A writer, reloaded

Hard to get work done when being dive-bombed by lady bugs.

Recently I noticed an odd cut on the Poet. Somewhere between leaving for work and returning home the toilet seat cracked into two pieces. Tragically, she discovered this the hard way.

So after we finished laughing ( to her credit she found the injury almost as sad/funny/enraging as I did ) about the predicament, it was off to a home supply store. A plethora of new shiny seats awaited. Pretty much any style seat one could imagine. As long as you like your seat white.

But I noticed something askew in the world of toilets. Most bowls can accommodate a much wider seat than what the toilet manufacturers ship with them. And as most statistics allege, in matters of bathroom survival, every inch counts. So all these years, I had been denied a proper fitting toilet seat. Nothing worse than discovering a unexpected deprivation.

So I bought the super-wide American ass seat. In white.

And somehow, everything about the number two seems better.

For the first time since 1995, I own a television. Hard to be believe, but for the last 15 years, my residences, regardless of living situations, have been TV free. There’s a long and convoluted story behind how that started, which stemmed from childhood issues. Not my own, mind you, but childhood issues.

Keep in mind, lacking a set does not equal watching zero minutes of television programming; I grabbed the occasional episode of South Park or Family guy at a neighbor’s place. Between hulu.com and the news sites, I had a basic sense of what was happening in entertainment and politics, which apparently are one and the same these days.

Thinking about this “absence” now, I can’t say I really missed having one, even though a common exchange when others uncovering my secret went something like this:

Unbeliever: “You really don’t have a TV? What do you do at night?”

Sam: “Read. Write. And chores and whatnot so my weekends are free for relaxation.”

Unbeliever: “But like, what do you do?”

Sam: “It really depends.”

Unbeliever: “You’re Amish, aren’t you?”

Sam: “Episcopalian. But very close.”

Amazon.com ran a one day sale, free shipping and no taxes, so I took the plunge.

In a way, I am part Amish.

After, still no cable. But the DVDs look pretty damn good on a much larger screen.

One of the great things about ready-to-assemble furniture is the pricing. When a customer ( say me, as I am the most important consumer living, and the only one who has access to my wallet ) bears the chore of delivery and assembly, it’s possible to save serious bank on new furniture. Since I hate spending money, this arrangement usually works out well. Sometimes though, the math can break down tragically. Not all costs are obvious at the cash register.

For instance, let’s say one can’t stand fully upright for several days due to muscle strain  from toiling nine hours over heavy slabs of wood, metal or rubberized parts. Well that’s an additional costs, and though not explicitly included in the price, really exists and part of the deal the consumer makes with the purveyor of ready to assemble furniture at establishments like, oh say, IKEA. A decent looking piece of furniture in exchange for sweat and ducats–hopefully far less ducats than those extorted at Mr. Big Name Department store.

When the modest sticker price far exceeds the amount of effort required during assembly, everyone wins. Consumer ( again think me ) gets quality stuff at bargain prices, producer get sale, and when it happens often enough, weasel at Big Name Department Store gets terminated. Hear my shekels roaring.

So began the tale of this past weekend, when the moment seemed right to overhaul the bedroom. Breaking down the canopy bed frame and chucking the nightstands to the curb not only marked the end of an era and; the open space made room for new stuff. It also revealed cat size dust bunnies wedged in unspeakable places, but that’s another entry.

As promised by language neutral documentation, the frame and matching bed shelf assembly went together exactly as the universal pictographs alleged. Every part depicted was present and in fine condition. Last, the resulting platform bed and bed shelf looked really good. But wait, there’s more!

Point unmentioned: nearly seven hundred pieces impelled by its construction, and nine hours of assembly time. Also missing in the product description, the fact I can not grip a pencil for more than three seconds without crying.

Really a meager price to pay for part of a  new bedroom set. After, there’s some dressers that need replacing.

Leaving this morning for three days in Hershey and Lancaster, PA. Perhaps the hard partying Amish will throw one of these at me:

Seven different people sent me a link to a story about the coercive powers of the house cat. After having been roused on four different instances in the last twelve hours by the Cat Army, I must concur.

Either that or admit they are just pure nasty evil. Precious furry blobs of evil.

Blockbuster launched a unlimited 2 DVD at a time rental for 15 dollars per week upfront, a promotion the Poet and I have pursued aggressively this week. See, unlimited rentals means unlimited and allows for multiple trips per day. If one can stand piling in the car again, and mingling with the snot monsters rubbing their greasy digit all over the display cases, the only constraint is the amount of time required to watch another movie.

Such promotions work for the customer. They work overtime, in fact. At last calculation, 15 bucks divided by the the pile of DVDs rented, brings the cost per title stands to roughly 75 cents. And twenty-four hours left!

There is a drawback with the buffet pricing rental policy, though.  When tasked with renting so many movies, the amount of time spent considering any single one in the store declines–sometimes with disastrous results.

Consider this tragedy:

Tuesday, I plan to see Transformers 2 in the theaters. So I figured I’d refresh my memory by renting the first Transformers movie. And some Megan Fox gawking never hurt anyone.

Cruising through the action section, in the T’s I pick up a copy of a flick with a massive robot emerging from an explosion, titled Transformers. Or so I thought. Damn my naivete.

Only when the movie began playing did the deception unravel. In 2007, the same year Transformers was released, another movie about alien robots attacking Earth hit the market. Note the title.

Swear to God. Trans-f-ing-morphers. If it was watchable, I might have forgiven the duplicity. But no, five minutes in I wanted to claw out my eyes.

Even more horrid news. The director and writer are still alive and plan a Transmorphers 2. Bastards.