Money

I’m at the Rocket Bakery procrastinating on writing my thank-you notes for the wedding presents I received in August. (I really am grateful for the sundry kitchen appliances, picture frames, and lingerie (penis slippers included), and I hope that you all keep up the habit of giving them to me in the future. I was raised better than this, so clearly the internet with its maze of blogginess and generic facebook photographs is to blame.)

There’s a sign with pull tabs on the wall saying, “Food not bombs” which makes me think that if anything can be substituted for war—bikes not bombs, make out not war, etc.—then we all should be really too busy to wield the hand of aggression, and war would seem to be the outcome of boredom. So if someone would simply give those world leaders and charismatic terrorist aficionados something to do, the world would be a safer place.

And how about those Americans? A Newsweek came in the mail intended for a Mary Carver—I’m hoping that this is not Mitch’s way of telling me that we have a polygamous relationship; I mean, at least say it with flowers. And on the cover is this burning wad of wrinkled greasy cash and the caption: “Why Americans are still Spending Money” or something like that. What would you rather have: a stack of paper, more infested with germs than any other substance we touch, or a new lap top that’s negative point five inches thick, on which you can twiddle away your time?

If American money were more interesting or looked prettier, then maybe we wouldn’t spend it as often. Take credit cards: they are the key to unlocking possession of all sorts of things—music, clothes, books, drunkenness, travel—but if you don’t use them they’re just flat pieces of plastic with magnetic strips on the back.

Maybe if, instead of the presidents, bills had pinup girls on them or clues to a great mystery, we wouldn’t trade them in for cool stuff as much.

Would a dragon sit on a cache of Washingtons and Lincolns and tarnished old nickels and little numbers from account balances? Two words: ugly. flammable. You see what happens, Mary?

Paintings

Drugs and Vegetables

What if one part of a plant were an illegal substance and another part were a healthy vegetable? Like if marijuana grew from the top of carrots, or for every four bundles in a head of broccoli one was a hallucinogenic mushroom, or whenever you cut open a red pepper a stream of finely processed cocaine poured out?

I can see the legal proceedings now. The vegeugs are heavily supported by the libertarians and the decidedly non-conservatives. The latter make T-shirts portraying the illicit vegetables, and they argue that obesity is the drug Americans indulge in, and what better way to better the market on produce? The pharmaceutical companies, dressed in their suits and with large gibberish-sounding words in their heads, are already devising advertising schemes -- Trouble sleeping/feeling happy/getting it up/breathing/urinating without discomfort? Try our line of vegeugs! Hypoallergenic so they're good for packing in the kiddos' lunches too.

The people against the legalization of vegetables-attached-to-drugs are male (as, actually, are the ones for it), white, and portly. They think it's pretty fishy how everyone has taken such an interest and liking in vegetables now that they have shacked up with drugs. One points out that he doesn't eat anything green. Another says, "Vegetables are for skinny people trying to stay skinny." A giant smear campaign is launched stating that red peppers are allegedly fruit.

Lobbyists lob money onto both sides. Folks put up signs in their yards according to party; some have upstanding-looking carrots and others have homeless-looking carrots, but they're all phallic-looking carrots. (At least we agree on something.)

And we're all encouraged to vote. And 40% of the population cares A LOT. And vegetables start becoming scarce on family tables so as not to insight heated talking-matches between parents and children.


Well gosh, thank goodness that's not what our political climate really looks like.