Dear Aunt Chelsea,
I hope you can help me with this problem. My wife can suck the life out of a box of batteries faster than eating a bag of pretzels. Between her iPod sound dock and chargers for the iPhone and iPod, we have piles of dead batteries buried in our apartment. I would feel so guilty if I threw them out in the regular garbage. What can I do?
Ever Ready Flatiron Freddy
Dear Ever Ready:
Ever heard of this thing called electricity? Apparently, it’s cheaper — and leaves a somewhat more dainty carbon footprint — than the reckless, pretzel-like consumption of batteries.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate their reliability and versatility. Some of the best children’s toys would cease to function without them — and a trusty pack of flashlight Ds or transistor radio 9 volts pulled more than one Chelsea resident’s bacon out of the fire during the unwelcome post-Sandy blackout…but it sounds to me like the Mrs. (and maybe her Mr.?) are relying on batteries far more out of convenience than necessity. Hence, the telling pangs of guilt every time the regular garbage gets the business end of your wasteful ways.
So reacquaint yourself with Reddy Kilowatt and bid a fond farewell to the Energizer Bunny. Ready, Freddy? Go!
Dear Aunt Chelsea,
My co-worker has had a string of bad luck. All in one week, he caught a virus and got a huge cut on his bald head when he went to pick something off the floor — bumping his head on his girlfriend’s jewelry stand. Then, after doing his yoga stretches, he went to scold his cat who was acting out against the other cat and slammed his toe against the steps — breaking his toe! What do you prescribe to put him back on track and get some good luck?
Concerned on 23rd Street
Dear Concerned:
Right off the bat, Aunt Chelsea’s got a prescription — for you. Take two doses of reality and stop blaming your chrome-domed, accident-prone klutz of a co-worker’s misfortunes on that old overused scapegoat called “luck.”
Good, bad or ugly as a stubbed toe, there’s simply no such thing as an intangible force that pulls our strings and pushes our buttons. Quite the opposite, in fact. From your brief note of concern, a picture of this supposedly unlucky fellow begins to emerge — one of a dual pet owner with a girlfriend, a job, a home with steps, an interest in yoga, a co-worker who cares about him and a shopping list bereft of expensive creature comforts such as shampoo. If there were such a thing as luck, I’d say this guy has quite a bit of it.
Viruses come and go, broken toes mend and cuts heal. Over time, even two warring cats can learn to get along (I’ve seen it happen…once!). So tell him to count his blessings…you even have my blessing to tell him to consider himself, um, lucky.
BLIND ITEM ADVICE
To a certain third-term billionaire elected who shall remain nameless…no, I don’t recommend banning a certain thing that after-hours Eighth Avenue denizens prowl those 24-hour establishments for…just tax it a bit more, and leave our fine Chelsea boys alone! You’ve taken away their soda buzz — anything more constrictive to the thrill-centric lifestyle will surely hurt tourism (or at least bridge and tunnel traffic). Also, in reference to those sore footsies, I recommend a hearty square of shag carpeting placed discreetly behind the press conference podium. If one must suffer slings, arrows and silly questions from my less esteemed print media colleagues, you’ll at least be able to stand your ground in relative comfort!
