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penfield"Frugality may be termed the daughter of Prudence, the sister of Temperance, and the parent of Liberty"
- Samuel Johnson
The economy is in free-fall. I am not panicking yet, though this is mostly because I am not (yet) a homeowner and I haven't looked at my 401(k) balance in a while. But it does have me thinking about money and ways to tighten my belt.
My belt is already pretty tight. J. has implied that I might be holding it a little too tightly. She has never used the word "cheap," but her eyes say that and more whenever I whip out my grocery coupons.
It's true, there have only been three occasions when I paid what could objectively called an exorbitant amount of money to buy myself a self-indulgent luxury item*:
*For these purposes, when I say "self-indulgent luxury item," I mean an item that has little if any practical value beyond aesthetics and sentiment. My big-screen television does not count. Though it was admittedly a self-indulgent luxury purchase, I consider it part of the family.
On a trip to New Orleans in 2003, I purchased a signed limited edition print of this Jazz Fest poster -- a poster print, like you might find in a dorm room -- for $500. Not only is it a gorgeous rendering of Louis Armstrong, but it commemorated the 2001 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, my first and most treasured Jazz Fest experience. At the time, the purchase seemed particularly insane because I could have purchased it for $65 dollars just two years earlier. But as it turns out, it was a wise investment -- sentimentally and financially.
In 2005, I spent $75 on a used book. Specifically, a first-edition "Cat's Cradle," by Kurt Vonnegut. The novel is not considered his masterpiece or his most beloved work, but it is my favorite -- a brilliantly conceived narrative, a vicious social satire and a deceptively sophisticated work of art. Though I've read the book several times, I've never read the version I paid all that money for and probably never will. It's currently wrapped carefully in plastic and stored in a box under my bed. It is, quite practically, useless. I don't know why I have it, but I feel good that I have it.
In 2006, I spent somewhere north of $150 on a 1960 throwback Bob Gibson Rochester Red Wings baseball jersey. The jersey speaks to me and speaks for me: it is old-school; it is minor-league in the best tradition of the minor leagues, embodying the purest love for the game; it is American and it is Rochesterian. It hangs in my closet -- practically the most expensive thing in my closet -- but I rarely wear it, partially because I am afraid I might stain it but also because I invariably attract statements like "Hey, I'm a Detroit Red Wings fan, too!" and "Can't wait for hockey season, huh?" I used to take the time to correct these people, but now I just nod and silently wish for something to fall on their heads.
These three things are probably my most prized possessions, the three things I would be most likely to grab on my way out of a burning building (aside from J., my wallet, and my pants.)(Note to self: always keep your wallet in your pants.)(Come to think of it, this is a good frugality measure, too.)(Parentheses are free.)
- Samuel Johnson
The economy is in free-fall. I am not panicking yet, though this is mostly because I am not (yet) a homeowner and I haven't looked at my 401(k) balance in a while. But it does have me thinking about money and ways to tighten my belt.
My belt is already pretty tight. J. has implied that I might be holding it a little too tightly. She has never used the word "cheap," but her eyes say that and more whenever I whip out my grocery coupons.
It's true, there have only been three occasions when I paid what could objectively called an exorbitant amount of money to buy myself a self-indulgent luxury item*:
*For these purposes, when I say "self-indulgent luxury item," I mean an item that has little if any practical value beyond aesthetics and sentiment. My big-screen television does not count. Though it was admittedly a self-indulgent luxury purchase, I consider it part of the family.
On a trip to New Orleans in 2003, I purchased a signed limited edition print of this Jazz Fest poster -- a poster print, like you might find in a dorm room -- for $500. Not only is it a gorgeous rendering of Louis Armstrong, but it commemorated the 2001 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, my first and most treasured Jazz Fest experience. At the time, the purchase seemed particularly insane because I could have purchased it for $65 dollars just two years earlier. But as it turns out, it was a wise investment -- sentimentally and financially.
In 2005, I spent $75 on a used book. Specifically, a first-edition "Cat's Cradle," by Kurt Vonnegut. The novel is not considered his masterpiece or his most beloved work, but it is my favorite -- a brilliantly conceived narrative, a vicious social satire and a deceptively sophisticated work of art. Though I've read the book several times, I've never read the version I paid all that money for and probably never will. It's currently wrapped carefully in plastic and stored in a box under my bed. It is, quite practically, useless. I don't know why I have it, but I feel good that I have it.
In 2006, I spent somewhere north of $150 on a 1960 throwback Bob Gibson Rochester Red Wings baseball jersey. The jersey speaks to me and speaks for me: it is old-school; it is minor-league in the best tradition of the minor leagues, embodying the purest love for the game; it is American and it is Rochesterian. It hangs in my closet -- practically the most expensive thing in my closet -- but I rarely wear it, partially because I am afraid I might stain it but also because I invariably attract statements like "Hey, I'm a Detroit Red Wings fan, too!" and "Can't wait for hockey season, huh?" I used to take the time to correct these people, but now I just nod and silently wish for something to fall on their heads.
These three things are probably my most prized possessions, the three things I would be most likely to grab on my way out of a burning building (aside from J., my wallet, and my pants.)(Note to self: always keep your wallet in your pants.)(Come to think of it, this is a good frugality measure, too.)(Parentheses are free.)
