July 1999
s m u g
feature
by Dana J. Robinson

The Hard Stuff

"Bring me back something. Make sure it's not tacky!"

She brought me back a battery-operated, dancing hula doll that has the option of dashboard mounting. Her head had fallen off and was resting on her arm in her box when I got her. But she wasn't alone.

I also was fortunate enough to get a souvenir key chain. It's one of those from-the-side profiles of a woman on her knees and a man sort of squatting behind her.

"Look," Lyn explained, taking the key chain from me to show me how it worked, "they're doing it."

They certainly were. Hawaiian style, apparently.

This was not the first time I've been the recipient of utter souvenir crap. I'm certain it won't be the last. I'm less sure about the reasons behind these silly gestures of post-vacation appreciation.

Ultimately, I blame most of these incidents on the manufacturers. Do these people know no limits when it comes to what should and should not be made into key chains? I'm sure they'll plaster just about anything on the side of a coffee mug or a hand-held paper accordian-style fan. Or a decorative mirror encased in cardboard presented as a wall- hanging. In the haste and glory that is mass-consumerism, my idiot friends buy them all - and give them to me.

I think I am the lone receiver and keeper of such junk. I am guilted into displaying the generosity of my friends in my apartment. Even now, as I stare out the window recalling all the gifts of yesteryear, my gaze is interrupted by the bright colors of the hula girl's lei and bikini top. Just exactly what is the window of time a person has before trashing unwanted gifts?

I've recently adopted the 2 year rule. Afterall, I don't usually even keep friends that long, so why should I keep their junk? I'm sure the two year allowance is too generous. Proof of this theory can be found in any second hand store. People actually try to pawn off their precious memories to buyers at 25 cents a pop! (Unless you are truly pathetic and actually buy used-up keepsakes and try to pawn them off on your friends as your own. Shame on you.)

As a result of all of this, I am the souvenir queen.

I went to Belgium. I brought back chocolate for everyone.

Who wouldn't love that, you might ask? My mom, that's who. And all my friends. They complained about not having anything to show for my extensive Belgian travels as they crammed the gourmet chocolates down their greedy little throats. Their stomachs and hips and thighs were practically expanding on contact.

As I watched them devour the European souvenirs in their fat consumerist way, I thought happily, "Moments on the lips, years on the hips."

It's all about retribution, really.

skamp@chickmail.com

in the junk drawer

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hollywood
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scissors
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the
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blabfan
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martini






     
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