Cranky? Irritable? It's Like You're Readin' My Mind, Doc

One of the first things I did when we bought this house almost eleven years ago was to replace the horrid light fixture in the kitchen. The next thing I did was call an electrician to do the job correctly, but that's another story.

The new fixture uses three reflector-type halogen bulbs. The first set lasted about 4-1/2 years. The second set lasted about 4-1/2 years. Since then I've replaced them twice, and one blew out this morning when I went to put the kettle on.

The single variable here is that my neighborhood Lowe's switched the brand they carry between lots two and three. As Dean Broder would no doubt point out, were he to suddenly try to wrest David Brooks' Long Distance Suburban Sociology crown from him, my response is clearly informed by the Vietnam War: I think the fuckers are lyin' to me. I think Lowe's switched brands because Sylvania, the corporate giant which still manufactures household goods in a peaceful glen somewhere, pays them more money or gives them more free goods in exchange for the valuable Lowe's concession. That, or they sponsor the annual Holland: Hardware, Hookers, and Hashish junket. It sure ain't that the bulbs are better.

And this is everywhere. My local grocery chain, the one formerly owned by the Coors Marsh family, now a publicly traded company which employs the Coors Marsh family to tell you about their continuing commitment to quality, decided last month they weren't going to carry Gulden's mustard. It's possible they could convince me the decision was based on exhaustive consumer taste tests, but then I can go to the shelves and find eight different flavorized versions of French's Yellow Goop. So, if I suspect this has more to do with several sets of titanium clubs finding their way into the Coors Marsh boardroom, just blame Lyndon Johnson.