Today I found myself prowling on Bloor Street, smack dab in the fancy section, known as something like the Golden 1/8 of a Kilometre. Let’s not kid ourselves, it’s no Golden Mile like Chicago, and it barely stretches two blocks. There’s Prada and Gucci but there’s also some other mall type stores like Club Monaco and the Gap, so you never really do feel out of place as you valet park your Scion XB at Holt Renfrew. I used to work at Holt Renfrew, by the way, my favourite job ever. But I spent more than I made because I was a material girl: Fendi! Hermes! Donna Karan! I had to quit to pay off my credit card. And then I had kids and projected my materialism upon them, especially at Christmas. There were early years that we documented with Bratz dolls and Hot Wheels, and then on to electric guitars and gaming systems. The other day, Freddy said last year was the best Christmas that we ever had.
“What are you talking about? That was our poorest haul ever! You got a tube of Chapstick in your stocking and a pair of Nikes. You could have gotten shoes in September when school started but I had to save them for under the tree! And how lame was that tree? All the lightbulbs were burned out and we only had one strand lighting up the bottom. And on Christmas Eve, when we usually have lobster, we had canned salmon! Yes, it came out of a can!”
“I don’t remember that. I loved it because we watched “It’s A Wonderful Life” by the fire in our new pyjamas,” he said.
Sometimes he says cute things. But mostly he mumbles. He is probably always high.
So with that Skinter than Skint Christmas under the belt, as I strolled along the Bloor strip, I realized, I don’t really want anything here. If I had to make a list, none of this crap would be on it. Okay, I’m totally lying. Of course I want everything at Sephora, the entire second floor of Holts, and the list goes on like a Talking Heads song, that one I always have in my head when I’m trying to placate myself while being overstimulated by retail eye candy. I will post it for you, but first I am going to make my Christmas wish list, so you get can have some ideas for your own LOCA in your life:
1. World Peace. Or Piece. I forget which one. Or maybe just Love. Or a piece of World Star Hip Hop that posted the best video of the year where the couple got having sex on the Spadina subway platform. This it here all NSFW. This should happen more often. If everyone did this, we wouldn’t be so hateful, nor would we have to bother on-line dating. I may just buy a TTC pass. It is awesome.
2. A goat. Seriously, check it out here. You can buy a goat for a hun. And let someone else have it so you don’t have to deal with it. That is my kind of gift. And it keeps on giving.
3. Underwear. I don’t know why mine keep wearing out? I like the ones from American Eagle (aka. Aerie). I’m serious about this, they are so comfy it’s like you are wearing a teddy bear on your bum. And you can pee-pee leak a bit when you sneeze or put your key in the door and it’s no big deal. Here is what they look like:
4. A food processor. Not to be confused with a blender! Do you know the holy trinity of Italian cooking includes celery, carrots, and onions? Using a Slap Chop to make ragu alla bolognese is like an excercise in frustration. The hunks of veg keep getting stuck in the grooves of the metal! You have to stop the chop, then fish them out with a knife, which you might as well just use if it weren’t so blunt. As far as screaming and throwing things across the room, I would rather shop for auto insurance or call Rogers Cable to make an enquiry!
5. Louis CK. My obsession/crush (see previous post as my favourite ginger) had me already go out and get his DVD’s including the first season of “Lucky Louie” so I don’t really know really know what form I can have him in at this point. Maybe in real life? Sometimes when you let your needs be known the universe will throw you a bone, so says The Secret. So I’m just sending it out there. SANTA!!!!!! (said with the same plaintive wail as “Stella!”)
And that’s about it on my list, and as promised, I leave you with my shopping song, “Born under Punches” performed live in Rome in 1980. See it all come back again, my daughter loves this band. She thinks Tina Weymouth is the coolest chick ever. Thank the Gods of Retail for vintage-loving teenage girls: