I just returned from a little trip to Ukraine (that's in Eurasia, dropouts!), and I'm a'yearnin' for a little Americana. There is nothing--and I mean nothing--more American than snarfing down a Big Mac Extra Value Meal while trying on saggy sweatshop jeans at a Super Wal-Mart in the sticks. Yee-haw!
What am I saying? This, friends: I'm temporarily changing the parameters of this experiment. From today until December 25th (that's Christmas, heathens!), I'm going to shop exclusively at chain stores: no independents allowed.
Wacky!
Will it be easier? Or will it be tougher?
I guess I'll find out.
Hohoho!
P.S. I don't buy Christmas gifts (because I'm a heathen, dropouts!), so my month's contribution to the bottom lines of global corporations shouldn't be too significant.
An excuse: I was short on time and I needed to buy several gifts and other items before my trip to Ukraine. I knew it would be faster and cheaper to get these things at Target than to shop independent.
A chastening: I got TOTALLY busted by a friend of mine, who spotted me with a basket full of merchandise as I was getting on the escalator.
This afternoon I went to the Mall of America in pursuit of souvenirs to bring my friends in Ukraine. At Minnesota-Ah, which I believe is a single-location store, I spent so much money on Chinese-made Minnesota-themed goods that the cashier gave me a free notepad. Umm, score?
The Mall of America is one of the most garish monuments to consumerism in this country, and even before I got all persnickety about chain stores I hated going there. What I hate most about The Mall is not its insane size or its fluorescent lighting or the crush of out-of-town rubberneckers or even the nonstop shouts of terror and joy that originate at the indooor rollercoaster and echo throughout all 2.5 million square feet of Megamall. No, what I hate most about the Mall of America is how I feel when I'm there: greedy and obsessed. The desire to spend money I don't have on shit I couldn't possibly need is almost painful. Things I never knew I wanted become, suddenly, almost impossible to live without. Will buying this cable-knit sweater cape make me a happier and hipper person? YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IT WILL.
One of my favorite books is White Noise by Don DeLillo. When I'm at The Mall, or any mall, this excerpt always comes to mind:
When times are bad, people feel compelled to overeat. Blacksmith is full of obese adults and children, baggy-pantsed, short-legged, waddling. They struggle to emerge from compact cars; they don sweatsuits and run in families across the landscape; they walk down the street with food in their faces; they eat in stores, cars, parking lots, on bus lines and movie lines, under the stately trees. Only the elderly seem exempt from the fever of eating. If they are sometimes absent from their own words, they are also slim and healthy-looking, the women carefully groomed, the men purposeful and well dressed, selecting shopping cars from the line outside the supermarket.
The fever of eating, the fever of consuming. Whatever you call it, it's a sickness.
I attended a meeting of my neighborhood organization's development committee last night. We discussed, among other things, the possibility of the neighborhood organization opening a coffee shop or other store in a vacant retail space at the corner of Franklin and Nicollet. Though the benefits of opening a shop are numerous, doing so would also be a big freaking hassle. No decisions were made, and the committee members are going to do some further research into the costs and risks. Another option would be to recruit an appropriate business into the space. Regardless of the outcome, it's great to live in a community that is so invested in making itself safer and more viable.
Just read an interesting article about our ambivalence toward Starbucks. If you insist on getting your coffee there, I implore you to try the ghetto latte. Work the system, people. Work it!
Props to Dahl Pharmacy for keepin' it real on Nicollet Mall. This place is a lot like a Walgreens in that it has all kinds of random crap, including my favorite SPF moisturizer (which, as some of you may remember, is not available at Burch Pharmacy.) I'd previously overlooked Dahl because I thought, incorrectly, that they carry only old-people medical supplies like wheelchairs and colostomy bags. (A sign on the window invites passersby to browse the store's extensive selection of canes and walking sticks. You can see why I was confused.) As it turns out, however, they have plenty to offer people still young enough to worry about skin cancer and premature wrinkling. They even have a small grocery section. What an extraordinary store. Someone should give them a medal or the key to the city or something.
Thanks to Frodo for sending me this article from his hometown newspaper about an independent music store that, no longer able to compete with iTunes and the big box stores, is closing its doors after 17 years in business. This is what happens when people stop shopping local: they limit their future shopping options. Though picking up a few CDs at Walmart instead of at your local record store may not seem like a big deal to you, it adds up, and eventually it drives local merchants out of business. Once that happens, you no longer have the choice of investing your music budget in the local economy. Those dollars instead migrate to Silicon Valley (iTunes), Seattle (Amazon), Bentonville (Walmart) or a kajillion other places that you don't call home.
I just returned from a weekend trip to Chicago to see my Peace Corps comrades. I stayed with my friend Laney Heston (names have been changed to protect innocent). Laney lives in the adorable Lincoln Square neighborhood, in a spartan apartment in which she hoards Ziplock bags and deli containers just like your grandmother does. The recession is upon us, and Laney is ready for it.
I knew when I began this experiment that travel would present a challenge, but Chicago was no threat to my unchained life. It's an awesome city, with plenty to offer the indie consumer. I cheated only twice, once to buy a cup of coffee at a Dunkin' Donuts at 6am (you can't blame me for not wanting to wander the Loop in the dark when a Dunkin' was across the street from my bus stop) and once for tampons at a Walgreens. Sometimes you've just got to take care of business, you know?
On Saturday, we went to a matinee at Second City (which I would not consider a chain even though it has outposts in a handful of cities.) Naturally, all I can think about now is moving to Chicago to devote my life to sketch comedy. Quick, people, talk me out of it.
I couldn't find inkjet cartridges anywhere! I called art stores. I called bookstores. On Monday, I signed up for online accounts at two local independent office supply companies, but I haven't received confirmation from either of them, so screw it.
I am completely out of ink. If I can't print, I can't work, so today I ordered cartridges from Office Depot. It's my first Unchained FAIL. I feel like a relapsed junkie or something. Before you know it, I'll be selling sex for Post-Its. If it's good enough for Marcia Brady, it's good enough for me.
Posts
