The Purpose of Trendy Streets

I dug up an old post that I meant to post about three months ago.

I have been on a sabbatical from my social life. I just need a moment to sit and stare at the wall whilst I think about what it would be like to live in an avocado tree in Maui, or what the difference between clams and oysters are. So, I'm taking it easy and declining most social invitations.

This resulted in spending much time at home relaxing, writing, doing homework, reading, unloading the dishwasher and studying. I began to feel restless so I thought I would drive somewhere in my car.

I found myself on what was unquestionably one of the trendier streets in this town. A street with an buffet of vintage stores, coffee shops, book stores and micro-breweries.

The people there are trendy and don clothing that hasn't quite caught on to the masses (as they are too weird and can only be found in vintage clothing stores in three sizes too big). Some of the people there I would like to politely ask "Um excuse me, but what gender are you?"

And of course, it wouldn't be a truly eclectic street without the environmental activist approaching people saying: "Can I teach you about clean energy?" to which I reply "No thanks, I prefer fossil fuels." (Okay, that isn't true, I don't prefer fossil fuels, but I secretly imagine myself saying that to the those people who accost me just to ruffle some feathers and give them an answer not to be expected).

I wandered into a vintage store selling all manner of doodads, knick knacks, lamp shades, vinyl records, telephones (Who uses those anymore? With the affordability of cellular phones), rocking horses, and various relics of the past. I also bought a foofy coffee with whipped cream whilst I wandered around a used bookstore (I didn't buy anything as I am a fan of the library).

This brings me to the whole point of this discourse. The purpose of trendy streets is to cure to boredom for both individuals and groups. They are to be utilized and enjoyed by everyone. Note that I said "used," this means, go there and wander around.

I know it exists where you live. A trendy neighborhood that all the guidebooks mention. It's one of the places all the tourists go, but since you live there,well you've never bothered visiting this place. Well, go there and enjoy it!

An Impolite Accumulation of Leaves

After several years of life experience, I have finally figured out what the problem of modern western society is. Leaf blowers.

I know, it's a pretty astounding realization and you're probably going "Whoa, yeah, you're right...huh, never thought of that culprit. There was the answer right in front of me all along!" Thanks.

This week, I had two objectionable encounters with leaf blowers.

The first, I was walking from class to my house to have lunch and then take a nap and not do my homework. When on the way, there was a man blowing leaves all over the place and a bus coming at the same time. Well, as you can imagine, there was dust everywhere, as well as leaves and bus exhaust. It was then that several flecks of dust flew into my eyes and I experienced minor discomfort. I gave the man a look of pure unbridled rage. He turned off his leaf blower and forlornly looked away, knowing he had caused minor discomfort because of his machine.

I got home and washed all the junk out of my eyes whilst simultaneously saying less than complimentary things about leaf blowers.

The second objectionable incident occurred today, I was walking in a beautiful neighborhood that had gold, orange, brown and purple leaves scattered everywhere. It was quiet and I was enjoying the "crunch" sound I was making when stomping on the fallen leaves. When, once again, I came upon a man with a leaf blower. I experienced more discomfort with the loud noises the machine was making. These offensive machines are just so loud and unpleasant and wreck any intimate moment one might be having with nature. "Hrmph" I thought to myself "I'm writing to my senator about this!"

Shortly later, I stumbled upon a woman raking leaves in her yard. And, it was just so much more pleasant. The scratching sound of the rake and the whooshing sound of the leaves going in a pile--very politely and non-offensively, I might add.

Rakes are just better than leaf blowers. Here's why.

Leaf blowers: They...

1. are uncivilized, loud and obnoxious.
2. are leading to America's obesity epidemic because they require no physical activity.
3. require batteries which is probably mined in a third world country using forced labor.
4. have plastic parts, which comes from petroleum, which causes the price of oil and other goods (like food) to go up.
5. cause health problems (specifically respiratory) because of the smell and fumes they emit.

Rakes: They...

1. are handcrafted with love.
2. require a rigorous workout and leave one with a sense of worth and accomplishment.
3. promote a positive outlook on life.
4. can be used for beautiful decorations in your barn.
5. give your life meaning.

There, plenty of evidence that leaf blowers are the cause of the problems our modern society faces and that rakes are superior. Next time you feel a need to remove the leaves from your lawn or sidewalk, please be civil and use a rake.

Will the Original George Washington Please Stand Up?

It's a picture all Americans see on a daily basis. When we reach into our wallet to hand the cashier at 7-11 money for a Gatorade, there it is. Or when we struggle to get a bill into a parking-machine, there it is again. When we throw some bills on the table for the waitress, there it is yet again. It dots our currency--we can't avoid it. I'll give you another hint, it's the picture that has been on our one-dollar bill for over a century. Yes, it's the famous image of George Washington, the United State's first president. (Okay fine, so the picture kind of gave it away).

And who was the artist? Anybody? Anybody?

Gilbert Charles Stuart: the hand that painted this iconic image.

A famous portraitist, he was praised for the naturalness of his painting and his subjects found him, well, agreeable. Even John Adams said so.

"Speaking generally, no penance is like having one's picture done. You must sit in a constrained and unnatural position, which is a trial to the temper. But I should like to sit to Stuart from the first of January to the last of December, for he lets me do just what I please, and keeps me constantly amused by his conversation." – John Adams

He didn't use sketches, rather he applied paint directly to the canvas and yet he came up with these amazing portraits. He painted portraits of George Washington, King George III of England, King Louis XVI of France, John Quincy Adams, Abigail Adams, and even Philadelphia socialite Catherine Brass Yates (well, how about that?). All these portraits kept him busy and highly paid for years as he was able to make a profit off the prints.

The image on America's one-dollar bill is called The Athenaeum. And, get this, the original was never finished. Nope. Began in 1796, Stuart left the image unfinished at the time of his death in 1828. However, Stuart and his daughters painted and produced over 130 images of The Athanaeum.

Stuart had a stoke and continued to paint despite being partially paralyzed. When he died, he was buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in New England due to having left his family in so much debt that they couldn't afford a proper cemetery plot.

And that is the man who painted the famous George Washington image.

It's a couch, a carpet bag...it's a coat!

The other day, I was at lunch with an aunt of mine. After we chatted over some paninis and ravioli we wandered up the street to see what there was to see. We walked into an import shop and admired the jewelry, the gypsy skirts with bells and whistles on them and Mayan masks. But then. Ah, but then...we went into a vintage store.

Vintage stores have historically been my weakness. However, I have managed to repress that aspect of myself for several years simply by not walking by one. But on that day, there was no escaping it—we were going to go in. And in we went to be greeted by retro music and all that old clothing. I dug through all the reams of fake fur coats (circa 1964), 70’s bridesmaid dresses, 50’s sweaters with pearls, hippie jewelry and old plaid shirts.

Then I spotted the most hideous coat I’d ever seen. I just knew I had to have it. I took it off the hanger and tried it on—it fit me good, my wise aunt even said so. I looked in the mirror and decided I resembled an old couch; I liked what I saw. The flowers on the coat were totally retro, it was lined and even had a genuine old-fashioned-looking tag on it. I tartly bought the coat and we scuttled away with me feeling confident about my new purchase. I don’t think anyone else will be wearing the same coat as me this Fall.

And that, my friend, is the benefit of shopping at vintage stores. You can find coats that make you look like a couch and no one else will be dressed like you.

Teenage Delight

There comes a time in one’s life when they must decide “What shall I do this evening?” In a quandary as such, I have something to say on the matter. An ideal solution to such a problem, if such a problem exists, is quite obvious. A trip to the arcade is in order.

You guessed it (smartypants!). I went to the arcade. No, I’m not a teenager anymore, but as an avid player in the game “role playing,” I feel I acted the part to a T—the role of a teenager, that is.

Armed with six dollars, I paid an admission fee of $2.50 and obtained, for another $3.50, a bag of nickels. I went around spending my nickels on various forms of entertainment and role playing activities—shooting things, driving race cars, throwing balls at targets (and not hitting the target, I might add) and riding a bike on a machine that was all in Japanese.

Arcades are like gambling for kids. They give you tickets, which you can trade in later for astonishing prizes. For example, there was this jackpot machine, where the participant hits the button when the light lands on the spot that says “jackpot,” they win a large amount of tickets which function as currency in arcade territory. It’s probably like the arcade version of the casino game roulette. Well, I got really addicted to this and I kept wanting more. So, I continued to reach into my bag of nickels for another round…and another…and another. After losing several times, I gave up and ambled over to the machine where one pretends to be jump roping; I learned I have more aptitude with pretend jump roping than I do with arcade jackpot games. I could even have a promising future with pretend jump roping, were it done competitively.

For my efforts, I was rewarded with some tickets. I went up to the counter and began to think about what desirable items I might enjoy. Should I go with the lizard key chain? The spider ring? The plastic daisy? Or, a bouncy ball? I ended up getting a bag of candy and some very tame fireworks (such as pop-its).

After the arcade, we decided that the best way to top off the evening would be to go to the 7-11 for a slurpee. But, we spied a coffee shop instead and ended up getting pink lemonade and mango sorbet. We had a frightful amount of sugar, which is what most teenagers do. Right?

So, if you’re bored and wishing you were a teenager, I have this advice to bestow upon you—the arcade.

Canada: The Sleeping Giant

Recently some constituents and I decided to have a Canadian themed night. Well, I happen to love Canada (America's rather non-offensive and considerate northern neighbor). And, I've even managed to do some international travel to Canada about four times. So, you would think I would be the expert, right? Er, no. I had a hard time thinking of things distinctly "Canadian." In fact, I couldn't even think of a single movie filmed in Canada (besides some rubbish Bollywood film I once watched in a moment of weakness and boredom).

My idea was that perhaps we could sit around, wolf down some ketchup flavored chips, say "eh" lots, enthusiastically exclaim about hockey, and pretend like we live on farms. But ya know, I just knew there was more to Canada than their ketchup flavored chips.

So, here are a few things that I can think of off the top of my head that are Canadian:

1) The sport 'curling'
2) Celine Dion
3) Roots Clothing
4) Maple Leaves
5) Lots of natural resources (like petroleum)
6) Canadian Bacon (Is it really 'Canadian?')
7) Very badly marked roads in British Columbia
8) The world's biggest meteor crater lake (I once had to do a research paper on crater lakes)

Hmm, I realized my knowledge of Canada was distressingly diminutive. So, I executed some extensive research and unearthed the following facts.

1) California has more inhabitants than Canada, 36 million people, whilst Canada has only 33 million.
2) Keanu Reeves used to manage a pasta shop in Canada before becoming an actor.
3) Canada's east coast is closer to London than it is to it's west coast.
4) It' massive--the second largest country in the world.
5) There are more recreational golfers per capita in Canada than in any other country (including Estonia oddly enough).
6) Superman was created by a Canadian.
7) Pamela Anderson is from Canada.
8) Canada has the highest per capita immigration rate in the world.

Well there you have it. Useful information in regards to Canada to add to you vast knowledge of the country of caribou.

So, next time you're playing a passionate rendition of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On," on your guitar, or you're pretending to be Superman, or you're participating in that odd sport of culring, just remember Canada--an often looked over country with more to it than meets the eye.

Traipse at the County Fair

Some weeks ago, I was visiting my parents and pondering what to do. I'd already engaged in the various activities I generally engage in whilst visting them. I had thrown my arm out by playing fetch with the dog, gone for a stroll, watched TV, surfed the web, and admired my dad's impressive book collection.

So, I sucked in my breath and furrowed my eyebrows and gave a good genuine thought about what to do. When, out of the corner of my eye, I detected the local newspaper. Inside was a brochure announcing the weeks activities of the county fair. The county fair? I hadn’t made an appearance at the county fair since I was a teenager. I gave a jolly leap of excitement and made an enthusiastic declaration to my parents that I would like to attend the county fair. We exclaimed to one another what a terrific idea it was and that we would go the following day.

We drove to the fair and parked in a dusty parking lot and rode a cart, pulled by a green John Deer tractor and a man in a cowboy hat up to the fairgrounds. Once there, it all came back to me. The smell of fried food, hay, animal manure, and people enjoying themselves. As a teenager, I used to pass my summer getting ready for the fair and then I would spend every day at the fair, as I used to compete in horse showing contests whilst wearing showy and flashy clothing.

We meandered through the building that housed the craft contests—the flower arrangements, knitted items, home-sewn clothing, photos, baked goods, woodwork, and even place-settings. Not only that but it hosts vegetable growing contests and the miscellaneous booths with people promoting their political ideals, selling jewelry and newspaper ads. I was reminded of my sister, who once entered some boxes in the fair. She dug up some old boxes, covered them with wallpaper, called it art and declared them a form of self-expression (perhaps not). She managed to win “honorable mention,” with a note from the judge saying “Next time use glue, not tape.”

We enjoyed a honky-tonk duo singing country songs about strong cowboy coffee in tincups and wrangling wild farm animals (such as the welsh pony). It made me want to give up this city life, move out to the range and spend the days taming wild mustangs, wearing cool belt buckles, and speaking bad English (Such as "He done diddly done me wrong")

We walked through all the barns housing farm animals sponsored by kids participating in FFA (Future Farmers of America) and 4H (4 H’s—hands, health, heart and head). Kids are expected to keep the animal pens neat, show them in contests, wash the animals and feed them too. At the end of the fair, the kids will auction their animals off and earn some money. We bumped into some people (who my dad knew) and they introduced us to their 11-year-old daughter. She showed us her animal—a massive steer weighing about 1200 pounds. I was quite impressed with this gangly girly girl who managed this monstrousity of an animal

Some kid allowed us to pet his duck and say endearing things to it like "ducky duck! A boo!" A very charitable thing to do indeed.

My favorite part of the animal exhibition at the fair is, of course, the horses. They come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and personality. What I like about them is their multiple psychological conditions: some spook out of paranoia, others chew on their stall because of depression, some bite because of anger issues and many just feel self conscious that they have multiple embarassing noises coming out of their bodies simultaneously. Yes, they are the most interesting.

When at the fair, one must eat accordingly. I decided I would have the unhealthiest thing I could for lunch: a corndog. As I was eating my corndog, some kids (who were sitting near us at a different table eating hamburgers) were enlightening us about all the animals in the petting zoo: goats, a miniature pony, pigs, ducks, little cows and more.

There is just too much to see at the county fair: the hypnotists, the cutest baby contest, the pig-racing contest, the human cannonball, carnival rides, the magicians, the has been aging rockstars (suck as Village People) and lumberjack contests (men racing up trees and taking their chainsaws and cutting off half the tree--a must see for anyone who is anyone).

After an exhausting day walking around the fairgrounds looking at animals, bean-growing contests, eating snow cones and smelling the smell of animals, I asked myself why I happen to like the annual county fair.

This is why:
a) it's about the most American activity I can think of
b) it's a celebration of rural life
c) it gives kids a healthy hobby and responsibility
d) it enhances community

Rural life is an aspect of American life that does not often get recognition, but once a year, the annual county fair will give it the recognition it deserves. So remember to spend that $10 and go and support your county fair.