Penny Wiseacre

How do you solve a problem like commenting?

So way back in the Dark Ages of the Web, I used to post on a now-defunct message board for a site called Hissyfit, and one of the traits of every thread was that each discussion got capped at 50 posts. Talking about the discussion within the discussion was prohibited, as was writing like a meth-addled monkey or making personal attacks.

As a result, the discussions were bright and funny, and I'm still friends with some other regulars to this day. And I got my recapping gig at Television Without Pity thanks to my posting on Hissyfit, and then it was on me to moderate the discussion boards for the shows I covered, and that was when I learned three immutable truths of online "community"

In which I test-drive the Web's advice: IKEA edition

Although we are not slated to be reunited with our household goods for another 22 days, that has not stopped anyone in this household from falling into the logical fallacy of the recently relocated:

1. I moved to a new place. 2. My new place is not my old place. 3. My old place had my old stuff. 4. I am not in my old place. 5. Therefore, I need new stuff.

To be fair, we need a shelf capable of being attached to a wall, as that is where we'll stash our cable modem and AirPort while the floors underneath them are radically redone. And we need a magnetic knife rack, as my idea of a knife drawer was shot down with, "I'm afraid I'd reach in for a knife and pull back a bloody stump." And we need a dish drainer, as we no longer have a dishwasher who is not named "Phil." And now that we have the luxury of not having to work at a kitchen table (which is still in storage), it would be nice to have a desk in our office, and I want to shamelessly ape this set-up.

The most efficient way to pick up all this stuff in one go was IKEA.

If I were them, I wouldn't buy a house either

Last week, the Atlantic Monthly performed its version of trolling for pageviews with "The Cheapest Generation: Why Millennials aren’t buying cars or houses, and what that means for the economy."

The structure of the story is fairly typical: Ask the question ("Why aren't Millennials spending?"); reject the most obvious answer ("Because they have been severely hit by under- and unemployment and have crazy student debt loads and are mirroring the rest of the population in terms of curbing consumerism."); postulate that there is some giant generational shift that rejects the behavior of its forebears:

It’s highly possible that a perfect storm of economic and demographic factors—from high gas prices, to re-­urbanization, to stagnating wages, to new technologies enabling a different kind of consumption—has fundamentally changed the game for Millennials. The largest generation in American history might never spend as lavishly as its parents did—nor on the same things.

Or it's highly possible that these folks observed the same thing that Zillow did. Per the Atlantic Wire last week: "Millennial Homeowners Are Especially Screwed." Why so screwed:

48 percent of mortgage borrowers younger than 40 are currently underwater. It's 39 percent among those who are 20-24 years old; 48 percent for the 25-29 cohort; and 51 percent for the 30-34 demographic

Being underwater means the financial penalty goes well beyond "I am paying more for this house than the market says it is worth."

It means that you have no opportunity to get out of your current mortgage and into one with a better interest rate, so you end up paying even more on the house that's worth less. It means you can't sell unless you're prepared to empty out your savings account and bring money to the table for closing. (Which is what we had to do. And it suuuuuuuuuuucks.) It means the cost of getting out of the bind you're in is often way out of reach -- no better loans, no chance to relocate for a better job -- and so you're stuck, literally and financially.

If you're just out of school, you're employed and you're building a career, why would you risk that?

Twentysomethings aren't buying houses because they're into New Urbanism. They're holding back because they've lived through the last decade and paid attention. And good for them.

How to fly with children: Bring money

This is third and final entry in a series on flying with children without losing your ever-loving mind. Prior installments stress the importance of bribery and the joy of insanely detailed checklists.

Last May, my husband got tapped for a big-deal work thing out in Boston, and the only downside to his big-deal work thing in Boston is that the dates overlapped with a long-planned week in southwestern Florida. So he flew off to Boston and I flew our kid and our stuff out to Florida.

The photo at left depicts everything I schlepped around a long-term parking lot at 6 in the morning. The big duffel bag held all of our family's stuff for the week. The backpack at the right was the sole carry-on bag I elected to schlep; Trixie's insulated lunch box was clipped to the front. The carseat in the middle obviously carried the most precious cargo: Bunny, without whom my daughter would refuse to move. So she sat with him too.

As I was hauling things in and out of the car while keeping up my end of the conversation with Trix, I felt like I was schlepping everything we owned. Looking more objectively at the whole thing now, I see that it was actually a fairly light packing job. And that sums up the key to packing for any trip with the kids: Go light.

After the jump, I'll explain how to pack lightly with a toddler, and toss in the rest of the best practices for flying with the shorties. Spoiler alert: Many of them involve money.

One key to rule them all

The woman from whom we bought our spread had many, many security concerns, which is how we've ended up with ten separate keys for six doors.

She -- or whomever she hired to put in the startling array of deadbolts, chain locks, sliding surface bolts and padlocks that festoon our doors like so many piercings on a indie coffee shop barista -- was also a lady on a budget. I suspect that when she went for hardware, the primary criteria was cost, not consistency. So we've got a boatload of different doorknobs and deadbolts all made by different manufacturers in different finishes.

The different-finish thing is an aesthetic issue. The different-manufacturer thing is a logistic one; locksmiths generally prefer it if all your hardware is made by one vendor, and they will express their preferences via the money they charge you to change the locks.

So for the second time in five years, I shopped for door hardware. I'll be installing it next weekend.

How to fly with children: Make a list, check it twice

If you ever want to feel bulletproof, I recommend completing a solo cross-country trip with a seven-month-old baby. Or try it with a 19-month-old who looooooooves to walk. I've done both, and enjoyed it.

(At left: the seven-month-old, distinctly unimpressed with the Five Guys at Dulles International Airport.)

Part of the reason is because the occasions gave me an excuse to make checklists and do some advance planning. And part of the reason I enjoyed the trips was because I had planned ahead.

Here are the general steps I take to keep from losing my mind with all the logistics of flying for two.

How to fly with children: Bribe early and often

Today, PBS's The Rundown answered the question "Can families with small kids cut the boarding line?" (answer: a qualified yes) and that reminded me: I wanted to blog about flying with babies and toddlers.

The unbearable anxiety of the refrigerator door

This is the kitchen in the house where we used to live. You'll note that there's nothing on the fridge -- not because we wanted to show off the stainless steel doors, but because when you are staging and selling a house, any and all signs of the habitants' lives need to be erased.

To be honest, we haven't had anything on the fridge since mid-2011, when we put the house on the market the first time. I like a naked fridge. I find it soothing.

From such crooked wood as our floors are made of ...

If you're at all familiar with the pop-economics genre of nonfiction, you're familiar with Barry Schwartz's The Paradox of Choice, a book which can be distilled down to this one idea: You know that scene in Moscow on the Hudson where Robin Williams flips out over all the coffee choices at the grocery store? That's sort of our brains' default mode when confronted with too many options.

(Especially if we are not too confident that we have the background necessary to make the right choices.)

I think of the paradox of choice a lot in relation to home remodeling.

Hello (again), world

The time has come to stop thinking about a new bloggy project and just write already.

So. The basics: