling reason for me to go, and we would have had to arrange for someone to take care of the dog, so I stayed home. Still it was another fairly busy weekend for me, which has been unusual until lately; it's nice to come out of winter hibernation mode and start doing stuff.

On Friday I met my college roommate for dinner, then we went to see Robert Randolph and the Family Band at Avalon. The show was great; Randolph, in addition to being a hugely talented guitarist on both regular electric and pedal steel, is a born showman and knows just how to work a crowd to full effect. The club was nearly full, though the audience was much younger than we'd expected. We were anticipating more folks our age, and there were some, but the frat-boy contingent was larger and rowdier, and of course it was only a matter of time until someone spilled his beer on me. We couldn't tell exactly what happened, but we think the guy was simply dancing too hard and lost his balance. It was near the end of the show anyway, so I just wiped it off and resolved to find a safer place to stand next time.

Saturday was a birthday dinner for my friend Anne's 40th. Her family came in for the weekend from points west and south, and there were some other friends of hers there that I'd never met before. The food was excellent, but the waiter was just awful. Once he'd taken our orders, he basically stopped paying attention to the table. Water glasses did not get refilled, plates did not get taken away, and when the staff brought out a cake, we sat there staring at it for several minutes because he neglected to bring us plates and utensils. None of us had been to this particular restaurant before, so I'd like to think it was an aberration. I'll try it again in a few weeks and see how it goes.

I used Sunday to relax, catch up on some things around the house, and do a couple of errands. The dog was mopey, presumably missing the other half of her caretaking team. I gave her some extra biscuits this morning when I left for work, to tide her over until the Mrs. gets home.

Cup o' Guilt

Lately I've started going to a different Dunkin' Donuts on my way to work, after too many mornings dealing with the aftermath of people who are apparently incapable of understanding the meaning of requests like "extra cream" or "not too light, please," even though they are getting paid to do just that. (I keep hearing that DD is going to switch to do-it-yourself coffee fixin's as part of their overall store redesign plans; I really hope it's true, and I really hope it happens soon.) Even though it adds a few extra minutes to my morning commute, I feel like it's worth it. The people who work at this new place are also more pleasant, smiling readily, chatting with the regulars, and anticipating their orders.

Since it was on the warm side again yesterday, I ordered an iced coffee (it was perfect: freshly brewed, strong, and they got the cream proportion just right). The counter person put the cup into one of the hot coffee cups before handing it to me. This is a fairly common thing; I see people carrying them this way all the time. It keeps the drink cold, and contains the condensation. But I try not to be wasteful, so I've never asked for the extra insulating cup, and I've never been given one without being asked. Moral dilemma: I felt guilty about taking an extra cup I didn't need, but I also didn't want to be the stereotypical bitchy customer and say "I don't want the extra cup. " I settled on taking the cup and keeping it at my desk to reuse in the future.

Aural Torture

It's about 80 outside today, so the air conditioning kicked on in my office. There's a vent in the ceiling panel above my head, a few feet over from my cubicle.

Something inside the vent is making a constant chattering-squeaking sound, like a spinning fan that needs oil would sound after sitting dormant for several months.

Occasionally it stops for a moment, but it starts right back up again.

It is slowly, slowly driving me insane...

Weekend Wrap

At the risk of sounding overly mundane (I hope to never do a blog post solely about the weather), it was great to finally get some real spring this weekend. It was warm enough to open the windows and get some air flowing through the apartment.

Friday evening we went to see Grindhouse. It was insane, in lots of very good ways. Whether you revere Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino or despise them, you have to acknowledge their shared love of movies and film history that inspired and pervades this project. Everyone I've talked to about it has had different reactions, but everyone also said the same thing: when it was over, we were all exhausted. It's the kind of thing you need a while to decompress from, preferably with a couple of drinks.

Saturday night I went to see a music show with a couple of friends, the gravel-voiced country guitar slinger Junior Brown. It was the first time I'd been out to see a band since Christmas week, but that was an atypically early performance by a friend, and we were able to sit down; this was the first time I'd been out to see a club show with a typical late starting time in about six months. I think this might be as frequently as I can handle them at this point. The opening act came on at 9:45, and the headliner didn't hit the stage until almost 11:30. By midnight all three of us were tired, our feet and legs hurt from standing, and our attention was starting to wander, so we decided to call it a night.

Sunday the Mrs. and I went for a late breakfast at one of our favorite spots, the venerable SoundBites in Ball Square, Somerville. (I've been remiss in not giving the place the "Monsters of..." food post it deserves.) The place is tiny (the seating capacity is probably around 40) and on weekends there is typically a line to get in with a 15-20 minute wait. This time there were only about four people ahead of us in line, possibly because it was such a nice day and people were off doing other things. We noticed that since the last time we'd been, the Mexican place next door had closed, after being open for only about 18 months.

We were chatting with SoundBites' owner, as we usually do, and he mentioned that he is moving the restaurant over into the adjacent space, which is at least twice as large, and it should be ready in about two months. This is great news, as anyone who has been there can attest; while the food is excellent, the experience has always been slightly diminished by the cramped space and non-decor. So I'm going to delay my write-up until the new space is up and running.

MsGyver

In the midst of wind-driven rain on Sunday, as we were transferring from old car to new car the insane amount of stuff the Mrs. carts around with her (and trying unsuccessfully to keep it dry), I came across a big roll of masking tape. It reminded me of an incident last summer that (sort of) explains why she carries so much stuff:

We were going out to do some errands on a Sunday afternoon, and she needed to stop at an ATM. We pulled into a newly-built bank branch near the house with a drive-up teller machine. Now, the Mrs. is only 4' 11", so she doesn't always see things the same way or from the same angle that taller people do. Typically she has to get out of the car to use a drive-up ATM, but in this case she believed she was able to reach it from the driver's seat. Unfortunately, neither of us could see that the machine had a design flaw: there was a gap at least an inch wide between the outer housing of the machine and the card slot. Of course, her card fell into the gap (and I'll bet a lot of other people's did too).

She spent several minutes trying to reach her hand far enough down into the gap to grab the card, but it wasn't wide enough. All the while she was understandably growing more and more angry and frustrated. Another car pulled up; the driver assessed the scene and wisely chose to find another ATM, because the Mrs. wasn't leaving without her card, and she certainly wasn't going to let anyone else near that machine before getting it back.

Suddenly she ran to the trunk and pulled out a big plastic container full of craft supplies. I started to ask her what she was doing, but after more than a decade together, I know better than to try to talk to her in certain situations, and this was one of them. In a couple of minutes she had fashioned a crude sort of arm from a couple of pens held together with the masking tape, with a wad of more tape, sticky side out, on the end. She stuck it into the gap, and with a little manipulation she had her card back. Relieved, and also justifiably pleased with herself, she said, "I'm definitely keeping that tape in the car all the time." No word on whether the bank has fixed its ATM design or not; we certainly haven't been back there.

Zoom

On Sunday, to my surprise and delight, the Mrs. bought a new car. This is a big deal for a few reasons. First, she really liked her four-year-old car, bought used three years ago, and likely would have gotten several more good years out of it. Also, she's the sort who has traditionally said she didn't believe in buying new cars because of depreciation and other negative financial reasons. Finally, she does not like to part with her money in general.

(I say "her money" because the car is not a joint investment in our household. Since I cannot drive, she decided a long time ago that it would not be fair for me to contribute to a vehicle's cost and upkeep. This is a very unselfish point of view, considering that I am a passenger in the car all the time. My part of the deal is that I am responsible for all video, audio, computer, and other electronics-related expenses, which I think is entirely fair, considering I would be buying those things anyway.)

This purchase came about because she kept getting letters from the dealer where she'd bought her previous car: we need your used car, we'll give you $X over Kelley blue book value, please come see us. At first she just ignored them, but then she started to wonder what they would offer her for the trade. The car was at about 55,000 miles, and the window of opportunity for a decent trade-in typically closes at around 60,000. So we took a drive to the dealer, in the midst of a nor'easter; consequently the place was pretty dead, so we didn't feel hurried.

She knew which model she was interested in, so it was a fairly simple matter of determining trim level and desired equipment, assessing the trade value, choosing a vehicle from inventory with the required features, and plugging in the numbers. I assumed we were merely involved in an exercise in the hypothetical, and I honestly did not expect her to go through with a purchase. But there were a few arguments in favor: slightly better gas mileage and decreased emissions, due to more sophisticated engine technology (good for the planet); added safety features such as anti-lock brakes and a phalanx of airbags (six in all); the added convenience of such things as radio controls on the steering wheel (which, it can be argued, is also a safety feature, since it lessens distraction while driving); and the purely subjective, such as deeper cup holders in a more sensible location and an iPod jack.

A car salesman is a car salesman, but the one we dealt with was fairly low-key, unlike some we have encountered in the past. Our favorite was the hipster type with a backwards Kangol cap who tried to rope the Mrs. by asking the classic "What if I could put you in a new car for the same monthly payment as a used car?" but was stopped in his tracks by her response: "Does it have at least 120 horsepower?" (It did not, which we already knew, but he had to look it up.)

It's also nice that this dealership orders a good selection of cars with all the available safety features, but without loading on thousands of dollars in unnecessary options, so there are cars from which the practical can choose. The final issue was color. The Mrs.' previous car was an extremely vivid shade of blue, one of the reasons she liked it so much. The new car was available in a similar hue, but only on the more expensive trim level she had ruled out, so other choices had to be considered.

There was a sort of eggplant shade she liked, but it came only with a beige interior, which she hated. Also, the Mrs. happens to be in a somewhat sensitive line of work (one of the main reasons I do not use my real identity in this blog), and ultimately she reasoned that a somewhat less, uh, memorable color might make a certain sense, so in the end she chose a gunmetal gray, which is quite attractive. Now, if those cup holders can keep her from spilling coffee in the car, everything will be fine for years to come.

Duck!

Easter isn't a big holiday in our house. I guess it used to be when I was growing up, but we don't have kids, and somehow I don't see much point in having the dog hunt for decorated eggs, unless they were made of rawhide. But we still drive down to to my family's house in Rhode Island for dinner.

When we go there, we usually bring London with us, because my mom really loves her (I guess she figures the dog's as close as she's going to get to a grandchild) and because even though she doesn't care for most other dogs, London gets along with Connor, my mom's overweight, weirdo beagle, the most antisocial dog I have ever encountered.

Mom likes to buy London toys, though London isn't much for toys in general. She has a few stuffed animals that she'll throw around and gnaw on for a couple of minutes at a time, then she's done. This time she got her a little stuffed duck, maybe four or five inches high, with one of those chips inside that makes it quack when squeezed. Well, she went completely nuts for the thing, flailing around with it for nearly an hour and repeatedly trying to take it out in the yard. The quacking noise seems to trigger her play instinct, but she still seems not to have figured out that she's causing the thing to quack by biting down on it.

She's also still trying to take it outside with her every time we go out, and into her crate at night, but I have to take it away from her at bedtime, because we're not interested in being awakened by the quacking if she happens to roll over on it or something during the night. When I remove it from the crate, she gets this look on her face like I've just told her she has to sleep outside. I substitute a non-noisemaking stuffed pink hippo, but it doesn't seem to make her happy, although she often ends up using it as a pillow. In the morning the first thing she does is lunge for the duck.

So the dog has a new toy she really likes, which is great, up until the point she finishes the gradual, inevitable process of chewing it to pieces. I'm not sure what will happen then, but hopefully it won't involve scouring various pet stores for another one to replace it.

Orange Alert

Damn. Somebody knocked over, pulled down, or otherwise felled the big ol' orange dinosaur that marks the mini golf place on route 1 in Saugus. What a rotten thing to do. The reptile's a roadside icon that's been there for almost 50 years. I love seeing it when I pass by there. I've even played at that course a couple of times. Sounds like the owners are determined to fix it, which is good. Hopefully it will be watching over putters again soon.

Animal Style?

This morning, in an attempt to inject some enthusiasm and color into an unseasonably cold Monday, I put on a bright red sweater. Then I got to work and took off my coat, and noticed my sweater was covered with dog hair. That's me, always a class act...

Brain Freeze

One thing I love about this time of year is seeing people who have decided they are going to dress based on the calendar and not on what the weather is actually doing. Saturday night in Davis Square it was probably 35 degrees, but we passed a young lady in a Tufts hoodie and no other outer layer, visibly and audibly shivering while waiting for her friend to open the door to an ATM booth. Guess her prestigious liberal arts education hasn't taught her any common sense.

Don't Label Me

A few days ago when I wrote about my failed shopping expedition, I mentioned that I like Ralph Lauren stuff as long as it doesn't have the polo player logo on it. The catch is that only a small portion of the product comes without that logo, which brings us to the corollary to my thoughts about boring clothes and my difficulties finding things I like: too damn many logos and labels.

Men's clothing (and, to a lesser extent, women's) is a wasteland of logos: horses, reptiles, rhinoceri, birds in flight, various swooshes and stripes, numerous faux heraldic crests, sailboats, flags, mountains, trees, clovers, stars, moons (most of those are real). J. Crew started putting a guy with an oar on some of its outlet-store merchandise, in case it's unclear to anyone what "crew" they're referring to. Even the frickin' Gap, usually a refreshingly logo-less refuge (except for the sweatshirts with the giant GAP on them), has polo shirts this season with an embroidered gothic G on them. Swell. Thanks, Gap.

When I was a young lad back in the paleolithic (pre-cable TV) era, clothes didn't really have logos. The one place you would have found a label was the little leather patch on the back of my jeans: first Wrangler, later Levi's. When I was a teenager those Lacoste shirts with the little embroidered crocodile showed up (we called them "alligator shirts"), followed a little later by the Polo players on their horses. I had some of each (it's no accident my first job was at Jordan Marsh--I was a shopper even back then), mostly because I wanted to fit in at school, but by the time I was in college I was realizing that I didn't really care for clothes with logos on them, and that fitting in wasn't so important to me anymore (a crucial life lesson, courtesy of American commerce).

A while back I started removing all the external labels and tags from my clothes. Many brands of khakis come with some sort of label above the back pocket: gone. Some shirts have a tag sewn along the side seam of the pocket: gone. Even the leather patches on the backs of my jeans: gone. I used to ask the Mrs. to do it, but I've gotten pretty good at doing it myself; you just have to go slowly, do it before you wash the garment for the first time, and use very small scissors. The Mrs. was an accomplished seamstress in a previous version of her life--at her college theater she made costumes for the likes of Debra Messing and Robin Weigert--so we have every size and shape of scissors known to man on the premises.

However, she has informed me that despite her abundant skills, she has no intention of wasting her valuable time removing embroidered logos from any clothing I buy (assuming it's even possible to do so, which depends on the manufacturing process). I don't feel confident enough to take that step myself, so I haven't yet figured out how to overcome this obstacle, which has prevented me from buying some otherwise nice things, which, if I let myself think about it too much, gets a little depressing and annoying, and I end up seeming a little pathetic.

This is why I end up buying a good chunk of my clothing from places like L.L. Bean and Lands' End. Their stuff may not be exciting, but it's mercifully unadorned. Plus it tends to be made a little better than department-store stuff and has better customer service backing it up. It's sad that I've become such a boring old fud, but I have to be true to myself: my clothes should express who I am without needing the assistance of a supposedly status-conferring logo, and I should be able to get dressed in the morning without having to be a walking billboard.

(By the way, I used the Macy's gift card on their web site, on a pair of sneakers they don't carry in the stores.)