Now and then I catch a glimpse of where marketing wants to take us. Perhaps you'll recall the time you first realized that they were giving away computer printers so that they could sell you small and very expensive packages of ink? Something similar seems to be afoot in the world of vacuums. Yes, those things with which we clean house. In the bad old days, of course, one hung a carpet on the washing line and beat it with a beating thing. Or one used what Eddie Izzard calls a hod-d-d-de, which was like sending the Home Guard out on patrol--pretty useless but you had the feeling you were doing something. Vacuums, or as we once knew them, "Hoovers," were sturdy beasts that needed very little maintenance. Cost a bit in the first place, weighed about the same as a wheelbarrow, but the bright side was that no one ever needed a gym membership. "How do you keep so fit, m'dear?" "I carry the vacuum up and down stairs." They still sell such sturdy beasts here, but even these have paper bags inside them now, ones which have to be thrown away when full. We get plastic bags from the grocery store which are used once and thrown away and yet they give us paper bags for the interior of the vacuum. Surely genius could invent a re-useable plastic bag for a vacuum? What started this ramble? Discovering that the cost per paper bag I've been paying--five dollars--is not the top end of the scale. Some vacuums now require eight dollar bags. And the bagless vacuums you can buy for a hundred dollars? According to our repair shop, these require sixty dollars per year of maintenance. Where to find succor in such a world? At the library checkout, surely. Which is where I sometimes imagine an inspection service. "Excuse me a moment, sir, may I see your receipt? Now what have we here? 'Missing measures: modern poetry and the revolt against meter'... 'The End of the Poem...' 'Sea of Poppies...' 'The Sword and the Scimitar...' 'Singapore Encounter...' Not a bestseller among your choices. Would you step this way for a moment. Marketing wants a word." Carry on. David Ritchie, Portland (not Beaverton)