Stuff I don't get

I have so many questions about this product:

* How much money are they raking in that they can afford a full-page ad in USA Today nearly every day?

* Why are the Amish suppling material for a product that runs on electricity?

* How many people have burned down their houses using this product?

Answers appreciated.

Death is clickworthy

As I learned when I worked at a Web site, you have to be careful what you're attaching that "video" link to. LATimes.com is linking to TV coverage of the aftermath of a plane collision, but you get a completely different idea (snuff film!) from this blurb.

What a deal (?)

An electronics chain in the DC area found a novel way to display a price increase:

Mmm ... bacon

Since I'm having fun with video embedding ...

Use it or lose it

This clip, from last night's "30 Rock," entirely sums up how far my own German skills have deteriorated. I love the subtitles that show how much Tina Fey's character is comprehending. In particular: Hubcap (?)

My AC is running (so I better go catch it)

That's the current weather in DC.

And, yes, the air conditioner in my condo (set to 78 degrees) is running. I get direct sunlight, so the place heats up quickly. The plus side of that is that I haven't had to run the heater at all this winter. (I think the coldest it's gotten inside is 68 degrees, even with several nights of temperatures in the 20s.)

Here comes the neighborhood

Hello. Happy New Year.

I live a couple of blocks off the main thoroughfare through my part of town, a street the powers that be have designated a high priority area for development. (That is, "Hey! We promise you won't get shot if you come to this part of town. Pleeeaaaseee?")

So, I've noticed a restaurant going in on the ground floor of a condo building. (I'd considered buying a place in the building, but the floorplans were a little too odd.)

More interesting is what's going in across the street, in an old auto-parts store: Doggie daycare.

I suspect soon enough we'll have our very own standalone Starbucks, as until now they've been only bold enough to open a kiosk in the neighborhood Safeway.

This is where I've chosen to spend my long weekend

Can I call 'em or what?

Hippie state native

As usual, I've been letting my bottles and cans pile up beneath the sink, and on Sunday I finally hauled them out to the car and headed to the supermarket.

So I wandered around Wegmans for a good 10 minutes the other day looking for the bottle and can return machines. I started near the main entrance. No dice. Then I went down a level to the wine section. Nope. I went back up to the main level and went outside to the loading dock area. Nada.

I finally went to the customer service desk and got a blank look from the woman there before she told me, a puzzled tone in her voice, "We don't have one of those at this store."

And then it hit me: They don't have bottle and can deposits down here, ergo no bottle and can return centers at supermarkets. I guess after 30 years of living in states where they do charge deposits that it's a hard habit to break. Until Sunday, I hadn't even noticed that I hadn't been paying the extra 60 cents on a 12-pack of soda. (It also dawned on me that I haven't seen homeless people picking through the trash for refundable cans.)

But it is nice to know I can just dump the things out with the rest of the curbside recycling. But living in crunchy states has had another effect on me, as I'm constantly annoyed that several of my neighbors don't seem to have a problem with dumping trash into the recycling bins. Sigh.

Handyman

My mom liked to tease us kids about our hands. She'd grab one with both of her hands and say, "So soft. Never seen a hard day's work."

This is a woman who'd been in the kitchen since she was a child and had a longtime cook's ability to reach into a hot oven without a mitt and grab a pan without so much as batting an eyelid. "Asbestos Hands," my sister dubbed her.

I was reminded of this the other night when I was slaving over my new desk from Ikea. "Gustav" is its name. (And, by the way, having finally made my first trip to an Ikea -- awesome! I realize I'm well behind the times here, but I don't care. Also, I'd like to know how many people Ikea employs to not only figure out how to deconstruct furniture so an idiot like me can put it together, but also how to get all those pieces to fit snugly together in a tiny, tiny box.)

Anyhow, the assembly of my bookcase ("Billy") went smoothly. But Gustav came with many, many screws and required a good deal of, um, screwing. And all those times I've been at Lowe's and thought, "Gee, I really should pick up a cordless drill" but did nothing about it came back to haunt me.

And as I watched a fat blister grow on my middle finger, I thought about how my mom would have scoffed at me. (And how she'd probably have scoffed at furniture made of pressed wood and held together with screws, nails and dowels, as opposed to the hardwood with finely crafted dovetails she always sought out.)

But damn if I didn't still feel some sense of accomplishment, even if it was packaged and sold to me by a bunch of Swedes.