Lights Out

Light bulbs are so like cereal, ice cream, and bread. The range of choices sprawl along store aisles like invading armies staging to attack.

It’s been a period of lights out in our house. Light bulbs retired in the last several weeks all over our house. Kitchen, stove top, office, bedroom, garage, living room accent light have all been afflicted. As each burned out, I checked pulled it and checked it out for the replacement. Several of them hadn’t been replaced since being installed in 2006, when we moved in, so we got our mileage out of them. Easiest, in theory, was the office light, which had been first to go dark.

There are actually three bulbs up there. I pulled off the shade to take a look. One was burned out; one socket was empty. The third was almost an antique: 60 watts, GE, filament, frosted white. Poor thing.

“Can we get something brighter?” my wife asked. She’s had a lifetime of vision issues and compensates by turning on every light possible. When she uses the kitchen, she generally turns on four sets of lights. Yes, four. There are ceiling spotlights, under-cabinet work lights, and breakfast bar lights. The dining room is adjacent, just on the other side of the breakfast counter, so she always turns on it on to, adding the lumens from its five bulbs. There are basically 23 bulbs of different wattage going on when she’s in the kitchen.

The only one no in use alone is the sink task light. The others’ switches are clustered together, four switches under one faceplate by the kitchen’s entrance. She just spreads her fingers, flattens her palm, and hits them all, usually simultaneously click. But the sink task light is by the sink, and she forgets it. Funny, because it’s my favorite, and the one I mostly use, usually the only one I use. Just for the record, there’s also the range top lights, which are part of the hood/fan assembly attached to the microwave’s underside. She doesn’t use them. I use them when I’m cooking or to leave a light on when we’re out of the house and returning after dark.

The office required a sixty-watt bulb. Easy peasy, right? But how many Ks should it have, and lumens? I want an energy saver but of what nature? These were things that I didn’t know that I needed to know. I ended up with 60-watt comparable LED daylight white 5000K bulbs boasting of 750 lumens. Three were installed and the shade installed. Then, click.

OMG. “Wow.” My wife sounded giddy. “I can see.”

I was overwhelmed. She often accuses me of being in the dark, scolding, “How can you see in here?” Under the force of these three bulbs, I felt that sunglasses would be suitable. And they only use eight watts of power, don’t emit much heat, and should last over ten years.

“So you like them?” I facetiously asked. “Do you want them in the bedroom?”

“Yes!”

With that done to her satisfaction, I turned to the kitchen. The ceiling spotlights, all old energy-savers, issued a duller light. “Want me to install daylight bulbs in here?”

She hesitated. “They’re awfully bright.”

Screw it; I did it. Well, there are four of them. I replaced three.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “I can see. Wow. This place is really dirty.”

No, it wasn’t, but she’s fond of using hyperbole like that.

“Too bright?” I asked. They were 75-watt comparable LED spotlights rated at 650 lumens and 4800K clear daylight. Yes, indeed, they were bright. They also cost about eight dollars each but would endure for almost twelve years. Their specs also claimed their use would only cost about $.016 per year. The last coaxed doubt out of me. Surely that couldn’t be right.

After those bulbs, the rest were anticlimactic. 40 watts for the range. 35-watts LED with a G8 pin base for the under-cabinet work lights. A 50-watts soft white pin mini spotlight (L9) for the living room accent installation over the fireplace, and one of the 60-watt LED bulbs (I’d purchased a ten-pack of the FEIT offering) in the garage. In all, I installed fifteen bulbs, learned a smattering more about the world of lighting, and spent about $57 in light bulbs. But I should spend less on replacements and use less energy.

We’ll see. It was so, so different from the old days of finding a small hardware section and buying almost exclusively on their wattage. Like cereal, which now has what seems like a million choices. Or bread and all of its options over wheat, grain, multi-grain, gluten-free — well, you probably know the dealio. We’ve come a long way from sliced white bread.

Or ice cream. You better know what you want when you decide to buy ice cream in a grocery store. Low fat, dairy free, gluten free, etc. That’s just a start. Then there are sizes and flavors. Prices. Or are you going to go with other options, like frozen yogurt? Options and choices can be overwhelming.

Just like when you buy light bulbs.

Cars & Book Dream

I was staying at an exotic luxury place in a high-end location in the center of some city. I knew these things in my dream. No reason for being there was ever given. Everything was very fancy, chrome, blue windows, steel, and muted white furniture, modern, and new, although never named. I’d been put up in the place and was newly arrived and just familiarizing myself with it. A ground-floor location, several parts of my huge place was open to the street, something that I didn’t find odd, but enjoyed.

Background done, the action began when I walked across the place and accidently kicked a can, sending it out into the traffic. Dusk was settling in and lights were just coming on. Exasperated, I resolved to retrieve the can because everything looked so clean and gorgeous. As I went out to get it, a car hit the can, sending it flying further down the road where another car coming from the opposite direction flattened it.

More irritated, I hastened to get the can. I could see a line of cars accelerating up the double lane toward the can. I would need to rush.

I didn’t make it. Forced back by the oncoming traffic, I then saw a stream of such flattened cans in the street under the cars. I was disgusted.

“Asshole,” someone shouted. I saw two men. Both were white, with mustaches and long brown hair. One was tall and the other was short. One of them had yelled. I thought they meant me.

Seeing me seeing them, they chuckled and said, “We weren’t calling you an asshole. We were going whoever threw their can out an asshole. Unless it was you who did it. Then we are calling you an asshole.”

“No,” I answered, “I didn’t throw a can.” I explained what’d been going on.

They noticed a small hardcover book I carried and began talking about it. An older book, the tome was about three racing drivers, but the novel was considered ‘literary’. The two men highly recommended it. I responded that I was a novelist and the book enticed me because of its literary reputation, but I’d also been a racing fan.

We were walking by then. I was looking for my place and couldn’t find it. They invited me to join them at a restaurant for a drink. I agreed and we went into a red-theme place — red carpet and bar, red leather seats, red lights, red walls and curtains, red neon. As we chatted, the tall one went off for our drinks and the short one said that he hoped I was serious about what I said about the book and that I wasn’t just going along with them.

I told him, no, and we started chatting about racing. I told him that the late sixties and early seventies had captured my deepest racing interest. I enjoyed the three-liter Formula 1 cars of that age, especially Lotus and the 72, but also the Tyrrells, the Indy cars dominated by the Offy and Ford engines, the sports-racing cars of LeMans like the Chaparral 2D, and the Can Am cars like the McLarens, the Lola T70, and the 2J. (Yes, I actually said all of this in the dream.) They remarked with smiles that it sounded like I really knew my cars. The tall one said, “You should meet my sister.”

We’d finished our drinks and I decided to go. The dream’s final sequences involved me retracing my steps, looking for where I was staying, and then finding it.

Dream end. It was all quite vivid and sharply remembered.

Thursday’s Theme Music

Today’s song came about from Facebook. Stuart Berman posted a gorgeous shot of sunset and the Golden Gate Bridge, with darkening purple and indigo waves in the forefront.

Naturally, my mind injected “Lights” by Journey (1978). I lived in the S.F. Bay Area about fourteen years, from the early nineties to the mid-aughts, and I’m nostalgic about the place. It has a magic, powerful energy. Although Steve Perry originally wrote the lyrics about L.A., he changed the lyrics after he moved to S.F. and saw the light on the bay. Having that so simply stated, the bay, allows the song to be applied to wherever light is going down on a city by a bay. It’s a soft, reflective ballad with some nice Neal Schon guitar work.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP8_Dbvpi-A

Monday’s Theme Music

We went downtown to Ashland’s plaza last night to see the menorah lighting. While watching it, naturally I began streaming Journey’s “Lights” (1978), because, you know, lights. Steve Perry was the group’s vocalist in when the song was first released, and I prefer his treatment of this song. Of course, streaming it to myself while a menorah was lit, we shivered in the cold gathering dark, without a bay in sight, amused me.

WTH.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP8_Dbvpi-A

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