In high school or college, I acquired a Westclox Dialite bedside alarm clock (this one, specifically). I no longer remember how I got it, which annoys me; typically, I hoard these odd little details in the Smaug’s cave of my brain.
Given its vintage, it’s possible it was just sitting arund at my parents’ house for some reason. Talk about Smaug’s cave: my parents’ house and garage are filled with weird shit that occasionally emerges and gets gifted to you. A vintage turkey roaster? A signed Claes Oldenburg print? Yes and yes. How many wonders can one cavern hold, indeed.
Anyway, I like the way this clock looks. It’s had an outsized influence on my aesthetic (one-third stuff Don Draper would have owned, one-third early American mountain folk aka my family, and one-third dowager duchess of something or other) and it’s very simple, just two dials on the back and one button on the top to shut off the alarm. You can still buy something like it, although not the exact version I had, which is available on Etsy and eBay for a bit more cash.
I have been thinking about this clock a lot lately because I was recently overcome with a very focused hatred of the clock on my bedside table, which is this thing. I bought it specifically for the sunrise simulation, which is supposed to help you be less of a big baby about the time change. If you had to take a wild guess at which year I bought this very overpriced clock, which would you choose:
2019 (normal, considering)
2020 (fucked)
2021 (fucked lite)
2022 (hahaha)
2023 (🤪)
If you chose 2020 you are correct! I ordered it from Amazon in October 2020 just a few weeks before the fall time change, anticipating that the seasonal effects of more darkness might be especially bad that year. The joke was on me, though, because we hate the clock. The light looks fake and the “natural” alarm sounds are hokey. (In an episode of Sex and the City, Miranda is dismayed to be isolated in her honeymoon cabin with no television and one CD: Sounds of Mohonk Mountain. This is that.)
The sunrise clock also has an FM radio (useless) and segmented, glowing orange numbers (dumb). The plastic touchscreen controls are inscrutable and it’s easy to change the settings accidentally. Apparently this clock is very popular but I don’t know why! It’s also very ugly.
All that to say, I bought an old Westclox Dialite off Etsy and am now pleased to see its friendly glow on my nightstand. I don’t remember what became of the one I had for so long; I asked my mom and dad what happened to it but they had no memory of it ever existing. (This happens a lot now – I’ll ask them about some thing that was in our house for 20+ years and they’re like “Sproing doing, who cares, that never existed!” Yes it did, yes it did…yes, it did.)
I’m old enough now that the early years of my existence took place in a world that no longer exists. At a garage sale or thrift store, I will always flip through the shoeboxes of cassette tapes because the plasticky clack clack clack is so deeply satisfying. I will probably spend the rest of my life re-acquiring lo-fi objects that worked just fine, my dad will be so proud.
In other news of used goods purveyed on the internet, I am back on my Poshmark bullshit. Before we went to Paris last year I went on a buying spree of sorts, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it has gotten much more difficult to return clothes. I am sure that is by design, but wow, I hate it. I meant to return a bunch of things when I got home and promptly forgot about most of them, thus, I am hawking my mistakes on Poshmark and glumly accepting lowball offers while secretly thinking things like
Although why should Julie Whatshername of Colorado Springs be responsible for my mistakes? She just wants a bargain on Old Navy Stevie Kick Flare pants. She is out there hustling and who am I to stand in her way?
Finally, I’d like to add to my list of work power moves a tactic I’ve used recently. It’s very simple: when a man mansplains something to you via Slack in a long run-on sentence, respond back with an even longer and more indecipherable run-on sentence. The subject will be dropped immediately.
And on that One Weird Tip, enjoy your week.