Back to school huzzah huzzah and all that jazz and I'm pretty happy to be back doing something beyond making and spending money. Much of my discussions over my school hiatus hinged on the procurement of money, something which tends to make me profoundly unhappy relative to the joy I find while spending it.
In case you never noticed, my column title is a play on the fact that I tend to write about my vices, such as drinking, smoking, pining and pining while drinking and smoking. To fill the void in between these activities I have: general fiscal irresponsibility!
Oh, how to spend money? There are so many ways to do it. I usually only do it for the immediate satisfaction of whimsy: a CD here, absurd amounts of money at a bar there, a sweater everywhere. If I'm forced to pick one solid example though, perhaps the most important symbolic artifact of this sort of activity resides in my room.
It is a green candle situated in a glass jar on which various symbols for wealth and luck have been printed in white ink. It was purchased in the Latin aisle of Cub foods after a short goading session from my friends. It is true that I really wanted it, but I'm not sure why. I can never decide whether I prefer the insane hope contained in a 10-dollar candle, the ironic and kitschy value of owning something from the Latin rack of a grocery store or the fact that it was a waste of money at a time when I had no money. In any case it can illuminate my room in with a soft pleasing light and I'm glad I have it at my disposal.
The candle represents one of the most important ways to spend money: the procurement of artifacts. My friend used to collect all sorts of crap in high school. He doesn't have much of it around anymore, it's all at his house in Kenosha, but when he goes through all that crap it will remind him of what he has done in the past.
Everyone needs a pile of items to go through every once in a great while. Sometimes I feel like I should go minimalistic and cool, and I just can't because I want to remember buying that crappy harmonica in Cookeville, Tennessee. It's red and made by Suzuki and was above a Christian teen music venue and next to a library in which I wrote e-mails while I was really stoned and freaked out by the people using the computer to do genealogy research spawned by the recent death of an old person. That's what I need all that crap for.
I suppose events could be written in a journal or a song or incorporated into a short story or novel, but the fact that there is a real item involved is important. Spoons and hats and all that crap is, although tacky, representative of the same need that spawned Proust. I suppose what I'm saying is that you shouldn't make fun of your aunt for collecting stupid tourist crap because you probably save stuff, which although cooler or more ironic in an attempt to distance yourself from consumerism and pre-built value, serves the same function. Or, you know do, but don't say I didn't warn you.
