Feeling Combative

My buttons have been pushed.  Provoked by my synagogue.  Provoked by friends who ride on their high horses.  Imposed upon in various ways.  My responses have recently been more candid than cordial.  Not hostile, but direct enough to transmit a message of irritation.  

Even my recreation has fallen victim.  After supper, I retreat to My Space most evenings.  Having largely abandoned scheduled TV, I default to YouTube in search of some learning.  It seems Google, which owns the service, thinks I would prefer to watch a few Conflict Entrepreneurs promote their pet agendas.  A series of Oh My selections, though admittedly with contributions from both extremes of a political divide.  Never a discourse.  I know which sponsor is which.  My Recommended videos of Road Trips, interviews of religious figures by people seeking to enlighten viewers, some history or geography that I like to watch.  None recommended for me anymore.  Instead, I get how Florida, China, and Walmart are all on their last legs, so I should beware.  Made me testy.

Testy may be a good place to be as America's political overload becomes insufferable.  I know how I will vote, I know the limitations of who I select.  I know what an Islamo-Leftist alliance is and how much disdain I have for them.  My mind is probably combative for a good reason.

Despite this, I have legitimate distractions from this.  A talk that I am looking forward to giving needs preparation.  I can keep my distance from the synagogue for a few weeks.  Travel looms not too many weeks off, with perhaps a day trip before that.  And there's a doctor's visit.  These are usually disposition upgrades.

Various Irritations

My Daily Annoyance Log nears the completion of its ninth month.  It began with a suggestion by Arthur Brooks in one of his How to Build a Life column in The Atlantic.  He teaches a course on productivity at the Harvard Business School.  Arthur commented in one of his essays that he advises the class to mark down in a notebook daily something that irritated them that day.  Review the entry one month and six months later.  I'm past the six month review.  Most entries are incidents of something very transient not going right.  Amid the many are a few which illustrate more ingrained, repetitive, or predictable assaults on the good nature that I and many others strive to achieve. 

My state tells me they have money put into their custodial care that belongs to me.  I accessed what they were holding.  It is a mixture of funds that should have been paid to me as investment dividends, along with much larger payments made to my office for professional fees.  That office closed fourteen years ago.  They require documentation that I am who I claim to be.  My personal assets pose no problem.  My professional ones do, as I destroyed any documents related to it after the required seven years of retention. My accountant also destroyed tax records beyond their holding obligations.  I found a business card with my name and address.  Perhaps they will accept that.  Or perhaps the state licensing board, my old hospital, or the DEA will keep a record that has the old office address.  Once the funds are in my possession, the matter closes.

My bank annoyance is mostly moot except for its principal.  I wanted to close a dormant account. My financial advisor sent me forms, which I completed.  The account was never closed.  I drove over to the branch, closed it, then deposited the cashier's check they issued into an active account.  I did file an inquiry with the state bank commissioner, as my advisor assured me he had confirmation from the bank's main office that the electronic transfer would go to completion.

My synagogue annoyances come in series.  I owe them a measure of my skill, though some requests have become more of an insensitive imposition.  It irritates me.  I patch it up by rescuing some need, but never fully eliminate the resentment that gets generated.  Things that I want to do tend to get ignored by key people.  To be fair, their slow but steady depletion of members likely has its basis from creation of People of Influence who become People of Entitlement.  And the onus of saying No when I prefer No to a request falls with me, not them.

Lori Gottlieb, The Atlantic's Dear Therapist, summarized the advice requests she receives into two genres.  First, I'm Trapped.  Second, Help me get my tormentors to change.  Her advice:  You are not trapped.  You have to change.  I have to decline requests that I should decline.  I will going forward.  But those are the items on my Daily Annoyance Log that linger at the one month and six month revisits.

Treadmill Respite

At the transition of each month I grant myself a three day break from my treadmill schedule.  It is something I look forward to, perhaps even offering an incentive to push on as those off days approach.  The stretching component of my health program does not change, nor do I designate specific times to make major detours from a sensible diet.  But brisk walking, paced by the treadmill requires periodic recovery time.

To best assure that I will walk the walk on scheduled days, I've also set a reasonably fixed morning time to step onto the 3.2 mph belt.  It's not first thing in the morning, more typically after coffee and after checking my email and social media messages.  Having a stretch of days off frees up three mornings to do other things.  Sometimes I go out to breakfast.  More often I do not designate the newly captured time for any particular purpose.

Those three days pass quickly.  While the purpose is recovery from leg muscle strains, that is often incomplete by the next scheduled exercise session, though always adequate to resume my program.  New calendar month, new schedule resumes.  

Staying Cordial

I find myself slipping into a combative disposition.  As much effort as I put into following Micah's guidance in Haftarah Balak, recited around the world, deferring to rules, defaulting to kindness, and humility in every action seems different from how my frontal lobes and amygdala were wired together.  Irritations and annoyances occur with enough regularity, that at the close of 2023 I took Arthur Brooks' advice and started keeping a daily log of something that annoyed me each day.  Rarely I have to grope for an event, but most days something pushed my buttons.  Or somebody pushed my buttons.  His recommendation also included a revisit at one month and six months.  As he predicted, none of the daily entries proved enduring.

A sense of fairness and what is just is also probably ingrained into our individual cognitive functions.  These are easy to violate.  People pushing ahead of the line as a personal experience becomes people sneaking across the southern USA border while others wait their turn as a communal experience.  Consensus to stop it is pretty widely accepted.  Cruelty as a technique is probably not what Micah had in mind but it registers as just response to a major infraction in many minds.

My Mad At list has permanent and transient entries.  My Bank, maybe The Banks.  My Shul expands to The Machers.  Expectedly subpar encounters at the grocery checkout expands to all companies that hire people I really would prefer not to cope with.  Specific encounters generalize too easily.  We live in an era of mistrust, much of it deserved.  Unfortunately, we are not left with a good way of separating out what should be embraced from what should be dispatched.

My medical community probably had the right idea when it established universal precautions early into the AIDS era.  Just put on the protective gear.  Assume every encounter is a risk.  It is easier to remain hospitable when there is no threat, or at least its potential has been contained.

Or keep the combative signals, no matter how appropriate the hormonal-neural connections find them, without a public expression.  Follow the rules myself, be kind, and don't self-promote.  Part 1 of most Honor Systems.  Be Good.  Widely implemented.  Part 2 is harder.  Turn in the Cheaters.  Not as well implemented, but essential to a functioning Honor System.  I don't know how well Micah would have done with that.  

Erroneous Algorithms

They keep coming.  Pictures of mansions I cannot afford, mostly owned by celebrities who I recognize.  Pictures of excessive sandwich plates from deli's I would not eat at.

It's not that I object to mansions.  Not at all.  On my travels, I often seek out the grandest of the grand.  Hearst Castle on my first trip to California.  Winterthur and Nemours near my home.  A few days in Newport.  The Biltmore when I go to visit The Great Smokies next month.  FDR Home and the Vanderbilt Mansion on a short stay in Hyde Park.  At one time I aspired to having a McMansion of my own, even visiting a few for sale at Sunday Open Houses.  Nearly all the grand estates I visited depended on inherited wealth, monuments to the self.  Forms of  look at me and visit when I am dead but not invited when I am alive sort of wealth.  While I can never attain a large fortune, and in late life I really don't want one, I do the same things in my very ample suburban development house that they do in theirs, though on a smaller scale.  I have a kitchen, though I produce from it what I want to eat without delegating anything to staff.  The public mansions I visit have no wastebaskets on display.  They have no paper scattered.  They have little open storage, other than elaborate bookcases.  My house has all these things.  I entertain, though less frequently, less elegantly, and on a smaller scale than the Grandees who built their estates more to impress than to enjoy.

FB feeds me something much different, and something not terribly appealing.  The sprawl in Florida or California by tech moguls or TV celebrities or athletes shout look at how much I have for myself.  Unlike San Simeon or the Newport Mansions, it is much less a shout of let me share with my guests what I created.  Undoubtedly, the Beautiful People have intense travel schedules that keep them from their pools or tennis courts.  They are displays, and an ostentation that FB thinks will have me coming back for more.  I try to Hide them or Snooze them but to no avail.  Their algorithm, I think erroneously, doesn't take the hint to try something else.

It misconstrued my fondness for Jewish deli's.  Every day I get photos of overstuffed corned beef on rye originating in multiple cities.  Virtually never kosher.  Perhaps I undermine myself in their algorithm placement by looking up the named restaurants to search their menus.  Always with a Reuben option, not kosher.  Katz, the granddaddy of them all, from its founding never made any pretense to being adherent to dietary laws. They promoted ethnic, and to be fair, avoid products inherently non-kosher irrespective of preparation.  

But not only are the pictures of the sandwiches lacking the standard I would set for myself, but they are excessive.  It would be unthinkable for me to pretend that a mound of pastrami, yes I am a sucker for kosher pastrami, would have the slices of rye bread as an afterthought.  Instead, when deli is available to me, I make my variations.  Sometimes mustard on the bread.  Often coleslaw atop the meat.  Never been a fan of Russian dressing but that was one of the most ordered options at the kosher Psychedelicatesin of my university years through the 1970s.  Those were sandwiches for a Sunday night treat, even a Sunday night destination or study hiatus.  And always amid people I knew.  The destination was never the pile of sliced cold cuts.  It was the ability to choose from a Kosher menu without restriction for a satisfaction that would not reappear for another week.

Facebook misjudged my likes.  I don't like ostentation.  It is not enjoyment.  I don't like envy, whether I wish I could have a house or a sandwich like that.  My pleasure is in making the most of what I have.  My house with its lawn, deck, kitchen, comfortable bed, climate control, and suitable guest areas.  For as often as I use a pool, or probably the celebrities are able to use theirs given their travel obligations, I can bundle the dip with my hotel stays.  I have enough food, maybe excessive food.  As much as I relish kosher pastrami, the barrier has been my willingness to choose that as my luxury, and to a lesser extent its availability.  I once lived in a place that had kosher delis. It's not like I've never experienced one.  I would not go there on a whim or very often.  FB photos of ostentatious heaps of corned beef don't change that.  

I don't know why their algorithms think that it might.

Asleep Atop Bedspread

I never tucked myself in.  When my internal clock awoke me at about 2AM, as it usually does, I had no recollection of the hours that preceded it.  Likely four hours, from my habitual nightly activity.  And I had changed into nightclothes.  I remember putting a hard-cover book checked out of the public library earlier that day onto the floor beside the bed.  Nothing else.

I fall asleep readily most nights, sometimes after using my smartphone when I shouldn't, sometimes after reading, though most commonly taking a supine position with dangling elements of the cumulative day's thoughts for a short time.  Sleep tracker use invariably puts my sleep onset time at about fifteen minutes from the time I turned on the app, placing the phone to my right.  I do not remember using the phone, although on my second nightly wakening I found it next to me with its light off.

At 2AM, awakened for no obvious purpose though always a convenient bladder emptying opportunity, I strolled to the bathroom and back.  I likely turned the bathroom light on and off, as it was off when I returned at my usual 7AM wake time.  When I returned, I realized that I had not removed the upper pillow with its sham that matched the bedspread.  I dislike that pillow.  It leaves my head too high.  Before tucking myself under the down comforter, I invariably place it next to the bed, where I had placed the library book.  And the cell phone either goes in the charger, where it should have gone based on its battery level, or on a ledge behind my bed.  It remained atop the bedspread, as did I.

My next awareness came after 5 AM, as it often does, with a target arise time of 7AM.  Now for the first time I realized that I fallen asleep atop the bedspread with cell phone at my side.  Sensing no need to get under the blanket, and with my preferred pillow securely beneath my head, I relocated the phone to its customary place on the wooden landing behind me.  Then a final snooze with some clock watching resuming at 6:30AM.  I arose at my appointed daily hour, not feeling dragged for having missed my blanket the entire night.

1.5 Liter Wine Bottles

Soda has been banned from my house with rare exceptions.  Seltzer, plain or flavored, offers substitute fizz with fewer noxious additives.  So does beer, which I now usually keep on hand.  It is consumed one can or bottle at a time, rarely more than two in any week.  I keep canisters of lemonade and iced tea mix.  The manufacturers need to prod their food scientists to improve the speed at which the sugar dissolves.  It is possible, as Turkey Hill cold beverages in one or two-liter plastic containers never have sugar sludge on the bottom.  Fizzy soda on Passover, when the yellow top to the 2-Liter PET bottle designates cane sugar.  And when I go on a road trip, and rarely on an especially hot day, the WaWa or Turkey Hill dispenser with its endless customization tempts me to a liter of iced soda I would not otherwise drink.  While intended for health, measured as weight control, my weekly weigh-ins have not ticked downward.

Wine remains a special occasion beverage, purchased by the glass at a restaurant or bottle for when toiling in my kitchen created an elaborate dinner.  Guests, birthdays, Mother's Day.  They get a 750 ml bottle of wine.  As a beverage for an ordinary supper, as a late evening sip, or as a pre-supper wind down, wine is too expensive.  Its shelf life expires before I can finish a bottle's contents.  Beer, seltzer, lemonade, and iced tea serve the food wash-down function better.  Swigs of high volume do this better than sips designed to distribute smaller amounts on the oral surfaces for flavor appreciation.

At one time I bought mass-produced wine as a beverge.  It came in 1.5 liter bottles.  Popular brands.  Mondavi, Gallo, Taylor from NY State.  My default when I could not decide was Almaden with its lightly tinted green bottle, flattened front and back surfaces, and replaceable cork caps.  It's been decades since I even looked for these.  At the time, screw tops meant cheap wine, but also wine that could be stored for later.  Home devices to rid the bottle of noxious oxygen had recently come to market, but for this, a replaceable cork or screw top would do.  Sometimes they announced the grape.   Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Merlot though I hardly ever opted for red.  More commonly it had a generic identification.  Chablis, White Blend, Rose, Red.  Use whatever grapes could not be otherwise purposed to minimize a winery's version of Shrink.

I would drink two stemmed glasses of my selection with dinner on consecutive days, or rarely have one glass as a nightcap.  I worked long hours in that era, raised a family who drank soda nightly without fail, and could use an excuse to not drive anywhere after supper.  It generally changed to a much less pleasant taste for the final third of the bottle, though never vinegar.  Sometimes I suffered through to the end with nightcaps, sometimes found a cooking purpose, rarely spilled the remainder in the sink.

Now older, retired empty nester, introduced to bourbon on a road trip through Kentucky to Mammoth Cave a few years ago, and soda avoider.  Maybe get another big bottle of wine to replace the brown distillery liquid that I sometimes pour myself at 4PM or offer an alternative to lemonade from a 4C Mix at supper.  My preferred liquor outlet is a mega-mart.  My state and the one adjacent to it restrict alcohol sales to places dedicated to that purpose.  They had an entire aisle devoted to large bottles of 1.5 and 3L as well as boxes.  And I knew from many dinner purchases previously that technology of bottling has improved.  A screw top no longer doomed the liquid contents.

I roamed the aisle.  Almaden with its unique bottle gone.  Taylor nor more.  Gallo no longer a default.  All bottles were now cylindrical.  Some had screwtops.  Many had non-replacable corks, with the expanded size likely intended for parties where guests would consume that amount in one session.  There were wineries I never heard of from places I am unlikely to ever visit.  They replaced the mass producers from California.  Some specified a grape, some went generic.  Nearly all cost $12-15.  A bargain adjusted for inflation that has occurred since the era when I sought out Mondavi and Almaden. 

I wonder why the American mass producers withdrew from that market.  In the end, my half-case of the Moosehead and Squirrel that prompted my trip already secure in the bottom of my cart, I added an Australian Chardonnay, Martin's Pick-Up brand with what must be an outback vehicle as their logo, to the cart.  Roughly the same price as those twelve beer bottles.

I opened the bottle with supper the next day.  Not bad.  Two stem glasses.  Food pairing, Gorton's Crunchy Fish Fillets heated in the oven and peas.  Intended to be a beverage more than a fine stimulation of taste sensors.  And that's what it was.

Descaling

The light at the very bottom of my Keurig Express signalled that the device needed descaling.  A small inconvenience for the very large convenience of having coffee in many varieties with little personal effort.  This cleansing, maybe three a year, needs some attention.  It is not difficult.  It is not even that tedious.  More an interruption of routine.

While the protocol is printed, I prefer to follow a YouTube video which has the advantage of offering a heads-up to potential snafus.  I've not had one yet.  This video runs about eight minutes, though I need to pause it periodically while my vinegar or water runs its consecutive cycles.  I keep a quart of vinegar in the pantry for when this procedure arises.  

Does the coffee taste any different for having done this?  I cannot tell.  To avoid a vinegar essence, I run an extra rinse, but after doing this a few times, that's never happened.

The Keurig Machine is one of those marvelous creations.  It's handy.  Never breaks.  Descaling a few times a year has never been onerous.  And in exchange I can get coffee of any manner, either via k-cup or from a cannister scooped into an adapter.  Brewed while I wash dishes, retrieve the paper, or do something else.  Mug would have needed washing however the coffee is brewed.  Cleaning the adapter not much different than cleaning a Melitta cone.  An underappreciated expression of somebody's creativity.

Vacation Planning

At the end of last summer we had a grand vacation, time in Paris with a guided tour followed by free days.  Memorable for sure.  Expensive.

Had a respite a few hours away this spring, but I need something more elaborate.  I gave my wife a few options with their limitations, mainly the driving that falls to me, irrespective of whether we use my car or a rental.  Not a concern in Paris.  No big problems in Virginia.  The new options of Black Hills, Nova Scotia, and Tennessee will keep me on the road quite a bit.  She opted for Tennessee, divided between Nashville and the Great Smokies, with minor detours to Jack Daniel's and Biltmore.  No planes.  No car rentals.  Just under two months to anticipate.

This should be pretty easy.  Two nights one place, two nights another, one night each to be decided in each direction based on how far I can drive in a day.  Not as easy as it looks.

Travelocity and Son of Travelocity once had an ease that has evaporated.  Pick a city, designate a maximum price, make sure it has Wi-Fi, parking, and pool, then sort by price.  Some snags.  Price puts you a considerable distance from the sights, so sort instead by distance from downtown or preferred sites.  That's better.  Except what you see is not what you get.  Two nights should be the room rate doubled with an increment for taxes.  Unfortunately, not every place you can stay is a hotel.  Sometimes the cost of two days is three to four times the posted room rate.  That's because these travel sites now mingle hotels with other properties that rent short term, the Airbnb's and Vrbo's.  They have a room rate and taxes.  But they have a Property Fee, Reservation Fee, and Cleanup Fee, all a set amount whether you stay for two nights or a week.  For somebody looking for a night or two, that's clutter.  And Travelocity has no mechanism for discarding them from the search.

Nashville has some special considerations.  There are places tourists want to be.  But there is also Vanderbilt University with its world renowned medical center, pro sports, the State Capitol and government activity, Parking is extra, sometimes nominal, often not.  And there are cancellation fee options, sometimes another 20% above the room rate.  Some places near the popular sites have a shuttle.  Hotels are now mostly non-smoking.  Patron reviews reveal loose enforcement by some.  All have Wi-Fi. Not all have room Wi-Fi bundled to the room rate.  And prior patrons comment on unreliable Wi-Fi.

This took some serious effort.  I selected a place, part of a national chain, about a mile from Music.  Paid for non-smoking but braced for what reviewers have conveyed.  If Wi-Fi fails, I can go across the street or to Starbucks.  My stay includes two scheduled treadmill days.  The hotel has a treadmill, though the one in Virginia did not function.  And if all disappoints, I can get into my car, visit a local site, or drive onward to Jack Daniel's.

At My Desk

My Space has two focal areas.  In the center, I placed a recliner, one probably no longer even suitable for a yard sale as its Naugahyde has been punctured in many sites.  I purchased a navy velour cover with its surface texture of mini diamonds which conceals the tears.  The recline mechanism works adequately, as does its infrequently used rocking capability.  It does not rotate but faces forward to my big screen TV which gets watched most evenings. Once I finish My Space to its optimal appearance, that chair will get replaced as the reward for multi-year diligence.

The heart and soul of the room, though, has been my desk.  It began decades ago with a trip to Conran's, once a trendy home furnishing boutique, a small chain run by a once popular British interior designer.  I drove to the King of Prussia Mall, a gleaming complex with the finest named stores.  At Conran's I  purchased two low file cabinets painted with off-white enamel and matching plastic drawer pulls.  The unit with two file drawers I placed on the left, the one with one file drawer below two small drawers went on the left.  Straddled over them I centered a 72 x 36 x 1 inch thick board of black laminate.  It left the surface a bare tad in height above a commercial desk, but it became and remains my personal work destination.  A mat of Rhinolin 35 x 19 inches defines my immediate work area.  Lighting has evolved over the decades.  Now I have two sources, an architect lamp secured from IKEA affixed to the left with a clamp, one with springs that allows its lamp portion with its 60-watt bulb to direct light most anywhere.  This provides most of the needed light.  I also have in front of me a Banker's Lamp with a cylindrical halogen bulb.  This brightens the Rhinolin surface, though it is obscured by the laptop screen when open.  When the laptop goes to its closed position for daily or weekly planning or other writing, the Bankers Lamp makes my work area sparkle, bouncing just the right amount of reflection from the bulb to desk to my rods and cones.

While now quite personalized with zones for papers, stationery, writing implements, and clocks dominating the mostly covered black laminate, this desk, or at least its Rhinolin portion, serves as my hub for creative output.  I plan my time every morning, connect with friends across distances, write my thoughts, record my weekly YouTube video, all at this designated place to do these things.  My finances have their monthly review.  Phone conversations are conducted with a wireless hand set, while I stare at a screen or recline in the basil green swivel chair harvested from a DuPont Surplus furniture sale decades ago.  My weekly grocery shopping list gets assembled from the Shop-Rite circular, one page at a time, with the newsprint portion to my left and a tall writing pad to my right. To avoid a reflection from the incompletely shaded window behind me, Zoom conferences require minor repositioning of the laptop but still on its Rhinolin surface.

My desk supplies comfort  I keep tubes of Voltaren and Icy Hot within reach. A whiteboard, with its semi-annual projects on its left side and my most fundamental values on its right, receives periodic glances into my direct line of sight as I work or as I reflect.  My desk invokes memories with a photo of one of my two children in each direction.  Their early attempts at ceramics hold my large paper clips. The first vacation that I contributed to, a few days in DC the year JFK entered the Oval Office, brought my first souvenir, a bronze White House replica.  It sits straight ahead, adjacent to a partially painted stone created by my daughter as a pre-schooler.

My desk has its share of the obsolete.  Five spiral notebooks where I generated my thoughts as a frequently entered personal journal.  Audio tapes, full size and micro.  Clocks with hands, one plastic run by a AAA battery, the other Seiko brass with an LR 44 button battery.  A retro radio capable of tape recording, AM/FM, and shortwave, complete with telescoping antenna.  Smaller than a boom box but with a handle that makes it portable once I add C Batteries.  Files that contain Index Cards, one for 3x5, the other for 4x 6.  I have a slide rule, once a high school and college essential.  There is a PDA. never extensively used.  At one time, I found the free maps available at gas stations worthy of taking home.  A sample of that collection appears on my desk. So do picture postcards from my travels, never filled out and sent.  A place for hobbies that never developed.  Calligraphy, a decent art kit in a wooden box.  Loose Leaf Notebooks with zippers, once a school essential.  Each remnant of a past era was once integral to my personal timeline.  Items all set on the periphery, not to intrude on active workspace, though not discarded.  All important to my reflections about where I've been, where my remaining years might take me.  None a serious legacy, however.

My descendants, those obligated to dispose of my possessions when life concludes, might find this nook something of an archeological dig.  What was their Dad like?  What motivated him or frustrated him?  Why did he collect and retain so many unused things?  Let's read what he entered in all those spiral notebooks when we were kids.

Monarchs have possession of kingdoms with varying levels of absolute autonomy.  My Desk has been my statement of autonomy, a place for me to seek out every day.  Tasks performed.  Respite sometimes. But always my territory, always a private display of what value and what captivated me.

Need New Tires

My Japanese cars have all served me reasonably well, each with one major annoyance along the way, though not getting me stuck on the road.  My current car approaches the end of its financing span.  I will take full ownership at the end of the calendar year.  With all my cars, I've been attentive to scheduled maintenance, which the manufacturers have all made easy to track.  The current dealer always tries to upsell me something based on their automated diagnostics, most of which I decline until I can go home and see the significance of the suggestion.  One that I cannot decline for very long, is the observation that my tires will not pass inspection when it comes due at the end of this calendar year.  They quoted me a price, about $250 a tire for four tires.  The ones they provided with the car only lasted 50K miles, so I don't really trust them.  Having owned my own car going on fifty years, I've needed to purchase tires before.  In the 1970s I needed a pair of rear snow tires each winter.  I've had ordinary milage-based replacements and a couple of more emergent purchases for flat tires, which are now often repairable but in a previous era did better with replacement.  I've gotten good value and I've been ripped off.  My last elective tire replacement from a local shop went well, so I scheduled an appointment for the replacement and related front-end alignment that the dealer's inspection had also advised.  

Shops dedicated to tires seem much fewer than when I last purchased.  Some that represent single manufacturers like Goodyear and Firestone still exist.  Sears Auto is long gone.  Pep Boys is a shell of its legacy.  Costco sells and installs tires.  But the place which serviced me electively last time seems the way to go.

Purchasing is a little different than ten years ago.  I logged onto their website along with Costco's.  I need not know anything about my vehicle, just my license plate number.  From that, my year and model comes up, along with the tires they have in stock that they feel are suitable for that car.  Prices vary, estimated longevity of the tires by milage also varies, though nearly all exceed the 50K I've gotten from mine.  Radial tires made semiannual snow tire purchases obsolete decades ago.

I expect to purchase a mid-priced set of four, well below the quote provided by the dealer, though I have the good fortune to avoid skimping by financial necessity.  The guarantee may influence me.  This store is part of a regional chain.  There are advantages to national chains like Costco or Goodyear that can honor a warranty when I drive far from home, but if I need urgent attention, I can deal with it locally.  I drive outside my metropolitan region perhaps three times a year.  And I have ample funds to deal with an urgency.

Next month I anticipate a major road trip, so I want to get this important safety element completed as a high priority. 

Instruction Sheets

Acquired a few new electronic items in the past week.  New earbuds.  I know how to use these.  They come in a case with a compartment for alternate sized inserts.  Stick the metal connector into its receptacle and it works.  While at Five Below, I could not resist wireless headphones for $7.  They came with a charger, which I knew how to operate.  Once charged, I had to sync them with my computer.  For that, I read the insert that came with the headphones.  Not at all obvious.  I went online for assistance.  That seemed more clear.  Then followed each step.  It took two tries but my headphones are now synced with my laptop.  And unintentionally, not understanding the computer's icons, my laptop is also now synced with a tablet.  Later, since I wanted to read an e-book in bed without disturbing my wife, I went through the process again to pair the headphones with my smartphone.  This went more smoothly.  Now I have headphones that seem fully functional, at least until they run out of battery power, but I also know how to recharge them.

My Temu items arrived well in advance of the company's estimated arrival date.  An AM/FM radio and a tiny digital recorder.  Each came with its own charger, duly and immediately connected to USB ports so that I might proceed.  Each had a battery status indicator.  Once charged, I proceeded with making each device functional.  While intended to be No Frills replacement on devices I still treasure from the 1990s, each has incorporated a level of sophistication with complexity that my beloved radio and tape recorder lack.  The Instructions came in multiple languages, though they know their customer distribution well enough to put the English translation first.  Each needs a certain amount of programming.  The radio went well, at least adequately for listening, less adequately for navigating between stations.  The digital recorder will need some effort, starting with magnifying the print on the instruction sheet, which is too tiny for my bifocals to discern the individual letters.  It has many more steps than I anticipated, and more buttons than my dear digital recorder that has served me for decades.  I have a travel pouch, one that I purchased for a European trip a year ago, that slings over my shoulder with the compartments resting against my left pectoral area for security.  The recorder and radio will have that as their home.  By necessity, so will the two instruction manuals, as it is unlikely that I will be able to get maximum benefit from either device without their how-to's at hand.

Temu Order

My order has not come, though it is not yet late.  I did not know what Temu was, though after placing my first order some message from the company arrives in my inbox at least twice a day.  And I've had a chance to explore the company.  For all its negative press, I only have about $25 at risk.

My exposure started simply enough, and with the help of advertising algorithms far removed from Temu.  A beloved AM/FM radio that I have taken to the beach for decades broke its necklace.  I glued it with rubber cement, which will get it fairly securely to my next beach outing, but is likely to fail again.  The device cost about $5 at a place like Walmart in the 1990s.  Technology is obsolete so unlikely duplicates are made.  Indeed, I could find a few duplicates on eBay, cost about $12 with shipping.  For that, I could get a replacement with more modern features, so I searched Amazon and Walmart which still sell radios of that style and capability for about $15 plus shipping.  Think about it, or maybe defer the purchase until I have another item that boosts me above the free shipping threshold.  When I did my next search, the automated algorithm knew the type of product I wanted, posting on top a picture of a suitable replacement for about $12, shipping included, from a place called Temu, which I had not heard of.  I went to place the order, really having nothing to lose, when up popped some solicitations for other obsolete electronics.  I couldn't pass up a new digital tape recorder for $10.  So I ordered that too.  Credit card swiped, confirmation sent, with a message that these should arrive together in about two weeks.  They will notify me of shipping and delivery by their electronic tracking system, much as other online purchases now do.  Eventually I should have a real cheap AM/FM mini radio and a second digital recorder, each best housed in the secure nylon travel pouch that I wear next to my chest when I go on a trip.

One a thoughtful purchase generated by pseudo need, the other an impulse buy generated by bargain price.  Its attraction was low price, for which people are willing to make compromises.  That experiment has been done many times, with Walmart selling a merger of price and reliability that they call value.  Amazon sells availability and convenience.  Dollar Stores sell low price, and for people of means like me, they also offer something of a treasure hunt, as do yard sales and Goodwill Stores.  Temu seems more like the yard sale, you want it when you see its availability and its price.

Will my two items ever arrive?  Reviews of Temu suggests that they often don't, but I've received a message that mine have been sent out of the factories, as Temu is really a direct interface with the factories which make the products that they sell.  My own risk is small.  A nominal sum on my card, which also offers me a feature to challenge an unsatisfactory transaction.  I don't really need either of the products that I ordered.  So like a yard sale, I purchase As Is, though with a modicum of protection from the credit card issuer.

Moreover, for the radio that I sought, Amazon and Walmart had first dibs.  They lost out for inability to supply at the price I was willing to fork over for a mostly frivolous product.  Temu appeared as an univited back-up.  If my experience proves decent, multiplied by similar reaction from other customers, they will have earned some loyalty for their niche, which the e-retailers in competition will need to address.  If they fail to deliver, their orders will plummet.  Reliability is important in e-commerce, particularly when dollar amounts are more substantial.  The constant online solicitations annoy me.  Once my transaction has completed, it's easy enough to unsubscribe until next time.

Making Committments

A friend from synagogue asked me to help out with a project. While I have doubts about the project itself, his request to do the kitchen component matches with my interests, skills, and desire for a challenge.  However, Sunday mornings, the assigned time, has been my protected time for much of my adult life.  Every Sunday morning, I retreat to my screen to see what's current.  I take out my planning papers, Semi-Annual Projects, and multicolored pens which allows me to outline my aspirations for the coming week.  At one time I went out for breakfast with some frequency.  Or I went fishing.  Or I went to a coffee house for a half-hour or so of quiet time with a writing pad to my right and the porcelain cup to my left.  Committing to a Sunday morning incurs opportunity costs.  None of what I might have done instead is irreversibly sacrificed.  My week will get outlined.  In my working years, and perhaps a bit beyond that, the planning pouch with its pens and papers got toted to the coffee shop.  I can go fishing anytime.  The synagogue event serves coffee and has other people present.  What I would miss may be less the project itself than the control over when I pursue them.  

And the date given is nearly three months in advance.  I don't even schedule my vacations three months in advance.  Or choose my OLLI courses that way.  While my initiatives are Semi-Annual, and they all have the completion deadline component of a SMART goal, virtually none have an assigned date and time.  Appointments go on my weekly outline and whiteboard as I compile a list each Sunday morning.  They do not become part of Semi-Annual Projects which function better with flexibility.  Appointments months in advance have a way of hanging over me that long.  I dislike that.  It should be far enough in the future for me to prepare, though not so far as to have me staring at my calendar.  I know when Seder and Yom Kippur are, but I don't bring either into my need for action until they approach.  For time in the kitchen, a week or two will suffice, if I am willing to yield that Sunday morning at all.