Recombobulating

Northampton is a town of juxtaposition.

It's a town where the most progressive and new-age of our nation's young women flock to take classes in buildings constructed some 200 years ago; where Dunkin' Donuts shares storefronts with the most bohemian of organic coffee shops; where the cash registers of fair-trade vendors bear hand-written signs happily exclaiming that they accept all major credit cards.

It's also a place that just days removed from some of the bitterest ice storms my senses have ever borne, today wears a spring day rivaling any of the most beautiful of my childhood.

I took advantage of the weather and decided to stroll downtown to pick up a weekend newspaper and a trinket or two for Mom's birthday.

My, what sights to behold.

Homeless men played junk guitars for change, just steps outside some of New England's trendiest and high-priced boutiques. Amidst one busy section of sidewalk, in front of the retro-chic style store 'Faces,' I heard a large, bearded man playing a passable, if simplified, version of Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone." Just across the street, on a nearly deserted patch of pavement in front of a local confectioner's shop, a skinny black man struggled painfully through a few bars of "Yellow Submarine."

(I know not whether the crowd size varied based on the quality of the store or the music.)

Further down, a sizable gathering of self-declared liberal labor supporters carried signs and shouted in support of healthcare on the steps of a large Catholic Church.

Fortunately, in this proudly feminist- and lesbian-friendly hollow, I have to this point been spared from the sight of any nudist displays. Unfortunately, as the warm weather portends, the daily attire of many 'Smithies' has become so negligible as to be nearly indistinguishable from the latter.

Many men here wear women's jeans. Many women wear men's shirts.

When I got to a spot sporting newspaper boxes, I looked down to take my pick. On the left was a bright yellow box, holding copies of the free alternative weekly, the Valley Advocate. On the right was a red box which held the daily Springfield Republican. ($1.75 on weekends). Split in between in a tattered orange box were copies of the Hampshire Gazette, which publishes a Saturday-Sunday edition that can be had for $1. I dropped in my four quarters and went on my way.

Returning to the apartment with my paper in tow, I was nearly sweating through my T-shirt. Two blocks on I passed a waif-like young girl bundled in a woolen sweater and parka, lugging what appeared to be a large instrument case. I said hi to her.

As I stepped up to our front porch, which lies just over the apex of Round Hill, I took a look around. Down the hill to the left is a straight path to the local mega-mart and, just beyond, to Wal-Mart. Straight to the right leads to the downtown I'd just departed.

"Eh," I breathed, and walked inside.

(Sarah, when you're in Milwaukee today, take some extra time in the Recombobulation Area.)

Secret Shopper

Normally, I am a pretty laid back, quiet, non-carousing type of guy. But this weekend, I got license to have up to $75 worth of unadulterated and under-the-radar fun. How?

I got an alias.

It all started a few weeks ago, when I purchased a new bed at Sears. The mattress set was on sale for 50% off, plus an additional rebate. A pretty good deal, well in keeping with my mostly inconspicuous existence. However, the rebate was not to be mailed for 6-8 weeks. To be prudent, I've held off from depositing a few other checks (via mail to my online-only bank), so I could combine them with the $75 check to come. Well, it came tonight. But it wasn't actually a check.

The rebate came in the form of a pre-paid Mastercard debit card. (Interestingly enough, the instructions read that one must select 'credit' when using it).

Now, that's not terribly exciting in itself. But then Sarah pointed out the name imprinted on the card. There it was, revealed to me for the first time, my undercover alias: DAN ARMSTRANG.



What an opportunity! I could go crazy with this--head to the bar and run up a pretty decent tab; purchase a few more seasons of Gilmore Girls on DVD; go to Dollar Tree and leave with a veritable trove of slightly defective treasures; all without fear of public judgment! After all, any repercussions of such behavior would be hung around the neck of this ARMSTRANG character!

But alas, I did none of these things.

Instead, we headed to the mall and picked up some new additions to Sarah's work wardrobe. We did quite well, gathering a new sweater, blouse, tank tops and even a few new undershirts for me, and we didn't even use the entire card's value.

But, I must admit, I'm not entirely thrilled with the idea of some other guy buying my fiancee new clothes.