Less for More: The Commerce Department reported this morning retail sales rose 0.4% in August, a better than expected showing, indicating consumer spending and the economy might be firmer than originally thought. Among the sectors of the retail industry said to be doing well are dollar stores, department stores and warehouse clubs.
I can vouch for the warehouse clubs. I’m a big Costco shopper, but I did notice one troubling change in the retailer’s merchandise offering. In case you’re not aware of it, bathroom tissue—toilet paper, in the more common vernacular—is among the best sellers at Costco. A bundle of Charmin Ultra Soft contains 30 rolls. But the Charmin rolls now being sold are just 173.2 sq. ft. long, down 7.6% from the 187.5 sq. ft. of two months ago. The price, however, has not gone down. It’s gone up, by 50 cents (2.6%) to $19.99.
Costco is not alone in practicing a strategy of reduced content. Indeed, it’s most often the supplier that makes the decision to package less product (e.g., that 13 oz. can of Maxwell House coffee is history; it now holds just 11.5 oz.). Some companies are honest enough to reduce the container, thus alerting the buyer to the switch. Most, however, just give you less for your money. They usually couch their actions by claiming less product is preferable to higher shelf prices.
Of course it’s a bogus claim, since the actual price per unit goes up. They just assume most consumers will be too dumb or indifferent to notice their wallets are being wiped clean.
Sports Break: There’s no better way to watch a football game than to pre-record it. You can zip through commercials and, more importantly, minimize the air time of the inane announcers (this also works for baseball games. Just remember to record the show following any game as extra innings, overtime, or just slow execution usually means the game runs longer than the allotted broadcast time. You don’t want to miss out on that, hopefully, exciting finish).
When I began following football in the early 1960s, I used to watch the NY Giants on TV with the sound off (sorry Chris Schenkel) while listening to the radio broadcast of the game. Marty Glickman did the WNEW Radio play by play, Al DeRogatis the color commentary. DeRo analyzed the action and often predicted what the next play would be. One of the worst losses in Giants football history was the day in 1968 NBC tapped DeRogatis as the color analyst for its national broadcasts.
It’s generally agreed football is more action-packed than baseball. Each game takes roughly three hours to complete. Yet, if you do a time and motion study of the average nine inning baseball game and four quarter football game, they contain about the same amount of real playing time, about 15 minutes. That’s leaves about two hours and forty-five minutes spent thinking about what pitch to throw, meeting in the huddle, television timeouts for commercials, and changes of sides each half inning and football quarter.
In other words, you can save about two hours of your life by recording a baseball or football game and watching it later. As long as you keep yourself in a media blackout, your pleasure will be sustained. During last year’s World Series, I set the DVR to record Game 3 and told my dinner companions I was on a media blackout. One of them didn’t hear, as she cheerfully informed me on the drive home she just checked her Blackberry and the Yankees were winning 6-2 (on the way to an 8-5 victory over the Philadelphia Phillies). Needless to say, I was more than a little upset. But at least the Yanks were winning.
I’m not too sure about this year. After the Yanks’ fourth straight loss (and third walk-off loss during this road trip) and their displacement from first place by the Tampa Bay Rays, I’m not too confident about their chances in the post-season. They just don’t seem to be a team of destiny this year. Suspect starting pitching and nagging injuries might do them in. Plus, their batters seem to go through sustained cold spells. After being super in August, Mark Teixeira is back to his early season funk. Derek Jeter is decidedly not Derek Jeter these last two months. And Robinson Cano has lost his batting eye discipline.
Getting back to football, I thought the Giants-Carolina Panthers game was as professional as watching two junior varsity teams play. It’s a long season. Hopefully Giants receivers will hold onto more balls and the offensive line and running backs will show more life. The defense, however, looked decent. But they were going up against a less than great quarterback. This Sunday against Peyton Manning will be more instructive.
Evidence suggests that hummingbirds have returned to White Plains. But I’ve yet to have a sighting.
White Plains is a stopover on their migration south for the winter, so I put out the red liquid food in late August. The nectar keeps dropping in the bottle, but so far not one hummingbird has chosen to hover when I’m around.
I’m getting lots of other birds dropping by the birdseed feeders even though I stopped the handouts about two months ago when coyotes started prowling the neighborhood. About 5 am I heard one or more coyotes howling (don’t ask why I was up at such an ungodly hour).
Showing posts with label coyotes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coyotes. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Questions to be Resolved, and More
When did it become so hard to blow up a beach ball, or a baby pool? Or deflate them, for that matter. When did the science of inflation/deflation go 21st century?
I bought Gilda an inflatable beach ball. She believes resting her feet on it would make long airline flights more tolerable. Trouble was, neither of us could blow up the beach ball. I replaced the “defective” ball with another.
Finley (and parents) came down for the weekend, so I bought an inflatable kiddie pool. Though small, it was not the type you’d blow up without mechanical help. The instructions cautioned against using a motorized pump, but the hand pump I first used proved useless. Cautiously, I inflated the pool with an electric pump. It held firm. After Finley went home Sunday morning, I unplugged the valve to let the air out. Nothing happened. Hours later the pool was as rigid as before. Only by twisting the valve and pressing down on the pool would it deflate. You really have to be a mechanical engineer these days...
Where Did All The Lint Go? It’s several weeks since we installed our new front-loading washing machine and dryer. No complaints. Indeed, we’re raving about them. But we do wonder, how come each wash produces less lint than before? Same clothes, same towels. Yet neither the washer nor dryer extracts any quantifiable measure of lint compared to our discarded machines.
The laundry is coming out cleaner. We’re using less water. Less energy. It’s not a complaint, but I really would like to know what’s the deal with the disappearing lint?
Why Didn’t I Think Of This Before? I spent almost four hours swimming in a pool Saturday. Now, I do not know how to swim. Thus any extended period in water, especially water deeper than five feet, would be highly unusual. But heat will make you do strange things, so there I was doing the backstroke in Benny and Bella’s pool.
I can’t claim sudden aquatic powers. Rather, I took advantage of Benny’s idea to wear a flotation device, in this case, a life preserver vest. Sure, I looked rather dorky (I’m grateful now I don’t include pictures with this blog). But the alternative of sweating on dry land or restricting myself to the shallow end of the pool was easily trumped by buoyancy and the confidence I wouldn’t drown. I’ve almost drowned three times, so trust me, feeling secure in the water is more preferable.
I have my own life vest from the time I took a water aerobics class with Marty several years ago. All I have to do is remember to bring it with me next time one of our pool-friendly friends invites us over. I’ve also got to remember to leave my ego at home that day.
Garden Update: Grass is sprouting where Gilda and I dug, raked and seeded a week ago. Haven’t seen the woodchuck recently, but the mailman did tell me Friday about another neighborhood sighting of a coyote.
Sunday Reading: Two articles in yesterday’s NY Times attracted my attention. The first showed New Yorkers tooling around aboard big three-wheeled tricycles (check out the video with this link as well: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/07/17/spokes-hauling-cargo-no-car-necessary/?scp=5&sq=sean%20patrick%20farrell&st=cse).
Before I learned to ride a two-wheeler at age 40 (ok, so I grew up not knowing how to swim or ride a bike. Wannamakesumtin’ of it?), I had a tricycle, the type seniors pedal in retirement communities. Who knew I was decades ahead of the curve, which, by the way, you have to negotiate carefully on a trike lest you tip over.
You also need more than a little oomph power to make those babies move. Central to their success, and appeal, is a flat terrain, as in Florida, Arizona and most of New York City. Or you need to attach a low horsepower motor.
The second article, “A Long Jump to Manhood,” captured the excitement of Bronx teenagers jumping 30 feet or higher off cliffs into the Hudson River (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/18/nyregion/18ritual.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=matt%20afon&st=cse).
A fairly innocent story about growing up and the rites of passage in the city, except that Gilda’s orthopedic spine practice had two recent patients who went cliff-diving with less than optimal results. A 21-year-old man broke four vertebrae being a daredevil in New Zealand; a 20-year-old woman required surgery after diving off a cliff in Malta.
As one of the Bronx jumpers said, “There’s no safety net here. It’s your own decision. You’re taking your own risk.” One parent acknowledged the risk but didn’t forbid her son from participating. I guess she has a different set of parenting values, or fears, than I have.
I bought Gilda an inflatable beach ball. She believes resting her feet on it would make long airline flights more tolerable. Trouble was, neither of us could blow up the beach ball. I replaced the “defective” ball with another.
Finley (and parents) came down for the weekend, so I bought an inflatable kiddie pool. Though small, it was not the type you’d blow up without mechanical help. The instructions cautioned against using a motorized pump, but the hand pump I first used proved useless. Cautiously, I inflated the pool with an electric pump. It held firm. After Finley went home Sunday morning, I unplugged the valve to let the air out. Nothing happened. Hours later the pool was as rigid as before. Only by twisting the valve and pressing down on the pool would it deflate. You really have to be a mechanical engineer these days...
Where Did All The Lint Go? It’s several weeks since we installed our new front-loading washing machine and dryer. No complaints. Indeed, we’re raving about them. But we do wonder, how come each wash produces less lint than before? Same clothes, same towels. Yet neither the washer nor dryer extracts any quantifiable measure of lint compared to our discarded machines.
The laundry is coming out cleaner. We’re using less water. Less energy. It’s not a complaint, but I really would like to know what’s the deal with the disappearing lint?
Why Didn’t I Think Of This Before? I spent almost four hours swimming in a pool Saturday. Now, I do not know how to swim. Thus any extended period in water, especially water deeper than five feet, would be highly unusual. But heat will make you do strange things, so there I was doing the backstroke in Benny and Bella’s pool.
I can’t claim sudden aquatic powers. Rather, I took advantage of Benny’s idea to wear a flotation device, in this case, a life preserver vest. Sure, I looked rather dorky (I’m grateful now I don’t include pictures with this blog). But the alternative of sweating on dry land or restricting myself to the shallow end of the pool was easily trumped by buoyancy and the confidence I wouldn’t drown. I’ve almost drowned three times, so trust me, feeling secure in the water is more preferable.
I have my own life vest from the time I took a water aerobics class with Marty several years ago. All I have to do is remember to bring it with me next time one of our pool-friendly friends invites us over. I’ve also got to remember to leave my ego at home that day.
Garden Update: Grass is sprouting where Gilda and I dug, raked and seeded a week ago. Haven’t seen the woodchuck recently, but the mailman did tell me Friday about another neighborhood sighting of a coyote.
Sunday Reading: Two articles in yesterday’s NY Times attracted my attention. The first showed New Yorkers tooling around aboard big three-wheeled tricycles (check out the video with this link as well: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/07/17/spokes-hauling-cargo-no-car-necessary/?scp=5&sq=sean%20patrick%20farrell&st=cse).
Before I learned to ride a two-wheeler at age 40 (ok, so I grew up not knowing how to swim or ride a bike. Wannamakesumtin’ of it?), I had a tricycle, the type seniors pedal in retirement communities. Who knew I was decades ahead of the curve, which, by the way, you have to negotiate carefully on a trike lest you tip over.
You also need more than a little oomph power to make those babies move. Central to their success, and appeal, is a flat terrain, as in Florida, Arizona and most of New York City. Or you need to attach a low horsepower motor.
The second article, “A Long Jump to Manhood,” captured the excitement of Bronx teenagers jumping 30 feet or higher off cliffs into the Hudson River (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/18/nyregion/18ritual.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=matt%20afon&st=cse).
A fairly innocent story about growing up and the rites of passage in the city, except that Gilda’s orthopedic spine practice had two recent patients who went cliff-diving with less than optimal results. A 21-year-old man broke four vertebrae being a daredevil in New Zealand; a 20-year-old woman required surgery after diving off a cliff in Malta.
As one of the Bronx jumpers said, “There’s no safety net here. It’s your own decision. You’re taking your own risk.” One parent acknowledged the risk but didn’t forbid her son from participating. I guess she has a different set of parenting values, or fears, than I have.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Flora, Fauna and Betty White
Gilda and I went on an after-dinner stroll last Friday night. About a block from home, an Eastern coyote crossed the street some 50 yards ahead. Gilda wasn’t sure it was a coyote, but the next day our neighborhood association left a flyer in the mailbox warning about “recent coyote sightings,” describing the Eastern coyote as looking “like a medium-sized German shepherd dog, with long thick fur. The tail is full and bushy, usually carried pointed down. Ears are erect and pointed. Coyotes are usually 4 to 5 feet in length (including tail) and weigh 35 to 45 pounds.”
That sure fit what I saw meandering through our subdivision. With Saxon Woods Park just a block away, it doesn’t surprise me we’re prime stomping grounds for the scavenging critters. It’s not uncommon for us to see deer and wild turkeys on our property (and a few years ago I swear I saw a bear walking in the park in early spring).
Coyotes on the prowl could explain a few other occurrences, or non-occurrences. First, the latter—Gilda says her garden is doing better than in years’ past. Her explanation: fewer rabbits, which usually made a cozy home on our homestead. Fewer rabbits means her plants aren’t being eaten. My explanation: the rabbits have been turned into food themselves by wily coyote. Score one for the coyote.
I’ve also noticed feathers on our lawn and patio near the bird feeding stations. We’ve still got a sizable bird population flocking in, but I have no doubt the number has been culled by a few, shall we say, less fortunate flyers. Coyotes are attracted to bird feeding areas, so I might have to cut back on the goodies, at least until the predator stops lurking in the shadows. Subtract one from the coyote’s score.
One thing I haven’t noticed this spring are hummingbirds. I’ve tried two different hummingbird feeders with no luck seeing any of the long distance aviators, though one portion of their liquid diet did get consumed a few weeks ago, without any sightings. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a hummingbird blight in the Northeast, much like the inexplicable loss of millions of bees and bats. I stopped by the local Wild Birds Unlimited store and found out the hummingbirds took off from South America for northern climes two weeks late and our trees bloomed two weeks early, making for a very disappointing showing. Perhaps they’ll be more visible on their way back to the southern hemisphere. They should be back in White Plains mid-August.
Trifolium repens: One blight I am sure has befallen almost every landowner is an infestation of Trifolium repens, otherwise known as white clover. It’s a white flowered, creeping perennial weed with stems that root at nodes. It is said to be relatively easy to control, but my gardeners, and apparently everyone else’s as well, seem to be powerless to plow under the creeping tide.
White clover is better than yellow dandelions, but not by much. Plus, white clover is said to attract bees, which in my no socks mode is not an incentive to go prancing about the lawn.
I Should Live So Long: One or two sprigs are visible on the nine-foot stump-of-a-tree left by our “friendly” neighbor just off our common property line (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/04/fear-of-falling.html).
I’m figuring the tree will reach out with meaningful branches some time in the next 20 years. I’m 61. You do the math. Not that I’m planning any early exit, but I do hope I will be able to enjoy, physically and mentally, some of the beauty this tree previously provided.
Of course, the initial sprigs are facing the tree Gilda and I planted a few weeks ago, so if our neighbor’s tree limbs encroach on our baby, I just might have to fire up the old chain saw. Oops, forgot I gave that away years ago. I’ll just have to prune it back manually (for those who can’t figure out what that means, that’s code for I’ll pay someone).
Betty Not So White: Seemingly no one can say a bad word about Betty White, the 88-year-old actress/comedienne who recently did a star turn hosting Saturday Night Live and who also is co-starring in a new TV Land situation comedy debuting Wednesday night. Called Hot in Cleveland, the show also features Valerie Bertinelli, Jane Leeves and Wendie Malick as three Los Angelinos who wind up renting a house in Cleveland from Betty White. It’s a retro Sex and the City/Golden Girls combo.
So I’m watching Jon Stewart interview Betty during Monday night’s Daily Show and he’s all gaga over her, lauding her for “drawing the line” on some offensive material. “I won’t do drug jokes,” said White. “Every once in a while they write something like, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if the old ladies all smoked pot, or they did something like this.’ I just don’t think drugs are funny and I don’t like to make jokes about them.” (She also draws the line at “any unkindness to animals.”)
I was feeling pretty good about her code of ethics when Stewart cut away for a commercial, a promo for Hot in Cleveland featuring the following dialogue:
Jane Leeves character: Does anyone else smell pot?
Betty White character: What are you, a cop?
JL: No.
BW: Then what’s it to you?
Either Betty White doesn’t know pot is a drug and still illegal in most jurisdictions or she has established her own drug culture rules.
D-Day Hero Update: Commemorating D-Day’s 66th anniversary prompted Herb Bilus to try to reconnect with the skipper of his Landing Craft Infantry #96 (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/06/d-day-heroes.html). He googled Marshall, only to sadly discover this hero of D-Day died April 12.
Once before, in 1984, Herb actually reached Marshall on the 40th anniversary of D-Day. But Marshall put off seeing him then as he was preparing to travel for business to Japan the following day for two weeks.
Herb asked that he call when he returned, so they could “go out and have a drink together. That was '84. Okay, I'm still waiting for that drink. I don't know if he is still alive. He never called. But anyhow, I guess he wasn't interested in seeing anybody, which is okay,” Herb related in an oral history he gave to Rutgers University, his alma mater (http://oralhistory.rutgers.edu/Interviews/bilus_herbert.html).
That sure fit what I saw meandering through our subdivision. With Saxon Woods Park just a block away, it doesn’t surprise me we’re prime stomping grounds for the scavenging critters. It’s not uncommon for us to see deer and wild turkeys on our property (and a few years ago I swear I saw a bear walking in the park in early spring).
Coyotes on the prowl could explain a few other occurrences, or non-occurrences. First, the latter—Gilda says her garden is doing better than in years’ past. Her explanation: fewer rabbits, which usually made a cozy home on our homestead. Fewer rabbits means her plants aren’t being eaten. My explanation: the rabbits have been turned into food themselves by wily coyote. Score one for the coyote.
I’ve also noticed feathers on our lawn and patio near the bird feeding stations. We’ve still got a sizable bird population flocking in, but I have no doubt the number has been culled by a few, shall we say, less fortunate flyers. Coyotes are attracted to bird feeding areas, so I might have to cut back on the goodies, at least until the predator stops lurking in the shadows. Subtract one from the coyote’s score.
One thing I haven’t noticed this spring are hummingbirds. I’ve tried two different hummingbird feeders with no luck seeing any of the long distance aviators, though one portion of their liquid diet did get consumed a few weeks ago, without any sightings. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a hummingbird blight in the Northeast, much like the inexplicable loss of millions of bees and bats. I stopped by the local Wild Birds Unlimited store and found out the hummingbirds took off from South America for northern climes two weeks late and our trees bloomed two weeks early, making for a very disappointing showing. Perhaps they’ll be more visible on their way back to the southern hemisphere. They should be back in White Plains mid-August.
Trifolium repens: One blight I am sure has befallen almost every landowner is an infestation of Trifolium repens, otherwise known as white clover. It’s a white flowered, creeping perennial weed with stems that root at nodes. It is said to be relatively easy to control, but my gardeners, and apparently everyone else’s as well, seem to be powerless to plow under the creeping tide.
White clover is better than yellow dandelions, but not by much. Plus, white clover is said to attract bees, which in my no socks mode is not an incentive to go prancing about the lawn.
I Should Live So Long: One or two sprigs are visible on the nine-foot stump-of-a-tree left by our “friendly” neighbor just off our common property line (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/04/fear-of-falling.html).
I’m figuring the tree will reach out with meaningful branches some time in the next 20 years. I’m 61. You do the math. Not that I’m planning any early exit, but I do hope I will be able to enjoy, physically and mentally, some of the beauty this tree previously provided.
Of course, the initial sprigs are facing the tree Gilda and I planted a few weeks ago, so if our neighbor’s tree limbs encroach on our baby, I just might have to fire up the old chain saw. Oops, forgot I gave that away years ago. I’ll just have to prune it back manually (for those who can’t figure out what that means, that’s code for I’ll pay someone).
Betty Not So White: Seemingly no one can say a bad word about Betty White, the 88-year-old actress/comedienne who recently did a star turn hosting Saturday Night Live and who also is co-starring in a new TV Land situation comedy debuting Wednesday night. Called Hot in Cleveland, the show also features Valerie Bertinelli, Jane Leeves and Wendie Malick as three Los Angelinos who wind up renting a house in Cleveland from Betty White. It’s a retro Sex and the City/Golden Girls combo.
So I’m watching Jon Stewart interview Betty during Monday night’s Daily Show and he’s all gaga over her, lauding her for “drawing the line” on some offensive material. “I won’t do drug jokes,” said White. “Every once in a while they write something like, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if the old ladies all smoked pot, or they did something like this.’ I just don’t think drugs are funny and I don’t like to make jokes about them.” (She also draws the line at “any unkindness to animals.”)
I was feeling pretty good about her code of ethics when Stewart cut away for a commercial, a promo for Hot in Cleveland featuring the following dialogue:
Jane Leeves character: Does anyone else smell pot?
Betty White character: What are you, a cop?
JL: No.
BW: Then what’s it to you?
Either Betty White doesn’t know pot is a drug and still illegal in most jurisdictions or she has established her own drug culture rules.
D-Day Hero Update: Commemorating D-Day’s 66th anniversary prompted Herb Bilus to try to reconnect with the skipper of his Landing Craft Infantry #96 (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2010/06/d-day-heroes.html). He googled Marshall, only to sadly discover this hero of D-Day died April 12.
Once before, in 1984, Herb actually reached Marshall on the 40th anniversary of D-Day. But Marshall put off seeing him then as he was preparing to travel for business to Japan the following day for two weeks.
Herb asked that he call when he returned, so they could “go out and have a drink together. That was '84. Okay, I'm still waiting for that drink. I don't know if he is still alive. He never called. But anyhow, I guess he wasn't interested in seeing anybody, which is okay,” Herb related in an oral history he gave to Rutgers University, his alma mater (http://oralhistory.rutgers.edu/Interviews/bilus_herbert.html).
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