You Be the Judge

The Who received generous reviews for yesterday's Super Bowl halftime concert—apparently, the nostalgia factor prevailed. I wish I could say I enjoyed the performance, but I found the band to be a pale shadow of its former self. Given that I never liked the original group that much in the first place, I suppose it's not surprising that I felt almost embarrassed for Roger Daltry and Pete Townshend last night. The light show that accompanied their music way out-dazzled the aging rock stars.

But if it's celebrity The Who were after, I guess they achieved that—Super Bowl XLIV was the most watched television event in history, surpassing even the series finale of M*A*S*H. So, last night's audience was surely the band's biggest ever. In case you missed the show, you can check it out here, in two parts. You be the judge.

Who's on First?

Actually, The Who's on the fifty yard line, or will be for the Super Bowl halftime show later this evening. Some of you might not even know what The Who is or who The Who are. Those of us who came of age in the 1950s, '60s, or '70s probably recall the music and destructive guitar antics of Pete Townshend and crew, but do kids born in the 1980s or later really know or care about The Who? Do you?

Back in the day, I wasn't a huge fan, but The Who's music still evokes memories. During the mid-1970s, I worked as an editor for Guitar Player Magazine. I shared an office with Steve Caraway, the magazine's layout editor. Steve was obsessed with The Who. Every morning, he'd ask me, "Don't you think Pete Townshend is great? Seriously, don't you think he's the greatest living guitar player?" Every morning, the same urgent refrain. It wasn't enough that Steve worshipped Townshend. He needed me to affirm his devotion.

"I do think he's great, Steve," I would agree. To admit that I didn't believe Tommy was the greatest rock album ever made would have been tantamount to blasphemy in Steve's mind. It was easier to go along to get along. I lost touch with Steve ages ago, but I'm sure if he's still out there somewhere, he'll be watching tonight's halftime show. The question is, what will he see?

For one thing, half the band has passed on. Drummer Keith Moon died in 1978 and bassist John Entwistle died in 2002. The remaining two members, guitarist Townshend and vocalist Roger Daltrey, have passed into old age—Townshend is 64 and Daltry 65, making them the oldest act to perform at the Super Bowl since 1987, when George Burns, then in his 80s, and Mickey Rooney, 66, led a halftime salute to Hollywood's 100th anniversary.

Despite the nostalgia factor, seeing old guys perform the rebellious, muscular music of my youth can be pretty depressing. I recently watched the 25th anniversary of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on television (the concert took place at Madison Square Garden and tickets sold for astronomical prices). Crosby, Stills & Nash hogged the stage for far too long, Aretha tried (and failed) to hit the high notes, and Springstein belted out his usual fare. Simon and Garfunkel looked over the hill, though they still had their harmonies down. Bono's voice seemed shot and when B.B. King sang "The Thrill Is Gone," the thrill really was gone.

They were all great artists in their day, but their time has passed. When I started watching the concert, I didn't expect to feel that way, but after a couple of hours, I'd had enough. So, I'm not anticipating a great performance from The Who this evening. Maybe they'll surprise me, though I'm not holding my breath. And I hope Pete Townshend doesn't smash up any perfectly good guitars.

Photos courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Click on photos to enlarge.

Department of Domestic Affairs

This is a story about heat, deception, and eventual triumph. No, I'm not about to reveal a torrid love triangle. My story is about laundry and a dryer that stopped working. It's also a cautionary tale about what can happen when you try to repair a simple problem.

On Monday, I needed to do laundry, lots of laundry. Not wanting to face the mountain of clothes waiting to be sorted, I decided to start with towels. I washed them, then put them in my Bosch Axxis dryer, left the room, and forgot about them. About two hours later, I suddenly remembered the towels, which should have been dry long before. But the dryer was still running and when I opened the dryer door, the towels were damp and cool. The heat had failed.

I quickly guessed the source of the problem. A damper that had recently been installed on the dryer vent had apparently not opened sufficiently to allow adequate ventilation. This caused the dryer to overheat, triggering a shutoff of the heater. At first, I feared that the heater itself had broken, but my Internet research suggested that most likely the dryer had a safety feature, either in the form of a reset button or a thermal fuse, that had acted to turn off the heat before serious damage occurred.

Further surfing on the Internet revealed that while older dryers had reset buttons, most newer models use thermal fuses—if the dryer overheats, the thermal fuse burns out and breaks the connection, preventing further heating. Thermal fuses that burn out require replacement. My owner's manual had no useful diagrams of the dryer's internal mechanisms to help me figure out what the thermal fuse might look like and where it might be located. Even E. was stumped. We finally decided to call a "professional."

The repairman arrived the next morning. E. had told the scheduler the nature of the problem, yet the repairman failed to bring a Bosch thermal fuse or any other Bosch dryer part with him. He glanced at the dryer, didn't open up the back panel, yet claimed to know exactly what part we needed. He said he would have to put in a request for the part and that, if it wasn't in stock, we might have to wait a week for the repair to be made. For showing up and doing absolutely no work, he charged us $100. He assured us, however, that there would be no further service charge when he returned.

The following day, not having heard anything from the repair company, E. called and learned that the part wasn't in stock and that it would be at least a week before the repair could be made. When he asked the cost, he learned we would be charged a staggering $300 for parts and labor. Most of that was for labor. The part itself cost a mere $12. Including the price of the original service call, fixing our dryer would cost us over $400.

Appalled, E. and I considered our options. It would almost be cheaper for us to buy a new dryer than to repair the current one. I was not quite ready to give up, though. In search of inspiration, I went back to the Internet, where I came across a discussion of Bosch dryers on a repair forum. The discussion concerned a Bosch Nexxt dryer, the big brother of our smaller Axxis model. A knowledgeable forum participant wrote that Nexxt dryers have a reset button, located on one side of the heater. Since our Bosch Axxis is virtually the same as the Nexxt except in size, the possibility that it had a reset button definitely seemed worth checking out.

It took a torx screwdriver to get the back panel off, but once that was accomplished, to our amazement and delight, we indeed found a red reset button. E. pushed it and the circuit was restored! As soon as we started the dryer, it heated right up. Problem solved. We did have to remove the damper from the dryer vent to ensure adequate ventilation, but that seemed a small price to pay to have our dryer back. And it's certainly a much smaller price than we would have paid the repairman to unnecessarily replace a part while no doubt surreptitiously pressing the dryer's reset button himself.

We realized we had almost been victims of a scam. Fortunately, we were able to stop payment on the $100 check we paid for the original service call, so the experience only cost us a little time and a little faith in the goodness of our fellow human beings. On the brighter side, I've finally finished the last load of laundry and I've never before appreciated the simple beauty of a well-functioning appliance so much. Precisely because it's full of hot air, the lowly dryer has earned my gratitude and respect.

Ode to the Brown Pelican

I have been living by Biscayne Bay in Florida for over five years, yet I never tire of seeing brown pelicans in flight. They look like creatures from prehistoric times. Indeed, the fossil record indicates that pelicans have existed for over 40 million years. I'm repeatedly filled with awe at the sight of their impressive wingspans and long beaks. Perhaps if I'd grown up in a climate where pelicans were common, I would regard them as an everyday sort of bird. Instead, I never fail to find them amazing.

Pelicans appear at times comical, at other times majestic. I love to watch groups of them flying overhead in a vee formation. Often, though, a single pelican, gliding above the water, catches my attention. A pelican's dive is something to behold—from a considerable height, the bird plunges head-first into the water, scooping up fish in the distinctive pouch under its beak.

Brown pelicans, like other sea birds, were devastated by DDT and were placed on the endangered species list, but recent years have seen a recovery of the their population and they have been removed from the list. I count myself lucky to live among them. I hope there will never be a time when brown pelicans won't fish in the waters of Biscayne Bay.

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Click on photo to enlarge.

The Curious Case of the Moving Mattress

A few years ago, E. and I discovered the joys of a Sleep Number mattress by Select Comfort. We had tried conventional mattresses of varying firmness, including a pillow-top mattress that was soft on top and firm underneath. Nothing felt good for long. Plus, we didn't exactly agree on the desired firmness. I like a nice cushy feel, while E. hates to sink in. Our solution—a Sleep Number air mattress with separate adjustments for each side.

E. sets his side at 90 out of a possible 100, almost as firm as can be. I prefer to vary the air level, going as low as 25 and as high as 70. In fact, I particularly enjoy the ability to change the setting. If I find that I'm feeling at all stiff or sore in the morning at a firmer setting, I can soften the mattress and relieve any pressure points. If the softness starts to irritate my back, I can increase the firmness for a while. We've been very pleased with our sleep solution. Until lately, that is, when our mattress seems to have developed a mind of its own.

Last week, I was sitting on the love seat in our bedroom, watching television, when suddenly I heard the tell-tale release of air characteristic of the mattress resetting from a higher to lower setting. But I wasn't trying to reset the bed. The setting remote was tucked away in E.'s nightstand drawer. After a couple of minutes, the bed clicked on again. This time, it sounded as if the bed were refilling with air. Peculiar, to say the least. Still, when I climbed into bed later and checked the setting (I normally set the firmness while lying on the mattress), it seemed to be more or less where I'd left it. As with other mysterious occurrences, since I couldn't figure out why it had happened, I conveniently forgot about it.

Last night, however, the bed once again spontaneously turned itself on, several times. This time E. was sitting next to me and witnessed the strange event. Again, the setting seemed okay when I later got into bed and checked it. But what could be causing the bed to develop a mind of its own?

We hadn't had any power surges. I hadn't touched the plug. My nightstand sits between the love seat and the bed, but the setting remote was way on the other side of the bed, in E.'s nightstand drawer. However, several other remotes were on top of my nightstand—television, cable, and radio. Could their proximity somehow have signaled the bed to re-adjust itself? I wasn't using the remotes when these events occurred, although I was watching television each time.

Then there's the apartment factor. Perhaps, unbeknownst to me, the man who resides in the apartment next door also has a Sleep Number mattress and, while adjusting his, triggered ours. Or the people upstairs have an Xbox that's interfering with our mattress. Or it's sunspots. At least the problem doesn't seem to occur while we're sleeping. Not yet, anyway.

PB&J

Today, I had a peanut butter and jam sandwich for lunch. It's still a favorite of mine, although too much sweet jam sometimes induces an afternoon headache, so I indulge sparingly. A few other aspects of the meal have altered, too. Charting the evolution of my PB&J lunch provides a revealing look at the way American eating habits have changed. 

When I was very young , my mother made my PB&J sandwich with Wonderbread, creamy-style Skippy Peanut Butter and Welch's Grape Jelly. By the time I reached my teens, I'd discovered black raspberry jam and my mother had switched from Wonderbread to Pepperidge Farm white bread. Back then, my idea of a good sandwich consisted of a thin spread of peanut butter and gobs of sweet, luscious jam. I still favored creamy-style peanut butter and my mother still purchased the Skippy brand.

For a good part of my life, I considered a PB&J sandwich inedible without an accompanying glass of milk. By milk, I meant whole milk. Though I learned to tolerate low-fat and later non-fat milk in my cereal, I preferred to drink good, old-fashioned whole milk when imbibing straight from a glass. Usually, my glass of milk contained an added dollop—a couple of teaspoons of coffee. My father was in the coffee business and I considered it a great privilege to be allowed to add a spoonful or two of coffee to my glass of milk, years before I was permitted to drink coffee on a regular basis.

PB&J was a staple food of my college years. While I usually had no idea what brands of bread, peanut butter, and jelly or jam the dining hall served, I still often preferred PB&J to the mystery meat alternative. Toward the end of my time in college, the back-to-the-land movement had taken off, along with an interest in healthier eating. Some of my friends tried growing their own food; others experimented with macrobiotics. While I didn't radically change my eating habits, some of the new food ethos rubbed off on me.

By the time I graduated from college, I preferred my PB&J with whole wheat bread. Later, natural fruit spreads took the place of jams made with refined sugar. Eventually, unsweetened, all-natural peanut butter became readily available. I still clung to my whole milk, though, until finally the ubiquitous concerns about high cholesterol wore me down. Not that I had high cholesterol, but it seemed somehow indecent to continue consuming such large quantities of animal fat, as if I were tempting fate. I still disliked the taste of straight skim milk, even with a little added coffee, so I would often reverse the proportions and accompany my sandwich with a cup of coffee to which a little skim milk had been added.

Today, I prepared my PB&J using an excellent whole grain bread, spread with a generous portion of all-natural peanut butter (kept refrigerated to prevent the oil from separating out) and a thin glaze of apricot fruit spread. I enjoyed the sandwich with a glass of Brita-filtered tap water and a P.D. James mystery. That's one thing that hasn't changed—PB&J always tastes better while reading a good book.

Let the Price Wars Begin

The Kindle is far from perfect. Its screen is small and the light-gray background doesn't provide optimal contrast for comfortable reading. Color isn't available on Kindle, so graphics are limited. The pages aren't numbered like ordinary books, which can be confusing. There's no backlighting for reading in the dark. I don't love everything about my Kindle, but up until now I've loved the $9.99 price of downloading an e-book. With the advent of the iPad, though, that's all about to end.

Amazon has just announced that it will temporarily cease selling books published for Kindle by Macmillan. This after Macmillan indicated that it wants to charge $12.99 to $14.99 for bestsellers and most hardcover releases. Apparently, Apple, the manufacturer of the iPad, will allow Macmillan and other publishers to set their own e-book prices and Apple will take 30 percent of the revenue.  This type of arrangement is known as the agency model, as opposed to the merchant model (currently used by Amazon), in which the retailer purchases stock from the publisher for an agreed-upon price and then sets its own price for sale to consumers. So far, Amazon has priced its e-books at $9.99, even if that means taking a loss on sales.

Now, though, it's likely that e-book prices will rise. Amazon admitted as much in a letter posted by the Kindle team on a customer forum. The letter states that while Amazon will temporarily suspend sales of Macmillan titles, "We want you to know that ultimately, however, we will have to capitulate and accept Macmillan's terms because Macmillan has a monopoly over their own titles, and we will want to offer them to you even at prices we believe are needlessly high for e-books. Amazon customers will at that point decide for themselves whether they believe it's reasonable to pay $14.99 for a bestselling e-book."

With the might of Apple behind it, iPad stands to make inroads on Amazon's e-book territory. The iPad offers multimedia and color, making it more appealing for certain types of books and other publications. Thus, even before the announcement of Macmillan's new policy, it appeared that Amazon was in for a competitive ride. Now, things should get really interesting, though not necessarily in a good way for consumers.