Odds & Trends

AN EARIE EXPERIENCE

As the movie title says, "Can't Stop the Music," at least on city streets. A cacophony of portable radios and tape players blares from every corner, park bench, bus and subway. But now Sony has come out with a sidewalk stereo that is not a noise polluter. About the size of a paperback book, the 14-oz. Walkman is a cassette player that can be hung from the neck, strapped to a belt or simply carried in a pocket. Attached is a headset with half-dollar-size earphones that provide true stereo sound. Best of all, the Walkman (just under $200) lets a pedestrian stroll to his own beat, whether Bach or disco, without inflicting it on others. Hear, hear.

THE LADY VANISHES

A debutante just last summer, she had a nationwide coming-out party that cost close to $600,000. But alas, her two-bit shape did her in. The Susan B. Anthony dollar, heralded as a boon to bank tellers and store clerks, turned out to be a bane. Looking and feeling too much like a quarter, she may fare less well than the poker-chip-size Eisenhower dollar and the Jefferson $2 bill. Production of the nickel and copper-alloyed coin has been "temporarily postponed," says the U.S. Mint. Of the 846 million Susan B.s already minted, only 300 million are in circulation, with Susan B. dollar 30 million--a relative trickle--being added each month. The mint is thinking of changing Susan B.'s silvery color to bronze (95% copper, 3% silicon and 2% aluminum) in hopes that a facelift might change her fortunes.

THE BLAST SUPPER

Not everyone in France has unquestioning faith in the country's nuclear deterrent, La force de frappe. Restaurateur Philippe Deur, 24, has converted the 17th century stone cellar of his establishment, Chez Gregory, in Arcey not far from the Swiss border, into a bomb shelter that even the Guide Michelin might approve. Behind a 1 1/2-ton steel and reinforced concrete door and enclosed within 4 ft.-thick walls, the room is equipped with a hand-cranked ventilator that sucks in outside air and could filter out radioactive dust. Most evenings, the fare includes steaks, omelets and salads. Come the holocaust, though, Deur's village clientele will be treated to a repast of freeze-dried haricots verts, vacuum-packed charcuterie and as much French wine as survives the first blast. The dining room ordinarily seats 30, but in a nuclear pinch the tables can be squeezed to accommodate 50.

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