23.6.00

MTV, Crappy Local Comic Book Stores and Old Navy
(Or, My Very Tiny Taste of America Draws To A Temporary Close)

A Gibbertastic Exercise In Futility

So, I'm going "home" next Wednesday.

My e-ticket is sitting on the speaker on the computer desk, my clothes are strewn all over the room and are in no way ready to be packed, and I still feel as though there are things I should be doing to circumvent the need to go back to Australia. Holding a sit-in protest at the nearest INS branch? Holding up the next foolhardy Baptist stupid enough to come knocking at the door and begging them to get their congregation to pray for me as often as necessarily (i.e., constantly)? Throwing the biggest tantrum known to man and crying in a pathetic yet psychotic manner whilst boarding the flight to Melbourne? Eloping and spending the rest of my life in Canada?

(Oh yeah. Hi. If you're new, you might want a little backstory on why I'm actually in America, and why I have to leave to go back to my native home Australia, so go here for that. On second thoughts, that might be as garbled as this entry is, so feel free to check out the bio and people pages for extra information.)

Alas, there isn't anything I can do but lodge the proper application form, hand $95 of hard-earned cash over to the unfeeling INS, gather "proof" of my relationship with Nathan (possibly the most insulting part of the process, but I understand - reluctantly - why the immigration department needs such evidence), and wait. Oh, and get another job, and wait. I don't particularly feel like running back to the male-dominated offices of Eisa, so it's back to the job-search drawing board for me. If I had a sense of direction I'd consider being a driver for Pizza Hut - that's a surefire source of employment. I used to be a waitress so maybe I can see how the Lone Star Steakhouse will like my meat-serving stylings. Or I can free my inner child for good and find myself in beige shorts and a blue cardigan singing happy songs at the Disney store. Anything other than doling out computer advice to people who are not of sound mind, night after night after night after night. It sounds like a cushy job, and in some respects it is, but I don't think I could take it, again. Not around the guys I used to work with, either. That, my friends, is another story for another time.

The American Experience™ Report

Meanwhile, the American Experience™ continues. Alright, so the experience pretty much consists of cable TV and large chain stores, but give me a break - I can't drive here, and in Tupelo, the amount of interesting, life-affirming activity is at some kind of an all-time low. For example, the weekend night-life: for the majority of residents here (read: youths with access to cars/pick-up trucks), it consists of "riding the loop" - driving their cars and trucks around three blocks worth of town, backing up the traffic on Main Street, hollering to each other, and playing Kid Rock as loudly as possible on their stereos. It was quite scary the first time I encountered it; at first I thought I'd never seen anything like it, and then I remembered how my cousins (the ones on my mother's side, I have none on my father's side because my one and only paternal-side uncle still lives at home even though he's on the latter side of 40 and the likelihood of him hooking up and producing offspring is growing less and less probable as the days progress) used to like driving their cars and utes (ute = Australian pick-up truck, sort of - utes are generally less obnoxious) over my uncle Brian's property and making lots of noise. The whole loop thing is still scary though. Maybe I'm just a nerd but I'd prefer to spend an evening in, watching movies or reading or doing cross-stitch or something, as opposed to wasting petrol and getting a splitting headache from the constant roar of engines.

So, cable. MTV and the Cartoon Network provide most of my daily entertainment; I've bitched before about the entity known as "Music" Television, but I still can't tear my eyes away. Nathan's committed himself to taping the remaining season of "The Real World: New Orleans (During Mardi Gras, With As Many Visits To Bourbon St. As Possible)", the new season of "Daria", and possibly "Spy Groove" and the finals of "Sisqo's Shakedown" (simmer down, folks, the last one is a joke. Sort of...). I'm not sure what it is about MTV; maybe they send out sublimnal messages or something, but even during the most intolerable of their programming (anything involving Spring Break or "Road Rules"), I'm usually unable to change the channel or look in a different direction.

Today I happened to catch part of the MTV "SoCal Summer" programming: "Mission: Makeover". For some reason I'm attracted to makeover shows; I think everyone deserves a little glamour in their lives now and then, especially if its not usually their thing. I saw a girl with aspirations towards supermodeldom turned from a mousy brunette in athletic gear to a blonde in a pretty flattering bikini, and it was wonderful to see them perform a makeover without getting scissor-happy and hacking off almost all of her hair (which happened in an episode of the talkshow "Maury" which I viewed earlier in the day; the topic was "My 13-year-old dresses too sexy!" and nevermind that they should have used the word "sexily" instead of "sexy" in that sentence, the end result was that a herd of skankily-dressed teens were given nice clothes and some flattering makeup, yet no-one seemed to care that the hairdresser's licence should be revoked because I could do better with a bowl and some blunt pinking shears, but I digress). I did, however, disagree a little with the wardrobe women who were plucking string bikinis off the rack and making pithy fashion statements, such as, "Anyone would look amazing in a string bikini." Oh, really? I've never put one on, and probably never will unless someone gives me a billion dollars to do so, but here's how I see it: you know how a cook will tie up a cut of meat, usually a ham, with string before baking or roasting said meat in the oven? Disturbing though the visual might be, that's how amazing I'd look in a string bikini. They should have added a disclaimer: "Anyone would look amazing in a string bikini - if they have less than zero percent body fat."

(I have never used the words "string bikini" so often in my life.)

The Consumer Whore Checks In

I like to shop, and I don't like to admit it. I know that I've said before that shopping isn't my thing, but that's clothes shopping. Hunting down comic book bargains and splashing out on a few t-shirts is an entirely different matter. I wanted to buy Nathan a gift at the local comicbook store - to protect the lame, I won't list their business name and address (<cough>look under "G" for "Gun Dog Comics" in the yellow pages<cough>), but I admired them for their extensive rack of brilliant t-shirts. So I skipped into there with a couple of twenties tucked into my hot little hand and - dum dum dummm - the t-shirts were but a memory, replaced with several boxes of 95 cent comics. I looked around warily for a moment before approaching the geeky guy behind the counter.

Me: "Hi... um, the last time I was here there was a bunch of t-shirts back there...?"

Comic Store Guy: "Oh... yeah. We had to send them back to another store."

Oh.

CSG: "What t-shirt were you looking for?"

Me: "Well... it had Jay, Silent Bob, and a chimpanzee holding a gun on it."

GSG: <looks confused for a moment, then the light of recognition dawns on his face> "Oh, that one. Well, I can order it back for you..."

Me: "That sucks. No, it's okay, I'll be gone in a week anyway. Thanks though."

Since it had been a gift for Nathan, he hadn't been allowed in the store with me. I sat down once I got back to the car and pouted.

Me: "I couldn't get you the present. No t-shirts."

Nathan: "No t-shirts? That store sucks."

Me: "That's what I told the guy. Sort of."

(You can see the t-shirt over here at View Askew; I could have bought it online, but I don't have a credit card, and the store was cheaper.)

The disappearance of the t-shirts also means that the much coveted "Sunnydale High" gym shirt is no longer within my reach either. Damnit!

However, whilst out buying gifts for my little nephew Dylan, I discovered... much to my chagrin... and to Nathan's... and to the chagrin of anti-commercialism alternative folk everywhere...

Old Navy.

I thought it was just like Gap. You know, full of khaki and funky looking hats, but as expensive as all hell and empty of any meaning. But I wanted to get one of their cute flag logo t-shirts for Dylan since they have them in baby sizes - and only for $4.00, too! So we went in, and I picked out the shirt, and that was going to be that... only I started looking around.

I found the world's most adorable baby Hawaiian shirt. It was on special at $6.99, so I picked it up off the rack. And then I discovered their sleep pants. Oh, pajama heaven, you have called me from on high - so many different loud, funky prints to choose from, even stars and stripes, and I want them despite the patriotic cheesiness..!

We've been back three or four times in order to stock up on t-shirts for ourselves and for relatives. This is the tally:

Four more flag logo t-shirts (for myself, Nathan, my mother, and one for Alex and Brad to fight over);

an XXL Old Navy logo shirt in marble grey (for me);

a funky red beach hat (for me);

a bright yellow baseball cap (for Alex and Brad - it's an unfair assumption that couples will just share clothes and hats, but they do, so it's legitimate);

rose-coloured glasses (for Jo/Ingrid);

a two-tone blue pareo wrap-around for Jo/Ing (Ingrid will probably end up wearing it over corduroy pants with a long-sleeve shirt, a tiny-tee, and a cute little cardigan. She likes layering, what can I say...);

and clear nail varnish with red, silver and blue stars in it (for Alex - I also got her some Papermate gel pens, but needless to say they weren't from Old Navy).

I almost feel dirty, but come on! It's bargain central over there. The flag and logo t's were only $5.00 each. Each! I love a good XXL t-shirt. I want to go back there and buy all of the nerdy shirts in the boys section, and pick up some beach towels, and buy Dylan some ultra-trendy little toddler sneakers, and buy one in every print of pajama pant. It's pathetic, and truly worrisome. Have I sold out? Is it one big propaganda exercise for patriotism and American loyalty? Am I now a label slut? Will I start buying Tommy Hilfiger shirts and moving on to the Gap?

Only time will tell, I suppose.

Naps Ahoy

Well, that's all for now. The lure of sleep calls me, the gentle lullaby of mid-afternoon slumber whispers my name. In other words, gotta go. I have to get my beauty sleep sometime (and that's going to be one long nap, folks). More about my exciting life of glamour and celebrity next time - and you'll make me happy if you write me mail. Really!