Okay, okay, okay.
I messed up. I missed a day and I don't even have a good excuse. Well, kind of. Sherlock Holmes arrived through Netflix yesterday. So I had to watch it. I heart RDJ. And Rachel McAdams doesn't scare me away either. Jude Law is a toss-up, or a tosser, depends on your feelings towards him.
So yesterday I bought a new printer for our house. Our old one took a shitter and I needed to print out paperwork for my new job. So like 95% of Minnesotans, I went to Target. To me Target has always been that third, invisible, but always present parent. It always has whatever I need whenever I need it. Target is the retail equivalent of a warm, nookie blankie.
Anyway, so I'm in the printer row scoping out all the printers. The most expensive ones appear to be more like Swiss army knives – printer, scanner, toaster and potato peeler all in one. I just need to print stuff. No scanning, water purification or cat declawing attachments needed. So I focused my energies on the El Cheapo model that just prints (I mean the ink cartridges alone cost almost as much as the printer). Ironically this printer was only one of two PRINTER models that just printed.
Okay. Now, prior to loading the printer into my cart, I notice Target has added little POP (point of purchase) cards next to each model that say, “Don't forget to get: USB Cable, Ink Cartridges and Paper.”
Ok. USB cable. Saw that at home from the previous printer. Check. Paper. Saw a ream of paper on the table at home. Check. Ink cartridges. This is a new printer with different cartridges. We'll need the new ink cartridges.
Right.
So I make my purchase and lug the printer home and begin the setup process. Now, when I crack open the box, what is the first thing packaged on top of the printer in the box?
You guessed it: Ink Cartridges.
WTF?
I am Jack's searing anger.
I have just become another notch on the headboard of the soulless retail industry.
I feel so used. Would it be overly dramatic to curl up in the fetal position on the floor of my shower and cry as warm water pitters down on me from above?
My dad would say, “Sonsabitches!”
So after Printergate, I took a walk with the dog – we chose our new favorite route by the Chaska water tower. For me, water towers have amazed me since childhood. For Sparrow, my dog, she likes it because it is the perfect spot for a really gooey, serpentine poop.
I don't know why water towers have such an effect on me. Whenever I drive by a new town, I always look for the water tower. Each one is different – size, shape, paint, logo, art, typography and such. For whatever reason, they make me think about invasions and defensive tactics. If there is ever an alien, zombie or Red Dawn-like conflict, you can be sure to find me at the top of the nearest local water tower with some kind of sniper rifle, picking off the undead one-by-one.
But yesterday, I stood underneath the water tower and looked at its immensity. I felt small underneath it. Should it tip over, it would grease me like an ant under a shoe. Sometimes it's good for a person to see how small and infinitesimal they are. It's humbling. It reminds you of your place in a large, large world and universe.
Standing there, I thought about my job situation, the mortgage, the kids college funds and my dream of becoming ridiculously famous author, but none of it seemed to make a dent in the presence of that water tower. Should the cosmos find it pleasing, it could tip that water tower onto me. Even running as fast as I could in any direction wouldn't save me. I'd be a flattened Ziploc baggie of spaghetti and meat sauce, an amoeba in the eye juice of a large gorilla that is this great universe.
God, that is depressing. Let's invert this thing. Chaos Theory. Even the smallest of actions effect the outcome of larger systems.
Whew. That was close.
So after humbling myself at the feet of the water tower gods, I continued my journey home, down a stretch of road that had about a mile of lilac bushes.
WARNING: Girlie Alert! Girlie Alert!
I've always liked lilacs. When I was a kid, there was a patch of them on our street. I actually liked to hide in them, surrounded with that fragrant odor that has been too often mishandled in thousands of different types of candle scents.
So I picked a handful of them and carried them with me for a mile, sniffing them every so often.
While sniffing them, I thought back to the futile feeling I got in the presence of the water tower. Then I looked at the lilacs. They too were just a flower – a mere spec on the radar of the universe – yet here they are in a full-on bloom, belching out that aroma that signals the start of spring. They have no complex about being nothing. They have no thoughts about being more than they are. They just are.
Maybe instead of thinking about how to leave my mark on the universe like some over-hormoned dog, I need to focus on being who I am.
Wow. An epiphany before lunch. Nice.
Oh and for those of you keeping count. If you pick lilacs to sniff on a walk, do not discard them on the way home. Keep them, put them in a vase of water and when your wife gets home, tell her you picked them for her, and not because you had a bout of existentialism after your dog dropped ass in the park.
That's what my dad would call “killing two birds with one stone.”
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