The cult of freshness

I saw these nifty Tupperware containers

that I thought would be perfect for all the half-cut tomatoes I seem to accumulate and can't really eat quickly enough. So I went to buy a couple (a white for onions and a red for tomatoes). They were at a temporary Tupperware store, set up just for the holidays.

When I got to the cash register, the lady gave me the new catalogue and started telling me about the "great things" in it, and gave me a brochure of the new items. She asked if I had ever hosted a party, and when I answered "no", told me I should talk to my friends about it. She wasn't overly pushy, or salesy - it was more about passing on information. And yet, I could feel the power of the Tupperware cult. Make you ooh and aah over the containers that can go directly from freezer to microwave, and then try to suck you into the party culture. I wasn't having a problem fighting the seduction - Tupperware doesn't turn me on. I was just surprised by the power of the force - I could almost feel the current of the suburban middle-age Tupperware adoration trying to force me deeper and deeper into the store. Sheer will and determination allowed me to escape unscathed. Determined not to behave like a 45 year old woman, I left the store with my new toys. I am far too young to be a follower of the cult of freshness.

When I got home, I used my "forget-me-nots" as bongo drums. Not only do I lack the desire to behave like a middle-aged housewife, I also lack the maturity. And really, that's okay.

The average Canadian drinks 17 litres of wine a year

My dad, who makes his own wine, has 550 litres in the basement, fermenting.

There are not 32 people in our immediate family.

This stat completely cracks me up.

Just another way my family is above average I guess. ;)

The Mayor of Munchkinland

There is this man at work. A short, little man, of small-medium build, with a kind face. Definitely not young, but not old either. Full head of grey hair and a full grey beard. He works for the cleaning company. He drives the floor cleaner. It's a small, red floor cleaner. Whereas a zamboni driver, or regular street cleaner, is dwarfed by their vehicle, this floor cleaner is perfectly proportionate to this man. As I'm walking down the aisle, he always gives a couple short waves of his hand and nods his head as if to say "Go, go, it's okay, I'm fine waiting a minute. Have a good day" until I pass by.

If this man tried out for the role of Mayor of Munchkinland in a Wizard of Oz musical, they would stop auditions and award him the part on the spot. If he told me he wasn't the Mayor of Munchkinland in a past life, I wouldn't believe him.

The other day I was in the aisleway by the washrooms. I saw him. I don't usually see him in that aisle. That aisle is far away from his floor cleaner and usual route. Then I saw where he was coming from. A door under the stairs I had never noticed before. A door that was 3/4 the size of all the other doors. A small little door, for the small little man who drives the small little floor cleaner.

I'm convinced that door is the entrance to Munchkinland.

"You're just like your mother. As soon as you mentioned it the first time, you had made the decision."

That was my dad, in the conversation we just had about a vacation destination I've been toying with the last couple weeks. But, even though I thought that was a direct quote, somehow, his statement was more grammatically correct.

When he said it, it struck me though. I *am* like that. When I say I want something, or am thinking of doing something, I pretty much always get it/do it. I don't know if that's because I allow myself everything I want, or if it's because I only voice desires/plans once I have a pretty good idea I'm going to pursue them. While the first is true, I think it's more the second, too. Made me think of a friend who is forever saying "I think I'll...paint the house blue, go to Brazil for the weekend, fill in the blank" and never seems to do anything she says. It drives me crazy, precisely because it seems like she never follows through. But I don't think that's the case, really. I think she just thinks out loud. So, while I don't say "I think I'll go to San Francisco for the weekend" out loud until I've narrowed it down to a one year time period, and selected all the sights I want to see, she says it way back in the "Hmm... it might be nice to someday see San Francisco before I die" stage of the thought process.

But my dad was right - I had made up my mind the first time I mentioned it. Actually, I know the exact moment I decided I was going to do my darndest to get to Morocco in the next year. Dec. 3rd. Somewhere between 11:00 pm and 1:00 am. When someone mentioned in passing that they had been to 5 continents - and I realized my being to/on 3 didn't even get me halfway to my goal of hitting all 7. A tiny dash of jealousy, a bit of competitive spirit, and a huge reminder that wish isn't just talk, but a very strong desire. And like my dad pointed out, as soon as I say I want something, I've made up my mind to do it.

Quotes

Saw this quote yesterday and loved it:

"The sun, with all the planets revolving around it, and depending on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as though it had nothing else in the universe to do." ~ Galileo

Weekly Bills Causing Me Unhappiness

Every Sunday, at 1:00, I turn on the television looking for the football game. Every Sunday, I get all excited, wondering who will be playing (because I'm not a big enough fan yet to actually know the schedule). And every Sunday, my excitement is crushed and I have to shout "Arg!" as I'm rudely shaken back to a reality where I'm living in an area that gets its American network channels from Buffalo. Which means the Bills games are forever on the television. And I can never watch anyone interesting. I mean really, the Bills?! If I ever become a Bills fan, it will be nothing less than a case of brainwashing brought on by a constant trickle of Bills games on my subconscious.

Makes me long for the days when Detroit was the local team - a team that sucked so bad their games weren't even shown and one could watch the teams one wanted to see. *sigh*

A whole entire world on one single television

I'm loving this cable thing. So many choices! The variety is best evidenced on
Sunday mornings when you can watch not only Christian televangelists, but can also catch Reflections on Islam, Judaism and Sikhism! (on separate programs - it's not a team event) But there's one thing I just can't get enough of. The Indian pop/rock music videos. I could sit there forever, mesmerized by them. The only thing harder than changing the channel is fighting the urge to get up and dance along.

she must be psychic

A week or so ago, when I was talking about my trip to the grocery store, I mentioned I was wary of buying personal products there because so many work people are there.

Not 5 days later, on the Saturday morning, I'm on my way to visit a friend and I need some supplies of the feminine protection nature. I also need cash. Instead of going into town to go to the drugstore and the bank separately, I go to the grocery store, which is in the same direction I'm heading, where I will be able to get both. I figured I'm safe because I'm running in and out and it's 9:00 am on a Saturday. I grab my stuff, and check out, but have to wait for my cashback from upstairs because the register doesn't have enough to give me. As I'm sitting at the end of the checkout lane, I look up and see a guy from work trying to manouever his cart into the lane. I look at my rather see-through bag of supplies and look back at him. I think of that posting, and specifically of onomatopoetic's comment, and have to chuckle. Luckily someone showed up with my cash and I left before I had to get into a conversation with him. But that was a little too close for comfort.

And yes, they were super-absorbent.

I didn't sign up for Extreme Makeover tootsie

Late Friday afternoon I decided to attend a Christmas party on Saturday evening and I had absolutely nothing to wear. Not even in the way women typically mean it - I actually had nothing that fit properly that would be the suitable level of "dressy". Friday evening was completely booked, as was most of Saturday, which left me approximately 1-1.5 hours Saturday morning to find something suitable. I knew of one store that was nearby-ish that might have something so I popped in - and encountered super-cheerleading-sales-girl-from-hell. Within 3 minutes I knew I couldn't stand her, and if I wasn't so desperate for something to wear, I would've left immediately. At first it seemed like she was just going to try to be my new best friend, but no, I was wrong. It got worse. She had decided she was going to be my new life coach, my new therapist, the person who would mold and shape me into the person she thought I should be... even though she knew nothing about me.

I found an outfit I liked - an outfit as close to what I had pictured in my mind as I was going to find on such short notice. A cute black skirt with a bit of a fun touch, and a deep red v-neck sweater that would match my new lip gloss perfectly and would look great with a pendant I love. She told me I looked 85. I hadn't asked. Unimpressed by my lack of agreement, she then continued by telling me that the top didn't have enough structure to go with the skirt.

I was still going through potential outfits and requested a pair of black pants with pink and grey pinstripes in a larger size (which I didn't recall there being). She returned with really trendy, glittery clothes I had purposely bypassed, and a lecture about how, since I was obviously under 30, I needed to wear this stuff now because I wouldn't be able to when I was 40 and I would regret it. Because she knows enough about me to know what I would regret? I came here for a black skirt, not a pep talk/self-esteem boost and I don't have time for your glittery fuchsia atrocity. This isn't a bad reality makeover show. My style may be subdued and conservative, but I like it, and who I am. And while I agree that people occasionally need a push to try something new, it's not happening today, when I'm getting an outfit for my first work party at my new job, when I only have 30 minutes to find something, and when I'm being pushed into it by a sales girl who is so bad she can't even a)assess me well enough to find something "funky" that I'd still like and would fit into who I am and b)can't even be trusted enough, or has such lousy taste in clothes, that she actually thinks these pants that are WAY TOO SMALL look good on me. If your judgement is that bad, what makes you think I'm going to trust you enough to be the one to add a whole new edge to my wardrobe?

It was psychological warfare in the dressing room, and despite my issues with saying "no" to sales people, I'm proud to say I won. I bought the black skirt and the red sweater. When she said *again* that she didn't think they should go together, I told her I was wearing the skirt with a different top. Yes, it's lame that I had to lie to her, but in the end, I got the outfit I wanted, and I wore it the way I wanted to, and I looked pretty darn good (if I do say so myself - and I don't even have to say so myself - when I saw my boss, she made the comment that she thought I said I had nothing to wear, and when I told her I had gone shopping that morning, she (unnecessarily) said that I looked good. As did my mother.) I won. And I didn't feel at all guilty for shunning all her choices. I was proud of myself. And so treated myself to a gingerbread latte from Starbucks. And tried to call my sister and my friend to tell them of my horrible shopping experience. And laughed at the fact that I was one of *those people* who was walking down the street in downtown Toronto, drinking my latte and talking on my cell phone. But at least I wasn't wearing an ugly glittery fuchsia halter top.

Don't worry, be happy... and dumb

Someone made the comment to me the other night that they wondered if intelligent people could only be happy if they chose to be. Ever seen the t-shirt that says "I'm smiling cuz I have no clue what's going on"? The line of thinking is similar. The idea is intelligent people understand too much, see too much, and know too much about the world, and so have to consciously make the choice to be happy, otherwise it is too easy to become discouraged by all the negative forces in the world. The less intelligent live in their simple little worlds, very often unaware of the whole world out there. It's not even so much that they can't be unhappy - more that they carry only their unhappiness, whereas the more intelligent have their own unhappiness, as well as an understanding of the unhappiness of the world, to carry around. Ignorance truly is bliss.

I've always been a firm believer that, in general, being happy is a choice. So I was intrigued if only because you don't always run into people who also believe happiness is a choice, not just a pre-determined state. Whether the intelligent have to consciously exert a stronger effort to make that choice... I don't know.

Thinking of all the talented and gifted people in the world who seem to exude tortured angst - and even of the small group of "gifted" students of which we were a part - I can see how there might be something to this line of thinking. But then, I often wonder how much of the wallowing in tortured angst by the geniuses of the world is a conscious decision meant to fulfill some sort of self-serving purpose and I wonder if this type of theory requires gross over-generalizations that just don't stand up against reality.

Geniuses, quasi-geniuses and the truly intelligent already have to be eccentric and a little wacky - must they also be forced to fight just to be happy? I'm not sure. I find this theory interesting, and I can buy into parts of it, but I also don't want to provide excuses in a world where it's already too hard to make people understand that they're responsible for their own happiness.

Of course, there is also the school of thought that says any theory being discussed after the consumption of that much alcohol should be thrown out with the empty bottles. ;)