The Most Unusual Mail Order Catalog

Quick! What's that thing to the left? Yes, I know it's a Hammacher Schlemmer catalog cover, smarty-pants. I mean what's that thing pictured on the cover?

Don't feel bad if you didn't know that it's a Superplexus. Actually, it's "The Superplexus". Hammacher Schlemmer catalogs often feature items on their cover whose identity and purpose could challenge Einstein.

In case you didn't know, Hammacher Schlemmer (H.S.) is a New York based retailer established in 1848. Aside from their New York store, they also sell via mail order and, of course, the internet. So how did one of their catalogs come to land in my mailbox?

Simple. I mail ordered something from somebody else's catalog. I couldn't tell you what I ordered or from whom, but a lot of these vendors love to share their mailing lists. "Hey Alfred! I've got another chump who has too much money on his hands and loves to spend it on stuff that he's only seen pictures of!" Next thing I know, Alfred Hammacher and William Schlemmer's catalog adorns my mailbox, sporting some inscrutable object on its cover. It was probably the inscrutable object on the cover of the first H.S. catalog that I received which coaxed me into opening it (the catalog) in the first place, rather than just throwing it out. "I've just gotta find out what that thing is!" I probably muttered to myself.

Then it happened. Somewhere among the pages of that fateful catalog I saw that Hammacher Schlemmer's inventory included Hasbro's interactive R2-D2; the very same interactive R2-D2 that I described in such detail in last week's post. I had already heard about Hasbro's R2-D2 earlier and, as I explained in my previous post, had already developed a serious case of the "I Wants" for one. Part of what kept me from rushing right out and buying one was the fact that there were none to be found in any of the stores in my immediate locale. I checked everywhere; Toys 'R Us, Sears, Zellers, even various obscure hobby and novelty shops. Nada. But there it was, in full color, among the rest of the H.S. merchandise, right next to the words "In Stock".

I think I began excitedly whistling "I've found it! It's here!" (that was an obscure Star Wars reference for you non-geeks out there) until my wife came over to find out what the commotion was all about. After settling me down with the help of several tranquilizer darts, she managed to convince me to hold off ordering one long enough so that she was able to get me one as a Father's Day gift, because every father should own a toy R2-D2.

There's only one better way of getting on a catalog store's mailing list than by ordering from some other catalog store, and that's by ordering from them directly. Hammacher Schlemmer has been faithfully sending me catalogs on a quarterly basis ever since they received my wife's order for R2-D2.

For those unfamiliar with Hammacher Schlemmer, they are distinguished, in my mind, as being a merchant of unusual and/or hard to find items. If you're looking for a gift for that hard-to-buy-for person who seems to have everything, consult with Hammacher Schlemmer. It also helps to have a whole lot of disposable cash.

Take the Superplexus, for example. You're probably wondering what, exactly, a Superplexus is, even though you've seen a picture of one at the start of this post. I was getting to that. Ever see those wooden labyrinth games where you roll a marble through a maze by twisting the board around using two knobs? The Superplexus is something like that, except that it's three-dimensional, it's enclosed in a glass sphere, it stands just over four feet high and three feet wide, it weighs 65 lbs. and it retails for $30,000. Yes, that's right, I said thirty thousand ... with four zeroes. It's the ideal Christmas gift for Bill Gates' son, who probably already has all the video games he can possibly play; just a tip for anyone who happens to work for Microsoft and is looking for a good brown-nose opportunity.

Hammacher Schlemmer's catalog and web sites are full of this kind of stuff! If the Superplexus seems a bit "frugal", how about a genuine seven foot tall Robbie the Robot (the one that looks like a walking jukebox, remember?) for fifty thousand dollars (actually $49,999.95). Or, if you're a bit more budget-minded and the Lost In Space robot is more to your liking, H.S. will gladly sell you a life-sized one of those for only twenty-four and a half thousand dollars.

It's not just all toys, either. Are you environmentally conscious and in the market for an electric car? H.S. has three to choose from; a 4,000-watt roadster for $13,000, a one-person electric car for $36,000 or an electric two-seater that goes from zero to sixty in four seconds, with a top speed of 120 mph; a steal at $108,000. And, for the kiddies, how about a kid-sized electric SUV for just under $500? May as well start building that spoiled sense of entitlement during their formative years, right?

Not everything in H.S.'s inventory is priced for the Rockefeller set, but even their less expensive items tend to be unique. How about digital copies of every National Geographic magazine ever published on a DVD-ROM boxed set, for $69.95? Or a wallet that can withstand being put through a full dishwasher cycle for $49.95? Let me tell you, if I had a nickel for every wallet I've wrecked by dropping it into the dishwasher... well, let's just say I'd need H.S.'s Balance Keeping Coin Bank to keep them all in.

Another peculiarity about Hammacher Schlemmer's catalog (and web site) is that practically every item's description begins with the definite article, "The". It's not just "Gyroscopic Golf Trainer", it's "The Gyroscopic Golf Trainer". It's not just "A Bucket Seat Bicycle", it's "The Bucket Seat Bicycle". This probably makes sense, since the use of the definite article implies uniqueness, as in "there is only one", and I daresay much of H.S.'s inventory is definitely unique. I mean, how many different Upside Down Tomato Gardens can there possibly be out there?

For their less unusual or unique offerings, H.S. tends to add words such as "best", "most" or "genuine" to their product descriptions, implying top of class or best of breed, such as "The Best Electric Knife Sharpener" or "The Slimmest Bluetooth Speakerphone". While I can't vouch for such claims, as doing so would mean comparing every possible brand and make of a given product in order to determine if H.S.'s is truly the best one, I will say that I've been very satisfied with "The VHS To DVD Converter", which I purchased from H.S. two Christmases ago (yes, I was actually able to afford two items from the H.S. catalog back when I used to have a job).

The VHS to DVD recorder that I received from H.S. turned out to be a Sony model RDR-VXD655. This unit is by no means exclusive to Hammacher Schlemmer and I can't say whether there are better VHS to DVD recorders available elsewhere, but it's interesting to note that nowhere in H.S.'s catalog or on their web site do they mention that the machine is a Sony, let alone its model number. Considering that Sony is a fairly well-respected electronics manufacturer, most retailers would trumpet the brand name as a feature. Not Hammacher Schlemmer. They seem content to let their reputation speak for itself. "If we're selling it, you can rest assured that it's a top quality item." I find that unusual, and refreshing.

Deceptively Strenuous Pastimes

I'm a pretty sedentary guy. To begin with, I'm a computer programmer/analyst by profession, so I spend my working days behind a keyboard or sitting in requirements meetings. The most exercise I ever get at the office is when I need to walk down to the factory floor to check something.

My leisure time hobbies are no more active. I'm not into contact sports, or sports of any kind, really. I don't jog. I seldom swim and I don't go skiing or ice skating in the winter time. I like to "plunk around" on my computer, watch DVD movies, read, build models and miniatures and just relax in general. Nothing too strenuous.

I've tried two activities that have fooled me. Both sounded pretty layed back and low-stress, and both turned out to be deceptively tiring.

The first is golf. Golf doesn't look too strenuous to a spectator; a leisurely walk around a well-manicured course, a little fresh air and sunshine, and once in a while you whack a little white ball with a stick. Heck, one usually doesn't even walk from one hole to the next. One usually rides in a little electric car. How hard can that be?

Plenty hard, as it turns out! By the sixth hole, I practically fell to my knees and worshipped before the beer cart that showed up every two or three holes or so! Ten bucks a beer? Such a deal! Five bucks for a can of Coke? A bargain at twice the price! Hand it over with all speed! In my own defense, it was a particularly hot summer afternoon.

It probably didn't help that I couldn't swing to save my life. At each hole I had to swipe at the ball several times before ever making contact. That really tires out the arms! Once I did connect with the ball, I tended to take the scenic route from the tee to the hole, what with short distances, wild hooks and slices, and the inevitable stick-handling the ball across the green in a manner that would have made Gordie Howe jealous. All that walking about wore me down as well. I think my handicap is somewhere around three hundred. Since then, I've stuck to the type of golf that you see to your left.

Last weekend, I tried my hand at the second deceptively placid outdoor pastime; canoeing. When I think of canoeing, I picture a boat, silently gliding through gentle waters, the silence broken only by birdsong, the whir of distant insects and the gentle splash made by the the tips of my oars as they dip in and out of the water. Boy, was I in for an education!

My wife, Judy, my daughter, Jessica and I joined several family members last weekend for a canoe trip down southwestern Ontario's Grand River. There were fifteen of us, occupying seven canoes. The other canoes were occupied by two people each, but Judy, Jessica and I made a threesome. This turned out not to be a very good idea, as I shall shortly explain.

Our 20 kilometer course took us downstream on the Grand River, beginning in Cambridge, Ontario and ending in Paris. The estimated time for completing this was 5 hours. There were shorter runs available which might have been more appropriate for beginners such as us, but my brother-in-law, Shane "Iron Man" Groleau, insisted that anything worth doing is worth doing to exhaustion.

I had foolishly chosen the tiller's position in the rear of our canoe, which made it my job to steer. I had been given rudimentary instructions about how to do a "J" stroke and how to use my oar as a rudder, dragging it through the water on one side of the canoe or the other in order to turn the craft's nose. I had not been warned, however, about the overriding effects of wind and current. I also kept overcompensating, and learned the hard way that, if I waited until the nose of the boat was pointed in the desired direction before removing my oar from the water, it (the nose) had a disturbing tendency to continue to drift over, past the point at which I wanted to aim the canoe. And so my craft zig-zagged back and forth across the stream while I madly switched the oar from the left side to the right and back again, quickly tiring out my arms in the process.

It also didn't help that Grand River becomes quite shallow and rocky at certain points and, because of the extra weight in our three-person canoe, the boat's hull sat deeper in the water than most and kept getting lodged against the rocks. Repeatedly attempting to push and pry our craft away from the rocks with my oar did nothing to sooth my tired arms. In fact, by the time we'd reached the half-way mark for our course, my right forearm kept cramping up every time I bent my elbow.

At one point, the current washed us up against one of the many rocks while the canoe was turned sideways. The sudden stop caused the canoe to list heavily against the rock and, before I knew it, we were all swimming (or, rather, wading) in the river.

Things happen very fast when a canoe overturns. Your first priority is to grab the oars and any other loose items that were in the boat before they're swept away by the current. Your second priority is to grab the canoe itself before it floats away. Ensuring that everyone is still alive and intact becomes the third priority. It's pretty much every man for himself.

Righting and re-entering an upset canoe also proved to be a challenge. First of all, the boat had taken on water when it overturned, so we first needed to empty it. This involved picking it up out of the water, turning it upside-down in order to empty it and then putting it back into the water upright. Canoes are generally designed to be fairly light-weight, but a water-logged one can get pretty darned heavy!

Once the empty canoe was placed back into the river, it immediately wanted to float away on us with the current. Now we had to try to keep it from drifting away and steady it as much as possible whilst climbing back in without upsetting it yet again, all of which required far more dexterity than I normally possess.

During our run, were only dumped into the river once, although I did have to step out of the boat in a more controlled manner several times in order to help dislodge it from various rocks. Fortunately, Shane partially redeemed himself by thoughtfully staying close to us and stopping to help dislodge and then steady our canoe while I climbed back in whenever we got stuck. By the time we finally reached the end of our course, the first of our group of boats to arrive had been waiting for us to return for almost an hour. If we'd been just a little longer, I'm sure they'd have sent out a search party.

By the next morning, every movement hurt. Riding in a canoe is one of those activities that employs muscles which many of us didn't even know we had until they begin aching.

Mark Twain once described golf as "A good walk spoiled". If he had ever ridden in a canoe, as opposed to those Mississippi steamers for which he was known, he might have referred to canoeing as "A good boat ride spoiled". On the other hand, looking back on the experience with the benefit of hindsight, I must admit that it was fun, overall, and there were brief moments, when the water became calm and the screaming stopped and the only sound was the chirping of birds in the trees that surrounded the river, the distant buzzing of insects and the gentle lapping of water against the boat and the oars, that I could imagine myself actually learning to enjoy this.

The Opposite Of Selfishness

Next month, my wife, Judy, and I will celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. That feels like an accomplishment. Most of my daughter's friends seem to come from single-parent families, foster homes or homes that include either a step-parent or a live-in boyfriend or girlfriend. Teenagers who live with the same two, lawfully-wedded people who conceived them definitely seem to be a minority these days.

To those of my friends who read this blog whose first attempts at marriage were not as successful (and you know who you are), I'm not gloating. The fact is, a successful marriage takes the complete commitment of both partners. It takes understanding, compromise and, of course, love. No one partner can ever make a marriage work single-handedly, no matter how hard they work at it.

That having been said, I give Judy most of the credit for the success of our marriage. I have my share of personal foibles and she learned to accept a number of shortcomings on my part early on in our relationship. I like to think that I've matured over the years and overcome some of them, but I demanded a lot of patience from her during our time together, and I've not yet attained perfection.

If I'm making marriage sound like a lot of work, it is, and yet it isn't. A successful marriage is founded on love and, when you love someone, you don't mind going that extra mile for them. Sacrifices don't feel so much like sacrifices. You do things, not out of a sense of responsibility, but out of a simple desire to make your partner happy. Let me give you a couple of personal examples.

Practically since the day we were married, Judy has arisen with me early each morning, and fixed my breakfast and lunch before seeing me off to work. For many years, she didn't work outside of the home. The special needs of our son, Christopher, demanded a full-time, stay-at-home parent, and Judy shouldered that responsibility. That meant that she didn't need to be up at any particular hour and, during Christopher's infancy, she was often up with him in the middle of the night. She accepted most of the midnight parenting because I had to get up for work the next day, and she didn't. This, of course, made her even more tired when our alarm woke me for work the next morning, yet she still got up with me, made my breakfast and lunch while I showered and shaved, joined me for a cup of coffee, and then retired back to bed (if Christopher wasn't already awake) only after I left. She did the same after our daughter, Jessica, came along as well.

Most of her friends were aghast upon learning that she did this. Most swore that they would never, ever do that for their husbands. Judy didn't have to do it either. I didn't demand it of her. She did it for me because she wanted to. Making me happy made her happy. To her, it didn't feel like a sacrifice at all.

I try to reciprocate. Judy never learned to drive so, whenever she needs to go anywhere, I generally drive her. She likes to have her mother, sister and best friend over to visit on Saturday evenings. As it happens, none of them drive either, and they would often choose not to visit us if it meant having to take a bus or pay for a cab. So, every Saturday evening, I pick them all up after supper and then take them all back home again at the end of the evening, sometimes in the middle of the night. I don't do it for them. I do it for Judy, because I know that she enjoys their company and might be deprived of it if I didn't help out.

These days, Judy does work outside of our home, and starts work about half an hour earlier than me, so I get up just a bit earlier than I would otherwise have to so that there's time for me to drop her off at work before going to work myself. While I shower and shave, she still makes my breakfast and my lunch, even after all these years.

Thinking about this recently gave me a new insight regarding the nature of love. It seems to me that love is the opposite of selfishness. Selfishness means putting one's own needs and interests first. When you love somebody, you put that person's needs and interests ahead of your own. And here's the key; you don't do it because you have to. You do it because you want to.