The Importance of Forgetting

I'm not sure what this means. I heard it on NPR and it sounded cool. Profound even.

There is so much emphasis on remembering stuff; of being pulled together and on top of things. Remembering the past. Remembering important dates. Remembering to take our the garbage on garbage day (nearly impossible). Remembering to move the car on alternate parking day (sooo important). Remembering what someone said. Or didn't say. Remembering some obscure thing that at one point or another may be important.

Me, I forget pretty much everything. But I can hold a grudge forever - and that is something that is probably worth forgetting.

Melancholy and the infinite longing for summer

So this was the last week of summer. I don’t really know what happened to summer – went by so incredibly fast. I managed to get my white ass to the beach a whopping one time. Who needs a new bathing suit for that? I certainly didn’t – which is why I wore the old one, crunchy elastic and all. You know, just hoping for the best but bracing for the worst, should gravity take over. Luckily, I made it through one more summer without having to go through the über-humiliating experience of buying swimwear, and than being further humiliated by having to wear it in public. And yet, summer is still my favorite season of the year. I suppose I’m a glutton for punishment.

To celebrate the passing of the season, I was the lucky recipient of a nasty cold. Sore throat, coughing and green snot! As I sit here sucking on a cough drop I can’t taste, I wonder why is it that summer used to seem so long when you were a kid?

I want.... a shoping cart

Scott says I'm ahead of my time by about 50 years. But I don't care. I want a shopping cart. The kind that city dwelling old ladies push down the street almost in slow motion, each tentative step taken with the utmost concentration.

Yes, maybe I'm ahead of my time: shopping carts are cool. Not only do they fold away when you don't need them, they have bit of a dorky appeal, I have to admit. I want a shopping cart.

I can picture myself shopping for produce at the Union Square farmer's market; darting to Chinatown for some fresh ripe papaya (which won't be all bruised by the time I get home from it hitting against my knee with every step I take). I imagine going wine shopping and buying more than one bottle without buyers remorse setting in a few blocks, when the bag handles begin to cut off circulation to your fingers.

Having a shopping cart doesn't make you old. Or low brow. My shopping cart wouldn't have bits of string and plastic tied to it. Nor would it be decorated with faded fake flowers and leftover gift ribbon. I would never push it in front of me, slowly, in that two-step shuffle of someone who is using it not just for its intended purpose, but also for balance. Me, I would grab the handle and tilt the cart, so that the front wheels are off the ground and off I would stroll, cart behind me like a nice piece of luggage. The gentle summer breeze fluttering the shopping bags. Bright colored produce carefully stowed within the cart's enameled mesh sides, safely nested until our final destination. Perhaps a bunch of sunflowers resting safely against the back. Yes, I want a shopping cart and I'm not afraid to admit it.

I want a shopping cart and I ill walk with it trailing shortly behind me. I will walk with pride and a gin on my face, because I will have a shopping cart.

Fat Guy in a Lime Green Mini

Here is another post from the archives of my old life in Detroit.

Despite its many shortfalls, the metropolitan Detroit area is still the automobile capital of the universe. No one walks here, it's some kind of unwritten law - thou shall not walk. Ever. We all bask in our obesity while sipping some high calorie coffee concoction and discussing the next low carbohydrate diet craze while driving to Costco to purchase institutional-size boxes of cereal and packages of irradiated lettuce that will not rot for weeks. A friend, who is a Costco aficionado, gave me a head of romaine lettuce that remained inexplicably green in my fridge for almost two months.

In just about any social circle in Metro Detroit, there is bound to be at least a handful of people who are employed in some car related field. I imagine it's like LA, where everybody is working on a movie, with the exception that our movies are glove box videos and the work comprises of far less schmoozing and a whole lot more doing, no offence to those who keep the rest of us wishing we were someone else, giving us just enough to keep us afloat.

Detroit is gritty, dirty and, as the show biz people would say, "a has been." People drive there, and then they quickly drive away. Not me. I go there for no reason and I linger around. There is an immense amount of beauty in a city that once was the Paris of the west, but now it's more like Beirut than Paris.

On my way downtown today, I was being tailgated by a very large man - Captain Incredible large - lodged in a lime green mini. Saying he was merely riding would not accurately convey the scene. The man was basically squeezed into this tiny car, driving erratically down I-94. It took me a while to realize that the steering wheel in his car was on the right side, because his body mass pretty much occupied the width of the car.

Normally I wouldn't do this, but I slowed down to get a better look. In fact, I pulled out my camera and took a picture. Driving such a small car, make that a small old car, is almost like heresy in this gas-guzzling, SUV -oving metropolis. People here buy the largest vehicle available, regardless of their need for things like towing capacity, cargo space or the ability to climb the Great Wall of China. Most people driving these mega machines are men in suits and women with children, neither of which will have any immediate need for a power wench or to tow a nuclear submarine. That's why they make SUVs with leather interiors and heated seats, which is precisely what you will need on your next safari adventure to Costco.

I have a profound hatred for those driving the extra large cars for no reason. I can understand if you need a huge van because you make countertops for a living, or if you work in an adult care facility, and need it to take the patients to their weekly visit to Kmart. I don't mind that at all, especially since I don't shop at Kmart. By all means have at it.

What does severely piss me off are those men (and they usually are men) who drive a Hummer. The first thought that pops into my mind is that the poor sap must have a small penis. That, and the fact that said vehicle monstrosity is called a Hummer, is almost funny enough to make me forget that I want that person to hit the first available utility pole with that ridiculous automobile.

While the occasional Corvette can be seen on our roads, in the brief few weeks that comprise the Michigan summer, seeing an old small car have at it with our suburban attack vehicles is rather unusual. Made me think of that Budweiser commercial, in which they salute people such as Mr. Pickled Pig's Feet eater. For whatever reason, if size does matter, I'm sure the fat guy in the lime green mini had a huge penis.

Coo-Coo for Cocoa Puffs

My favorite mode of transportation in the city is my own two feet. It's never dull to walk around New York City. Cold yes. Dull, never. Whether you are just going around the corner for some coffee, or are hopelessly lost trying to find a very obscure address where the street numbers make no sense, lots of unexpected entertainment can be easily observed.

The other day, for example, walking downtown on 7th Avenue, starting somewhere in the 30s and making his way well beyond the teens, a well dressed man was walking with a shovel slung over his shoulder. From the handle of this shovel, between his back and the "scoopy" part of the digging implement, hung a Barney's shopping bag. What was puzzling to me was that the bag was not all crumpled and old. No, this bag had just been handed over the retail counter in very recent history, making what appeared to be its maiden voyage.

The shovel itself was also intriguing. It wasn't a snow shovel, which would sort of make some sense, giving the record snowfall of last weekend. However, this one was a heavy duty, big hole-digging shovel. The one you'd probably choose if you were, well, going to be digging a trench, or a pool or some other type of whatever which requires displacing a fair amount of soil. The shovel in question also looked like it had been used for this purpose in the past because it was rusty and dirty.

The man didn't seem to be too familiar with the implications of walking with a shovel slung over his shoulder. He was easily distracted by store window displays and would turn, willy-nilly to look at the (presumably) shiny things that caught his eye - while making fellow pedestrians duck for cover as the shovel nearly clobbered several passers-by in the head.

But what I really wanted to know was what came first: was it the shovel or was Barney's? And do they allow large hand tools in the store, anyway?

Christmas Shopping

So it's Christmas. The shopping orgy is over - at least until tomorrow's discounts. But today the world of retail is still. Yesterday I sat down nearby the huge Macy's on 34th Street and watched the people go by, carrying bags and bags of stuff. This morning, I woke up super early and couldn't go back to sleep (and no, this has nothing to do with Christmas morning, because we don't even put up a tree, so my waking up early was purely coincidental). Anyway, I sat in the living room and wrote down all the things I don't want to own. Ever. This is what I came up with.

1. A fur coat, or any other item of apparel made out of fur. Without getting into the moral issues of wearing fur, technology has rendered it obsolete because you don't need it to stay warm. To me fur is tacky, not to mention the fact that it doesn't do much for your figure, unless you're a size zero. And let's fact it, most of the people who do wear fur are somewhat larger than that. Ladies, fur does make you look fat.

2. A fanny pack. Need I say more?

3. A melon baller. Now why can't the melon just be cut up like all the other fruit?

4. A fuzzy toilet seat cover. What purpose does it serve, anyway?

5. Kitten-heel shoes. These are just wrong.

6. A Swiffer floor sweeper. Wait, I have one of those, but I don't use it. Can I interest you on it?

7. Acrylic nails - very few people can pull off the look. I'm not one of them.

8. A rice steamer. I prefer soggy rice.

9. Elvis on Velvet. So tacky it's almost cool.

10. Any Precious Moments figurines

11. Anything Lord of the Rings, Star Wars or Sponge Bob

12. Inflatable holiday lawn ornaments

13. Holiday wear - any type of clothing or accessory decorated with elements of any given holiday. Again, this is wrong, people.

14. Fake flowers

15. A smoky mirror

16. An Epilady. If you know what this is, you understand.

17. Stirrup pants. A throw back to the eighties I'm not willing to trough again. Leg warmer I can deal with. Stirrup pants I can't.

18. Anything with glitter on it.

19. A tube top - at least not anymore

20. Actual silver silverware. I can still taste my grandmother's silverware and the taste isn't good. However if you like your mashed potatoes with and aftertaste of metal, go for it.

21. An electric blanket. Somehow the thought of sleeping under something that has an electrical current running through it does not sound appealing.

22. A lava lamp

23. A reclining chair or worse, a reclining couch

24. A country club membership

25. A country music recording

26. A riding lawnmower

27. Anything bedazzled

28. A salad shooter - I'm not sure what this does, but it sounds dangerous

29. Collectible plates of any kind.