How's Your Stuff?

I've been thinking of declaring war on something for a while now. I've noticed that one can declare war on something without having to do anything constructive about it, which is perfect for me. I much prefer making grandiose statements than following through on them.

I don't know how it came to be that I wanted to declare war. But I know it was a few weeks ago and since then, I've been pondering what it is that will bear the brunt of my wrath.

For a while, it was going to be dust, as dust is truly mine enemy. But I had to face the harsh reality that that would be an ever losing battle. I would only become mired in the conflict, and the dust would ultimately win.

Then I thought perhaps I would declare war on rain, as it has been raining here since September. That was no good either, as for the most part, rain is a good thing, although if you talk to the people on Vancouver island right now, they might be ready to break out the torches and pitch-forks and congregate into an angry mob. Also, the rain is just a nasty little insurgent, backed up by the much bigger army of global warming, and we all know there's no surviving that one.

So while I was doing some shopping yesterday in the big city, it finally came to me and all of my fruitless pondering was over. Therefore, I, Marti, do hereby officially declare war on centre-isle displays. You better watch your backs oh bins of crap, cuz I'm comin' to getcha.

Seriously though, WTF? I was in Michaels and I could barely move around. The isles would be twice as wide with ample room for both customer and cart to move about comfortably if it were not for display after display after freakin' display of useless crap. And every single isle had one. Several in fact. I wanted to go from one side of the store to the other and it took me five minutes. And if it isn't a display set up blocking my way, then it's a clerk with a whole heapin' pile of crap on the floor that they have to find a place for on the shelf. They can't get conveniently out of the way while they do their work, cuz there isn't anywhere to go.

While I'm bashing Micheals for a minute, (perhaps I should just declare war on them instead) they seriously have to reconsider their choice of in-house music. This stuff is so plinky-plonky-harpy-elevator-slash-mental-institution-coma-inducing pap that sometimes, it actually makes me want to leave. That, and the smell of the candle isle. It's too much. It's like the ninth level of craft hell. Tempting enough to get you in the door, kitchy enough to make you ashamed.

There is another store I was in recently where the centre isles were out of control. It's a discount store in my hometown and perhaps an exclusively Canadian chain, Giant Tiger. BTW, why is the official colour for cheap yellow? No Frills, Giant Tiger, even Dollorama has stong yellow undertones. In any case, this store is impassable. There are no isles come to think of it. It's all displays, racks, bins shelves and people. I truly believe some of them went in five years ago and haven't seen the light of day since. They just wander aimlessly, coming upon the same sale item again and again, muttering to themselves "Oh look. Two bars of Dove soap for five dollars...that's a good deal."

Grocery stores aren't even safe anymore. They built these enormous box stores, so big you can barely stand it, and then fill the double-wide isles meant to accomodate the double-wide carts with twice as many displays! Then we're right back to where we were in our local, teeny-tiny grocery stores; waiting for others to pass in the one lane of traffic in the middle of isle.

Where is the logic in this? Actually, it makes perfect sense. Its our North American need for MORE STUFF. I looked around me at Michaels and wondered how in the world all of this stuff could ever all be used up in a lifetime. It can't. It gets ordered, it sits on the shelf, it gets discounted, it gets thrown away. And every week theres a new shipment of stuff, little bits and pieces by which we make new stuff to stuff in corners and on tables and into gift boxes.

I look around me at my temporary home and it's quite literally, in some places, packed to the roof with my stuff. The stuff I felt I needed with me that couldn't go into storage. Then I think about the storage unit and it is quite literally, in all places, packed to the roof with our stuff. Necessary stuff, useless stuff, old stuff, new stuff.

That's it...I change my declaration. I hereby declare war on my stuff.

Watch George Carlin's A Place for my Stuff since I can't because of the dial-up. Warning: More than likely contains offensive or strong language. I would've checked ahead of time, but I'm on dial-up.