Acquisitions

I almost wrote another entry tonight, about sympathetic villains and genuine Evil. I've been thinking about that a lot, and it'll probably be the subject of my next entry… but I’m just in too good a mood to write about that tonight.

So I thought, instead, I'd write about buying stuff. And other miscellaneous items of dubious interest.

Today, after sleeping way too late, I got some manuscripts ready to go in the mail. About 11 of them. See, I'm very inefficient about this sort of thing. A story comes back to me in the mail, heartlessly rejected by some editor, and rather than immediately sticking it in an envelope and sending it back out, I let it sit around. "I'll send it this weekend," I say. Then I go to the city, or get distracted by scooting to and fro, or watch some old black and white movie, or read a novel or something, and the next thing I know it's Wednesday and I've gotten two more stories back. And so on, until a critical mass builds up; usually when I realize that I have more stories sitting on my desk than I have in the mail. Then I spend an afternoon deciding where to send them, reprinting them (with my laser printer, it's cheaper to re-print the stories than to pay for the postage it would take to get the whole manuscript back), printing labels, figuring out postage, stuffing envelopes… and so on. That takes a while when you've got a dozen stories to deal with.

After that I went to Pergolesi and read Billy Collins' Picnic, Lighting. Mmm. What a lovely book! Especially his poem "Marginalia"-- "Pardon the egg salad stains, but I'm in love."

Thus inspired, I wrote a bunch of poetry myself. Six poems, in fact, most of which aren't bad. Some nights it's just on, the poetry comes out strong and relevant and courageous and interesting… when I realize I'm in such a good-poetry-writing state, I take advantage of it, I write lots and lots. I never know how long it'll be before I have such a good night again. So I wrote "Across from me," "Erudition," "Quantum Events" (the only one of the bunch that's even vaguely speculative; thus, the only one in the bunch I can expect to be paid more than copies for; but, of course, poetry's not about the money), "Reconciling the Stars," "Butterfly Tent" and "Other Days." Writing lots of poetry makes me feel almost as productive as writing fiction.

I really wanted to stand on a chair and read some Billy Collins out loud, but I didn't. One Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is not enough to make me so reckless and unworried about humiliation. I got to read one of his poems to Lynne later, so I relieved the impulse.

Ah, yes, buying stuff. I went to Streetlight Records and bought a Bikini Kill disc, The C.D. Version of the First Two Records. 30 minutes and 58 seconds of sustained fury. I love Kathleen Hanna. Then I went to bookshop, intending to look only for Collins' book The Apple That Astonished Paris. They didn't have that; didn't have any of his books that I don't already have. But they had Mary Doria Russel's The Sparrow, used, so I got it. I'll finally read this lauded tale of Jesuits in space. Poetrywise, they had Rich's A Wild Patience Has Taken Me This Far, which I've read but don’t own. Didn't own, rather; I bought it, too.

Then, deciding to throw fiscal responsibility to the wind, I finally bought Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. Cost as much as I've ever spent on a book… but I've wanted it for so long, and it really will pay me back in terms of poetry inspiration and odd facts to weave into my fiction.

Buying these things made me happy.

I'm not much of a consumer. I went into advertising with blithe contentment because I didn't understand advertising-- it doesn't work on me. I rarely watch television, and even when I do, the commercials don't do much for me. I admire some of them for cleverness, loathe most of them for banality and idiocy. They certainly don't convince me to shop at the Gap. If I see a commercial for pizza, I might be nudged toward wanting to eat some pizza… but I certainly don't have any brand loyalty. That's true across the board for me-- at least, I don't have any brand loyalty that's inspired by advertising. There are beers I prefer, through trial and error; not because an ad told me that this beer is the hip fun one. I generally shop with an eye toward price-and-quality, getting the right balance of both. Advertising does not tell you those things. They get away with as much as they can, they all claim to be the best, they can't be trusted. All sorts of foods are touted as "fat free" or "cholesterol free"-- when there's naturally none of those things in them, it's not some kind of benefit.

Anyway. I suppose I'm preaching to the choir, here. I did advertising because I thought of it as harmless background noise, sometimes clever and inventive. When I realized how fundamentally, horrifically manipulative it is, how targeted, what a science it is, I fled. Mostly because I worked for a big company devoted to squashing little, local companies. I could still handle doing advertising for local businesses or non-profits or what have you, using those skills for products/causes I believe in… and maybe I'll wind up doing that kind of work again someday. I think I'm capable of it. I just have too much morality to do it the way I was doing.

The more strident or shrill or slick the advertising, the less inclined I am to buy the product-- just out of spite. You should all emulate that. Punish manufacturers for wretched excess. Do not believe that McDonald's loves to see you smile. Make sure all attempts at line-extension fail. Capitalism (especially with the stock market) is based on constantly expanding-- capitalistic businesses must be like sharks, constantly moving lest they die. Marketing people freak out when their sales plateau, even if they're making a nice steady profit, because shareholders and potential shareholders lose interest fast. Every company has to always be doing something new and exciting and interesting and innovative, they have to constantly expand and draw in new buyers, despite the fact that the market as a whole is fundamentally limited.

Sorry. The capitalism-is-a-shark rant can wait… I'll give it sometime, complete with examples, but not now.

Advertising works on other people. Does it work on you? Do you believe advertising?

"pH balanced for women" means nothing. It's just a deodorant that smells like flowers. They just want your money. Which is fine-- that's the basis of our system. But the thing is, they'll do anything to get your money.

And that's not fine. Not fine at all.

How the hell did this entry turn into this? It was supposed to be "I bought neat stuff" fluff, and it turned into a particularly un-thought-out rant.

Ah, well. I write it as it comes. Next time I'll try to write about evil.

I'll probably end up writing about cartoons or Emily Dickinson's snood or something, though.