sombreros and metropolitans
So I randomly joined Greenpeace. Or am I a patron? Whatever you call a person who donates $15 a month, that's what I am! Completely accidental and likely short-term, as I'm both easily convinced and unwilling to give up money that could be better spent on trashy magazines. I mean, it's not that I don't like the environment -- honest, I do! I recycle! -- it's just that I'm not so zealously committed. The Greenpeace girl who got me to sign up yesterday was telling me stories while I was filling in my little form, saying things like, "We have tremendously committed members! We have people jumping in front of harpoons being shot at whales! People chaining themselves to trees! People risking their lives for the environment!" And while I'm sure I was supposed to be moved and impressed at their gusto, all I could think was, "Wow, that's...a little much."
But still I signed up! Because she was so earnest and eager and I'm not sure how many people from my little struggling home city would be signing up. Though come to think of it, she might have gotten a few, since the city is currently experiencing a sort of yippie revival, complete with lots of antique stores and specialty shops, all of which was on display yesterday at the (possibly first) River Arts Festival. It was very fun, had live music, overpriced jewelry, and kettle corn, the three requirements of any kind of street festival around here (and possibly anywhere). And, also, the socially motivated people with clipboards. They are always a staple.
But anyway, I signed up! And feel like a fraud. Oh well.
Post-Greenpeace, I was walking along with my bud Anna when I saw this guy trying on this huge, gaudy sombrero. I thought to myself, "Now that's something my Dad would do," and then, sure enough, Anna said, "Hey, I know you!"
Yes, it was my Dad! In a gaudy sombrero, which he requested that I buy for him for Father's Day. I was just about to hand the money over to the dealer when my mother rushed over and started slapping my hand away, all, "You can't! You CANNOT buy this for him! He will WEAR IT! He will wear it OUT! Also, it probably has bugs!"
My mom is convinced everything secondhand has bugs.
I nodded and promised not to and then promptly skulked around the festival with Anna for a bit, losing my parents, so that I could go back and buy it for him without my mother the watchdog interfering. I had a long verbal debate over the purchase (consisting, basically, of me repeating the phrase, "My mom will KILL me" over and over), and then finally made it. I bought the sombrero and walked all around downtown with it hanging down my back because it was (as all hats are) too small for my big head. Fun fact: sombreros worn on a person's back with the string across the throat? Not so fun! First of all, it kind of feels like you're being strangled, and second of all, people talk to you about the sombrero. One lady asked me how much I paid for it and, when I told her, clearly communicated through the pause before "...that's not so bad" that I was ROBBED. Which I already knew. Aren't you supposed to barter with these vendors? I can't! I'm a child of suburbia, of the shopping mall, of the bar code prices! I got five bucks knocked off by the vendor without me asking for it, and that's as far as I could go.
Anyway, finally made it back to the car without being strangled by sombrero or mocked too harshly by fellow citizens (but vaguely terrified all the while that bugs from the sombrero were burrowing into my sweatshirt), only to arrive home later that evening and discover a sombrero sitting on the dining room table. A different sombrero. An additional sombrero.
My mother saw me looking at it and said, "You got one too, didn't you? I told you not to! I told your father not to buy this one because you were going to get the first one! NO ONE LISTENS TO ME!"
Now there are two huge, gaudy sombreros in this Irish-American household. We took pictures of each of us wearing them in the backyard tonight. Am positive neighbors again think we are insane. They are, of course, not wrong.
In other news: I'm sure you are all aware that the New York Mets swept Detroit this weekend, right? GO METS!!! WOOOO!!!! These moments are few and far between and must be SAVORED!
But still I signed up! Because she was so earnest and eager and I'm not sure how many people from my little struggling home city would be signing up. Though come to think of it, she might have gotten a few, since the city is currently experiencing a sort of yippie revival, complete with lots of antique stores and specialty shops, all of which was on display yesterday at the (possibly first) River Arts Festival. It was very fun, had live music, overpriced jewelry, and kettle corn, the three requirements of any kind of street festival around here (and possibly anywhere). And, also, the socially motivated people with clipboards. They are always a staple.
But anyway, I signed up! And feel like a fraud. Oh well.
Post-Greenpeace, I was walking along with my bud Anna when I saw this guy trying on this huge, gaudy sombrero. I thought to myself, "Now that's something my Dad would do," and then, sure enough, Anna said, "Hey, I know you!"
Yes, it was my Dad! In a gaudy sombrero, which he requested that I buy for him for Father's Day. I was just about to hand the money over to the dealer when my mother rushed over and started slapping my hand away, all, "You can't! You CANNOT buy this for him! He will WEAR IT! He will wear it OUT! Also, it probably has bugs!"
My mom is convinced everything secondhand has bugs.
I nodded and promised not to and then promptly skulked around the festival with Anna for a bit, losing my parents, so that I could go back and buy it for him without my mother the watchdog interfering. I had a long verbal debate over the purchase (consisting, basically, of me repeating the phrase, "My mom will KILL me" over and over), and then finally made it. I bought the sombrero and walked all around downtown with it hanging down my back because it was (as all hats are) too small for my big head. Fun fact: sombreros worn on a person's back with the string across the throat? Not so fun! First of all, it kind of feels like you're being strangled, and second of all, people talk to you about the sombrero. One lady asked me how much I paid for it and, when I told her, clearly communicated through the pause before "...that's not so bad" that I was ROBBED. Which I already knew. Aren't you supposed to barter with these vendors? I can't! I'm a child of suburbia, of the shopping mall, of the bar code prices! I got five bucks knocked off by the vendor without me asking for it, and that's as far as I could go.
Anyway, finally made it back to the car without being strangled by sombrero or mocked too harshly by fellow citizens (but vaguely terrified all the while that bugs from the sombrero were burrowing into my sweatshirt), only to arrive home later that evening and discover a sombrero sitting on the dining room table. A different sombrero. An additional sombrero.
My mother saw me looking at it and said, "You got one too, didn't you? I told you not to! I told your father not to buy this one because you were going to get the first one! NO ONE LISTENS TO ME!"
Now there are two huge, gaudy sombreros in this Irish-American household. We took pictures of each of us wearing them in the backyard tonight. Am positive neighbors again think we are insane. They are, of course, not wrong.
In other news: I'm sure you are all aware that the New York Mets swept Detroit this weekend, right? GO METS!!! WOOOO!!!! These moments are few and far between and must be SAVORED!