polysorbate 2005
oh. my. the last three days were weird. really, really weird. i feel polluted, like i’ve been bingeing on hallucinagenics and the toxins are now finally starting to leave my system.
i’ve been in detroit for a few days. this is detroit, in case you’ve never spent any time there:
wake up.
watch cable.
eat preservative-loaded food.
drive twenty minutes.
buy coffee.
drink coffee in car.
drive twenty to forty minutes in search of either:
a) places to buy things
b) places to eat preservative-loaded food.
c) places to sit and watch something.
d) all of the above.
shop.
eat preservative-loaded food.
watch cable.
eat preservative-loaded food.
shop.
shop.
eat preservative-loaded food.
avoid walking.
eat preservative-loaded food.
avoid any physical exertion whatsoever.
watch cable.
watch cable.
eat.
watch cable.
the rainforest cafe. do you know about this place? animatronic monkeys, alligators, elephants. huge salt- water tanks of gorgeous fish. enormous glinty golden fountain of atlas carrying enormous glinty golden earth with neon banner urging you to SAVE THE RAINFOREST. they serve twenty dollar salads topped with black angus beef, which i found entertaining in that way that your dog eating his own vomit is entertaining, since most of the reason we need to SAVE THE RAINFOREST is that much of it is being decimated in order to make room for grazing beef cattle. the gift shop sells, among the varied safari hats and polished rocks, stuffed pink poodles and john deere t-shirts. and nowhere could i find information stating that proceeds from the aforementioned twenty dollar beef salad go toward any effort to SAVE THE RAINFOREST. hey man, SAVE THE RAINFOREST, but do it on your own dime, ‘cuz i’ve got a business to run.
we fall into these horrifically gluttonous habits while we’re in detroit. it’s so unlike us. we binge on chemicals and myriad stimuli. i think our logic is that it’s a vacation of sorts. a vacation from everything we know to be good and wise and true, apparently. it is a peek into the life of what is probably the average american. moreso than we’re usually exposed to, anyway. three days of that and i see how easy it is to be lured into typical consumerist culture. i understand a bit better why everybody’s fat, drugged, divorced and unhappy. yow.
the ubersurreal quality of the whole experience was heightened by the fact that we had to stay an extra day to help babysit my nieces and nephew while their mom had a breast augmentation. yeah, that’s what i said. read it again if you need to, i’ll wait.
not just a breast augmentation. lines in her face filled, too.
maybe it’s all the high fructose corn syrup i’ve ingested in the past couple of days, but i feel sort of polluted by the fact that my sister-in-law hated her body enough to cut it and sculpt it into submission. i mean, i’ve experienced some severe body hatred in my time, but, ick. i’ve just never known anyone personally who’s had it done before. so in the past, when i’ve heard about people having elective cosmetic surgery it was easier to just write them off as assholes or morons or both. or call them misguided or say, “it’s her body, who am i to judge?” but today i’m finding myself looking at pictures of my nieces, wondering how it was explained to them, “mommy wanted bigger tits so that other people will find her more sexually appealing and therefore she can finally feel ok about herself. but don't worry sweetie, you’re perfect just the way you are. i swear.” and i know there’s something to be learned in there for me, for rube, for me as her mom, but i keep coming back to, “uh, why? i don’t know. why? why.”
i feel the need to tell you she’s a thin woman, muscular, attractive and youthful. but why do i feel the need to describe her? would it be more acceptable if she were none of those things? no, certainly no, right? so why am i troubled by this? i take these things personally, i think. before i was someone’s mom, it was quite easy to say, “to each his own.” but everytime this mainstream lifestyle which i find to be so sickening gets an inch closer to my daughter it makes me want to move us all to a remote tibetan village.
hours on the freeway, swarmed by ford expeditions. huge platters of food. no sidewalks. bratz dolls. trix fruit chews. saline implants. i feel like the unabomber somedays. everything that i find to be good and honest and wise and true seems to have no place anymore. and i know you won’t believe me but i swear to you i wish i could be more moderate about this. i think my life would be so much easier if i could let go of it. and i do, most days. i think it’s just this mental and physical detox mode i’m in. oh, sweet kalamazoo, thanks for not being detroit.
i’ve been in detroit for a few days. this is detroit, in case you’ve never spent any time there:
wake up.
watch cable.
eat preservative-loaded food.
drive twenty minutes.
buy coffee.
drink coffee in car.
drive twenty to forty minutes in search of either:
a) places to buy things
b) places to eat preservative-loaded food.
c) places to sit and watch something.
d) all of the above.
shop.
eat preservative-loaded food.
watch cable.
eat preservative-loaded food.
shop.
shop.
eat preservative-loaded food.
avoid walking.
eat preservative-loaded food.
avoid any physical exertion whatsoever.
watch cable.
watch cable.
eat.
watch cable.
the rainforest cafe. do you know about this place? animatronic monkeys, alligators, elephants. huge salt- water tanks of gorgeous fish. enormous glinty golden fountain of atlas carrying enormous glinty golden earth with neon banner urging you to SAVE THE RAINFOREST. they serve twenty dollar salads topped with black angus beef, which i found entertaining in that way that your dog eating his own vomit is entertaining, since most of the reason we need to SAVE THE RAINFOREST is that much of it is being decimated in order to make room for grazing beef cattle. the gift shop sells, among the varied safari hats and polished rocks, stuffed pink poodles and john deere t-shirts. and nowhere could i find information stating that proceeds from the aforementioned twenty dollar beef salad go toward any effort to SAVE THE RAINFOREST. hey man, SAVE THE RAINFOREST, but do it on your own dime, ‘cuz i’ve got a business to run.
we fall into these horrifically gluttonous habits while we’re in detroit. it’s so unlike us. we binge on chemicals and myriad stimuli. i think our logic is that it’s a vacation of sorts. a vacation from everything we know to be good and wise and true, apparently. it is a peek into the life of what is probably the average american. moreso than we’re usually exposed to, anyway. three days of that and i see how easy it is to be lured into typical consumerist culture. i understand a bit better why everybody’s fat, drugged, divorced and unhappy. yow.
the ubersurreal quality of the whole experience was heightened by the fact that we had to stay an extra day to help babysit my nieces and nephew while their mom had a breast augmentation. yeah, that’s what i said. read it again if you need to, i’ll wait.
not just a breast augmentation. lines in her face filled, too.
maybe it’s all the high fructose corn syrup i’ve ingested in the past couple of days, but i feel sort of polluted by the fact that my sister-in-law hated her body enough to cut it and sculpt it into submission. i mean, i’ve experienced some severe body hatred in my time, but, ick. i’ve just never known anyone personally who’s had it done before. so in the past, when i’ve heard about people having elective cosmetic surgery it was easier to just write them off as assholes or morons or both. or call them misguided or say, “it’s her body, who am i to judge?” but today i’m finding myself looking at pictures of my nieces, wondering how it was explained to them, “mommy wanted bigger tits so that other people will find her more sexually appealing and therefore she can finally feel ok about herself. but don't worry sweetie, you’re perfect just the way you are. i swear.” and i know there’s something to be learned in there for me, for rube, for me as her mom, but i keep coming back to, “uh, why? i don’t know. why? why.”
i feel the need to tell you she’s a thin woman, muscular, attractive and youthful. but why do i feel the need to describe her? would it be more acceptable if she were none of those things? no, certainly no, right? so why am i troubled by this? i take these things personally, i think. before i was someone’s mom, it was quite easy to say, “to each his own.” but everytime this mainstream lifestyle which i find to be so sickening gets an inch closer to my daughter it makes me want to move us all to a remote tibetan village.
hours on the freeway, swarmed by ford expeditions. huge platters of food. no sidewalks. bratz dolls. trix fruit chews. saline implants. i feel like the unabomber somedays. everything that i find to be good and honest and wise and true seems to have no place anymore. and i know you won’t believe me but i swear to you i wish i could be more moderate about this. i think my life would be so much easier if i could let go of it. and i do, most days. i think it’s just this mental and physical detox mode i’m in. oh, sweet kalamazoo, thanks for not being detroit.