Travels with Tommy, Chapter 23

I was able to spend this weekend exploring the cultural wonders of San Francisco with my daughter, who lives with her mother, my former spouse, in the Bay Area. Of course, what may come immediately to mind would be the view of the Golden Gate Bridge from Fisherman's Wharf, or the view of Fisherman's Wharf from the Golden Gate Bridge. Or possibly the museums and aquarium in Golden Gate Park. No, no, no. I'm talking about REAL cultural wonders.

The real cultural wonders of San Francisco, or in almost any town I've visited that has a tourist-oriented waterfront business section, for that matter, are the stores lining the waterfront streets which sell what I can only describe as pre-processed trash. This is stuff which possesses an intrinsic value so low that you could legitimately buy it from the store, walk out on the sidewalk and drop it into a trash can. I stopped counting yesterday, when I passed 14 stores which sold some merchandise, which I could view from the sidewalk, that was identical to the merchandise to the store next to it. Fourteen stores in a row, selling the exact same sorry-assed shot glasses with the Golden Gate Bridge painted on it.

Shot Glassses? One might ask, "What the Hell?"

You know, when Neil Armstrong came back from the moon, I'll bet at least a couple of the rocks he had in his space suit pockets were souveneirs. He never intended to use them for any scientific purpose. He was going to put them in some little chachka case in the living room, or on a shelf above the TV, or in a box labeled "Treasured Memories." He just wanted something to remind him that he had been there. And frankly, the Museum of Fine Art isn't selling any paintings most of us can carry home, so we wind up buying what we can afford. So, I understand the souveneir urge, but I don't understand why we seem to want to buy shit, instead of something that isn't so tacky. What is it that makes us decide, after we've shopped through 14 stores, that the shot glass is the thing to buy? Is it because we held out to see if there actually might be something better in the next store, or did they finally just wear us down, and get us to thinking, "Well, it isn't so bad after you get used to it." Apparently, enough huckleberries out there have bought the shit, and it's easier and cheaper to buy shit than it is to try to stock quality.

Sometimes, they try to use humor to provoke the buying impulse.

T-shirts fall into this category. There is the ever popular "I Got Crabs at Fisherman's Wharf" standard. Then there's the one with the TeleTubbies figures and names slightly modified. "Po" becomes "Ho." Tinky Winky becomes "Drinky Winky." Okay, it's cute for about ten minutes. But is this a shirt you can wear to Sunday School? Do you want your dad cavorting on the sofa with your mom wearing that shirt?

Of course, my favorite humor impulse buy, for those desperate to express themselves to the world and simply wearing a shirt emblazoned with their personal ethos isn't enough... it just doesn't reach the vast ocean of uninformed, who must be made to know which (of someone else's thoughts) you have adopted as your own: the Bumper Sticker.

A couple of thoughts come to mind: someone has to make these things, and then someone has to buy them. And presumably, use them. But most bumper stickers are like a joke told too many times. Is "No More Mister Nice Guy: On Your Knees, Bitch!" really that funny? And if you think it is, and you think this sums up your attitude, wouldn't some form of counselling be appropriate? What will your mother think when you give her this souveneir from you California excursion? ("Here, Mom! Saw this, and I burst our laughing! Thought of You!")

"Caution: I go from Zero to Bitch in 2.5 Seconds" is also a curious statement. I suppose if you saw this sticker on the car belonging to the nurse at your proctologist's office, you'd be a little more civil when you show up for your appointment.

I did find one on which I was hoist on my own petard, so to speak: "I tried to see your point of view, but I couldn't get my head that far up my ass!" I admit I have a hard time arguing with that one. I suppose "Unvarnished Truth" could be the version of this sticker for the clinically verbose. Maybe I'll ask Patti to add that motto to the masthead...hmmmm. I wonder if there are copyright implications? Better look into that.

I found a sticker a couple of years ago that said: "I don't know. I don't care. And it doesn't matter any way." I actually bought that one and put it on my car. I used to chuckle every time I saw it, and I can imagine (imagine, mind you) that people behind me got a chuckle at it as well. People probably didn't even think about what motivated me to put a sticker back there so they could read it. But I suppose it was to derive some sense from them that I was a clever guy who has a sense of humor. Just check out the funny sticker. I must be a madcap! But the sticker is gone, and now I do this. Maybe I should have stuck with the sticker. ("A Pretty Ass Should Be Seen and Not Heard" Words to live by.)

Patti will tell you that MY favorite souveneirs are coffee mugs. I must have a thousand of them. And all of them are special. Of course, the nature of souveneirs makes them special only to the owners, and consequently, to the rest of us they are clutter, or to use my words, pre-processed trash. I noticed a tea cup which I got in Japan in 1985 on Mount Fuji being used to hold pens or some shit the other day. At least it won't get broken, because it's sitting in some forgotten corner of the kitchen. But it isn't the kind of preservation I had envisioned for it. I was too lazy to establish a home for it, so I guess that's what happens. I noticed my Military Entrance Processing Station coffee mug, personalized and one of a kind, being used to hold paint brushes. Once again, nothing to anyone else, but a little chip of life to me. I should have told someone it was special and packed it away. (I wonder if Neil Armstrong ever found his moon rocks in a terrarium with a lizard shitting on it?)

Patti and I have two plastic wine goblets that we savet hat we got for ordering some kind of shitty cocktail concoction at Red Lobster. We were in that "getting to know each other, everything we do together is special" phase of our relationship, and those plastic goblets evoke those memories for us. We wince everytime the kids grab them to use for lunchtime drinks. They are worth literally nothing. Just little pieces of life.

Should we imbue such crappy stuff with that much importance? Shouldn't there be another way for us to stay connected with our memories that doesn't rely on warehousing metric tons of tacky bullshit? Probably.

On the other hand, I've got a little guitar player figurine from Virginia Beach made out of sea shells, Elmer's glue and pipe cleaners. And if you touch it, I'll kick your ass.

- 12:38 | Tom McEwin