hold me

I have had this blog for fourteen years and, admittedly, I have written about some pretty mundane (read: dumb) stuff. Today's blog post is no exception and might possibly be the dumbest subject I have ever tackled. You have been warned...

Loyal followers of this blog (all three of you) know that I purchased a new car recently. It was a major upgrade over my previous car which was twenty years old. I remember when I bought that car in 2004, one of my biggest concerns was that it had a CD player. My new car doesn't not have a CD player... which is fine because I don't know the last time I actually played a CD. (Probably in my last car.) 

Like a lot of you, I carry an insulated water bottle to work with me everyday. The "bottle" is made of aluminum and keeps water cold for the entire workday and beyond. At the end of the day, when I get home from work, I empty it out and there are still fully-formed ice cubes that I put in it that morning. However, the bottle is too big to fit into any of the cupholders in the small console that sits between the two front seats of my car. So, for my morning commute, I reluctantly place my water bottle on the passenger's seat. It stays safely on the seat for most of my drive. Every so often, if I have to quickly hit the brakes to avoid one of my fellow drivers, my water bottle rolls forward, swoops slightly upward from the angle of the seat and — after experiencing a brief moment of "hang time" — slams into the floor mat and rolls under the passenger-side dashboard. Then it will roll to and fro as though it is on board a ship — coming in and out of my peripheral vision as I try to keep one eye on the road. At the next red light, I'll reach down to retrieve the water bottle and place it back on the seat, where I run the risk of  the entire episode playing over and over again. After too many close calls in traffic, I decided that something had to be done.

I searched Amazon for "2024 Subaru Crosstrek Oversize Cup Holder Insert," making sure I covered every conceivable key word I could think of. I expected the search result to show me two or three or maybe even five options from which to choose. It yielded 103. One hundred and three! Granted, in typical Amazon fashion, some of the results were totally unrelated to car cup holders. One listing was for a retractable cover to conceal the cargo storage space behind the rear seats.. Another was for louvre inserts for the car's rear windows. Once I whittled out the unrelated items, I was left with about ninety car cup holder options.

I figured on paying around ten bucks for something that would keep my water bottle from rolling off my car's passenger seat and possibly contributing to a nasty collision. I thought that, in itself, was worth ten bucks. I was shocked — shocked, I tell you! — that the prices for, what was essentially the exact same device, ranged from $6.99 up to $45.00 for a very fancy, multi-compartment, full console divider. I just wanted a simple little plastic insert that fit securely into my existing cup holder with a wide opening to accommodate my water bottle.

Once I narrowed my choices down from the many available (and eerily similar) options, I chose the trusty TYKOR-53 Cup Holder Extender for Car with Adjustable Base. This baby was an economical $9.99 and boasted an Amazon customer approval rating of 4.4 out of 5 stars, with 70% of those reviews offering such glowing praise as "Perfect!," "Exactly what I needed!" and the one that almost brought a tear to my eye: "It's more satisfying than I expected!" I made sure I read the negative reviews as well. Those are always entertaining, especially after seeing that most buyers were very pleased with their purchase. I enjoy reading disgruntled buyers' petty complaints and the ones for the TYKOR-53 were indeed petty. One unhappy buyer stated that "it does not fit the 2003 Honda Odyssey." Well, this does not apply to me, as I do not own a 2003 Honda Odyssey. Besides, buying an ill-fitting cup holder insert is not going to solve the problems of a 21-year old car. Another disappointed buyer was miffed that it "does not fit foreign cars," only to specify later in the review that is did not fit in their Italian-made car. Well, my internationally-challenged friend, Italy is not the only country that exports cars. You should do better research before publicly denigrating the poor TYKOR-53 for something that is clearly your own shortcoming. (If I may interrupt my own train of thought for a moment, if you really want to be entertained, read the one-star reviews for The Diary of Anne Frank on Amazon.)

I checked the specs for the TYKOR-53 and found "2024 Subaru Crosstrek" among the cars that it professed to accommodate. I read about the ease of installation (no tools required!) and that was good enough for me. I placed my order and in a couple of days my brand-new, water bottle-securing, easy-installation, non-2003 Honda Odyssey-fitting TYKOR-53 arrived. In a matter of minutes — nay! Seconds! — it was in place in my car, ready to hold my water bottle comfortably, safely and securely.

Now I will call my insurance company to see about the possibility of  a cup holder discount.

(Hey... I told you at the very beginning this was gonna be dumb.)

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

nothing but the water

I used to drink a lot of soda. My all time favorite was root beer. I loved drinking root beer when I was a kid, eventually discovering the miraculous flavor transformation my favorite soda made with the addition of a scoop of vanilla ice cream. (Recently, a young neighbor of ours was introduced to root beer floats — or "black cows," as they are called regionally. He told Mrs. Pincus and me that he was going to make us root beer floats, as though he had just invented them. He excitedly ran across the street to his house, we assumed, to prepare his version of the treat. Minutes later, we saw him run out of his house — empty-handed — and head down the block. We called to him, asking where he was going. He screeched to a halt, explaining that he was lacking some of the ingredients... specifically root beer and vanilla ice cream. He said he had everything else.) My father also liked root beer, which is kind of odd, because my father didn't like anything.

Somewhere also the way, I switched my soda preference to Diet Dr. Pepper. Sure, I tried regular Dr. Pepper, but I had always shied away from sweetened soda. All I could ever taste was the sugar. I gravitated towards the diet versions. I really don't care about the alleged detrimental effects of artificial sweeteners, so I actually preferred diet sodas. I liked Diet Dr. Pepper, but I eventually started drinking Diet Coke. I drank a lot of Diet Coke. An awful lot. Then I started drinking Coke Zero, buying into that "zero sugar" claim, but I really didn't care for it. I started to search for some other carbonated beverage to drink.

After one of my vasovagal syncope episodes, a doctor recommended that I drink more water. I interpreted that to mean any form of water. So I began buying and drinking a Walmart branded product called Clear American. The label ambiguously declared Clear American to be a "carbonated water beverage." My son, a seltzer aficionado, turned his nose up at the product, calling it "no better than soda." To prove his point, he served me a bottle of Topo Chico, a bubbly mineral water bottled at a source in Mexico, for comparison. It was good, much different from the 63¢-a-bottle, artificially-flavored stuff I was buying by the case at Walmart.. But not good enough to get me to buy it regularly. I finished the one-and-only bottle of Topo Chico I've ever had and moved on to find the next thing that would become my drink of choice. After passing on another brand of soda and plethora of trendy — and overpriced — seltzers, I found what I had been looking for right in front of my face. It had been there the whole time. 

Water.

There is actually a pipe in my kitchen that dispenses it any time I want. I have totally given up every other drink in favor of water. No exotically-named water bottled at some secluded, faraway source. The plain old clear H2O that I pay the fine folks at AQUA PA to pump into my house is a perfectly suitable drink. It goes with everything and clashes with nothing. It doesn't over power that taste of any accompanying food. Sure, I still drink coffee and tea, but, technically, they are just brown water and lighter brown water. 

I don't miss soda at all. I haven't had any in years. I find it amusing when I skip the soda aisle at the supermarket. I get a laugh at the growing number of choices of flavored seltzer and sparkling water...  and the folks pondering the selection.

Those are the sort of important decisions that I reserve for the cereal aisle.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

dirty water

I am not much of a handy man. My collection of tools with which I tend to the needed repairs around my house consists of three hammers, five screwdrivers — three straight, two Phillips — a set of Allen wrenches* and a lightweight pair of pliers. I also have a small container of short brass nails that I use to hang the many framed, autographed photos I have accumulated from the many collector shows I have attended. Aside from the occasional self-extracted nail in a floor plank that needs to be taught a good pounding lesson or a loose chair screw in need of tightening, I rarely have the opportunity to ply my limited home-repair skills. And that's good, because anything more challenging than changing a light bulb or... or.... changing a light bulb, well, then I'm in over my head.

I will tell you that I have advanced slightly above the level of my father's fix-it prowess. I remember a long-ago family project involving painting the bedroom I shared with my brother. My mother picked out and purchased paint and the event was planned for an upcoming weekend. Bright and early on Saturday morning, my mother (not my father) moved all of the furniture out of the way and covered everything with dropcloths and old sheets. She laid out brushes and rollers and turpentine and disposable trays filled with paint. She instructed my brother and me to dress in old clothes and then, when we were suitably outfitted, she offered additional direction on painting procedure. In the meantime, my father dressed up in what had come to be known as his "handyman costume." He'd put on a pair of white canvas pants speckled with assorted sizes of multi-colored paint splotches, a shapeless denim shirt decorated with a similar amount of paint and — as the crowning glory — a white painters hat that he scored for free when he paid for the paint. He smiled proudly as he paraded around the prepared bedroom, modeling his outfit for the family. He picked up a dry brush and mock-painted the faces of my brother and me, We laughed and he did this many more times until it was no longer funny. Finally, he dunked a roller into the tray of paint and made a couple of sloppy drags across the wall. Then, he plopped the roller back in the tray and announced that he was going downstairs for a cigarette. That was the last we saw of him until my mom, my brother and I finished the job ourselves. At least I now have the sense enough to hire a painter,

My father's constructive efforts left a lot to be desired. There were broken windows in forgotten rooms on the second floor of our house. There were frayed electrical cords and broken lamps throughout our house. I'm not sure my father even knew how to replace a light bulb. I was sure, however, that he knew nothing about plumbing. That did not stop him from hiring a plumber (who happened to be my uncle) and berate the poor guy as he banged around under our failing hot-water heater.

I know I am not handy and I don't pretend I am. I can tackle easy jobs, but even those can end with less-than-stellar results. (May I direct your attention to a door in our house that doesn't quite close all the way since I "fixed" a loose hinge.)

I have been noticing, for a few months now, that the toilet in our third-floor bathroom has been taking a particularly long time to fill after flushing. I have lifted the lid and stared into the tank for inordinate amounts of time, expecting to see — I don't know — a big, flashing arrow pointing to exactly what needs fixing/adjusting/replacing. So, I... y'know.... kept an eye on it. Surprisingly, it did not fix itself. It actually got worse, making high-pitched whistles and strange gurgling noises as the tank slowly refilled. A few days ago, after a flush, the water in the tank just ran and ran and ran. Again, I extracted the lid and I saw the flapper ball at the bottom of the tank was flopping at an awkward angle, nowhere near the hole at the base of the flush valve it's supposed to cover. (See? I learned something from working weekends in my father-in-law's hardware store for 25 years!) Quickly, I shut off the main water supply to the tank and stared helplessly into the porcelain abyss. After a day, I decided to take a trip to Home Depot to buy a new flapper ball and tackle this repair myself, goddammit! As I perused the many flapper balls on the shelves, I was very pleased to see that each and every package was labeled "universal." Good thing, because I took no measurements. I bought a lovely brick-red number with a sturdy-looking chain and a five dollar price tag and headed home to begin and end my little project before dinner.

I sprinted upstairs, filled with confidence. I yanked the lid off the tank. I popped open the blister-carded flapper ball and untangled the shiny new flush chain. With a fistful of paper towels, I reached to the bottom of the empty tank and deftly ripped the one remaining attachment of the old flapper from its weakened grip. The old ball, after who knows how many years of waterlogged submersion, had been rendered soft and gummy and tore away from its single mooring easily. With my path clear and my determination high, I fastened the new flapper ball into place, connected the chain to the flush handle with the recommended amount of slack and replaced the tank lid — all in a matter of mere minutes. I restarted the flow of water to the tank and, after a test flush, all was working properly. I was triumphant!

A day or two later, I noticed that the sink in our main bathroom was a little slow in draining completely. My wife had been feeding some organic, biodegradable solution into the drain on a semi-regular basis with minimal success. Drunk with my new-found "master plumber" power, I twisted the pop-up drain plug out of its chrome-rimmed hole. Clinging to the bottom of its four-inch plastic shaft was a wet, gray mass that looked like an animal tail. I pulled the stringy mess off and tossed it in the trash. I replaced the drain plug and ran some water into the basin. It swirled and wooshed down the drain with the force of Colorado River rapids.

So, am I ready to take on more complex home repair projects? A new counter-top for the kitchen, perhaps, or a little rewiring in the basement? No sir. I am not. I will stick to hanging pictures and changing light bulbs. I will leave the big stuff to someone who needs a big metal box to carry their tools.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

* I'm not sure why I own Allen wrenches. I don't know anyone named "Allen."