Sunday, January 27, 2008

Pathmark: Pathway To Style, Pathway To Depression

While attempting to get work done today, it became apparent to me that I would have much better luck with odd errand-type activity completion, as I really didn't want to work at all. Then there were, let's say "server issues" that prevented me from actually working. Uh-oh. You know how THAT goes.

So I decided I had to pick up a few things today while "working" at the gf's house. I have a tendency to go through a ton of toilet paper while here, and not for the typical reasons. I find it to be the Swiss Army Knife of paper products, see? You can use it for the obvious reasons (I'll spare the 7th grade poop humor, although I really want to loose some of it on you), but you can also blow your nose with it, wipe up a slightly messy sink, clean some natty hair bombs out of the shower after you've washed your mop... the list goes on and on.

So I use a lot of toilet paper. And I promised to go get some more today. Among other things. I decided the target of my newfound consumer trap shooting would be the nearby Pathmark.

In entering the store, I noticed again that it is, actually, a pretty sweet supermarket. They really did a good job with hitting all the bases, and I'm not one to get all sweaty over supermarkets. There's a little cafe area I'll never sit in, although the free Wi-Fi could someday entice me if I falter and happen to have a laptop with me. The produce section looks like an open-air market. Real pretty like. But I actually like going here. I quickly found the few things I needed and then proceeded to wander and enjoy the many other splendors of this local cornucopia.

I found myself looking in this one aisle that had magazines, but also, as I turned around and got my bearings apparently had much more to offer. Directly behind me as I looked at the mags was this sweet and grocery-store appropriate item:

Is it just me or did it just get a whole lot more affordable to look like Fonzie and affect a cool guy posture? Seriously? Ten bucks for a new life? Yes, please! I can't believe I haven't been buying all my many leather goods (assless chaps, I'm looking in your direction) at the supermarket! Well, how was I to know such magnificent values were afoot just inches from the breakfast cereals and around the block from hemorrhoid cream? Lesson learned, people. For a quick style infusion, hit up your local food merchant corporate conglomerate. If you don't look good, they don't look good.

Of course, I'm completely not even getting into the presumably fabulous quality of the jacket in question. That could be a whole other post, although I will tell you that I have seen monastic hairshirts that looked more comfortable than that thing did.

Reeling from this new discovery, I moved down to the end of the aisle, where I noticed some CDs for sale. I don't think I've purchased a CD in person in about 3 years, because I am mounting a stand against physical media, and although it's slow going (800+ DVDs later, I'm still wondering where my allegiances are) I'm doing the best I can. I started perusing the rack to see what rock-tastic offerings the Pathmark has to go with my new sweet black leather cool magnifier.

I noticed the usual dredge. A Fixx "best of" disc. I'll save you the trouble - the tracklisting goes "One Thing Leads To Another" and then a bunch of crap you don't care about. I saw REM's Document, which was kind of weird, but ok, I guess so. Willie Nelson; I suppose. Jane's Addiction's Ritual De Lo Habitual.


What the hell is this doing here? And with the "naughty" cover no less? In plain view of children who might ask why a man made of plaster is with two ladies made of plaster at the same time with no clothes covering his plaster peeny? All kidding aside, do you think Perry Farrell's head would explode if he saw this? Mine almost did.

Answer: no.

I don't know if you're aware of this, but the former icon of my youth and once-revered deity of the alterna-counter-culture has done some questionable things lately. Really. I was in a TGI Friday's this past summer. If you haven't eaten the Jack Daniel's Chicken Fingers there, you better stop reading, go eat a whole plate of them and come back.

Go. Now.

[Jeopardy music plays]

Delicious, right? Never doubt me again.

So Perry. Right. I'm in the Friday's and unfortunately, I'm under a TV within the viewing distance. And they're showing some kind of football-activity. College? I don't know. I see what looks like a commercial come on for a car company, like Cadillac or Pontiac. I think it was Pontiac. And there's 50 Cent, and some ass-shakery from a whore who recorded an album or something (ok, it was Kelly Rowland, but still, I think "whore" applies), and right in the fucking center of all that makes me wince stands Perry Farrell, dolled-up like a glammy-Wal-Mart version of his former self. It's starting to sink in.

Ok, it's some horrible mistake. I'm drunk, my eyes are lying, as they tend to do, after whiskey and a day of surfing... no, there he is, and he's promoting... COLLEGE FOOTBALL? Yes, it's a cross-pollination of two things I hate! Car commercials, and football! And Perry stands right in the center of it all!

Here it is in case you missed it.

I damn near fell out of the booth. Could this really be the same guy who (at least in my mind) single-handedly began the Lollapalooza phenomenon? The same guy who fronted what was one of the greatest and most influential bands of the 80s and early 90s? I've seen Porno For Pyros (twice) and I went when they re-formed Jane's in '97 with Flea on bass cuz Eric didn't want to do it or whatever. He rocked my face clean off every time, even though he was a little older and worse for the wear. I met him when I was in college, and he was a tiny little man, but cool as hell. Spacey, just the way you picture him being. But pleasant.

And now, there he was, sucking ass for all to see on this asinine commercial, hawking for the new college football season. Fast-forward back to this afternoon.

In recalling this, it came into view: mine was the only mind blown today, in that strangely sheltered Bermuda Triangle of pop culture at the Pathmark. I walked away from that grocery store feeling a little older, a little wiser, and a little hungry.

But mostly hungry. And older.