Another Thing I Never Check

I am on a role right now about my foibles!

In case you were wondering, I do not consistently check to see where the parts necessary for my auto repairs are made, even though I have chastised Luke for not checking where the windshield wipers he bought were made.

When I was completely and utterly out of oil while down the shore over the summer, I couldn't care less where the oil was made, so long as I could get enough of it into my car to keep the engine from seizing while I drove back and pondered where the hell all the oil went.

We've checked a few things, such as the new sensors for my Saturn, and even bought the more expensive gas cap to stop a vacuum seal leak because the cheaper one was made in China.

Yet when it comes to taking our cars to the mechanic, I do not ask him to find out the origins of whatever part I need.

I don't know that I am able to justify why this is. I don't think that it is out of embarrassment, I've certainly done a lot of that during this boycott. Maybe it is out of a sheer desire to get out of the mechanics as quickly as possible while spending as little money as possible. Maybe it is a realization that we can't afford to replace two cars right now and that makes these repairs an "emergency".

Whatever the reasons are, I took Luke's car in for an oil change on Friday only to learn that it needs a catalytic converter seal and a new exhaust pipe. When this work is done on Tuesday, I will have no idea where the parts were made, and even though I have plenty of time to call and ask before the work is done, I know I will not do so.

The Origins of Edamame

Apparently Saturday night was my turn to cook dinner, a task I've come to loath even more now that I moved back home and the kitchen is a shared domain. I further loath having to cook when I am really hungry, as my brain shuts down and is completely incapable of making intelligent decisions about what constitutes a well balanced meal (What do you mean Dairy Queen blizzards don't make a great dinner?).

This particular evening I decided to make shrimp, with brown rice and edamame. All I really wanted were chocolate brownies, a side of ice cream and maybe some edamame on the side, for protein. Edamame,in case you didn't know, is a fancy name for soybeans. They are often served in Japanese Restaurants and are wonderful steamed with sea salt sprinkled on top (Wonderturtle introduced me to them and we're a great match).

Re-reading this post, my meal sounds rather healthy. However, since it is blog worthy, there must be a problem.

The problem here is not the freezer burnt shrimp imported from Thailand, nor the 90 second microwave in the bag, Uncle Ben's brown rice with enough sodium to keep me afloat in a freshwater lake. The problem is the delicious Edamame purchased at my local Shoprite, by me, and, oh, that's right, MADE IN CHINA!

Never, ever did it cross my mind to check the origins of my frozen food!

This might seem ridiculous, given the fact that the garlic we used to buy in Chicago came from China; however, it truly never crossed my bleary, "I hate grocery shopping, even though this is probably easier than hunting a woolly mammoth for dinner", mind, to see where the food I eat at an Asian restaurant is made.

By all rights I had to return the food to the store and get my money back, if that was even possible.

I did not return it though. I continued to cook dinner, microwaved the Edamame instead of steaming it and instead fumed about how ridiculous it was to check where everything you want to buy is made.

Dinner was lousy, by the way. There's not much you can do, that I'm aware of, to make freezer burnt shrimp taste, well, even edible. Luke claims it was good but I suspect he was trying to end an earlier argument and was relived that he wasn't the one cooking tonight.

We had Dairy Queen Blizzards for dessert. I don't know where the contents of my blizzard were made and I didn't ask!

I wonder if all Edamame comes from China, or just the store versions. I sure do love to eat it.

Candy Bras

Last month my sister and I went to an adult store in Maine. This may be too much information for some people, but I don't see the big deal, besides, if this is too much information, you've probably skipped a lot of my blog altogether!

At any rate, I rarely say anything positive about my miserable existence in Chicago, BUT, that frozen tundra has terrific adult stores (my favorites include Tulip and The Pleasure Chest, if you are curious.)

Condom Sense has a catchy name, an ok website, and a fabulous location on the cobbled streets of Portland, Maine. They even have a few items made in America, such as the edible, glow in the dark body paint. I was even tempted to replace my long mourned Silver Bullet with a knock -off version that failed to list where it was made (Alas, however, the knock-off versions were missing some key features of the real Silver Bullet and remained in the store).

What most intrigued me about the experience though, aside from the lone salesperson who refused to get off the phone and assist curious, spend happy customers, were the candy bras and underwear.

I've seen these items before our boycott and never purchased them, for practical reasons, of course...they don't look the slightest bit comfortable. If you've never seen a candy bra before, imagine the colorful, Cheerio like candy bracelets you'd get as a kid, the kind on a flimsy string which would sometimes get caught between your teeth as you'd try to bite off your favorite sugary sweet color first. Unfortunately doing this usually resulted in you biting the crappy yellow "bead" next to the one you wanted while simultaneously creating a huge pool of drool careening down your chin and wrist.

Now imagine that same concept turned into a "bra" and, or underwear. Hot huh?

Good thing they are made in China and had to stay in the store. It saved me from trying to think of reasons why pools of sticky drool in "delicate places" were not a good idea! Monistat might like the end result, but I wouldn't!

Shades of Gray?

Hmm, I thought I was finished writing for today, but it turns out to be untrue.

I have a matter I need opinions on....

After taking my nephew for a walk today, we stopped by the local pharmacy to get some insertable notebook dividers, because, presumably, the more organized I am, the smarter I will be and the harder I will work.

Well, it sounds good anyway!

I asked my sister and her husband to pick me up some on the way home, because I wanted more. There is a limit of one per customer and the store manager was not pleased when I said my nephew was a valid customer so that I could buy two.

So, the conundrum is, I never checked to see where the dividers were made. It took me so long to find them and to deter my nephew from wanting the mascara, batteries, ribbons, whatever he saw, that I forgot to check.

Ok, that's not fair to blame a one year old. Fairly often I forget to check where something is made, even after eight months of doing this.

Go figure, they are made in China!

I didn't even have to look very hard to find that out, it was right there in medium sized letters on the front of the package, which I discovered after searching the teeny tiny print on the back of the package, where it usually says the country of origin!

By rules, they should go back to the store.

The catch, because there must be one to keep this interesting, is that the dividers were essentially free. The sale price was a dollar but there was a dollar off coupon in the paper, which, being as cheap as I am, is why I went there in the first damn place. In microscopic print, the coupon said I am responsible for the sales tax. However, due to a computer glitch, my stunning good looks or an oversight on the salesperson's part, both inserts rang up free. Sans sales tax. Free. Maybe it was my nephew's good looks that did it.

So, since I did not pay anything for what I got, is that essentially the same as a gift? A free gift from Brooks?

Hey, welcome to a glimpse of life inside my head, a beautiful, poignant world where even the most ridiculous detail can be analyzed from every painstaking angle!

Thanks for reading. Please leave feedback.

Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!

Well, the accusations in my title might seem redundant, but they do actually refer to three separate, yet lumped together in my blog, incidents of traitorism.

The first incident occurs as a result of my blog on Sunday, July 8th.
Now, I freely admit that it was really crappy of me to wait so long to buy my lover's birthday card. I'm guilty as charged. In fact, I've done a really poor job of getting and giving gifts to anyone all year long. It's like I gave up or just got really friggin' tired of trying to find stuff not made in China, and of the entire gift giving process altogether.

However, I will, with a great degree of arrogance (especially considering the last part of this entry), publicly chastise my lover for posting the following comment on Sunday's blog "It is good to know that you spent so much time on my birthday card! I spent hours in the store, unable to pick which one to purchase. Finally I saw the perfect card, but guess what? It was made in China. So I grabbed the first card I could find that was made elsewhere and purchased it for you."

See, dear reader, this is a lie. This anniversary card not only depicted the two of us as dogs, (yes, the card showed two dogs celebrating their anniversary), it is also made in China. Now, according to the rules of the boycott, Luke must take this card back, even though he claims he did not know where it was made. Too bad, so sad, I said.

I'm really being a brat here. I think it has more to do with getting a card where I am presumably a dog (and a friggin' poodle to boot!!); then it does with being made in China. I thought I had left behind all the nightmares of being called a dog by my loving sisters. It was not the way I wanted to celebrate my anniversary...not that Luke would have known any of this.

Still, there is a part of me which thrills at calling him a traitor. It's really very sad.

The second, and still sad, traitorous incident occurred at Staples.

I had a return to make and thought that I'd by myself a back to school treat of my favorite pencils, because, while much of the world has moved towards taking notes on a laptop or even with the old school pen and paper, I prefer my Ticonderogas.

Yes, they must be Ticonderogas. I can be a label snob. This snobbishness used to be ameliorated by the fact that Ticonderogas are, correction, were, made in America. That justified the price increase in my eyes, especially now.

Much to my horrified eyes, however, I learned that my beloved pencils are now made in America, Mexico and, yup, China!

What the hell? How do I buy them now?

Technically the made in Mexico ones are fine, but how does the company know that I bought the made in America or made in Mexico box versus the made in China ones?
An how the hell can you call them "America's finest pencil" if they aren't even made here?

I worked myself up into such a state of annoyance, rage and disgust that I left the store without returning my return. As petty as it may seem, I am really pissed off that not even my favorite "American pencils" are made in America anymore!

Which brings me to the third traitorous event.

A second trip to Staples, to return the unreturned return, led me back to the pencil aisle. At this particular store, ALL of the Ticonderoga's were made outside of the USA. ALL OF THEM! What the hell happened to the few boxes at the other staples which still depicted the American flag?

I was pissed.

I went for a walk.

I walked into the chair section and sat on every chair under $300. I was looking for a non-made in China chair for my desk at home so I could stop paying my chiropractor for the increasingly awful pain in my lower back. Since I fell last October, it is very difficult and painful for me to sit for long periods of time, which is a problem in our sedentary society.

To make an already lenghty blog shorter, I narrowed it down to two choices, the made in Canada drafting chair, which I did not like, and the red, fake leather executive Sealy brand chair, which also happened to be on clearance for $70. It was comfortable, it is a light red, it's made by a mattress company, the woman next to me encouraged me to buy it and the tag said I saved $100.

What more did I need?

I didn't have to flip the chair over to know where it was made. I had done enough comparison shopping by now. My gut told me it came from China.

I could have looked some more. I could have gone to a flea market/yard sale. I could have bought the made in Canada chair I did not like. I could have continued to see my chiropractor. I could have done a lot of things.

I bought the chair and the extended warranty. I love my chair. I'm comfortable when I sit in it. My back hurts less.

I am a traitor.

Guess I can't chastise Luke as much anymore, now that I have a more comfortable ass and back.

So Much to Blog About

Good grief, it's been over a month since I last wrote anything (well, anything not related to school anyway!) and now I sound like a Charlie Brown character! Who says good grief anyway?

My lack of writing is not because I lack things to blog about, not by far!

I haven't written because even though I dream about my blog, compose entries in my head throughout the day and even respond (in my head) to imaginary postings from faithful readers, I am scared.

I find myself in long periods of fear induced paralysis, which usually hits me after I've received two or more new postings, especially when they are from people I've never met.

Writing in your head is so much less terrifying than actually putting something out in this great Internet vortex and waiting, gnawing on nails, or on your partner if they happen to be around, to see what people's reactions are...if there are any reactions at all!

I'm fighting off another bout of paralysis now, because there are things I want to say and once you say them you can't take them back. That's disconcerting!

I am trying to use the knowledge that my nephew is upstairs asleep, for about another half hour, to motivate me to blog about traitors, birthday shopping, hypocritical patriotism, a new kind of callousness, adult stores and other fun topics.

Let's see how far I get. Let's see if I have any readers left!

(As an aside, I never want kids but I'm considering borrowing a nephew or two whenever I need the motivation to write...trying to accomplish anything while they are napping is a rewarding and exhausting feat!)

China is Not the Enemy

Given the nature of this boycott, it may seem absurd to claim that China is not the enemy; however, I wholeheartedly believe this statement to be true.

While I believe that there is value to this boycott and I am concerned with the massive outsourcing of jobs overseas, as well as the quality of goods which we import and consume, and the little bit I understand about our burgeoning trade deficit with China, this boycott has forced me to open my eyes to the fact that our tenuous relationship with China has far deeper roots than mere cheap goods.

I will not even pretend that I know how exactly how this relationship evolved, and yet taking a painful, closer look at my own consumer habits, shows me that I am, in part, a participant in the evolution of the "Made in China" label.

Despite the fact that I have been unemployed for the entire time I have been conducting this boycott, I still manage to consume more, well, crap, than I will ever need. I won't even use some of what I've purchased, but that was almost irrelevant to me when I went shopping.

I am a cheap shopper. Unless it is "urgent", I rarely buy anything that is not on sale. My whole day is better when I am able to buy something I "need" on sale AND I have a coupon for it!

The fact is, three bottle of shampoo, six black tops, ten pairs of jeans and an assortment of high heels I have only because I'm told women wear these awful things, ultimately sit under my bed, in my closet or on the floor until the next thing I buy forces me to find a new home for my old stuff.

I am not alone in this overconsumption. My stuff is a sign that I'm not as broke as I used to be, it's a sign of me, it's a sign of...it's a sign of a lot of things and it is part of the reason jobs in this country are headed overseas, where human beings in poorer countries make the stuff we buy inexpensive enough that we can have disposable everything.

I know my assertion that we all bear a part in the loss of jobs and the inferior quality of the things we buy will not win me many friends, but it is the truth as I see it.

I've tried the "blame big business", "blame the politicians", "blame the Chinese", "blame everyone but me" game and I just can't do it any longer.

Yes, there is a great deal of truth to the outrage that our government should have better regulations in place. Yes, it is true that big business is making ridiculous profits off of cheaper international labor, without passing the money on to the consumer. Yes, it is true that there are Chinese workers who work for a fraction of what most Americans are willing to work for.

These claims all have truth to them, but they also avoid the truth that at the end of the day, we are the consumers and we are the ones who are ultimately responsible for what we buy and how we use our money.

This boycott has been a far larger pain in my ass than I ever imagined it would be. It has frustrated me, caused fights, infuriated me, helped me feel alienated from people, even brought me to tears and yet the fact remains that I "need" very little of what I continue to buy and that there has always been other options for the things I "could not buy."

The fact remains that all over the world human beings like myself slave away in conditions I would never subject myself to, in order to bring me more and more crap at lower and lower prices so it can temporarily fill some void, some need in my life.