Nothing funny about feldspar

Having just spent waaaay toooooo looonnnnngggg trying to prepare some packages for the mail, I’ve come to a few conclusions.

1) It doesn’t make any sense to use the eBay/Paypal “buy and print your shipping” feature if you’re going to go to the Post Office anyway (with those Amazon shipments, for instance), because it requires multiple trips between the computer and the packing station (which are in separate rooms in the basement, ’cause that’s just the way it is).

2) Mandatory Delivery Confirmation (even if it’s only a fraction of the at-the-PO-window cost) and the need to print out another full sheet of paper (and all the tape to stick it down) costs more than the little self-adhesive shipping label I was using. Sure, I get the added benefit of D.C. but it’s a service I wouldn’t normally buy at any price.

3) Amazon’s commission is steep, but I’m becoming convinced that it’s worth the cost. They take care of making sure the object is paid for. Their charges are easily calculated (unlike eBay, where you have to go into your account to see if you got that “insertion fee” refund like you were supposed to, and did you really buy a gallery picture for that thing? and there’s no one place to see every charge associated with an item…. and then you’ve got to go to PayPal to see what they charged for the privilege of using their service). If you use SKUs, you see them on your documents, they’re not hidden somewhere in a database with only esoteric means of recovering them (helpful if you use the SKU to hold extra information, like where the book is located.)

It may seem like I’m fussing about pennies — and in each individual circumstance, I am.¹ But aggregate this over two or three dozen packages a week, trying to keep track of who paid what when and how, taking into account the extra things — like remembering that the buyer paid $1.35 for insurance on a $5 item… it makes me crazy.

I’m a systems freak. Method Good! With a methodology, one doesn’t have to keep track of everything in one’s head (sounds kinda like the Getting Things Done guy). So I’m wracking my brains to figure out a way to make it all easier on myself, because you know, engineers are lazy people.

Just as long as I don’t have to write software to do it. I suck at that, and I’m getting worse with every passing year (what in the name of GGE is “Objective-C”?²)

But first, I have some bookkeeping to do.

1. I probably would have been a pretty good cost accountant, if I didn’t throw up my hands so easily at bookkeeping software. That stuff seldom makes any damn sense at all.↩
2. Don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical.↩

Dear oracle of the ætherial communion,
O show me a sign!
Is it in my future to depart from the tried-and-true
To leave the best-in-my-region coverage
For the ability to download my own pictures without the additional sacrifice required by that avaricious provider?

If I do forswear the Big V, to whom will I turn? Which other will give me what I ask?
All I ask is unfettered access by the protocol of the King of Denmark,
And a device which will remain nearly ever-ready, at least for when I leave it in my pouch overnight. Truly I do not mean to starve it, but sometimes I forget.
And an automatic engraver! Oh, yes! A way to show the world that I am just as bad an engraver of portraits as everyone else!

No, I am not willing to pay for each minute! No!
No, I am not willing to pay for each message! No!
No, I am not willing to pay for each image! No!
No, I am not! I am quite a mean consumer, terrible to these encorporates as I decline to line their pockets with my gold.

I pay for my recalcitrance by required supplication to the wisdom of the internet, though there is scant wisdom there — only connections to shady characters with wares to flog.

What shall I do? What shall I do?

I just ate the most food-snob lunch I’ve had in quite a while, perhaps ever. For dinner, food-snobbery is ok, even as I laugh at myself and Plagioclase for indulging in it. But lunch? That’s a sandwich, or leftovers heated in the microwave. Not much room for chichi trendiness.

Except today, when I had to use up some leftovers from a food-snob cheese dinner. Even as I was making it I was composing this post in my head — something about how the Dutch call a sandwich “boterham,” which sounds more like a recipe than an object. And describing how I spread the (admittedly 2-day old) “artisanal farm baguette” with Artisanal Latur cheese (”Creamy Blend of Cow and Sheep Milk Cheese” according to a restaurant menu). This cheese is not cultured butter (another foodie item), but it’s creamy like soft butter even out of the fridge, and spreads really easily. It even tastes buttery, with only a small hint (when cold) of any stinky-cheesiness.

On top of the cheese, I carefully placed individual slices of “Iowa Country Ham.” I asked the deli guy what that meant exactly, and he said, “Ham, you know, from Iowa. Wanna taste?” Sure! I tasted it, and it’s salty and dry and kinda prosciutto-like, but also smoky. So artisanal meat was also involved.

On the side, I had Sweet Potato and Beet Chips (from Terra Chips but I wasn’t able to find them on their website). These are in the “not bad, great for conversation, but too expensive to buy frequently” category. But what the heck, I was eating a [redacted] dollar sandwich, why wouldn’t I eat a few bucks worth of self-esteem?

Anyway, I’m eating, and composing this post in my head (and it was much better there, too bad you missed it), and it hits me. I’m eating a ham and cheese sandwich. I despise ham and cheese sandwiches. Slimy tasteless ham with rubbery processed cheese! How could I betray my principles in such a tasty way!

Ach! I think I’ll stick with “boterham” for today, if you don’t mind. It helps me to keep the illusion of food-festival chic.

Part of the fallout of my back issue (arthritis in my sacroiliac joint and spine, with a “slightly” slipped disc — physical therapy resumes next week) is a weird numbness on left hip. Hip? Well, you know, outside left edge, about where I bend when I sit. Near the top of my leg, right where the elastic of my underwear ends up.

Which is a problem, because even though it’s numb, it’s not all numb. So when I’ve done too much (like walked around the grocery store), the wearing of elastic-banded panties becomes extremely uncomfortable.

I went to the local discount mega-store and saw they have long-line underpants, the kind your great-granny might wear if she were still wearing cotton-knit bloomers instead of nylon panties. These are great — no elastic except for the waistband. I checked the little size chart, figured what I should wear, and bought a pair. I got them home and put them on … Who are these made for?? I’m not underweight by any stretch of the imagination. ANY STRETCH of your imagination would not make me not overweight … and pulled the “waist” up to my chest.

Oh. My. God. The increased availability of “Plus size” clothing didn’t mean much to me. The better selection of wide-width shoes didn’t mean much to me. This… this… duffel of an undergarment has shown me more than almost anything that Americans are obese.

I’d better wash these in hot water and shrink them a bit. And I think I’ll skip having that brownie for dessert, if you don’t mind.

To give you an idea of how far out of it I am, I have to read Language Log to find out there’s a Sisters of Mercy tour — and I have apparently missed all of the North American dates.

But then, do I really want to hear Lucretia live?