My wife smashed herself in the face with a basketball at the gym last week and I have to drive her to the eye doctor and glasses store in the mall tomorrow, which if all goes according to plan will enable me to miss a goodly portion of the workday. Though her misfortune resulted in the destruction of what were widely regarded, not without reason, as the lone pair of eyeglasses on God’s green earth perfectly suited to her adorable face, still I am quite pleased with my wife for braining herself with playground equipment, as I would way rather go to the mall than go to work.
Not to toot the horn of the Bangor Mall (it’s your average charmless, slapped-together eyesore of chintzy corridors populated with stores that don’t sell anything you need or want), but I’ll cop to feelings of fondness for it, like I imagine you do when it comes to the mall you grew up getting dragged to by your friends. I look forward to wandering around the mall on an early Wednesday morning, when it’ll probably just be me, young moms with strollers, and maybe a few senior citizens getting some exercise. I am excited to go to B. Dalton and gloss over the coffee table books languishing on the remainder table. I eagerly anticipate going to Spencer Gifts and regarding their array of overreachingly offensive tee-shirts, novelty pills that purport to encourage erections and arousal fluid, and plastic obese men that pull down their pants and pass wind in your face when you press a button. Sometimes it’s fun to go to Hot Topic and just stand there, processing your feelings. I may go to a shoe store and walk around, simply because I like the smell of shoes. I will get to buy a foofy coffee and walk around drinking it while I do all of this; that will improve the experience even further. I will probably go to GameSpot and talk myself out of buying a Wii game, either out of thrift or more likely because I will not want to talk to the guy behind the counter, who will try to get me to subscribe to a costly and unreadable magazine, and who will smell like taurine and pewy armpits. I will not go into the following stores: JC Penney, Sears, Macy’s (although we will probably enter the mall via their befuddling and terrible establishment), Pac Sun, Lane Bryant, Build-A-Bear, Deb (despite the fact that I bought a pretty nice sweater there once), or Radio Shack. In spite of its deafening music, vapid patrons, and overall gayness, I may briefly go into Abercrombie and Fitch because I once bought the best-fitting and hardiest jeans I have ever owned there and ever since I misplaced those jeans (who loses jeans? me, that’s who!) I’ve been every so often lackadaisically pondering the shelves of A&F to reclaim them, with little success. I’ve also heard that A&F is now hiring shirtless men to stand around and be shirtless and, one hopes, to approach people with a beaming, friendly smile to ask if they need any help or if they have any questions, such as “where’s your shirt?” for example. That seems like it might be sexy, I mean funny, whoops. It’s possible, though not probable, that I will go to GNC and look at a drink called Redline that is supposed to make you crazy and should only be imbibed if you are about to lift a bunch of weights, which it turns out I am not about to do, yet I like heavily caffeinated drinks and have been unable to stifle my curiosity in spite of several online testamonials advising readers to stay away, stay far away. I will probably have to make a stop at Movies America, the last remaining vestige for the Bangor area VHS consumer, though it will be a severely truncated visit if the creepy guy who walks around asking people “why aren’t you buying more stuff?” is working there tomorrow. Yes, he really asks that very question, verbatim, and it is impossible to tell if he is joking. Furthermore, all of the people besides myself who are still buying VHS tapes are horrifying and insane., so that doesn’t help my comfort. Well, I’m sure I’m leaving out a lot of fun things that I plan to do tomorrow at the mall while waiting for Annie’s eye appointment to be done, but there’s a few for starters and for no good reason.
The difficult task of the day will be finding the perfect replacement frames for Annie. Her glasses were good friends to her and she is pretty stressed out about the very conceivable lack of selection we may be faced with tomorrow, though I would imagine she is looking forward to being able to see again, and I’ve no doubt that through a solid bout of heavy duty browsing we can find her some frames that are every bit as good if not better than the old ones. I recently had to get new glasses myself, as I had not changed my prescription since, oh, high school I believe? Getting new glasses is an ordeal and a half. It’s very tiresome taking off and putting on one dumb set of frames after another, squinting like a doofus into a mirror and repeatedly reaffirming the fact that you’re one silly-looking son of a bitch, especially with these three-to-four-hundred-dollar plastic things scrunched onto your nose.
Eyes are pretty faulty organs, and I’d like to take this opportunity to complain about them at length. The one good thing about having glasses is that the lenses provide a helpful barrier against crazy people who want to walk up to you and stab you in the eye with a pencil. You unfortunate souls with perfectly functional eyes can call me a poindexter all you like, but don’t ask me to lead you to the emergency room once your ocular guts are dangling off the end of that crazy homeless person’s expertly honed Mead number two. My point is your eyes are basically right out there pleading to be haphazardly punctured. Even taking unsound, office supply wielding transients out of the equation, on your daily jaunts you could easily run afoul of a errant pointed object or even a careless bird, and bob’s your uncle, you’re the cyclops from “Krull”; ta-ta eye. Never leave bed is the moral.
It plagues me that my eyesight is so bad, and that it has become considerably worse over the past few years. As I said, I went to the eye doctor myself a few weeks ago, and the prescription I was given afterwards looked absolutely nothing like my old one. My right eye may as well be a gobstopper for all the good it’s doing me. I just found a website that seems to claim to be able to correct vision via some type of relaxation sessions, reducing ones dependency on glasses. I cannot be called upon to retain or pay attention to a lick of it, but take a gander if you like. It can’t be any crazier than anything else. I might look at it later once I’m done typing this thing and if my wife insists on watching “Charlie Rose” tonight, thus leaving me devoid of suitable entertainment (she taped her old glasses together seemingly for the sole purpose of watching “Charlie Rose”). Don’t get me wrong, I think it would be very gratifying to be interviewed by Charlie Rose, but his show makes me extremely tired, though perhaps I ought to be blaming that on the hour at which PBS historically chooses to broadcast it. At any rate, be it noon or midnight, it’s soothing to the max.
He’s beautiful! I’m talkin’ about a Charlie Rose!
Anyway, that’s about it. I just wanted to take this time to tell you all that I’m going to the mall tomorrow, and to post pictures of an eye diagram and public television talk show host Charlie Rose. I may take the camera along tomorrow and take a bunch of electrifying mall pictures to share with you, but I make no promises, as often I find that I do this thing where I say I’ll do something and then I don’t end up doing it. A strange and compelling habit that quite honestly I haven’t been getting a lot of positive feedback on. Well, to each their own, I say. Good night, all!