A few days ago, Eric was talking to me about The Best Purchases he'd Ever Made (BPsEM). This distinction is given usually to something simple and relatively inexpensive that greatly enriches your experience of life. He and I disagreed somewhat on the particulars, but this was to be expected: we have very different personalities, and value different things, well, differently. The value of things is (neccessarily) highly subjective. I'm not especially into things, or at least I don't like the degree to which I seem to accumulate them. Once I have them, the damned things seem to be so hard to get rid of. Somewhere, some extraterrestrial being with a far superior internet connection is laughing at the dividedness of my person as regards the accumulation of chattels, but I digress. For your pleasure and amusement, I now present to you an uncomprehensive and unstratified list of my own Best Purchases Ever Made, excluding for reasons of brevity any music albums:
1. The pear I'm eating right now. I doubt that it's even the best pear I've ever eaten, but it's hitting the spot.
2. My winter coat and scarf. I love being warm.
3. Socks. I really think that if we dropped clean socks from planes onto our enemies, they would cease to hate us. Somehow those mechanically-woven cotton foot coverings contain within them the secret to world peace. Paradoxically, once a sock has a hole in it, it becomes the physical embodiment of suffering in this world.
4. Fragels. Once while leaving the hallowed spot from which flows these delicious fried things, clutching the weighty paper bag full of them as if 'twer full of gold, I whispered to my brother: "We've won! We're leaving with all of their fragels, and all they got in return was money!"
5. Books. I won't list specific books, though they are obviously far from equal. I don't buy books especially often (and sadly, I don't read as much as I'd like to), but I'm always so eager to take them home and plunge into their murky depths. Getting them from the library is nearly as good.
I'm sure I'm forgetting some. What are yours? Comments are (as always) open.
Showing posts with label Crass Consumerism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crass Consumerism. Show all posts
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thursday, October 02, 2008
The River Is Wider Than A Mile
Bad news has a way of finding you, or maybe you have a way of finding it. If you're not careful, it can crawl under your skin, and slowly devour you from inside. There's always enough bad news to go around, or so it seems, and it's sometimes easier to latch onto and recognize and welcome into your home than good news; it's a familiar face that you've somehow grown attached to. Good news, now, that's a different thing. Good news walks with just a little too much spring it its step, and smiles just a little too wide, so that you always suspect that it's up to something, or maybe after something that you don't have enough of anyways. And besides, where has it been all this time? Bad news may make you miserable, but at least it doesn't make you nervous.
Fortunately, despite the bad news and sometimes because of it, there's music. Music won't make the bad news go away and it isn't supposed to, it's just one of those coping mechanisms for the human condition that helps remind you that there's actually some bold, defiant beauty in a world that keeps trying to convince you of how ugly it is. Don't let it fool you.
The funny thing is that while I'm writing this, I'm not thinking about Brahms' concertos, or gospel choirs singing some Moses Hogan arrangement about my home being over Jordan, though those are wonderful things indeed. No, I'm a low-brow plebeian from the Great American Middle West, and right now I'm just talking about popular music.
The 8th installment of Bob Dylan's "Bootleg Series" is being released in less than a week, and you can listen to the whole thing online here. It's incredibly good. I can't wait to have it in my car's CD player. No, I don't have an especially impressive sound system or anything in my 10-year-old Accord, I just do my best music listening in there. The Bootleg Series Volume 8 (entitled Tell Tale Signs) is a collection of various studio outtakes and live recordings spanning from 1989 to 2006, a period in which Dylan has made six albums that are among his best work, including two with producer extraordinaire Daniel Lanois. I'm incredibly grateful to Columbia for continuing to release these collections; the stuff Bob Dylan throws away is better than what most people ever make. They do serve as something of an indictment of Dylan (or his people) though, because several of the tracks he's nearly left in obscurity over the years are among his best recorded work. Christmas is only five days away!
Also on the fast-approaching horizon are new albums from the british klavierpop trio Keane, Las Vegas' own The Killers, and country rocker Lucinda Williams. I've been a fan of Keane since their debut record in 2004, and they have yet to make a record that isn't both great and quite different than what came before it. Of course, this is only their third record. The same goes for The Killers, who are probably one of the most ambitious acts out there right now. If their third album (fourth, if you count last year's B-sides collection) fails, it won't be because they weren't trying hard enough. The lead-off single for the new record can be heard on the band's official site. Williams probably lacks the appeal of both of those bands, but at her best is very good indeed.
I also understand that Mates of State and Calexico both have released records this year that I have yet to hear. I'm going to have to start selling crack if I want to buy all of this stuff.
Happy fall, and happy landings!
Fortunately, despite the bad news and sometimes because of it, there's music. Music won't make the bad news go away and it isn't supposed to, it's just one of those coping mechanisms for the human condition that helps remind you that there's actually some bold, defiant beauty in a world that keeps trying to convince you of how ugly it is. Don't let it fool you.
The funny thing is that while I'm writing this, I'm not thinking about Brahms' concertos, or gospel choirs singing some Moses Hogan arrangement about my home being over Jordan, though those are wonderful things indeed. No, I'm a low-brow plebeian from the Great American Middle West, and right now I'm just talking about popular music.
The 8th installment of Bob Dylan's "Bootleg Series" is being released in less than a week, and you can listen to the whole thing online here. It's incredibly good. I can't wait to have it in my car's CD player. No, I don't have an especially impressive sound system or anything in my 10-year-old Accord, I just do my best music listening in there. The Bootleg Series Volume 8 (entitled Tell Tale Signs) is a collection of various studio outtakes and live recordings spanning from 1989 to 2006, a period in which Dylan has made six albums that are among his best work, including two with producer extraordinaire Daniel Lanois. I'm incredibly grateful to Columbia for continuing to release these collections; the stuff Bob Dylan throws away is better than what most people ever make. They do serve as something of an indictment of Dylan (or his people) though, because several of the tracks he's nearly left in obscurity over the years are among his best recorded work. Christmas is only five days away!
Also on the fast-approaching horizon are new albums from the british klavierpop trio Keane, Las Vegas' own The Killers, and country rocker Lucinda Williams. I've been a fan of Keane since their debut record in 2004, and they have yet to make a record that isn't both great and quite different than what came before it. Of course, this is only their third record. The same goes for The Killers, who are probably one of the most ambitious acts out there right now. If their third album (fourth, if you count last year's B-sides collection) fails, it won't be because they weren't trying hard enough. The lead-off single for the new record can be heard on the band's official site. Williams probably lacks the appeal of both of those bands, but at her best is very good indeed.
I also understand that Mates of State and Calexico both have released records this year that I have yet to hear. I'm going to have to start selling crack if I want to buy all of this stuff.
Happy fall, and happy landings!
Sunday, April 06, 2008
How Can I Tell It's 2008?
I can tell because I just saw a television commercial for green-friendly chips. That's right, chips that are good for the environment. You can now be smug about the chips you eat, people. It is a new era in which we live.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Apparently, today is Opposite Day.
Paradoxically, when you really think about it, it also sort of isn't Opposite Day. Let us ponder this.
I don't know if I should, like, tell you this, man, but I just had a good experience at the mall. To use the parlance of our times: I know, right? As you are no doubt aware, oh loyal friend that you are, I hate shopping with a passion, and hate malls even more. At this point, I worry for the security of the universe as we know it. Here's how it all went down:
For starters, I was there for work. We need a raffle prize for a business expo thing this week, at which we have a booth. Hence my presence at the mall, on purpose, on a weekday morning. My first clue that something was amiss came almost immediately upon my entering the mall, when my ears were assaulted by the incessant, bubble-gum teenage pop of... Mozart. That's right, this guy. I thought about turning back, then and there. Something was not right. On the other hand, I reasoned to myself, what is not right here is that something is right, in a place where it should be very wrong. Taking heart in that revelation, I swiftly made my way past the jewelry store and the advertisements for whatever's new on the Style Network, to the kiosk that has a map of the mall on it. Blast. My objective is practically on the other side of the mall. How was I supposed to know where to park? I moved at as rapid a pace as was unlikely to be called "running," noting along the way that Abercrombie & Fitch still blast techno and saturate the air in the vicinity of their store with their distinctive musk. I can't abide those clothing retailers. Disgusting creatures! I passed them quickly enough, and once the repetitive dance beat had faded to background noise noticed that ol' Wolfgang was still coming through the main PA. Thank God. Finally, I reached my objective: the Apple Store.
As an aside, I am in no way an Apple fanboy, though I have known some scary ones in my day. I respect Apple for noticing that people who want an aesthetically pleasing computer (women, and some men) were an under-served portion of the market. I sort of like Steve Jobs as a persona. I don't think I'd like him as a person, but he's a smart dude, and I like how he gets behind his product. The way I see it, their products have two main selling points:
1. I'm not sure why, but people who buy their stuff seem to think it gives them license to be smug about it, as if their computer/mp3 player/whatever isn't made from wires and plastic like those other ones, but is somehow carved from a single gem found only on the moon, and harvested by dwarfs riding Pegasus-Unicorn hybrids. This is the main thrust of Apple's ad campaign, so I at least know where they get this idea.
2. They're soooo cute! I personally think that iPods look like they're supposed to be taken as a suppository, but my authority on the relative cuteness of things (and no, she refuses to comment on my own appearance) informs me that to women, an iPod looks how a big hug from a Care Bear would feel. I'm not kidding.
Anyhoo, to return to my story, I found myself in the Apple Store. It was weird. The space was wide open, with a row of high wooden tables going down the center of the room, and display tables along the walls. For a relatively small retail space, it felt quite sparse and roomy, with the interior designed to look something like a spaceship. I was actually able to wander around for a good couple of minutes, eying the wares and all, before a sales rep approached me, to ask if I was being helped, and exactly what kind of clone army I was looking for. I told him what I wanted, and he slowly backed out of the room while bowing, only turning his back on me when he reached the door. He was very polite. A few seconds later he returned, bearing a small (and cute!) box, containing an iPod roughly the size of my toenail. "Ok, I'll take it." I said, glancing around the room for a cash register. There wasn't one. Just more product displays. "Oh, you can check out right here," he said, scanning the iPod's barcode with his Tricorder, and taking my credit card. He produced a bag out of nowhere (seriously, maybe it came out of his sleeve? I don't know), and put the iPod in it while walking me to the front of the store. When we got there, he reached for the underside of a table and produced my receipt. I half expected him to reach behind my ear and pull out another iPod Shuffle. The man was a conjurer, a master of the art--nay, the science--of prestidigitation. He said goodbye to me in the traditional way of his people: "Thank you, come again!"
I strolled out of the store, iPod in hand, and made my way for the exit, humming along with the Mozart. I stopped at the Crackbucks booth on the way out for a tall Americano, just to convince myself that not being miserable whilst in the mall was not some fever-induced hallucination. "Would you like an extra shot of espresso in your coffee? I just poured it and I'll have to throw it away otherwise" said a suspiciously gregarious barista. Before I could contemplate what his ulterior motives might be, I found myself saying "yes, I would." Next thing I knew I was back in my car, merchandise in hand, sipping an extra-strong coffee.
Cous: 2
Monday: 0
Incidentally, I now want one of those iPod Shuffles of my own. I guess they win.
I don't know if I should, like, tell you this, man, but I just had a good experience at the mall. To use the parlance of our times: I know, right? As you are no doubt aware, oh loyal friend that you are, I hate shopping with a passion, and hate malls even more. At this point, I worry for the security of the universe as we know it. Here's how it all went down:
For starters, I was there for work. We need a raffle prize for a business expo thing this week, at which we have a booth. Hence my presence at the mall, on purpose, on a weekday morning. My first clue that something was amiss came almost immediately upon my entering the mall, when my ears were assaulted by the incessant, bubble-gum teenage pop of... Mozart. That's right, this guy. I thought about turning back, then and there. Something was not right. On the other hand, I reasoned to myself, what is not right here is that something is right, in a place where it should be very wrong. Taking heart in that revelation, I swiftly made my way past the jewelry store and the advertisements for whatever's new on the Style Network, to the kiosk that has a map of the mall on it. Blast. My objective is practically on the other side of the mall. How was I supposed to know where to park? I moved at as rapid a pace as was unlikely to be called "running," noting along the way that Abercrombie & Fitch still blast techno and saturate the air in the vicinity of their store with their distinctive musk. I can't abide those clothing retailers. Disgusting creatures! I passed them quickly enough, and once the repetitive dance beat had faded to background noise noticed that ol' Wolfgang was still coming through the main PA. Thank God. Finally, I reached my objective: the Apple Store.
As an aside, I am in no way an Apple fanboy, though I have known some scary ones in my day. I respect Apple for noticing that people who want an aesthetically pleasing computer (women, and some men) were an under-served portion of the market. I sort of like Steve Jobs as a persona. I don't think I'd like him as a person, but he's a smart dude, and I like how he gets behind his product. The way I see it, their products have two main selling points:
1. I'm not sure why, but people who buy their stuff seem to think it gives them license to be smug about it, as if their computer/mp3 player/whatever isn't made from wires and plastic like those other ones, but is somehow carved from a single gem found only on the moon, and harvested by dwarfs riding Pegasus-Unicorn hybrids. This is the main thrust of Apple's ad campaign, so I at least know where they get this idea.
2. They're soooo cute! I personally think that iPods look like they're supposed to be taken as a suppository, but my authority on the relative cuteness of things (and no, she refuses to comment on my own appearance) informs me that to women, an iPod looks how a big hug from a Care Bear would feel. I'm not kidding.
Anyhoo, to return to my story, I found myself in the Apple Store. It was weird. The space was wide open, with a row of high wooden tables going down the center of the room, and display tables along the walls. For a relatively small retail space, it felt quite sparse and roomy, with the interior designed to look something like a spaceship. I was actually able to wander around for a good couple of minutes, eying the wares and all, before a sales rep approached me, to ask if I was being helped, and exactly what kind of clone army I was looking for. I told him what I wanted, and he slowly backed out of the room while bowing, only turning his back on me when he reached the door. He was very polite. A few seconds later he returned, bearing a small (and cute!) box, containing an iPod roughly the size of my toenail. "Ok, I'll take it." I said, glancing around the room for a cash register. There wasn't one. Just more product displays. "Oh, you can check out right here," he said, scanning the iPod's barcode with his Tricorder, and taking my credit card. He produced a bag out of nowhere (seriously, maybe it came out of his sleeve? I don't know), and put the iPod in it while walking me to the front of the store. When we got there, he reached for the underside of a table and produced my receipt. I half expected him to reach behind my ear and pull out another iPod Shuffle. The man was a conjurer, a master of the art--nay, the science--of prestidigitation. He said goodbye to me in the traditional way of his people: "Thank you, come again!"
I strolled out of the store, iPod in hand, and made my way for the exit, humming along with the Mozart. I stopped at the Crackbucks booth on the way out for a tall Americano, just to convince myself that not being miserable whilst in the mall was not some fever-induced hallucination. "Would you like an extra shot of espresso in your coffee? I just poured it and I'll have to throw it away otherwise" said a suspiciously gregarious barista. Before I could contemplate what his ulterior motives might be, I found myself saying "yes, I would." Next thing I knew I was back in my car, merchandise in hand, sipping an extra-strong coffee.
Cous: 2
Monday: 0
Incidentally, I now want one of those iPod Shuffles of my own. I guess they win.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
And December Rolls Onwards
Well, by Jingo! If it isn't the Twelfth of the month already! Time does fly. It's been freezing rain on and off (and on again) for the past week here in Michigan, leaving the world a startlingly unpicturesque melange of mud and ice, with a generous helping of road salt everywhere there are roads to be salted (which, as you know, is everywhere around here). On Sunday I took an afternoon drive down to Hillsdale to see my friend Matthew's voice recital, which was awesome. On the way down there though I was caught for some time almost directly behind a salt truck, on a section of highway which afforded no passing zones for several miles. The poor Cousmobile was both forced to travel at speeds so slow as to be unsafe to the sanity of its driver, and was subjected to a horrible, corrosive barrage of the hateful sodium. It actually made me glad for the freezing rain coming down all the way back, cleansing my poor car of the disgusting gray film in which it had been enveloped. Secretly, I sort of enjoy bad road conditions, because they give driving anywhere a sense of adventure, and demand more attention of the driver. I think I would enjoy it more if there were no other drivers on the road to worry about. Yes, true to human nature, I trust other peoples' driving abilities far less than I trust my own. I've taken two more cracks at Christmas shopping since posting last, not counting one or two of the online variety, and have reached two useful conclusions:
1. Christmas shopping isn't that bad, when you know exactly what you're looking for and where to find it (though I can think of one notable exception which I cannot discuss here at this time). All you really have to put up with is the bad music, and the fact that you're in a store (as a general rule, I'm very uncomfortable in stores).
2. Christmas shopping takes forever when you don't know exactly what you're looking for and/or where to find it.
I also discovered that while I prefer shopping alone for myself, Christmas shopping is far more pleasant with company, and that I am so lazy that standing and walking around in stores for as little as two hours makes me very tired. The good news is that I'm done with it all. Being an unmarried (at the moment) man, this means that I'm done with any and all Christmas-related stress. I don't have to host a big get-together or bake cookies for a hundred children or put up with relatives I don't like or any of those other things that some people (women) seem to find stressful about the Hallydays. I just show up at someone else's house, eat someone else's food, and put up with someone else's crazy relatives. Actually, that's a lie. I put up with my own crazy relatives. You can't outsource everything. That said, I actually get along pretty well with my family, so I'm probably the one they have to pretend to like. Maybe I'm easy to fool.
1. Christmas shopping isn't that bad, when you know exactly what you're looking for and where to find it (though I can think of one notable exception which I cannot discuss here at this time). All you really have to put up with is the bad music, and the fact that you're in a store (as a general rule, I'm very uncomfortable in stores).
2. Christmas shopping takes forever when you don't know exactly what you're looking for and/or where to find it.
I also discovered that while I prefer shopping alone for myself, Christmas shopping is far more pleasant with company, and that I am so lazy that standing and walking around in stores for as little as two hours makes me very tired. The good news is that I'm done with it all. Being an unmarried (at the moment) man, this means that I'm done with any and all Christmas-related stress. I don't have to host a big get-together or bake cookies for a hundred children or put up with relatives I don't like or any of those other things that some people (women) seem to find stressful about the Hallydays. I just show up at someone else's house, eat someone else's food, and put up with someone else's crazy relatives. Actually, that's a lie. I put up with my own crazy relatives. You can't outsource everything. That said, I actually get along pretty well with my family, so I'm probably the one they have to pretend to like. Maybe I'm easy to fool.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Best Bought Elsewhere
I'll probably get over it at some point, but at the moment I hate Best Buy. You know, the electronics warehouse that cleverly arranges its merchandise so that the only thing you can find without assistance is a television the size of Rhode Island. I was spotted as soon as I went in by the door guy (no, he doesn't open the door or call you a cab, he just stands by the door and makes sure you don't steal anything), who took a second to assess my age and dress before addressing me in the appropriate dialect:
"Hey dude, welcome to Best Buy."
"Thanks man." I replied, wondering if he'd have called my father "dude".
Without any help, and from accross the store, I found the aforementioned television, and wondered for a second how much money I would have to make before I started thinking that such a thing would be a reasonable purchase. Probably at the point where the money isn't even the question on my mind as much as "how am I going to fit that into the Cous-jet, and how would it go with the furniture (Cous-furniture? Cousiture? Cousiniture?) in the Cous-cave?" That line of thought didn't take me anywhere but to a series of bad Batman jokes (Bat-jokes?), so I instead set out in search of the RCA cable for which I had come. I knew it wasn't going to be easy: The place was a labrynth of expensive toys and blue-shirted, khaki-pantsed salesclerks trying to sell them, and it was getting late. They're always hungrier when it gets close to closing time. I headed in the direction I thought most logical, but in the process I had to walk past a video game console. A salesclerk sprang into action! A cold, digital voice chirped at him from the computer implant in his brain:
"Intruder! 22-year-old male in vicinity of Playstation 3, check him for money!"
"Anything I can help you find, bro?" he asked, in a deceptively cheerful voice, beneath the surface of which could be heard the cries of a lifetime of digital torment.
"No thanks, dude." I said, ducking into the nearest aisle and searching frantically for my query. I knew I didn't have much time. The second attack would be swifter and perhaps more powerful than the first. Blast! No RCA cables to be seen in this part of the store, and I was out of time. My eyes darted from side to side, looking for an unsuspecting salesclerk. If I could find one alone in a secluded part of the store, I thought, I could physically overpower them (stop laughing, it could happen) and take their salesclerk uniform, thus allowing me to move about the store with impunity. "Can I help you find something, dude?" Too late! I'd been spotted.
It should be noted that the last time I was in this same store, I actually surrendered to the salesclerks, and let them help me find something. It turns out that the only thing they know how to find is also the television the size of Rhode Island, which they still can't exactly locate, but can get you in the right department before turning you over to Omega 721, the television guy.
I dispatched the second salesclerk as I had the first, but a third followed on his heels, and then a fourth, each as determined as the one before it. I was becoming weary. Too weary, perhaps, to employ my earlier plan to infiltrate their numbers. I needed to find the cable and escape before it was too late. Success! I found it hidden behind the battery kiosk. Another salesclerk was approaching! I ducked behind the kiosk until he passed, then followed closely behind him as he headed for the front of the store, hoping against hope itself that he would not turn to see me there, so close to escaping. The checkout line! I slipped in before anyone else could spot me. I had only to deal with the checkout clerk, then the "dude" at the door, and then sweet, sweet freedom. Arming myself with my trusty debit card, I took a cursory glance at what the guy in front of me was buying. It was an Xbox 360. "The fool," I thought. They got him. His total flashed up on the little green screen: $426.00. I clutched my RCA cable and gritted my teeth as it came to be my turn, and the clerk offered to sign me up for Best Buy line of credit. "Not on your life" I muttered to myself, but was able to make it come out as a friendly "No thanks." I got my receipt and headed for the doors. As they opened in front of me I could feel the cold wind on my face. I nearly wept.
"We'll get you next ti... er, Have a good evening dude." Said the door guy, putting his hand up to his right ear to check his invisible headset.
"Thanks, you too."
A light snow fell as I stepped out to my car, walking past a man with two salesclerks loading a big-screen tv into his Toyota. I smiled.
"Hey dude, welcome to Best Buy."
"Thanks man." I replied, wondering if he'd have called my father "dude".
Without any help, and from accross the store, I found the aforementioned television, and wondered for a second how much money I would have to make before I started thinking that such a thing would be a reasonable purchase. Probably at the point where the money isn't even the question on my mind as much as "how am I going to fit that into the Cous-jet, and how would it go with the furniture (Cous-furniture? Cousiture? Cousiniture?) in the Cous-cave?" That line of thought didn't take me anywhere but to a series of bad Batman jokes (Bat-jokes?), so I instead set out in search of the RCA cable for which I had come. I knew it wasn't going to be easy: The place was a labrynth of expensive toys and blue-shirted, khaki-pantsed salesclerks trying to sell them, and it was getting late. They're always hungrier when it gets close to closing time. I headed in the direction I thought most logical, but in the process I had to walk past a video game console. A salesclerk sprang into action! A cold, digital voice chirped at him from the computer implant in his brain:
"Intruder! 22-year-old male in vicinity of Playstation 3, check him for money!"
"Anything I can help you find, bro?" he asked, in a deceptively cheerful voice, beneath the surface of which could be heard the cries of a lifetime of digital torment.
"No thanks, dude." I said, ducking into the nearest aisle and searching frantically for my query. I knew I didn't have much time. The second attack would be swifter and perhaps more powerful than the first. Blast! No RCA cables to be seen in this part of the store, and I was out of time. My eyes darted from side to side, looking for an unsuspecting salesclerk. If I could find one alone in a secluded part of the store, I thought, I could physically overpower them (stop laughing, it could happen) and take their salesclerk uniform, thus allowing me to move about the store with impunity. "Can I help you find something, dude?" Too late! I'd been spotted.
It should be noted that the last time I was in this same store, I actually surrendered to the salesclerks, and let them help me find something. It turns out that the only thing they know how to find is also the television the size of Rhode Island, which they still can't exactly locate, but can get you in the right department before turning you over to Omega 721, the television guy.
I dispatched the second salesclerk as I had the first, but a third followed on his heels, and then a fourth, each as determined as the one before it. I was becoming weary. Too weary, perhaps, to employ my earlier plan to infiltrate their numbers. I needed to find the cable and escape before it was too late. Success! I found it hidden behind the battery kiosk. Another salesclerk was approaching! I ducked behind the kiosk until he passed, then followed closely behind him as he headed for the front of the store, hoping against hope itself that he would not turn to see me there, so close to escaping. The checkout line! I slipped in before anyone else could spot me. I had only to deal with the checkout clerk, then the "dude" at the door, and then sweet, sweet freedom. Arming myself with my trusty debit card, I took a cursory glance at what the guy in front of me was buying. It was an Xbox 360. "The fool," I thought. They got him. His total flashed up on the little green screen: $426.00. I clutched my RCA cable and gritted my teeth as it came to be my turn, and the clerk offered to sign me up for Best Buy line of credit. "Not on your life" I muttered to myself, but was able to make it come out as a friendly "No thanks." I got my receipt and headed for the doors. As they opened in front of me I could feel the cold wind on my face. I nearly wept.
"We'll get you next ti... er, Have a good evening dude." Said the door guy, putting his hand up to his right ear to check his invisible headset.
"Thanks, you too."
A light snow fell as I stepped out to my car, walking past a man with two salesclerks loading a big-screen tv into his Toyota. I smiled.
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