Online used books: do they make it up in volume?

I recently wanted to get a copy of a book from the UK, and found several online sellers offering it for prices of 1 cent upward, plus shipping. That seemed too low to believe, so I stepped up to another offer of 99 cents and $3.99 shipping/handling. It arrived a week or two later, and I imagine air post might have taken up at least much of the $3.99 by itself. It might even leave a negative amount left over for the handling and envelope required. Presumably, there'd been work needed beforehand to catalog the inventory, as well. This for a book with a price tag still affixed for several pounds. And, as noted, there were several low price sellers also offering, some for even less. I'm wondering how the business model works, or what I may be missing here. I won't argue with success, though.

Safety alert! This plug was ours. Could it be yours too?

We turned toward each other, to ask the same question: "Do you smell something burning?"  Nasally-led investigation led soon to the clothes dryer, whose operating cycle seemed to be largely complete, but whose electric outlet displayed a trace of smoke.  Once the circuit was switched off, the plug's unpleasant countenance was revealed.  Apparently, arcing from loose or corroded plugs and sockets is a major cause for electrically-related fires. We're very glad that we caught this one while it was contained, but are still working to dispatch the remaining odor.

Grumpy holiday guidance to fundraisers

I've been known to make donations to organizations or causes whose goals and efforts I support.  Sometimes, though, I have second thoughts about doing so, given some of the responses that well-intentioned generosity has engendered.  I don't know whether or how my reactions may be unusual, but doubt they're unique. In this year-end season, I thought I'd frame some of these concerns as if in an open letter to keepers of worthy causes, suggesting means that could make those causes more amenable to support.  Here goes.

Don't call me on the phone.  This is unlikely to achieve a positive result, no matter what time of day or how enthusiastic I may be about the cause involved.

"Annual" means once a year.  Attempts to solicit contributions described as being annual on a more frequent basis are likely to be recognized and rejected.

Thanks and requests don't mix well. A response to acknowledge a contribution is appreciated.  If combined with an additional solicitation, however, that leaves at least this recipient thinking that the original donation wasn't deemed and welcomed as sufficient.

A prior gift represents a likely midpoint for its successor range. Please respect and value the amount that a donor has decided to offer, and the fact that subsequent gifts may vary either above or below it for any number of reasons.  Please refrain from proposing specific desired amounts, or scales that lead only upward from a prior value.

Time-limited pledge drives are counter-motivating.  I hope and expect that a contribution made outside a particular advertised window can still be useful and appreciated, and am unlikely to be motivated by the end of a calendar or fiscal year, by an ephemeral matching offer, or by interruptions to broadcast programming.  In fact, I'm sufficiently contrarian so as to be more likely to make donations outside such designated cycles.

Thanks for reading.

A World Lit Only by Flashlights

I was one of the hundreds of thousands (or was it millions?) who lost electricity during the recent unseasonally early snowstorm in the US Northeast.  I only saw about 5-6 inches, but that was enough to weigh down leafed trees and pull down lots of wires.  We had an unusually dark night thereafter, which may have been one of the few times I can recall sitting at home with eyes open and becoming solidly dark-adapted. Brilliant, by Jane Brox gave a compelling picture of how the advent of available-on-demand light changed society; it was a startling reminder to have a few inches of snow swing the status quo back to a temporary darker age where illumination was faint and had to be hoarded and carried rather than conveniently switched.  Learned instincts failed, as familiar switches located upon entry to rooms proved ineffective. Pre-electric winter nights must have been long and black, far beyond common contemporary experience. I've renewed my appreciation for the power grid, and for its timely restoration.

Why should printing be hard?

It's not always irremediably last-millennium to render something from bits onto paper, at least in my opinion. To carry some information for one of those increasingly rare moments offline, perhaps.  Or, to put on the wall.  Perhaps even to read and mark up with different ergonomics than on a screen.  Increasingly often, though, I find that printing just doesn't work, or doesn't work usefully.  Several times, I've printed driving directions from an online service, only to find that the thoughtfully provided map (fine onscreen) emerges overprinted with a block of solid color, as if the route has been redacted or censored - not the most useful result for navigation.  Browsers, web pages with frames, and printers still don't seem to coexist constructively, even after years. Last night, we tried to print a few 4x6 photos.  Two printers didn't feed the paper correctly, but we finally extracted a few images with unexpected colors and irregular margins.  Other times, documents fail or disappear silently when crossing the hostile waters of a local network, never to be rendered. File storage (fortunately) doesn't seem to have as many comparable problems.

Have I motivated this rant yet?  I'm wondering now about why printing should so often be problematic.  Device flaws are part of the problem, but I think it's broader than that. Is it that paper is old, untrendy, and that technical trend setters aren't generally as focused on integrating well with it?  If you're always at a screen, does this define your assumption for what others will want to do as well, and hence your priority for what's most important?

Exposures bracketing a day

I spent a couple of days on Cape Cod, which reminded me that there aren't so many places well suited to seeing both sunrises and sunsets. An unobstructed ocean view to the horizon is ideal, but geography doesn't usually provide those conveniently in both directions from one place.  The US East Coast was suited for early-to-rise lookouts, awaiting ships crossing the feared North Atlantic from Europe. Today, Long Islanders commute to New York opposite the sun's glare on Sunrise Highway. The Pacific, true to its name, provides a base for beach volleyball later in its day, and for Sunset Magazine.  Both sides have their early and late dog walkers and photographers, but whether the sun's showcase occurs at the beginning or end of the day may influence local culture more than we sometimes realize.

More Information Than You Desire

As I write this, I'm on a train, a transport mode which I often prefer and use when practical.  It's running on time, which isn't unusual though is hardly universal.  In a prior era, I'd have had a quiet morning, just arriving comfortably ahead of departure.  Now that we're in the web era, though, I'm able to check information about this train ahead of time. And, about other trains that might affect it. And, since I'm able to check, I feel that I should.  And, since I did, I found that trains a couple of hundred miles away on the line had been disrupted earlier.  And, earlier, it wasn't apparent whether or when this would be resolved.  Gasp!  I might not reach my destination as intended.  Time to purchase an alternate itinerary, only partly refundable.  Check again.  Still no web information confirming departure.  Arrive at station.  Normal departure, the agent tells me. Received with welcome surprise but still some skepticism. Board train, cancel alternate itinerary wirelessly.  I'm smoothly on my way just as I would have been if I hadn't checked online, only with more preliminary angst.  Online access sometimes brings more data, and sometimes offers more useful control, but can also lead to innovative goose chases that wouldn't have arisen otherwise.  A mixed blessing.