Early Morning Bimbo
21 August 2001
Long day so far. What was I doing when I would usually have been writing my journal entry? Why, I was out getting my first Bimbo. Also some granola and a head of lettuce. Timprov and I went for a walk, and I decided it was Bimbo time. Mark and Timprov have already shared their first Bimbos -- I think there were eight of them, total -- but they were bigger and a totally different kind of Bimbo. I only got two -- I guess I don't need as many Bimbos as the guys do -- and I haven't tried either of them yet.
There is a kind of Mexican bakery in supermarkets around here called "Bimbo." The pastries (and hamburger buns, which is what the guys had, but I eat my hamburgers with a fork, even when they're gardenburgers) are delivered from a truck with "Bimbo" on the side in large letters. The hilarity. It just never stops ensuing. But ever since we moved here (here-California, not here-Hayward), I've been wanting to see what the Bimbos are like. Just because. We don't have them in the Midwest. I don't want to miss out. So when Timprov and I were taking an early-morning walk and fetching granola from the Food Source, I decided it was time to get my first Bimbo.
Odd. My brain automatically supplies "More-4" where "Food Source" goes. The More-4 was the grocery in St. Pete (I hear tell it's now called something different -- and if I'm wrong about that, go ahead and send me e-mails about it, or three-page theories about rumors as to why it's not the More-4 any more, go on ahead), and while the Food Source is not much like it, it's enough so that my brain equates them, evidently. Trader Joe's and Cub Foods and HyVee and Safeway all get to be separate entities. So do Albertson's and the ever-popular Bag-&-Gag (family name for Bag-&-Save). But evidently, to my brain, More-4 equals Food Source.
I'm not annoyed about the Chestnut Tree e-mails I got -- it just sounds like it. But I am amused that there seems to only be one thing that draws gossip more than living in a small college town, and that's exiting a small college town. Everybody has theories about everything, and some of us have inside informants. Actually, I think all of us have at least one inside informant. They just contradict each other. It's beautiful.
End pointless digression.
Oh wait. It's all pointless digression. That's the point.
So. What are M'rissas good for? They can't fix your life. But they can fix your lamp. Well. It's something.
I'm more than 300 pages into The Europeans, and the Finnish references the library card catalog promised me have not yet panned out. This is a mite frustrating. Under other circumstances, I might choose to read this book for fun. And I am enjoying it. But I want it to be useful, and so far, no.
I saw an ad for Girl Scouting on BART today that featured a teenage girl, very blonde-and-clean-cut looking, showing a Girl Scout tattoo on her bicep and smiling for the camera. It was the trefoil-with-faces Girl Scout symbol. To whom, exactly, is this supposed to appeal, and how? You can be a badass Girl Scout, is that what they're saying? Does anybody believe that? Say them together. Badass. Girl Scout. Badass. Girl Scout. No. And then, if they were trying to convey this message, why on Earth did they pick Miss Iowa 2004 to do so? Badass. Miss Iowa. Badass. Miss Iowa. No.
Oh, but not only was the advertising on the train bad. Oh no no. The postal service (still not delivering my packages!) helped out. I should have saved the Masterpiece Paintings of the American West: 2002 Calendar I got yesterday. There were some fabulous lines in the fundraising letter that accompanied it. "Even with all our successes, there is still much to be done--so much more to accomplish. And we will--YOU AND I TOGETHER--because we believe in the power of the inner spirit and of the children and ourselves." Ack! I must give these people money, or else I don't believe in the power of the children! What kind of monster doesn't believe in the power of the children? What about the outer spirit, though, do we believe in that? I forget.
My friends with the Masterpiece Paintings (I knew they were my friends, because it said so on the letter, "Dear Friend") also let me know that, "Your enclosed 2002 Masterpiece Calendar captures the spirit of the Indian people. It is a quality piece of work." That was useful to hear, see, because otherwise I would have thought it was a condescending piece of crap. See how close these two can come? Quality piece of work, condescending piece of crap. (Badass. Girl Scout. No.)
But the part that really tugged my heartstrings was when they said, "Frankly, I have no one else to turn to." Isn't that awful? It's just Quality Calendar Art Man and me, together defending the children against the cold, cruel world. I must give him my money now. He has no one else.
I know, I know. If they were subtle, some people might not realize that they were supposed to give money. But battering people about the head with pathos may not be the way to go, either.
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Or the next one.
Or even send me email.