Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I also got an Omaha steaks envelope that I didn't even open, since I eat steak only about once a month or less and when I want it, I'm not waiting around for it to come via dry ice, no, I'm going to Earthfare to buy happy cow meat that is good for me and died in luxury (sure, it was paying $30 a month forever on that outdated iPod, but it was luxury on the hoof) or, conversely, to Ingles to buy the beef of misery, which I will consume secretly and with appropriate shame.
What the hell else was in the mail? Something so banal that I've already forgotten it. Maybe a church flyer, one of the glossy expensive ones that always creep me out a bit, because, you know, shouldn't the church be spending their money on the Poor more directly than by sending highly designed four color brochures to them? You can't eat those things (I think; I haven't tried it yet) and besides, this particular member of the Poor is a confirmed pagan, as we know, and also has a strict mutual non-interference policy with Jesus. The only thing I really remember about the whole mailbox is the bemused feeling I had looking down on the whole lot just before it went into the recycling, thinking to myself, huh, this is the worst targeted marketing ever.
Bemused is how I also feel about the note I left for myself on the kitchen table, which reads enthusiastically: My slippers are uglier than naked mole rats. It is true; they indubitably are, which is to say they are pretty goddamn ugly, but why I thought that was so hilarious it merited writing down is a bit beyond me now. Still, I did, and now I share it with you, compulsively. Even though it's not at all the sort of image you like. Targeted marketing for the win!