Cart, Depart.
On friday, around noon, I was working in my studio and heard a very shopping-cart-esque commotion going on outside my window. This peaked my interest because, as loyal blog-readers will know, for a few days now, I have been playing host to an unwanted shopping cart. I craned my neck to catch a view out my side window just in time to spy a young white man making away with a load of metal tubing and bits of fence in my cart.
See? I said my cart. This damn thing had really weaseled its way into my brain. All I wanted was to be rid of it, and the minute it actually leaves, I think "Hey! That guy's got my cart!!!"
So there he went with his pile of stuff in the cart formerly known as mine. I don't know who he was, and I don't know how he came upon my cart or how he got all his metal pipes and fence to my cart without the aid of... you know... another cart. All I know is that life (and the strange rythyms of the city) had washed a shopping cart up on my shore, and then a few days later, the tides came and washed it right back out again. I suppose I could wax even more metaphorical-like about the deep meaning of all this... About how my garage door was just a rest-stop in the greater journey of an inanimate object, but the simple fact of the matter is that I'm glad it's gone.
Yes, I identified it as mine, but ownership doesn't neccisarily mean affection. (see also: "my hip pain," "my brain tumor" and "my aunt Gladys.") It was unwanted, and now I don't have to worry about it anymore. I know that I've devoted more time to thinking about the cart than any normal person should have, and that I've made a much bigger deal about this tiny encounter than it merits. I should have known at the onset that the cart would only be a temporary guest. If I had only paid closer attention I would have realized carts are not barnacles that attatch themselves to you for life. The city drops these things off like kids spending a weekend with dad, and after a brief stay, the city picks them right back up again.
Tired of all this drivel? Want to get back to fart jokes? Stay tuned.
On friday, around noon, I was working in my studio and heard a very shopping-cart-esque commotion going on outside my window. This peaked my interest because, as loyal blog-readers will know, for a few days now, I have been playing host to an unwanted shopping cart. I craned my neck to catch a view out my side window just in time to spy a young white man making away with a load of metal tubing and bits of fence in my cart.
See? I said my cart. This damn thing had really weaseled its way into my brain. All I wanted was to be rid of it, and the minute it actually leaves, I think "Hey! That guy's got my cart!!!"
So there he went with his pile of stuff in the cart formerly known as mine. I don't know who he was, and I don't know how he came upon my cart or how he got all his metal pipes and fence to my cart without the aid of... you know... another cart. All I know is that life (and the strange rythyms of the city) had washed a shopping cart up on my shore, and then a few days later, the tides came and washed it right back out again. I suppose I could wax even more metaphorical-like about the deep meaning of all this... About how my garage door was just a rest-stop in the greater journey of an inanimate object, but the simple fact of the matter is that I'm glad it's gone.
Yes, I identified it as mine, but ownership doesn't neccisarily mean affection. (see also: "my hip pain," "my brain tumor" and "my aunt Gladys.") It was unwanted, and now I don't have to worry about it anymore. I know that I've devoted more time to thinking about the cart than any normal person should have, and that I've made a much bigger deal about this tiny encounter than it merits. I should have known at the onset that the cart would only be a temporary guest. If I had only paid closer attention I would have realized carts are not barnacles that attatch themselves to you for life. The city drops these things off like kids spending a weekend with dad, and after a brief stay, the city picks them right back up again.
Tired of all this drivel? Want to get back to fart jokes? Stay tuned.
posted by CommonWombat at 1:10 AM
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