Save Big, Shop Banjo Center!

Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you should buy anything from Banjo Center. You should just consider heading to their store when you want to have your way with one of their many floor models — before buying your gear someplace else. No, I’m not kidding, so let me restate:

Try gear at Banjo Center. Then, buy your gear somewhere else. You’ll be happy that you did.

Last weekend, Joe and I threw down some pizza, and then took a walk over to Banjo Center on Comm Ave in Boston. It was a nice, sunny December day. Nothing could ruin it, well, until we actually spent some time at Banjo Center.

I was looking for a bass combo (amplifier). I’d wanted one for about a year (that is, since I’d come to the realization that my bass tracks sounded like garbage), and had been speaking to various people about brands that they’d recommend, and how much they’d pay. By doing so, I had a baseline to work with, well, along with the research that I’d done online. I narrowed down my selection to three brands: SWR, Ampeg, and Hartke Systems. For my money, I felt, it would come down to SWR versus Ampeg, as finding a Hartke with the spec/price I’d had in mind — was near-impossible.

After about 30 minutes at Banjo Center, I found a clerk who said that he could help me get situated with trying a bass amplifier (if this wasn’t an indication of a Company With Problems, I don’t know what, short of a burning bush, would be!). Well, as to whether or not he was able to help me was a different situation entirely. In this case, I wanted to try Amp A and Amp B by SWR. I plugged the bass into Amp A, and lo and behold, there was no sound. In fact, there was no power. Banjo Clerk explained that Amp A had a bad fuse, so instead of bringing a fuse (or non-broken amplifier) to put in the place of Broken Amp A, he thought it best to swap a fuse from Amp B into Amp A. For his hubris, Banjo Clerk should be rewarded. However, whatever was wrong with Amp A caused it to eat fuses like a dingo eats babies. Within moments of transplanting the fuse from Amp B into Amp A, the fuse blew again. Now, both Amp A and Amp B were in a broken state. I opted to try Amp C by SWR, since it was functional. Amp C sounded great at low volumes. I had a chance to play with it for about half hour whilst Banjo Clerk claimed that he was going to get me a couple of new SWR (Amp A and Amp B) from the back room — to try — in replacement for the broken Amp A and Amp B. Joe dropped by to check on me, and he dialed up the EQ on Amp C a bit. Suddenly, what had been solid (for its $700 price tag, I’d hope for solidness for sure!), sounded like a wet fart. If the bass amplifer could talk, it would be asking if I had a square to spare, or a replacement pair of boxer briefs. Yes, it was that bad.

Joe and I departed from the SWR amplifier and took up residence by an Ampeg, which I’d also had my eyes on from earlier studying online. This Ampeg was a killer amp. It never quite reached the level of wetness of the SWR, which was to its credit. Joe dialed in a few different EQ combinations, and soon the amp sounded quite good, punchy, and loud. I knew that I could record with this one. And I wanted to buy it.

30 minutes later (are you noticing a trend here?) Banjo Clerk returned, and asked how I liked the SWR amps because he found them “hot”. “Well”, I almost said, “that amp is hot only if someone stole it and and then it appeared here in your stock”, but I figured that it would be lost on him anyways. Instead, I proclaimed my love for the Ampeg, an amp with twice the power (and sound!) and half the price of the SWR. Banjo Clerk again asked if the SWR was not the greatest, and I confirmed that, in fact, the SWR was not the greatest. This was not what he’d wanted to hear, what since the Ampeg cost $300 less and all, so he kind of frowned and sighed, “well, the Ampeg is good, too, man.”

Yes, I know it is, dude. It’s the pitbull to your precious poodle SWR. P.S. – I own you.

Banjo Center wanted $419 for this Ampeg amplifier. Banjo Clerk claimed that he could make me a “sweet deal” on it, for “much less”. I waited for him for 10 minutes, and no sweet deal was ever dialed up on their computer. At 11 minutes, Joe and I were drinking coffee and walking home.

Joe stressed to me that I should try to find the same amplifier online, and after having found a few online stores who “boasted” the same, exact price as Banjo Center, we found one who had the amplifier for $125 less. Without delay, I submitted my order. The amp arrived today, $125 cheaper, no thanks to you, Banjo Center.

Oh, the money saved by delaying gratification.

15? No, 17! How about 8? I’ll take it!

Former Boston Red Sox star Nomar Garciaparra illustrates a few cases-in-point to me:

1. Athletes who play-for-pay are motivated by greed.
2. Sports agents who represent-for-percentage are motivated by greed.
3. Athletes and sports agents don’t understand what happens when you combine the words “market” and “correction”.

“What?”, you say, “Why are you preaching to the choir?”

Because something radical just happened. Nomar Garciaparra’s own greed caused him to make $7mil dollars less this coming season.

“What?!”

It’s true. A little over a year ago, Nomar was offered a $60M (4 years @ $15mil/year) contract extension from the Boston Red Sox. Nomar, he who missed almost all of 2002 with injuries, and he who was totally non-existent in the 2003 American League Championship Series, refused to accept this $60mil offer. He called the deal essentially a “slap in the face”, and tried to plead his case (for having a $17mil/year contract) on local radio call-in talkshows. The Red Sox were wise. They didn’t want to lose a player of Nomar’s ability. They put another offer on the table.

4 years @ $12mil/year = $48M

The fact that Nomar was shorted $12mil combined with his near-trade for Alex Rodriguez nearly drove him crazy, as was evident by his inability to hit or field reliably and his boo-hoo-Nomar sessions you could obviously discern in the Boston dugout.

Nomar was traded to the Chicago Cubs on July 31, 2004. Yesterday, he accepted a one-year deal from the Cubs… for $8mil.

$60M – $12M = $48M.

$48M – $8M = $40M.

$60M – $8M = $52M.

The best part of the Nomar saga is really how badly this business was conducted. Had Nomar signed the $60M contract with Boston, this money would’ve been guaranteed. Read it again: in Major League Baseball, contracts can be guaranteed, and at a minimum, a contract cannot be restructured in such a way that the player would be forced to take less money than the original contract. Of course, was a player’s contract to be purchased by another team, they could opt to pay the player more than the existing contract… by offering a new contract. By Nomar’s agent (and Nomar himself) taking a hardline stance, they essentially took him out of a marquis-pay player level. If Nomar’s agent decided to have rolled the dice with Nomar’s salary, I’d suggest that he find another agent.

The best part of this situation is that Nomar doesn’t seem to mind taking “only” $8mil/year. In fact, he seems quite fine with it, despite the fact that no other team was willing to give him the long-term contract that he so desired. Well, there’s always next year, when he starts this whole process again. Better luck next time!

Straight-Talk: Admiring Men’s Bodies

I started attending a gym in late-September 2004. This was long overdue as, after my significant weight loss, I had still not regained the energy that I’d hoped. And I was scrawny as hell. And I was trying to quit smoking.

A friend from work talked me into attending partner training with him at a local gym, and while it was a struggle at first to keep up with the workouts, I began to take a liking to working out, and (cardio) fitness, in general. Suddenly, I’m all about running and tailoring my diet around working out and getting the maximum positive effect when it comes to energy and muscle growth.

I’ve gotten more involved with fitness, to be honest, because I’ve started to see the results of my efforts. No, I’m not suddenly all Lou Ferigno. No, I’m not suddenly ready to grab the banana hammock and oil myself up for your viewing (dis)pleasure. But there is some level of muscle definition starting to take place, and even my hair is starting to look better (a few people claimed that it was growing back, but I don’t buy that quite as much).

Suddenly, I’m looking at men’s bodies.

“WHAT?!” you say.

No, seriously. I notice similarly tall men and see what they’re doing to define their shapes and such. As a tall, thin man, I’m never sure what a year’s worth of weight training and cardio can do for me. It’s not like I’m trolling for sex from these fellows, you know.

And not once have I yelled “Spartacus!” at the freaks who insist on walking around the men’s locker room with their man parts swinging to and fro.