Thursday, February 5, 2009

Enough Already (Cigar Smoke 1-25-09)

I’m just sitting here at my desk, pretending to be happy and analyzing life and the horse it rode in on, and listening to my favorite song on the radio — the Kars for Kids Ad Jingle:

1-877 Kars for Kids
K-A-R-S, Kars for Kids
Donate Your Car Today

God, I love that song. The little tyke sings the first verse and then the gruff lovable guy with the deep voice repeats the verse. And then they both sing the verse a third time to just yank the aorta right out of your heart.

If I had a car to give them I would. Kind of feel bad that I sold my last one on eBay and stiffed the kids. And bought useless things I didn’t need with the money. What can I say?

Anyway, back to analyzing life. I went to the Santa Anita Mall the other day (no, not to eat lunch with mall cop Paul Blart but to buy a pair of shoes). And as I was walking around the mall, I started actually noticing all the stores. Yeah, noticing exactly what all the stores were.

Everybody is saying we are in an economic depression right now and everything is so damn bad. We have to dial that kind of scaredy-cat talk down a few notches. No, I was not around during the real Great Depression, back in the ’30s, but I’ve seen pictures of people in breadlines and soup lines and dust was blowing all over the place. It looked pretty bad to me.

But today, walking in a mall is incredible. There are so many specialty shops, it almost makes the free enterprise system seem, I hate to say it, frivolous. I used to be an entrepreneur myself, but jeez — I saw a store specializing in chocolate. All kinds of chocolate. Dark chocolate, milk chocolate, semi-sweet chocolate, white chocolate, chocolate with nuts, chocolate with fruit, Asian chocolate, Obama chocolate.

Another shop was just selling soap. Scented soap, powdered soap, bubble bath soap, frilly soap, girly soap, soap tied in little bundles with bows, different colored soap nuggets, non-global-warming soap, soap for acne, soap for lumberjacks. I asked a very clean sales clerk if I could buy a regular old three-pack of white, anti-sweat Dial because my armpits were winning. She said I could go to OSH.

I continued walking around for a while. I walked past a pretzel store. Sold just pretzels. Past a popcorn store. Just popcorn. A candy-apple store. A nut store. A tea store. And a coffee store. If we are in such a horrible depression, will someone tell me why is there a Starbucks on every corner in America? Is there a new caffeine zoning law I missed? Did them commie environmentalists slip one by me?

The other day at a Starbucks I was drinking my wonderful beverage made with ergonomic coffee beans grown by vegetarian Ethiopians or Brazilian pacifists, I looked across the street and there was another Starbucks. Dueling Starbucks! I almost spilled $4.95 on three laptops. Not only that, there was another coffee place two doors down. No kidding.

Anyway, as you astute readers must be wondering, “Did you ever buy the shoes you went to the mall for?” Well, after walking past the food court and being torn between getting the two-pound baked potato filled with shrimp and bacon and olives and cashews and sour cream and guacamole and cheese, or the Korean sandwich that was still barking. I kept walking and looking.

I was looking for what I refer to as “sneakers.” I know that dates me. I just needed a damn pair of tennis shoes. So I look up and I see a Walking Shoes store. I’m about to go in when I notice a Running Shoes store. I think to myself, I probably should get the walking shoes because I walk 98 percent of the time, but I didn’t want to exclude the possibility of ever running again. So I kept walking, not running, to see what other options I had.

I went into a Sports Chalet, I think. And I walked to the shoe section, which was just a little smaller than the hangar they used to house the Spruce Goose in, and on the wall I saw the following signs: Walking Shoes, Running Shoes, Hiking Shoes, Court Shoes, Tennis Shoes, Racquetball Shoes, Basketball Shoes, Training Shoes, Men’s Shoes, Women’s Shoes, Boy’s Shoes, Girl’s Shoes, Youth’s Shoes, Toddler’s Shoes and Embryo’s Shoes.

As a sales guy was running/walking/or hiking towards me, I ran/walked/or hiked out of there, baby, and went directly to Nordstrom hoping the piano player would hug me. I bought the first pair of tennis shoes I could find in the discount bin. I asked the clerk if these sneakers would make me play like Michael Jordan. He said, “Yes. Yes, they will.” That was good enough for me.

And when the clerk was ringing up my shoes, he asked me if I would like to buy a Bruce Springsteen CD. I looked down on the counter. There were CDs for sale.

I said, “No, I don’t think I’ll buy a CD here in a shoe store. I think I’ll go get my CD at Starbucks. They have a much better selection.”