And, in thinking about condiments - which I often do. Don't you? - I realized that they are a lovely, neat little metaphor for individuality. Served fresh from the oven, we all lead the same, boring life. We age at the same rate, we share survival instincts, we face the same gravitational limitations, etc. But how we flavor these base elements is what sets us apart from each other. And I kind of like that. Most days, I sauce my afternoons with writing. Words words words. "Whigmaleerie" is a current favorite, though I've been too shy to actually use it verbally. Mostly, I just think "whigmaleerie". Also, I overuse words like "basically" and "refreshing". As in, Basically, I love the rain because it's so refreshing. Basically, that's true. And it's refreshing to finally admit it.
But in the midst of having to throw everything out of our refrigerator and start again, I felt a tremendous sense of relief. As if the condiments were a source of substantial burden. So, now we're experiencing an era of enlightened refrigerator minimalism. And I have to wonder if perhaps, like condiments, excessive individuality is a bad thing too. Would I experience a more relaxed sense of Self if I didn't feel the need to over-season my days with extraneous scribbles, words, and thoughts? It's true that I feel hugely weighted down by my messes, clutters, jots, lists, and colliding thoughts. But do I need them in order to be Me?
Sometimes I'm scared of self-improvement because my spice and spreads help me identify myself. I kind of love the things that drive me crazy, even if I do roll more gutter balls than strikes because of them. In the end, it always seems to come back to how we give ourselves flair, distinction, and a little whigmaleerie. Whigmaleerie. Look it up.
Dear Terami,
Since my return to New York City and up until I got engaged I did a lot of dating. I am no Don Juan but on Manhattan Island there aren't many straight available men my age, so I do have an unfair advantage (statistically speaking) that I took advantage of as often as possible.
One of the things I noticed was that most of the women I dated had practically nothing in their refridgerators. I never came across a completely bare refrigerator and it was the few items that were most telling, or at least interesting. One thing that stands out is that each and every woman, who I dated, and to whose refrigerator I had gained access to had one item in common -- a bottle of champagne. One woman, Carol, had one chinese take out container, one box of Godiva chocolates, and seven bottles of champagne (Veuve Clicquot). Another woman, Svetlana, had nothing in the main compartment except a single bottle of champagne. The door, however, was filled with condiments.
I wonder, does this say something about me and the women I am attractted to or does it say more about the women of New York City? Or do I have an acute sense of smell that leads me to champagne filled refrigerator like the bomb sniffing dogs at the airport? I suppose a great deal of thought could go into the deciphering of the psycological clues present by one's refrigerator.
Walter J. Lee
Postscript; I love the word "whigmaleerie". I looked it up at your suggestion and have duly added it to my vocabulary and every day speech. Might I suggest the word "whirligig". My favorite usage of whirligig is from Tweflth Night;
"And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges"
Act V, scene i, line 365
Posted by: Walter J. Lee | on March 13, 2006 10:49 PM