November 14, 2018--Amazonia

Most writers are so routinized that they often have fetishes about their writing instruments. 

The pens and paper they use, the typewriters they pounded on or still write with, and more recently their computers and word-processing software.

For example, Paul Auster will use only his Olympia SM9, Maya Angelou exclusively wrote with an Adler Meteor 12, and Philip Roth an Olivetti Praxis 48.

When it comes to pens and paper, Stephen King uses a Waterman Hemisphere; J.K. Rowling, as is her wont, formulated her initial Harry Potter ideas on paper napkins; Jack Kerouac (when he wasn't typing On the Road on a continuous roll of paper--Truman Capote once famously put Kerouac down by quipping he wasn't a writer but a "typist") wrote with a modest Bic Cristal pen; and a major piece in last Sunday's New York Times Style section noted that writer Ben Schott (whoever he is) uses only Jinhao pens (whatever they are--I assume something very fancy and expensive to qualify for mention in the glitzy Style section).

I confess to being equally compulsive.

When not typing on my MacBook Pro, I have insisted for more than four decades that I can only function on yellow legal pads with a Pentel Rolling Water, Roller Ball, Cushion Ball pen with black ink and a medium (.80 mm) tip. 

Since I periodically wake up shaking with anxiety that Pentel will soon stop making them, when most stressed, I order pens by the dozens and have stocks of them sequestered in both New York and Maine.

But there is a problem with this--I recently discovered they do not last forever but dry out after a few years. So it is a race in time to see what will expire first--my pens or me.

Nonetheless, I noticed recently that since my New York supply was down to just a few dozen I ordered a couple of boxes (12 in a box) to replenish my stash, holding my breath that they might no longer be available.

Reflexively, I went to Amazon and was relieved to find that they were available, but thought, before ordering them, that maybe I should shop around to see who was offering the best deal. Almost always that would be Amazon and what with Prime free shipping, why even bother. But being responsible I did.

Amazon was selling a box of 12 for $10.55, but Office Supply was offering the same thing, not on sale, including free shipping, for only $8.60, a nearly two dollar savings. So how could I say no. 

I didn't and ordered them from Office Supply. They arrived in less than two days, though it was hardly urgent as I already had at least a three-year supply.

While waiting for the Pentels to be delivered I thought about Amazon's business model. 

I know a little about this as we own a number of Amazon shares. In fact, in our mix of financial instruments and investments, it's the only individual stock we have since we prefer index funds. It has been good to us as well as to other early investors so I am a little worried that by talking about this I may spook my favorite investment. 

This of course is ridiculous. 

But with Chaos Theory suggesting that just one butterfly flapping its wings has an effect on things on the other side of the world couldn't I, by flapping my mouth, unleash global, macro-economic forces? Again, I know this is just the anxiety-ridden me talking.

The founder and CEO of Amazon, Jeff Bezos, seemingly the world's richest man (unless Vladimir Putin is), wants Amazon to become America's "everything store." He appears to be well on his way to realizing this goal. In fact just yesterday Amazon announced the location of its second multi-multi billion dollar corporate headquarters, joining the original one which will continue in Seattle. This move is so vast that they will split this new headquarters into two halves with one located in Long Island City, across the East River from Manhattan, and the other in Arlington, Virginia, adjacent to Washington, DC.

I know that many hate Amazon, feeling it already is an exploitative  monopoly and that its predatory practices have contributed to the decline of brick and mortar businesses, including independent bookstores. 

Though Amazon is valued at nearly $1.0 trillion, up to 10 percent of its employees are on food stamps and another large percent work part time or seasonally. Thus the company takes advantage of business regulations that enable it to get away with not providing benefits  Though just recently Amazon moved to pay all employees, including those who work for Whole Foods, at least $15 an hour.

So Amazon is riddled with contradictions. Like many capitalist enterprises.

But then there is Amazon and my Pentels.

The fact that on this small-ticket item Office Supply figured out a way to undersell the Bezos' behemoth suggests that perhaps Amazon is not on track to take over the world. 

Could this, like the chaotic butterfly, mixing metaphors, be a straw in the wind? If Office Supply can figure out how to sell pens cheaper than Amazon why can't they and others figure out ways to sell virtually everything cheaper and thereby give Amazon some well-needed competition?

I know, my stock. But, for the sake of the world, I'm OK with whatever happens to my Amazon. But about the Pentels, I'm not negotiable.

Philip Roth at His Olivetti

March 16, 2017--In Line at Trader Joe's

There was a panicky run on food supplies and bottled water as the Blizzard of 2017 approached Manhattan. After Hurricane Sandy, no one wanted to take anything for granted. So Rona and I joined the hunt for things to stock our larder with in case there was two-feet of blowing snow and widespread power outages.

We had recently "discovered" Trader Joe's on 14th Street and, though we didn't think much of TJ's in Delray Beach, we gave the one in the city a try a couple of months ago and liked their selection and prices.

In truth, we especially liked their house brand of Belgian chocolate pudding. Two or three tubs of that could get us through another Sandy. With that who needs bottled water!

When about half a block away it looked like chaos at the entrance to Joe's. "I wonder what's going on," I said. "Maybe a sale?"

"I doubt that but I think it may be a line."

"Out onto the street? That doesn't seem possible. The way they line up people in the store itself who are ready to check out amazes me. Sometimes the lines, two of them, snake all the way from the fruit and vegetable area all the way along the refrigerated chests to the front of the store where there are 20, 25 cashiers. It moves pretty quickly, but a line out the door and halfway up the block, even in a pre-storm buying frenzy?"

"There is in fact in line and it looks like it would take an hour to get to a cashier. So, I'm thinking, I can get through a week--even if we're snowed in--without chocolate pudding."

"Really?" Rona said skeptically, knowing my guilty habits and obsessions better than anyone else.

"And notice, rather the the usual young crowd that shops here most of the people on line are decidedly middle-age."

"That is interesting. The prices in general are pretty good compared to what else is available around here from Agata & Valentina and Whole Foods. So that could be part of the explanation."

"I wonder how many are on line."

"Why don't we count them," Rona said.

As so we did. As unobtrusively as possible so as not to make anyone feel under surveillance. Anticipating the storm was producing enough anxiety.

About halfway to the checkout counters we decided to bail out. It was so crowded that threading our way parallel to those pushing their shopping baskets along was arduous and it began to feel as if we were spying on otherwise stressed-out people.

We stopped the count at 217. "Amazing," I said, and simlutaneously noticed they had already sold out of many things, including my nighttime treat.

A women, who looked to be about 60 overheard what we were saying, pushed her walker toward us and, with edginess, said, "What are we specimens or something?"

"No," I stammered, "We were only looking for my chocolate pudding and . . ."

"And staring at us as if we were on display."

"Sorry to give you that impression," I said weakly, "We're just trying to stock up before . . ."

"So where's your basket, your cart with water and bread and other stuff?"

She had us there. I didn't know what to say. Rona was pulling on the sleeve of my coat.

"You live 'round here?" the woman said. "I can tell by your coat that you do." She pointed to Rona's furry white coat.

"Well, we . . ."

"Fancy people just as I suspected, looking down on the poor folks." She inched her shopping basket along, pushing it with her foot.

"I bought it, the coat, in K-Mart," Rona said almost inaudibly. "It was on sale."

"Speak up, will yuh," she hollered, tapping her ears, "I'm a little hard of hearing."  Rona didn't repeat what she had begun to say. "But, like I said, I'm from around here too." She hadn't mentioned that. "So it's my Manhattan too. I have rent control. Not everyone lives in fancy condos or coops." She was about to poke me in the chest so I recoiled as far as the overflowing aisles would allow.

"We're not that . . ." Rona said, "It's only that . . ."

"Only that you have money and I live on Social Security and Medicare."

"We . . . "

"I have to shop here while you two can go to Whole Foods or Dean & DeLucas and not have to stand out on the street in line, shivering for an hour just to save a few dollars."

"Is that how long you've been in line?"

"I'm exaggerating to make a point. But yes, at least half an hour on the street. But it's worth it. They take food stamps and don't give you attitude."

"We shop here a lot," I lied.

"There are these two Manhattans--yours and mine. I'm not a socialist mind you, though I voted for Bernie. I'm just pointing out the truth. I love living here. In my parents' old apartment. May they rest in peace. I go to a museum most every week. Just saw the new show at the Whitney."

"The Biannual," I said, "Was it any good?" I was glad to change the subject, "Half the time they're terrible. Too much about political correctness, not enough about the art."

"This time the art is very diverse but it's all pretty much of high quality. You should go. I have a pass so I don't have to pay but it shouldn't be a problem for you." Again she looked at Rona's coat.

"I think it costs at least 30 dollars. Not the coat, admission."

"That's a problem for you? If it is I don't see why you're living here. To go to the Whitney or the Met is the reason to be in the city." She again pushed her basket to close the gap in the line.

"We're trying to do more of that," I said.

"And while you're at it, look around at all your neighbors. New York is not just about money and museums. We don't bite." With that she chuckled and coughed at the same time.

14th Street Trader Joe's