Ideapad

Blogging since 1998. By David Wertheimer

Life’s little mysteries

A mobile phone battery lasts a couple of days on a charge, at best.

The battery in a car key fob expires after about a year.

Leave AA batteries in a remote for more than four or five years and they corrode and stop working. Sometimes they ruin the entire device.

Smoke- and carbon monoxide detectors have a 10-year lifespan; then their batteries (and detectors) become unreliable and need to be thrown away.

Meanwhile, the Thinner brand digital scale that we got in 2003 is still chugging away, and is 100% accurate to more than 200 pounds, on its original battery.

Kudos to the team behind this scale, which really was built to last.

My jeans

For many years, I had a delightful clothes shopping routine: when I needed a new pair of blue jeans, I would go to Barneys Co-op and try on more or less everything in my size until I found one that met both my criteria (lays nice, all cotton, soft) and my wife’s (flat front, nice shape). I’d buy a pair—preferably on sale, because Barneys could get silly—and then immerse myself into the brand for a while, knowing I had found something that worked, and jeans are usually a repeatable purchase.

My process was quite fun, if a little hit-or-miss. I bought a fantastic pair from Citizens of Humanity, then followed up with a pair of their gray (non-denim) jeans, then discovered that Citizens stopped making 100% cotton pants in favor of elastane blends, so I stopped. Barneys once sold me an amazing pair of vintage-cut Levi’s 501s, which I wore sparingly, because I’ve never found a second pair of Levi’s that fit as well.

But when it worked, it worked. Barneys led me to Earnest Sewn, which were handsome and unbelievably comfortable, and I bought several pairs over the years. Earnest Sewn went out of business, and the founder created a new brand called 3×1; Barneys sold me my first pair of those, too, and I soon had more than one.

Then a few things happened, in rather rapid succession.

  • 3×1 went out of business.* This was disappointing but fine—shopping for new jeans is fun. Except a few weeks later…
  • Barneys closed. This was a long time coming, but especially sad. No more Co-op; no more Warehouse Sales; no more cutting-edge aspirational department store. And, for me especially, no more vast jeans department. Which almost immediately didn’t matter, because within weeks of that…
  • The pandemic hit, and we all stopped shopping in stores for a good long while.

* Nowadays, of course, brands never die, so both Earnest Sewn and 3×1 are back on the market, with their same logos but not the same products. I’m not interested in them at that level.

By mid-2020, I was in a pants rut: my current jeans were wearing out, my preferred maker was gone, and my preferred store for finding new jeans was gone, too. I poked around online and bought a pair or two of other brands, notably one from Raleigh Denim, which I quite liked until they ripped on me within a year (customer service cited “old fabric” and declined to repair them). Not great.

So, in a fit of desperation and creativity, I started crawling the internet and accumulating 3x1s.

I kept my focus narrow. Two styles, one waist size, new or near-new only. I looked at a bunch of websites (Grailed, Poshmark) and discovered, improbably, that eBay was my best source. In all, I bought eight pairs of jeans between February 2020 and July 2023.

This process was imperfect, by which I mean all sales were final, and not all of them fit. Recall that I used to try on a zillion pairs of jeans at a time. Despite the labeling, not every pair was cut the same way; some were too tight in the waist, others too narrow for my body type. But I was also paying pennies on the dollar for old jeans, so I made my peace with the process, and hoped half of them worked out.

My family laughed at me more than once, but the process paid off more than once, too. Interestingly, the jeans I found were quite different from one another. Two pairs looked just like my old ones, and I wear them all the time. A third was extraordinarily soft, and became my go-to WFH pair, although they wore out in the knee rather quickly. Still a nice find.

And I write this blog post today because I just pulled out my greatest find: a new-with-tags selvedge denim pair, original price still stickered ($365!), which were tight when I bought them but now fit me perfectly. I’m wearing them with pride, as though I found them at the store this weekend.

At some point I am going to exhaust my collection of 3x1s. I hope by the time I do I’ll have found a new store where I can have fun trying on new jeans in person.

Doves

Last spring there was a mourning dove that decided it liked pecking at the windowsill by my desk and came by once or twice a day. I really enjoyed it. The dove was calm, unrushed, serene.

One Friday and Saturday it brought a friend, a big fat bird with nicer plumage. They looked at me through the window to make sure I was harmless. I watched them peck around and do whatever it is birds do on urban windowsills.

When the A/C is in the window, I get pigeons, which I do not like. All their cooing is distracting and not pleasant. The doves are great, though. Quiet and curious.

This morning I woke to my wife and son talking about a pigeon in the window. I smiled to myself and called out to tell them to leave it alone. Sure enough, it was one of the mourning doves—the big one, contentedly sleeping on the dining room sill, away from the street and the hubbub.

I took a picture of him when he woke up, the bird looking at me looking at it. I then went back to work and I presume the dove went about its day, too. I hope it spends more time in my windows this spring.

The Year in Cities 2024

Somehow this marks twenty years of travelogues. As I mentioned last fall, part of longevity is just sticking to it.

One of the shortcomings of this format is that I specifically chronicle where I’ve slept, not where I’ve been. Every once in awhile this matters—like this year, where I spent eight hours in Minnesota, flying to Minneapolis early in the morning, complete with a diverted landing in Duluth, and leaving for Wisconsin before dinner. We also stayed overnight in upstate New York (listed) before driving to Vermont (not listed) for the solar eclipse in April, and spent a day in Rhode Island before crashing in the Boston suburbs. So Saratoga, Green Bay and Waltham make the log, but Minneapolis, Burlington and Providence do not. But still, I’ve been to Minnesota!

New York, NY *
Saratoga Springs, NY *
Lenox, MA *
Philadelphia, PA
Palm Beach Gardens, FL *
Green Bay, WI
Long Grove, IL
Edgartown, MA
Ann Arbor, MI *
Waltham, MA
Binghamton, NY

Apartment living

My 13-year-old son has been playing clarinet since fourth grade: first on a lark with friends, then more seriously, as he joined the middle school orchestra. In recent months, he really began to enjoy it, and he’s playing a lot—sometimes for two hours at a time, sometimes as late as 10 p.m. before bed.

His bedroom shares a wall with our neighbors, an older husband and wife who we don’t speak to all that much. So I was surprised when the wife stopped me on the building’s front steps a few weeks ago, as I was returning from a dog walk and she was on her way out.

“Is your son playing an instrument?” she asked. “Like a woodwind, maybe an oboe?”

In my head, I cringed, ready for a complaint. “Yes, that’s our younger son. It’s a clarinet.”

Her face brightened. “He’s getting good!”

Postseason baseball and me

No, I’ve never been to the World Series, and yes, I’m still annoyed about it.

Back in 1996, in the days where people would have to buy tickets in person, I waited on line at Yankee Stadium and got postseason tickets. I saw the Yanks in the Division Series, for sure; I don’t think I got ALCS tickets.

Then I waited on line again and got myself a World Series ticket. Amazing! Many of my friends had tickets with their fathers to games 1 and 2; I got myself a single seat, because my dad isn’t a big fan of baseball games, and I was not going to miss out. It was for Game 7.

The Yankees won the World Series in six games.

Thoroughly dejected, I got a refund. In the dynasty years that followed, I was unable to get a World Series ticket again, despite the Yankees’ winning three more championships by 2000. I did get to Game 6 of the 1998 ALCS, and I got to see Mariano Rivera send the Yankees to the World Series, which was incredible; I can still picture the end of the game from my seat, and the upper deck of the old Yankee Stadium bouncing in the enthusiasm. But never a World Series.

The Yankees made the postseason a lot in the ensuing years, but it occurred to me that the only thing better than seeing the ALCS clincher would be going to the World Series, so I stopped trying to get postseason tickets for the early rounds. In 2009, the only time the Yanks made the Series since 2000, I had a toddler in the house and couldn’t be bothered.

So now it’s 2024, I have two teenage sons, and Major League Baseball has a tiered, throttled system for World Series tickets, so when I tried to buy them this week, the only option available was $1266 for the wheelchair row, proof of eligibility required, and a two-ticket limit, too.

With some continued good play, the Yankees will make the 2024 World Series in the coming days, and barring some extraordinary good luck, I won’t be there, again. At least I have a story to tell.

9/11/01

For the past few years, I have lived around the corner from the Firemen’s Memorial in Manhattan. Every September 11, the neighborhood gets quiet. Streets are closed to traffic, and instead are filled with fire fighters in their formal uniforms, somberly marching to the monument, alongside a substantial police presence, mostly directing traffic but also respecting the moment.

I have no direct connection to the firefighters; I’m just a neighbor, and a lot of the time I’m walking my dog nearby. But since 2019, I have felt the moment more viscerally than I did for the decade-plus before, reminded of the effort, the tragedy, the grieving that continues.

Regardless, I don’t tend to dwell on the day, other than to pay my respects. Since it’s getting a fair amount of attention this year in other spaces, I thought I’d briefly call attention to how 9/11 was experienced here. My thoughts are with those who have much worse to remember today.

As I wrote on the twentieth anniversary of the attacks: my memories of the day and the week were chronicled here on the Ideapad, and I still recommend reading them; the page is both contemplative and raw, and it holds up. Also, for really raw writing about the event, my friend Adam’s firsthand writeup is chastening.

Landmarks and luxury housing

This post generated a lot of feedback.

The Flatiron Will Go Condo. This is sad, because it will severely limit who can enter one of New York’s true landmarks. I had a job interview with Penguin many years ago, and HR was in the pointy end, and I can still picture the goofy narrow office in my mind. It’s a fun memory even today. Sixty luxury apartments will reduce opportunities like that to near-zero.

The point here isn’t to argue against capitalism, or to debate the merits of adding housing stock to a city that needs plenty, or to say my little recollection is particularly important. It’s about the Flatiron Building and New York itself, and what it means when landmarks turn into residential real estate.

Of course the Flatiron needs new life, and it’s a mess inside, and it’s such a major project that no one even wanted to buy the building. Commercial office space is not a bullish investment in 2024, and adding apartments in Manhattan is fundamentally good.

That said, its sixty ultra-high-end luxury condominiums are likely to be purchased by a mix of LLCs and holding companies, held as investment properties and pied-a-terres, ultimately contributing little to the neighborhood. A small staff will stand guard at a lobby that a limited number of residents will use each day. Is this the best outcome for the city?

The Plaza Hotel went condo in 2005, four years after the September 11 attacks, when New York was convinced that high-end hotels had passed their peak. This was widely viewed as a disappointment, one that spurred talk of government intervention. How soon we forget! No one wanted to lose access to such a grand, iconic space. Never mind that the old hotel was expensive; at least one could go there, see the lobby, get upstairs if interested, and experience it.

There’s still a hotel in the Plaza, of course, but greatly downscaled. What remains—some hotel rooms, the Palm Court, the ballrooms—exists in part because public pressure helped it persist. That pressure has abated. No one is really fussing over the Waldorf-Astoria’s slow transformation into a more residential space, other than to lament how long it’s taking. And few are going to fuss over the Flatiron, if the reactions to that Threads post are any indication.

I know firsthand what it means to have set foot in these iconic buildings, to use them for their stated purpose, and my hope is that many others get to experience them, too, not just as nice pieces of architecture (which they all are) but as part of the city’s fabric.

Just before the Plaza closed as a full hotel, my wife and I spent a night there. We wanted to experience its grandeur for ourselves. And it was grand indeed: wide hallways, high ceilings, a strikingly oversized room, and all the prewar detail still on the walls, aged but beautiful. Staying there was a singular New York experience. Like my one pop into the Flatiron Building, I’m glad I got to be there. So, too, my coffees in the lobby of the Waldorf, and the various industry dinners I once attended there.

There will always be somewhere else to go for a meeting, a dinner or a night’s stay, and landmark designation means these special buildings will remain a part of the streetscape. Still, losing access to them, in full or in part, marks a shift away from part of what makes them special.

For most of the first century of its life, the Flatiron was a thriving space, with thousands of people walking into its lobby and filling its 22 stories with an ever changing population, each generating their own experiences, their own memories. The building was lively inside and out. That is likely never to return. And the transition away from a bustling and interwoven piece of the city is noteworthy, and a little bit sad.

Straplines

Making good things great. Digital innovation, product strategy, coaching. Family man and Yankees fan. I like minor chords and chocolate mint.

It’s been a year-plus since I’ve posted on Twitter, and today I updated my bio to just send people to my Threads account.

Because I’m @netwert on Threads (a username I really don’t like anymore, cf. this web domain, but what can you do) my bio there simply says, “I should be werty.”

I rather liked my long-time Twitter bio, though, so I saved it and am posting it here for posterity.

These things are by their nature ephemeral, of course. My Twitter bio occasionally also housed pithy commentary, including, “Ask me about my new front teeth,” and, “Charter member of the DJ LeMahieu Fan Club.” Alas, just as with LeMahieu’s batting prowess, that era has come to an end.

On open-mindedness

“I don’t have to like everything. But maybe I’m attracted to it because it’s unusual or makes me feel anxious or makes me want to dance or other kinds of impulses that get triggered.”

That’s drummer Doug Schulkind, in conversation with Rob Walker, discussing how he approaches music. It’s a great quote to keep in mind when flipping around radio stations or streaming music feeds. Or doing anything new in life, really.

Also, this:

“My end goal is to live long enough to have loved everything, and I’m not going to get there, but I’m getting there as fast as I can.”

« Older posts

Ideapad © 1998–2025 David Wertheimer. All rights reserved.