Tote Bag Search Encore: Progress Report

My faithful readers may remember that I sent out a call for help on a tote bag a while ago. Unfortunately, the problem remains. In fact, it is a critical problem, because, when I was sick a while back and dragging myself to work, I decided I should have a bottle of daytime cough medicine at the ready.

I suspect that you already know how this story will end. I put the bottle into a plastic grocery bag (just in case!) and put it in my aforementioned LL Bean tote (with vile architect's logo) along with folders of student work. Naturally, the safety cap was not secure AND the plastic bag had holes in it. Hence, many student papers and the tote bag itself (not to mention the carpet on the floor of the car) ended up soaked in viscous red liquid. The students were very forgiving. The tote bag is a mess.

When I posted about my desire for a new tote, two commenters suggested that I make one. That would be nice if I knew how to sew. I remember with pain the humiliation of being the WORST student in home ec back in eighth grade. Everyone was putting in zippers, while I was still basting. Then the home ec wing burned down. What a relief. I still got a C in home ec.

In my fantasy world, I will acquire some iconic tote bag. This fantasy was strengthened after riding the shuttle last summer at the San Francisco airport in the company of Mr. FS, a bunch of normal mortals, and a stranger whom I dub Mr. Iconic, after his clothes and luggage. I may write a full description of this fascinating fellow some time, but suffice it to say that everything on or near his body was recognizably super expensive, with and without logos. I have never seen a man decked out in such an array of designer duds; at the same time, the effect was not--as it often is on women--that of the soi-disant "label whore." This guy definitely had an aura. So much so, that even Mr. FS, oblivious to clothing in general, and who only recognized the somewhat worn Vuitton garment bag, was aware of it. He said "That guy looked really rich. I really liked his little orange suitcase." Uh, can we say Hermes?

Along with the Hermes, Burberry (coat and scarf), and Vuitton, he carried a beat up leather tote bag. Obviously expensive, but with the je ne sais quoi of wear. Indeed, I read somewhere that, owing to the number of fakes in circulation, the only Vuitton with any cachet at all, is worn Vuitton (perhaps because the fakes don't hold up?).

So, for a while, I thought about a leather tote. Then, my mother gave me some leather briefcases that had belonged to my late father. Very funky. But also very heavy, even with nothing in them.

Lightweight AND iconic. That must be the famous Longchamp Pliage bag, carried by everyone in Paris. But even in my fantasies, I am a cheapwad. So, although I can say I will pick one up next time I am in France, the truth is I will never actually spend over $100.00 on a nylon bag, even if it has leather trim. So unless one goes on sale, I know myself too well to ever do this.


Another tote bag, not iconic, is this sophisticated looking tie dye number. I hate tie dye as a rule--those garish colors. But this tie dye, by Bodkin of Brooklyn, an eco-fashion company, is beautiful. I read that the dye is all natural and made of blueberries and such. It is also dyed in the bathtubs of upscale artisan types in Brooklyn, rather than in third world countries or at summer camp. Well, all that is too chichi for me. My eco-fashion comes via thrift stores. Also, $80.00! It would be one thing if I could pull it off. But I know that if I lugged it around, with my messy hair and general air of disarray, it would look like something I picked up at Walmart for $12.99. So I have to confess that I myself would nullify what is special about this bag.




Back to LL Bean. I must admit that I am swayed by the free shipping (and return shipping) and free monogramming that come with my charge card. I get sidetracked by the leather tote once more. Especially since a romp through the internet suggests that no-name classic bags are trumping ostentatious "It-Bags" in the age of austerity. The LL Bean bag comes up often in such discussions, along with similar bags from Pendleton. But I am annoyed that the price went from $99.00 in December to $129.00 in January. And it seems heavy.


Back to the boat and tote bags. What could be more iconic? But--ugh--that cream canvas covered with red blotches. And there is the monogram issue discussed earlier. (If I am entitled to a free monogram, because I have the LLB charge, by golly I will get one).

Then I turn to "other" in the tote department. There is the hunter's tote. Not canvas, but nylon. Waterproof. Ecstatic reviews. Only $29.00 for the large size. I love words like "utility." The one woman reviewer bought the camouflage pattern. Hey! Camouflage is iconic! I run this idea by Mr. FS. He does not think a camouflage tote would "read" as ironic and post-modern.

Okay, what about olive drab? Then I can get a monogram with my awful initials, but it will hardly show.



I have plenty of time to mull over this major decision. It occurs to me that in around 5 weeks, I will begin my three months of summer break. Thanks to my extreme frugality, I do not have to teach in the summer, nor does Mr. FS. So I don't need a tote bag for a while.

Needless to say: your opinion Dear Readers? Any other good candidates. I have THREE MONTHS to think about this.

Work Clothes Revisited

By Mr. Dr. Frugal Scholar.

I was amazed and honored by how many people found it worth responding to my humble meditation on an equally humble topic. I was going to answer the various comments individually, but I realized that with my tendency toward prolixity (an occupational hazard, I suppose), I’d better just give in and offer a collective response here.

First: the Duchesse raises the issue of smell—a delicate issue indeed. There is a distinction between something that smells (perfume, sirloin steak), and something that stinks (you supply the examples). Now, what is on my work pants is soil, not dirt. My pants are soil-y rather than dirty, and if one enjoys the rich smell of loam then perhaps it is not entirely sophistical to argue that my pants have their own earthy perfume.

I admit this is a stretch, and is somewhat compromised by the Duchesse’s observation that the soil is probably mixed with sweat, though most of this is absorbed by my shirt (changed regularly), which is tucked into my pants and which, along with my underwear (also changed regularly), forms a prophylactic (that word again!) barrier against the sweat. I also hang the pants in the sun after each use, which seems to kill most of the odor.

However, all of this may seem empty conjecture; what I need is some hard, scientific, experimental evidence. For this, I enlisted the sensitive nose of the Divine Miss Em, who is not only a connoisseur of scents but is also quite willing to express her unedited opinions. So I watched with bated breath as she brought her nose closer and closer to the soil-iest part of my work pants until it was a scant ¼ inch away. “Papa,” she said, her face lighting up in a beatific smile, “it hardly smells at all! It just smells a little like soil!” I kid you not . . . . although her smile might not have been beatific, and she might have said “dirt” rather than “soil,” not being as sensitive to the political connotations of these words as I am.

Flushed with victory, I ran to find Dr. F.S. and asked her to confirm the Divine Miss Em’s judgment. I regret to say that Dr. F.S.’s response strayed considerably beyond the bounds of polite discourse, and included certain gestures and phrases that cannot be mentioned in a family-oriented blog such as this. Of course having someone thrust a foul-looking garment in your face as you are trying to grade papers is itself probably a breach of some rule of decorum (I’m not up on all the fine points, so I can’t say for sure). In any case, I think Miss Em’s testimony is enough: minimal smell, and no stink.

And even if it did stink, no one in her or his right mind would come within ten feet of someone who looks like I do when I’m gardening, unless it’s a fellow fanatic who understands the visual vocabulary, and knows that the soil-encrusted lunatic brandishing a hoe is actually a gentle cultivator of the earth.

Second (sorry for the long first): while it may be harder to wash clothes that have had soil ground into them for months, washing is optional. My pants are the lowest of the low, have done honorable service in various capacities for years, and after weeks or months of garden duty often go directly into retirement (the garbage can). If I do wash them, I first give them a good hosing down outside, which gets rid of the heavy incrustations. And since I’m not going to wear them only for more gardening, any stains that remain after laundering I think of as marks of a long and worthy career.

Third: the slippery slope (similar to the old domino theory): unwashed garden clothes lead inevitably to an unwashed life. I think that in fact my gardening clothes work as a sort of safety valve, allowing me to indulge my primitive needs in an acceptable way. In this sense, my cruddy old clothes become the guardian of civilization; they allow me to be a happy citizen and sweet-smelling spouse without the slightest chance of going postal.

Fourth: gender. I always thought that men, more often than women, would wear clothes (even non-gardening clothes) until they glowed in the dark. Certainly Frugal Son seems to confirm this view, which would make men genetically (or culturally) more frugal than women. So I was very pleased to hear Chance, Vicky, and Reggie Girl say it’s not a gender thing at all, that there’s a sort of fraternity (and sorority) of the unwashed out there that I can lean on when the going gets rough. Thanks to you all ( or y’all, as we say down here) for the support and encouragement!

Here's our old friend again, after several more muddy days' use, and in the condition that the Divine Miss Em, in the spirit of objective inquiry, investigated with her sensitive nose. But I think retirement looms.

Frugal Fanatics: Is There Any Limit for Work Pants?

By Mr. Dr. Frugal Scholar.

Dr. F.S. is taking a well-deserved break, so she said I could post one of my marginally helpful musings on frugality.

Sometimes it’s hard to decide whether I have gone over the line from frugality to psychopathology. And it doesn’t help that so many others are eager to vote for the latter, even my beloved frugal spouse, who thinks that some of my habits and routines are immoderate. But frugality is not just about saving money, it’s also a sort of mental discipline: Zen frugality.

Case in point: my work clothes. My work clothes belong to the lowest of complicated clothing cast system, and are generally culled from the third and final tier of my “general house and lounge-about” attire (not to be confused with my “go to your average store” attire). Work pants, I think we can agree, are for working, and as such I see no point in washing them—at least not until they can stand up by themselves.

Here’s my argument: when I garden, or do any other sweaty, grubby work, the pants get dirty. If I put on a new clean pair the next time I go out, they too are going to get dirty each and every time. However, pants that are already dirty will stay relatively clean—relative, that is, to their initial condition. So what’s the point of wasting time, water, electricity, and effort to wash work clothes after one, two, or more wearings when re-use contributes to the cosmic cleanliness quotient? (I just made that phrase up.) When I garden, I am the king and only subject of my domain: it’s not as if I’m going to an important meeting or can offend anyone but myself. And once I put my old clothes on they feel just fine, however disreputable they may look. And I don’t see how one can object that used work clothes are danger to one’s health. (Paradoxically, donning such clothing might even promote good health, since, as medical researchers have found, keeping children too clean prevents them from developing antibodies, and I don’t see why the same should not apply to adults.)

I have to admit that I like putting on my used clothes. As my friend Henry David Thoreau says in Walden, “Every day our garments become more assimilated to ourselves, receiving the impress of the wearer's character, until we hesitate to lay them aside without such delay and medical appliances and some such solemnity even as our bodies.” (Sometimes, after a few weeks of hard use, it does seem as I’ll need medical appliances to get them on—and off.)

So am I a fanatic? I think not, since I’m not only saving myself time and money, but I’m helping to save the world as well. An overstatement? Perhaps, but I’ve done some quick calculations, which demonstrate conclusively that if everyone reused work clothes the way I do we would save enough energy to light Tickfaw, Louisiana for 625 days. So why not be the Mother Teresa of your garden as well?

Bonus test. See if you can put the following photos in sequence. One is of my work pants after two wearings, one after ten wearings, and one after another 15 hours of very hard use (spring work: on my knees weeding and digging and grubbing happily around).








Answer (I know this part should be upside down): the first is after two wearings, the second is last, and the third is the middle. (Pretty sneaky, hunh?!) So how much longer do you think I can keep going?

My Burden: Four Hundred Books

First, some random musings. I am definitely learning humility in the blogosphere. I wrote what I thought was a funny post (at least the title was funny) and only got TWO comments. Perhaps people thought my title--"Prophylactic Shopping"--indicated an, errr, erotic subject matter. Not at all. The primary definition of prophylactic is protective.To wit:


Etymology:
Greek prophylaktikos, from prophylassein to be on guard, from pro- before + phylassein to guard, from phylak-, phylax guard
Date:
1574

1 : guarding from or preventing the spread or occurrence of disease or infection
2 : tending to prevent or ward off : preventive
—

Plus, I need to apologize for my erratic (again, NOT erotic) posting. I'm getting into the end-of-semester slump. I should revive over spring break.

Now, to my burden topic. Even though I mostly write on frugality, my real problem is clutter. I am perfectly happy to blab at length about all the little money saving tricks that I engage in. However, I get heart palpitations just thinking about posting photos of some of my clutter spots.

It is interesting that some of the greatest successes in personal finance blogging are people who had to--with great difficulty--pull themselves out of debt. Similarly, the people who are best at helping clutterbugs like me are the people who had the same problem. So the sisters who wrote Sidetracked Home Executives were lifesavers for me. They were also the inspiration for the hugely successful Flylady.

Since my problem is on-going AND I will be having in-laws coming in a few weeks for a several-night stay, the motivation is high. I also am blessed with a functional back-building of about 300 square feet. When we bought the house, this was the owner's junk room. We didn't have any junk to put in it at the time, but, over the years, it has filled right up.

Many years ago, my son decided he wanted the space for his friends. We cleaned it up. He had a party complete with a black-light. Then it was abandoned and it filled up again.

Daughter decided she wanted it for her friends. We cleaned it up and she didn't even have a party. Filled up again.

Now, Mr. FS decided he wants the space for a study. What a great idea! Then we can use his current space for the television, which now resides in a closet. What is in the little house now are books books books. Some used to be for sale on Amazon, but are no longer worth enough to bother selling. Some are swappers for paperbackswap.com. Most are bedraggled.

We consolidated all the books and discovered that we are using 300 square feet for about 600 books, 400 of which are nothing special or formerly special. Other stuff includes mailing supplies, linens the kids take to camp when they work there, and . . . the embarrassment continues. When you count up what stands between you and what you want, often the barrier is just pitiful.While searching for some inspiration/motivation last night, I came upon Julie Morgenstern's newish book. She wrote an organizing book a few years ago that was a huge best-seller; it was also completely useless for me.

Her new book is on hold for me at the library. But I glanced at it on googlebooks. She has her readers count up their burdens.

I love this word! If you've read Pilgrim's Progress, you may recall that the pilgrim, whose name is Christian (not a very subtle allegory!), journeys with his burden. He loses his burden only when he reaches heaven.

If you've read Little Women, you may recall that Jo and her sisters play Pilgrim's Progress. They wear little backpacks, climb up the stairs, and take off their burdens when they get to the attic.

So far, I've bagged up and donated about 200 books (that was before the 400 number). Now I have 400 to go. For a book-lover like me who wants to give every book a home, this is very painful. But I will not sink into the Slough of Despond (another Pilgrim's Progess reference). No, I will hurry back out and fill up ONE MORE BAG.

Stay tuned. What is your burden, Dear Readers?

Prophylactic Shopping: Thrift Store Inoculations

How's that for a snazzy title? I do this all the time and I guess I'm wondering if anyone else does. If it's new to you, it may constitute a helpful tip in the on-going wars against overspending.

What is prophylactic shopping? It is shopping to keep you from shopping. Let me explain. As we all know, frivolous people (like me) sometimes shop for sport and stress relief. I know, I know, we should be above this. Especially me, since I am a high-brow type. Truly though, there is nothing wrong with a little sport and personal adornment. The new hair shirt frugality that is au courant is, I think, dispiriting. I wrote about this a while ago in an essay that quoted the famous lines from King Lear: "Oh, reason not the need." That was one of my favorite posts and it received not a single comment.

Now that we have established my fundamentally frivolous nature, let us turn to my equally fundamental frugality. I really hate wasting money. I hate malls. For me, danger sometimes comes via the internet. Today, I received an email announcing even further reductions at Talbots and FREE SHIPPING. I took advantage of a similar offer a week or so ago, and all the stuff has been returned to the store.

I felt myself weakening. This Talbots sale was even better than the other one. And I've been sick. And, while all my students are lazing about, I've been slogging through their papers. Poor me.

So this morning, I indulged in some prophylactic shopping, at, you guessed it, my local thrift stores. This is not really a waste of gas, because I traveled no more than two miles. And, as for wasting time, well, I consider this therapy.

So what did I get? I'm assuming that the thrift store gods (or goddesses) felt how weak was my spirit. Therefore, with their usual sense of humor, they provided me with a pair of new linen ballet flats--from Talbots! Thanks!

They also provided me with a linen and leather Kate Spade handbag (I think it's real too, unlike most of the specimens that make their way to thrifts).

So far, I'm out $5.00. I also got some books, including one I gave away a long time ago and have been wanting to re-read. My spending of about $10.00 inoculated me against spending about $80.00. It would be funny-money to say that I "saved" $70.00, but I kind of did.

If any of the acquired item turns out to be unwanted, I will donate it back. So my money went to a good cause and any mistakes go back to be sold again.

Please don't think I am always rewarded in this way. But prophylactic shopping works even if you don't find anything. That is because you see so much stuff, so much nice stuff, even some new stuff, that you realize that the thrift store universe is a place of abundance. There's always something next time.

So, readers, do you engage in prophylactic shopping? Do tell?

And, are you as sick as I am of the new hair-shirt mentality?

Gender Studies: An Apercu or Two

Once again, I will preface my remarks by noting that I have about sixty papers to slog through. These are left over from last week--I couldn't handle grading with that awful cold. So an apercu or two. (Note: could somebody tell me how to put a cedilla in? I feel the spirits of Mr. Giordano and Mr. Moore wielding their red pens.)

Talbots encore: A few weeks ago I boldly declared that I thought it would be a good idea to buy Talbots stock. Even though the Motley Fools classed Talbots as their scary Halloween stock, I was intrigued by Talbots' new aesthetic and my feelings were confirmed by comments around the blogosphere by various women of a certain age. I even bought a few things at a fab sale.

Upshot: I ended up returning everything I bought, because, as my daughter said, nothing was a significant "upgrade." BUT I checked the stock today: when I first looked at it, it was $1.80; now, a few months later, it is $3.80. I was only going to buy 100 shares, and, believe me, a $200.00 profit is not even a dust mote against the losses in my heretofore hefty retirement funds. I only hope the "experts" that run TIAA, Vanguard, and a few other companies whose names must not be uttered were sharp enough to pick up on the same vibes as the smart women of the blogosphere.

Boston Gal's Open Wallet, a blog that obviously has at its helm a woman, linked to an article about three who have made it big as bloggers. These are the usual suspects and they pull in between $60,000/year and $120,000/year. These sums have enabled all three to leave their prior places of employ and blog full-time.

I wrote a comment wondering why the three biggies were all male. Could it be because they were all early adopters of technology? I also wondered if all three could continue their success, which was based on getting out of debt. They are now heading into discussions of investing, an area in which they are neophytes.


What say you Dear Readers? Do you detect some gender-savvy in the Talbots story? Do you see a gender issue in the story about the full-time personal finance blogger story?

Eat Like an Italian Part 2: Don't buy that Shallot

The flip-side of eating what you have--in your garden, in your fridge, in your pantry--is NOT eating what you don't have.

My sister-in-law, who hates to cook, is now the cook for her own family of two (her child is away at college) and for her father, who lives nearby. Interestingly, but not surprisingly, she probably spends ten times as much time cooking as I do, and I like to cook. During our last visit, she made an eggplant stew with polenta topping. Delicious. She also made a salad with shallot dressing. Delicious.

Both recipes were clipped from the newspaper and she followed them to the letter. She made a shopping trip in the morning to amass the ingredients. At dinner time, she discovered that she had forgotten to buy a shallot. I suggested that she use a garlic clove or chopped scallions, both of which were in the house. This was not acceptable. She sent her daughter off to get the shallot and she returned, twenty or so minutes later, with a shallot.

Each meal starts similarly starts from scratch. Shopping and cooking take a long time.

I, by contrast, am a lazy-ish cook. Tonight I made a potato pie from the potatoes and caramelized onions I had. I added some eggs and sour cream and topped with breadcrumbs and then baked in my trusty toaster oven. Total prep time--10 minutes. Baking--around 40 minutes. Of course, we had some greens with it!

An Italian peasant--from the scenario recounted in yesterday's post--would surely not make a trip to buy a shallot.

Of course, it has taken me years to get lazy. Like many people my age, I learned to cook from cookbooks, laboriously following Julia Child's recipes, perspiring all the while.

But there does seem to be a change afoot. The Wall Street Journal, whose food articles are often very good, had a piece yesterday on improvisational cooking. The piece featured cooks who urge us to figure out how to use what we have--

Among them: Marc Matsumoto, a freelance writer and marketing consultant, who launched the Web site NoRecipes.com a year ago. The site's motto: "No recipes: Cooking is more fun without them." Mr. Matsumoto focuses on technique and inspiration, rather than detailed instructions, when he writes about his off-the-cuff creations that include spicy lemongrass soft-shell crab, and shrimp and duck gumbo.

Lest it seem that my ego is running amok here, let me say that my sister-in-law is an excellent housekeeper, who probably looks with horror at my inefficient and futile efforts in that department. I probably spend more time than she does at housekeeping and, trust me, my house looks a lot worse than hers does. If only we lived near each other! I'd be happy to do all the cooking and I hope she would help me out with my weak spots.

Dear Readers: any tips for improvisational cooking? How do you make one meal into more? Any clever substitutions? Do share.