Word: vinyl
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...where to inscribe the first appointment of the New Year? Like a condemned man fantasizing about a reprieve from the Governor, I riffled through my woefully nondescript black vinyl 1988 Daily Planner praying that somehow it contained extra pages for the first week of January. Instead, with fear and trembling, I peered into the abyss: a blank daily entry for New Year's Eve and then no more. Nothingness. Maybe I could take the cowardly way out and try to recycle the pages from last January. But there in big block letters...
Only the young and the supremely self-confident could view such a task with equanimity. For as Michael Korda sagely observed in one of his treatises on modern success, "Desks can tell us a great deal about people's power quotient." Another year shackled to a black vinyl Daily Planner would be the final indictment of the drab ordinariness of my workaday life. As my power quotient tumbled beneath even that of Michael Dukakis, gone would be those wistful dreams of a corner office and secretaries heralding my daily arrival with eager chirps of "Good morning, Mr. Shapiro...
...black vinyl stigma of inferiority would, of course, vanish instantly with the purchase of the right upscale desk accessory. These days, given the vast array of choices, selecting a personal diary has become a bold and precarious act of self-definition. It is fine for Gail Sheehy in Passages to decree that "somewhere between 35 and 45 if we let ourselves, most of us will have a full-out authenticity crisis." Sure, I know it is about time for me to decide who I really am and where I fit in the cosmos. But do I really have to grapple...
...vehicle that would lend itself to a gun rack behind the driver's seat or a load of cargo bouncing around in the back. Think again: Chrysler, the No. 3 U.S. automaker, plans to introduce in early 1989 a Dodge Dakota pickup truck with a removable, manually operated vinyl...
...completely indigent. He gets $637 a month disability from the government for problems arising from his alcoholism, washes up every night at a Santa Monica church (where he sleeps on the doorstep), and keeps his possessions -- photo albums, letters and graduation certificates -- neatly tucked away inside a black vinyl tote bag. The adopted son of a well-off Washington family, Brown says he attended a military academy in Virginia, spent a semester in college and then joined the Navy and later became a signalman. But when the family finances collapsed through mismanagement, he took to the streets...