shame on you, Williams-Sonoma!

My toaster oven is falling apart. Food doesn't cook evenly and it looks decrepit.

I have been researching its replacement, and finally find one I like, made by Breville.

I call Amazon last week and someone tells me, "Wait until Cyber Monday when everything will be 50% off." I know this can't be true, but wait anyway.

Cyber Monday comes and the price is the same.

I search the web and come across this big banner on Williams-Sonoma's site.

I find the item I want and lucky me, it's already on sale.

Sugg. Price:  $200
Our Price: $134.97

Williams-Sonoma is discounting the price by 33% before I even apply the extra 15% off.

Well, not really.

The suggested retail price has been inflated by 48%, and the product is selling everywhere, including Breville's own website, for $134.97

Still, I figure, 15% off.  

I select the item, already picturing how nice the toaster will look on my counter. I begin to check out, and enter the code SAVEMORE. 

Nothing happens. 

I must be doing something wrong. 

I call Williams-Sonoma and get Travis in Oklahoma City. "I'll look into this for you." 20 minutes on-hold later he returns.

"I'm sorry to have kept you on hold so long, but there are some exclusions. It says it right on the website." That's when he points out the teeny-tiny minuscule lettering on the bottom right of the home page that does say, "Some exclusions apply."  If you squint really hard you might be able to see it in the ad above. 

I also point out to Travis that the suggested price of $200 is wrong. 

"Every retailer is selling this item for $134.97, including Breville," I say.

"Well," Travis says. "The $200 is our suggested retail price."

It's impossible to argue with illogical people; I don't even try. 

Needless to say, I don't buy the toaster oven.

thanksgiving

My favorite holiday is usually spent on the Cape, with family. This year is a little different. I'm now in retail and the Friday after Thanksgiving is a must-work day.

7:10 am
Alexander kisses me good-bye, as he leaves to go up to Falmouth with his cousins, aunt and uncle.

9:15 am
I see Andy at Sashimi Express and pick up a big platter of sushi that I've pre-ordered. It'll make a nice pre-Thanksgiving appetizer.

2:15 pm
I imagine the scene as if I were there. Everyone's sitting in my mom's living room, with football muted in the background. Hors' d'oeuvres are passed and eaten. Lots of catch up conversation, with a touch of politics thrown in.

3:45 pm or so
All the females get up to start preparing the meal. Most of the work has already been done. We're talking final touches. Putting the food out. Slicing the turkey. Filling the glasses with ice. That kind of thing. The men will stay seated and will continue to watch football (the sound is probably on by now) until my mom announces, "Dinner's ready."

Jim will say grace, and the meal will be splendid. Turkey. Stuffing. Gravy. Cranberry sauce. Yams. Mashed potatoes. Peas, and probably things I'm forgetting. My nephew Adam will eat the most, and people will tease him. He won't care. My niece Sally will make kind remarks about global warming and wasteful consumption. People will tease her. She will care.

The conversation will be animated, with lots of people interrupting lots of other people. No one will be taking pictures this year. Jack, who's the real photographer in the family, prefers nature to people. And Ellie the cat is most likely locked away in my mom's room, where Valerie and her sons won't have to see her.

After dinner and before dessert, the men will go back to watching football and the women will stay behind to do the kitchen stuff. My family is liberal, except when it comes to meal-related tasks. The men almost always have nothing to do with them. And strangely, the women all accept this. My son loves this particular aspect of my family and happily immerses himself into the do-nothing-in-the-kitchen-'cuz-I'm-a man role.

5:45 pm
While my family on the Cape is eating their multi-berry pie from Crabapple's, I leave for Shari's where my Thanksgiving will begin.

It's pretty similar to my family's Thanksgiving. Same great food. Same familiar warmth. And same men hanging out watching football.

It's nice to have great friends; I have much to be grateful for.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

meeting leo

I dress as if it were a date.

Black fitted dress, high shoe boots, more makeup than normal.

I get to the theater early. It's a screening for The Revenant.

Everyone thing is going smoothly.

Moderator has arrived.

Photographer is present.

At least five studio people are at the theater.

Lots of security roaming around.

And a full house.  All as it should be.

The plan is to watch the movie and greet the "talent" about ten minutes before the end.

So at the climax of this two hour and thirty minute movie, I leave my seat.

The studio rep finds me to tell me that the talent has not been cleared for photos — major disappointment. 

I meet Will Poulter; he's very sweet. I see no one else.  Then I realize they are all hanging in a stairwell waiting for the film to end and the Q&A to begin.

I'm intimitated, but work hard to pretend I'm not.

I walk down the stairwell, past the three tough-looking security men, and approach the director, Alejandro Iñárritu. I compliment him on the exquisite movie he's directed. We speak briefly.  Standing next to him is Leonardo DiCaprio, looking very much the movie star he is.  

I introduce myself, shake his hand, and say, "You clean up nicely." Throughout most of the film, he's half dead.

I add, "You share my son's birthday (November 11), so happy belated birthday." He laughs.

I tell him I was cold watching the movie, and he says, "You have no idea. Some days were 40 degrees below zero. We shot in Calgary."

We talk a few more minutes and then he's being lead away. It's a short encounter, but an encounter nonetheless — one I'll not soon forget, even without the selfie.

"how's alexander doing?"

It's late September.  

"What do you think this is?" Alexander asks. My son is referring to some odd-feeling thing in his mouth.

I have no idea what the thing is and suggest he see a dentist. He does. In fact, he sees both a dentist and an oral surgeon. The result, as expected, are two impacted wisdom teeth that have to be removed.

We choose Dr. Clifford Salm, the same person two of my good friends have used. We are warned by everyone about swelling, pain, bleeding and a myriad of other post-operative possibilities.

Alexander is not worried about the pain. Just dying. He searches the internet and unearths all the deaths that have ever resulted from general anesthesia. He fears a bad reaction, and is adamant. "I don't want to be put under."

I load up on the foods I think my son will be able to eat: soups, yogurts, and jello.The soups get returned. I had no idea my son hates them; all of them, apparently.

This morning I go with Alexander to Dr. Salm's office. I need to leave around 10; the surgery is scheduled for 9, and Shari will pick him up to take him home. I am working today.

The doctor is calming. My son is relaxed. I know he's in good hands. 

I sit in the waiting area, and about eight  pages into my book, the nurse comes out. "Alexander is ready." It's not even 10.  My son can't talk because his mouth is filled with gauze, but otherwise, he looks the same as he did when he arrived an hour earlier. 

Shari takes Alexander home, and I go to work. I imagine he sleeps throughout the day. I feel bad that I can't be home with him. I try calling but with a mouth filled with cotton pads it's difficult for Alexander to speak. So I text.

So in answer to the question, "How's Alexander doing." He doing just fine. Thank you Dr. Salm.

minetta tavern

Weeks ago M tells me she's coming to town for three days. 

I research activities for her visit. Going to Ellis Island is top on our list. But by the time she arrives, our plans have been reduced to one dinner.

Alexander and I see a late afternoon screening of Goodnight Mommy in midtown, a place I'd rather not be these days. While we both enjoy the movie, we need to confer with the people sitting around us to help figure out what the film was about. The general consensus is:  good but with plot holes; may be worth a second viewing. 

We take a subway (another place I'd rather not be) downtown, and get there before M, Sam and Josie arrive. We are having dinner at Minetta Tavern. The comfortable and everyman atmosphere is in direct contrast to the ease of getting a reservation. It takes M using her platinum Amex concierge service to secure a table for 8:30.

I get a couple of photos that M would rather take than be in.

We have cocktails and appetizers, and the famously wonderful Mintetta burger and fries.

And because there are two guys with huge appetites, we also order (and finish) two soufflés (one chocolate, one grand marnier).

We are home by eleven — probably five pounds heavier, but with no regrets.

reasons to love amazon

It's a rare occasion; I need to iron a dress.

I plug it in my years-old Black and Decker. It lights up, ready to go. And then, nothing. I try another outlet and still, the iron plate remains cold.

"Hey, Alexander, last time you used the iron did it work?"

"No, it wouldn't heat up."

So he takes the obvious action; he puts it away for someone else to deal with —that someone else being me.

I do a thorough search and analysis and settle on the very-well reviewed  Rowena DW8080.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00305H9U6?psc=1&redirect=true&ref_=oh_aui_detailpage_o00_s00

I have Amazon Prime and expect the package in two days. Today I realize it's been about four days since placing the order, and Amazon is never late.  

I track the package and see:

Front porch?  Hmmm. Maybe someone airdropped it onto my makeshift terrace? 

And 10022 zip code?  That was changed to 10075 over eight years ago.  

I talk to the doorman who was on duty at noon on Sunday.   He checks the book. "Nope. No deliveries from the postal service that day at all.  Just one for 14A, and that was from FedEx." 

I call the 800 number for USPS and after twenty minutes of going in circles, being put on hold, and then being disconnected, I call Amazon. Lovely Ashly helps me.

In under five minutes, with my asking for nothing, Ashley:

• apologizes
• adds one month to my Prime account
• re-orders the item for me
• tells me I should receive it today, or tomorrow at the latest.

How can you not love a company like that?

Addendum:

Last week I buy a Sisley lipstick described as sheer fusia. It arrives and is not sheer anything. I go through the third-party seller process and they refuse to take it back because 

 "We do not accept used and opened return products. I may offer you a 10% partial refund."

I call Amazon and they tell me to keep the lipstick, and they'll give me a credit of the value of the lipstick, good toward any product sold by Amazon.

Friday the 13th

Alexander needs to have two wisdom teeth pulled. 

He looks at his schedule. He asks about mine. He doesn't want his teeth pulled near an exam. And he certainly doesn't want his eating compromised with Thanksgiving coming up.  So after coordinating with the dentist's schedule and his own, he settles on a date.  

"I'm having my wisdom teeth out on the 13th." 

"Okay, that's good. Friday's a convenient date;  you'll have the weekend to recover."

"Wait! That's Friday the 13th.  I can't do it on that date."

And so Alexander switches the date to the 20th. He doesn't want to take the chance of something going wrong on a date that's associated with bad luck.

But going to a concert, eating at a restaurant, or watching a sports event would not be something considered high risk.  

You have no scheduled surgery. You're just meeting friends. Your thoughts may be on the people you'll be with, the new ones you'll meet, what to order, or what to wear. 

It's a Friday night. Time to relax. Enjoy the work week ending. Not much to worry about.

And then your night turns into something horrific. Random shots. Calculated executions. Bombs detonated. People screaming. Blood everywhere. Wounded innocents. Dead bodies. 

Today it's Paris. Tomorrow it could be here.There really is no protection against evil — regardless of the date.

It's all so immensely sad.