How to fix things using money

i like to think being a "committed materialist" means more than just an approach to interpreting literature. and so here is a list of things i've bought for my convalescence:

• yoga pants. the pre-admission nurse said, "wear something loose and comfortable to the hospital that day." i said, "like a full skirt?" when she faltered i saw what i must do. wouldn't you know it, there's a new boutique in the 'hood offering fair-priced made-in-canada yoga togs that are not by lululemon, a company i have scorned ever since reading their tag: "these pants are perfect for hatha yoga - or just for walking to and from your yoga class!" puh-leeze.
  
• a deep freeze. mo has wanted one for ages, but i have resisted, something about the 1972 christmas pudding my mother recently found in hers. (okay, by "recently" i mean the mid-80s, but still.) i didn't want a deep freeze, i didn't think we needed it, and yet i have already filled it. which is especially remarkable given that they won't actually deliver it until tomorrow afternoon.
• a one-handed pepper mill. look, we all have our thing. some people require strong fresh coffee, some people need nice things to look at, some can't survive without sunshine, and some of us view freshly ground pepper as one of life's necessities. actually, i think everything i just listed here is essential. (note to self: lay in more coffee.)
  
• a new mouse. truthfully this is one of those things you just slide in once you have a good justification going. i hate my mouse, but feel compelled to use it because it was a hand-me-down. now, though, i'm going to have a brand new spanky bright one that will never forget who it is or what it was designed to do. not that i'll be able to use it.
  
• a kindle. yeah, yeah, the sony got better reviews and yeah, yeah, the iPad is coming soon - but not soon enough (mac) or cheap enough (sony). the kindle is ... well, it's surprisingly small, and super light, and people say they love it. i haven't spent hours and hours with it, but so far it doesn't read footnotes properly and i'm afraid there won't be enough material, and/or that i won't be able to afford to keep it stocked. i'll get back to you on this one.
• from ever-thoughtful mo, an electric toothbrush! this gets an exclamation mark because it makes your mouth vibrate! it makes your hand vibrate! you can hear it from inside your head!
  
• a new coat. my boucle spring-weight car coat from modcloth has a nice swing to it and should be able to accommodate a sling.
  

next up: cute PJs and one of those retro ice bags.

thank god i live in canada and don't have to pay for the surgery itself.

Livin' ... in vancouver?

it used to be that my favorite thing about traveling was -- and here let me issue a warning to stalwart comrades: you can still exit this post with your sense of me intact -- shopping. it's the main way i orient myself into a place. i figure out where the funky shops are and it gives me a bead on the place. chain store after chain store: ok, i know you. a little side street with secondhand record stores and some hopeful clothing designer who's just hung out her shingle? we can be friends.

this time in vancouver it wasn't like that, and i'm not totally sure why. partly it's because vancouver, like everywhere else, is inundated with chains. granville, for instance, is like a linear version of south edmonton common: urban barn next to restoration hardware across the street from chapters and EQ3, and every one of 'em has its own starbucks. you know how people are talking these days about companies that are "too big to fail": why does that apply to pottery barn?

that's not the only reason shopping is different these days, though. even though we could have strolled some of the littler shops along main -- smoking lily specialists, say, or sunja link's flagship (ha!) or that new little design shop in deep cove -- i just wasn't motivated to do it. eh, it was drizzling, i was tired, and i came up with quite a litany of other excuses.

the real reason? i think we shop bigger now. so in fact what we did on the first night we were in vancouver -- seriously, friends, you can still leave! -- is troll MLS for the kinds of places we'd like to own. we think we could be happy with a second home in the low 700s, the burning question being west end or kits. we have become those lesbians, the ones who attend open houses in yaletown instead of going to the rally on commercial drive.

as i probably don't need to say, mo and i can no more afford a second home in vancouver in the low 700s than you can, and possibly even less, given that we are saving up to buy a new sleeping pad for the ole tent trailer (memory foam at superstore: $175). but it is telling that this is the line our fantasies take. while the acquisitiveness of this fantasy life makes me uneasy -- what happened to tread lightly, think globally, keep on rockin' in the free world? -- it also suggests tenderer things. specifically: that we are getting older. we talk about where we want to live when we retire, for example. what is charming about my fantasies of retirement is that i see my life as being essentially the same as it is now, only with more money: we're both in good health, our parents are all alive and independent, our friends are all vital and mobile. no strings, just possibilities. in my fantasy, we could just pick up and move wherever we wanted, and our perfect life would blossom in a new place.

and so i'm not going to challenge this fantasy. there is time enough to come to terms with grimness; life has a way of bringing grimness to you. buying a second home in a city like vancouver is a marker of gobsmacking privilege, especially if you think globally. but the real privilege? projecting the life you actually live as a fantasy for the future.

The not-so-silent auction

i should have stopped to think, but you know me: i love an auction. where else do you get that one-on-everyone competitive thing in a shopping experience where the deals are guaranteed and all the money's going to a good cause? it's pretty heady.

but speaking of "pretty" -- and i'm saying this because i love you all -- if you're ever offered a cosmetics package at a queer festival, stop and think. the stuff is going to be drag-queen-friendly. it's not just the shave cream (which, at least, is travel sized), or the gold lip gloss (which can't look totally gold once it's spread all over your lips); it's not just the turquoise eyeshadow (turquoise will be making a comeback any day now), or the enormous powder puff (i've been meaning to get some enormous powder). it's not even the false eyelashes. well, it's a little bit the false eyelashes, which i can't see wearing to my day job.

no, the really difficult part here is that there are things in this package i can't even begin to identify. like "solar bits." body glitter, you might be thinking, pityingly (what kind of femme is she?). but it's black, and not "black" like somebody with dark skin might want to wear, but, like, jet black. read the tag line, you're thinking. okay: "pearlized clusters." does that help? didn't think so.

so after the excitement of my big "win" (and that's another thing about silent auctions, but isn't "winning" so much better, so much less greedy and ostentatious, so much luckier, than just "buying"?), i'm left with a bag of cosmetics that make me feel inadequate. which, when you step back for a second, is one big reason you'd buy cosmetics in the first place.

while i'm handing out silent auction advice: beware of the pity bid. if nobody else has bid on something by the second intermission, they're not going to, and you're going home with a stack of brad fraser books.

on the upside: mo seems to like her new watch.

Market value

i always mean to go to the farmers' market on saturdays, but the truth is saturday mornings seduce me into other things, like reading the globe and mail on the front porch, or catching up on wordscraper, or sitting on the deck feeding peanuts to the bluejays. the thought of navigating a crowd of smug edmontonian locavores is always enough to send me straight back to bed with a second cup of coffee.

come sunday morning, of course, i'm full of regret and find myself schlepping to safeway, which is always, always more depressing than anything i might have run into on saturday. i kick myself, resolving anew that next saturday really will be the day. cue weekly cycle.

but this saturday actually was the day, and and i set myself up for it by getting the right equipment: a new bike.

actually, it's not really new. i finally relieved my mother of her 1974 peugeot girl's bike and took it to redbike. "pimp my ride!" i said. (actually, testimony to the fact that i have truly become an old fart, i said "pimp my bike!." one of the guys corrected me.) they tuned it up, replaced the brake cables, and put on new wheels; when i picked it up i had them throw on a little black bike basket and a bell -- and then they charged me $122.85. just so you know i'm a moral person, i did argue with them about it at the till. i mean, the basket alone was twenty bucks. did i bring this bike in on free cable day or what? they insisted that was the right price, so for what i normally spend on coffee in a month, i had a whole new way to get around.

and boy is it great. it's heavy and black and substantial. it's cool. and it's fast. i've had mountain bikes for the last few years, and skinny tires make a huge difference. i love sitting more upright, too. it's what you want in the city, to be able to look about you a little. this is the first "girl's bike" i've ever had, having disdained them my entire life to date on the basis that -- well, that they're for girls. but i find the retro dropped bar actually quite charming. i can never find the gear shift -- it's down on the upright, not within thumb's reach at all -- and in any event there are only ten gears, not the 27 i have on my mountain bike, which is kind of a relief. i mean, seriously, what casual biker uses 27 gears?

best of all, it comes with an unexpected whallop of self-satisfaction. every time my heart thrills to my new commuter bike, i think, "it cost a hundred dollars! and it's recycled!!"

today was the big test: the downtown farmers' market. i dug out the ancient canvas panniers my mom offered me a few years ago, the ones i accepted mostly because of their ebay resale potential. they're heavy and black and perfect for the ole peugeot. i set off, feeling very cosmopolitan right from the start. but once i filled those puppies up with organic produce? shit. i was downright annoying. i mean, think of it. is there anything more virtuous than the lesbian loading duck eggs (less alkaline! more sustainable!) and heritage greens into 1970s saddlebags fixed to a recycled bike?

i can hardly stand myself.

Today's gruesome find

you can buy caskets at costco.

of course i'm not kidding. you can't make this stuff up. and, really, why not take the empowered-consumer movement to the next level? 'cause after you consume that flat of beef and the barrel of cashews, you just might need to think about "the next level." before you get too excited, though, read the fine print, where you'll discover that costco online offers standard or expedited shipping but, unfortunately, they "cannot hold onto any orders for future delivery." so keep that 1-800 number right next to your deathbed.

i'm all for DIY, but there are some things -- say, embalming human bodies -- that i think should be left to the professionals. are you with me on this?

Beautiful object

argentina is famous for its silver. here is what i have bought in silver so far:


admittedly, this is not the kind of silver argentinians are famous for, but i love my little cheese grater. it makes me happy every time i look at it, with its perfect cylinder of shiny brightness. it cost two pesos (about 66 cents) in the dollar store at the end of our street. oh, the red backdrop? that's our kitchen countertop. i so love this little apartment i might never come home.

Mysteries of the argentine woman

breakfast in buenos aires normally consists of a big mug of sweet hot chocolate along with a couple of churros: deep-fried donuts filled with dulce de leche and sprinkled with sugar. three-course lunches appear to be at least widely available if not universally consumed. dinner, as most people already know, generally orbits around a large hunk of cow and patas fritas, hold the vegetables.

this is all very encouraging.

until you go into the palermo soho shops, which tend to have three sizes: size 1, size 2, and size 3. small, medium and large, you are thinking? no: tiny, tinier, tiniest. in a cruel and bizarre twist on the traffic in women, it's as though after the currency crisis (precipitated in part by former president menem's decision to stop pegging the argentine peso to the US dollar), designers decided to do something to stop the terrifying freefall, so fixed clothing sizes in a 1:1 ratio. sizes 1 and 3 match the 3-5-7-9-11 scale, with a size 2 thrown in for those who prefer the 2-4-6-8 system. here's how tiny the palermo sizes are: we stopped into a parisian design shop today, where the clothes were designed, built and flown in from paris. after a several hours of palermo-based designers, the parisian outfits looked brobdignabian. and before you raise the obvious: these clothes were flown down here well before the new french anti-anorexia laws.

who are these women? i do see women in the restaurants, and they do appear to eat. the straight couple at the table next to us at lunch opted for the three-course meal. he had a salad and stir-fried vegetables while she tucked into black bean soup, hungarian goulash and flambeed bananas. i couldn't see where there was room in her skinny jeans for a full plate of goulash, but down it went. and she was schlepping shopping bags, too. it's a given that the servers at restaurants could all wear a size 1 or 2, but for the most part they are 18 or 19 years old, and i have to believe they can't afford to shop in these palermo boutiques. (c'mon, i'm carrying 20 years and 20 kilos: give me something to hold onto!)

at the same time, i don't see women out exercising madly, either. i attracted way more than my fair share of stares on the avenida de la libertador this afternoon, when i went humping around the trails. following this beautiful circular path around a nature preserve with paddleboats, swans, and sycamores, i was initially worried that i might be running the wrong way around the circuit. maybe there's a secret counterclockwise code that locals know, and maybe it's a huge offense when ignorant giantesss turistas mess it up. then i realized, oh, no, it's just that i'm the only woman in a hundred miles. the rest are probably tiding themselves over from lunch to dinner on potato chips and treats from one of the many panaderias about. marcia tells me i'm overreacting and overgeneralizing and don't know what i'm talking about because so far i've only gone running at the end of a weekday: wait til sunday morning, she says, and it's a whole other scene. maybe.

until then, it's handbags for heather. eh, maybe i'll actually preserve some pesos to put in 'em. i mean, it. in it. singular. i do not need to buy multiple handbags to compensate for the fact that i can't buy cute palermo clothes.

do i?

Shopper or buyer

it all started because we needed cardamom. everybody knows that the best indian spices in edmonton come from mill woods. so off we went. mo's been interested in cars for a while; holiday monday seemed like a good time to test-drive one; there was a good deal at a shop in mill woods and another test-drive possibility on the way; so off we went.

the jeep liberty was certainly pretty. and virtually new. and a great price. it drove well. afterward, she said she needed some time to think. i said fine, you smoke on it; i'm going next door to pick up some cardamom.

you know how it is at a spice store. you (i) have to look at everything and take in all the smells (what is that -- oh, fenugreek!), make sure you're getting the freshest bag of coriander, compare the jamaican curry powder to the english -- well, it takes some time. and i was thrilled, just over the moon, that they had bolst's curry powder. i don't know whether it's actually good or whether i am just nostalgic about it, but i debated a long time over whether to buy a ginormous tin of bolst's or a modest package of turban brand jamaican curry. then in a stroke of genius and good luck, i snagged a package of crushed chilis on my way out: an item mo had just the day before noticed we were out of.

anyway, it was probably a good ten minutes before i got back to her, hoisting my bag of spices with pride. but before i could tell her anything, she had a little something of her own to tell me. "i bought carda--" i started to say, when she uncharacteristically cut me off. "i bought a jeep." "you what?" "yup."

it was exactly the right move: the right vehicle at the right price on a good day. but i am still floored. admittedly, she's been looking at jeeps online for a few weeks and she's needed a new car for a while. the justy is trusty and lusty, but 15 years old and short a coupla struts. let's just say that the trade-in deal on the justy had money travelling from mo to the dealership.

but to drive two cars and buy the second one? i debate longer than that over a pair of tights (anna sui tights, if you must know, and yes i did eventually hit the "buy now" button). i don't like to spend too much and i don't like to acquire things i don't actually want or need. i'm a true materialist, so every acquisition matters. as a result, i keep my amazon cart open for weeks. i hem and haw and put things on hold. in short, i'm a proper shopper.

this "buying" thing? whole other ball game.