The Lemon Thief: Moral Relativism at the Disco Kroger

I refuse to use the U-Scan at the Disco Kroger for one simple reason: I don't work for Kroger. I think if they want me to bag my own groceries, they should pay me. Next they'll be asking me to mop the floors.

But I may be rethinking my position now that I've learned  that "some people I know" have occasionally used the U-Scan to beat the system. To right the scales of justice and stick it to The Man. For example, if they go in to buy avocados or peppers or (just for an example, say, lemons) and the regular versions are sold out or damaged, they get the organics, and ring in the regular price. (In my mind, they look exactly like Michael Douglas in Falling Down when they do this.)

Michael Douglas in Falling Down

This struck me as "sheer genius" while it struck others as "stealing."

Dozens of rationalizations immediately sprang to my (obviously criminal) mind.

For one thing, Kroger constantly overcharges me. And I do mean constantly, as in, practically every time I have more than a dozen items and lose track of them ringing me up.

For another, their increasing reliance on U-Scan infuriates me. I can't count the number of times I've gone in to shop and those lanes were the only ones open. They're happy to install a "Bull" or a "Screw" (as I believe they're known in prison-speak) to stand at the end of the U-Scan to ensure nobody pockets a lime. If they have time to stand there and monitor you, they could just as easily be operating a register. I either make the Bull check out my stuff, or I park my basket at the entry to the self-serve lane and abandon it in protest.

And, finally, if they want to make self-serve available to those who prefer it, great, but they should compensate those shoppers for doing their job for them. Make everything in that line, say, half off.

My mastermind pals made it clear that they only engage in this savvy (or questionable, depending on your point of view) practice, on A. items they ring in themselves (like produce), and B. items where the price difference is negligible. They'd draw the line at, for example, organic beef. That would seem wrong. (Also, it would be easier to be busted on scanned items that are clearly packaged, whereas one head of broccoli pretty much looks like another head of broccoli.)

What I wanted to say was: Teach Me.

But what we all know is, I am not cut out for this -- not because of any overriding moral compass -- but because I absolutely can not learn how to operate one more piece of technology. The Kindle has overloaded my circuits and I'm contemplating an iPad for my birthday. There is no room for anything else.

In my mind, I already look exactly like Yul Brynner in Westworld. 

Yul Brynner in Westworld

Yul Brynner in Westworld

Let's Take the Long Way Home

I started this new book today -- the first physical book I've opened since the Kindle came to live here on Saturday. I read the NYT Review and excerpt on Sunday. In it, writer Gail Caldwell writes about her BFF, writer Caroline Knapp (who wrote Drinking: A Love Story), who died of lung cancer.

I didn't know it was an Oprah-approved title until I got it (or I might have harshly pre-judged it), but I'm still looking forward to a book about two writer BFFs and their dogs.

I'm only one chapter in, but I have to admit I was irritated -- irritated! -- when I had to get up and walk into another room to find my highlighter (I thought I had really arrived in this century when they started pre-loading the barrels of highlighters with post-it flags), like an Animal.

After one weekend, I've already gotten used to the Kindle's highlighting and tagging feature (though I should also disclose, I haven't gone back to look up any of those marked passages yet).

For both Kindle and a book, I still have to turn on a lamp, which supposedly reduces iStrain, but I'm beginning to think that's why God made iPads. 

The Sofa and the Kindle

"I'm not a literary genius...I was not an orphan. I have never blown anyone for coke or let other people do coke off any part of my body. I have never struggled with addiction and I was never molested. Tragically, my life has only been moderately fucked up. I'm not writing this book to share wisdom or to inspire people." 
 -- Sarah Silverman, The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption, and Pee

I am seventeen percent of the way through Sarah Silverman's new book on my new (to me) Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Free 3G, 6" Display, White - 2nd Generation. I think that's right.

Today was a big, big day in that I was lovingly handed down two of my favorite friends' two most cherished possessions. One handed down his kindle, and one handed down her Arhaus sofa (the kind with the down cushions that you squish into). They both seemed a little wistful to see these things go, but I reassured them that this is an Open Adoption. I'll send pictures. They can visit any time they want, confident in the knowledge that these treasures have a home just as loving and appreciative as their own. They won't drive by and see the kindle tied up in the yard, or the sofa sitting on the front porch. 

My quest for the perfect sofa has been in overdrive since I moved last Spring, because I refused to move the old one into the new place. There wasn't anything wrong with it, but I stopped liking it, and I refused to move it.

This has meant a long summer of guests literally sitting on the floor (utterly without complaint...at least not to my face), but I have stuck to my guns. The Big Ass Chair seats two at the most -- and even that requires a certain romantic commitment... not to mention an embrace of certain principles of yoga.

The rule is if I don't love it, it can't live here. I'm not all snooty about it -- I'm happy to go without until the right thing presents itself. I have made one exception for a lamp I like that has an ugly shade, because it seemed a little extreme to light the living room with a bare ass bulb. I can picture the shade I want, but I haven't found it yet.

My bud Ian says my problem is champagne tastes on a beer budget -- and that's part of it -- but that isn't precisely true. I just have very, very specific taste, which I have a very difficult time articulating. I wasn't born speaking Dwell Magazine, I'm learning the vocabulary one painstaking mistake at a time. For a long time when I tried to describe "contemporary," I was saying "modern," and ended up with some terrible Jetsonian errors.

Harriette in her Kitchen

I do know my friend Harriette's house in the country (our bleugrass Hamptons) is perfect, so at least she gives me a jumping-off point, but it's a point of inspiration-only. I know her sofa is a magnificent B & B Italia and that if I had it, the general response would not be "wow!" (as it is when you see Harriette's), but rather "who does she think she's kidding?" It's Art, and I'm not sure I can pull off a room where you sit on the Art.

Luckily, I can read all about it in all the Design Magazines I plan to subscribe to on the new Kindle.

Today is the first time I ever touched one, and yes, I do realize I am several years late to the party. I wasn't boycotting them -- as some writers do -- it was just on the list of things I hadn't gotten around to. I've never had a "sky is falling" philosophical opposition to them "replacing" books. I won't be hauling the kindle to book club. There are books I want to keep and physically annotate and look at on my shelves so I can go back to them over and over again, but honestly, not all that many. I've never been much of a book hoarder.

I am, however, both a compulsive reader, and an insanely fast one. On any given weekend, I can power through a half dozen new releases that have piled up on my desk during the week. If they're good, I try to force myself to slow down because I want to make them last, but I never can. Factor in the insomnia and I constantly run out of things to read in the middle of the night, long after the bookstores are closed and amazon isn't shipping.

The kindle strikes me as a perfect remedy for that. The new Sarah Silverman is a good example. She is way, way too scatological for my taste in humor. Sometimes I think she's funny, and sometimes a little repulsive. I wouldn't take down a tree for this book, but I am happy to read it. Midway through, I did have to text Michael and ask him if the Kindle lit up, or if I was expected to turn on the lamp like a goddamn animal. I can see myself reading it by kerosene during the next Ice Storm.

I am not an early adopter (remember, I insisted writers bring me their stories on disk for years because their stupid attachments wouldn't open and I really didn't see "that whole email thing catching on"), but I'm not a Luddite either. My cousin and I had a long talk yesterday where I explained to him the fax machines of yore with the curly paper, and he made fun of the days when I tied my columns to the ankles of carrier pigeons and dispatched them throughout the city.

Disdain for technology is a luxury for folks way higher up the literary food chain than I am. It's fine to adore Wendell Berry and all, but it's equally fine to remember that his lovely wife types all his manuscripts. I don't have a wife. I have facebook. And if somebody shows me something that makes my life easier and better, I am happy to take them up on it. I love information and I love knowledge (two different things, I realize) and I'm glad to improve my access to both.

As I was typing this, however, I got a voicemail from my BFF that says, "I am calling you on the Gmail."  She said I could call her back on it too. I have no idea what that means, but apparently, somebody has now replaced telephones. Perhaps she will read this blog crudely fashioned from twigs and berries and call me back. Last Thanksgiving, I talked to her on The Skype while she was in Siberia, so if she says phones are over, we'd best believe her.

Between you and me, I suspect It's Like Havin' a Dove Field.