Just what I always wanted...a magical journal that allows me to record my thoughts without the cumbersome task of writing and then trying to translate it later. Better yet, I can share these thoughts and enjoy the liberation that comes from being completely anonymous. And so many crazy thoughts have been rolling around in my head and accumulating, Katamari Damacy style, that this will be the perfect outlet for pitching them out into the great Cosmos.
Enough justification. Here's my first observation fit to be purged.
A couple of days ago, I went to Walmart to see what I could steal. (Don't get me wrong, I'm not a shoplifter, I just hate Walmart with a passion.) A renewed interest in my ten gallon fishtank had compelled me to investigate the "fish aisle". You know, that forgotten corner beyond the pharmacy and before the garden center, so rarely visited that no worker (or security camera) is installed for it. Even in the choking midst of the Christmas crowd, this was a desolate and lonely place. Masses of fish drift somewhere between life and death. Snails, betta fish, dwarf African frogs kept in little plastic cups. And now, hermit crabs, individually packaged in the same size cartons as the bettas.
I would like to note here that I am not a bleeding heart or drama queen. I worked in a local pet store for a summer and learned that hermit crabs, like all animals, have certain needs to be met, like room to roam and a warm temperature range. Anyway...
In my previous visits to this area, I had never seen an attempt to sell hermit crabs. And this was an obvious and failed attempt to sell them for Christmas. Their shells had been painted with cute images, i.e. Disney characters in santa hats, that might appeal to young consumers. The crabs themselves did remind me of Christmas, but not the way they were intended to be; some had oversized shells like that huge tacky sweater from an aunt that'd forgotten what size you were, and some were bursting out like a baby doll stuffed in a stocking.
The one that left the biggest impression on my memory, and will for many Christmases to come, had initially caught my eye because he seemed the most comfortable. Closer inspection revealed that he was dead. And his shell? A crimson red, with "Merry Christmas" in green lettering.
Overwhelmed with irony, the realization that Christmas was killed by commercialism, and hatred of Walmart's quest to conquer every product under the sun, I stuffed an African frog in my kangaroo pocket and hopped the hell out of there.
