American Fez

Consumer Unendurables

The Business of America is business, claimed Calvin Coolidge, back when bewhiskered financiers wandered around Wall Street wearing homburg hats and coats with astrakhan collars. Nowadays, of course, the Business of America is importing disposable consumer goods from sweatshop gulags and so-called stock futures are traded by hungover playboys in silk pajamas. But it's all good as long as we don't actually think about it, like so much else in modern life. Just pre-order your must-have plastic garbage now to avoid disappointment later.

Unfortunately, however, there appear to be "supply chain" problems at the moment. Not enough minimum-wage workers to process the minimum-quality products from one place to another. It remains to be seen whether the powers-that-be allow transportation issues to transform Black Friday's shopping bonanza into an economic gray area, but a holiday season not dominated by discount electronics destined for the local landfill, not to mention a fast fashion retail slowdown, would make a welcome change.

Which brings me to Hallowe'en. It never ceases to amaze me how a celebration of the incorporeal has become such a busy marketplace of the material world, almost as if Celtic Twilight has been superseded by Walmart Dawn, or All Saints Eve renamed All Sales Final Eve. The traditional parade of ghouls is now a catwalk of "sexy" witch costumes and Harry Potter lookalikes. Meanwhile, my neighbors have even installed a giant inflatable Frankenstein's monster in their front yard and strung a mass of neon spider's web across a row of bushes. Festive decorations are always nice, obviously, although personally I feel a flickering Jack O'Lantern on the doorstep is all that is required.

I doubt those aforementioned supply chain problems will stop the flood of high-fructose corn syrup that engulfs Halloween every year, either. After all, Willy Wonka doesn't need licensed truck drivers when there are eager child laborers willing to transport his candy bars across town in pumpkin-shaped plastic orange tubs for free. And that is the shady little sideline that the Business of America promotes: encouraging the greedy sugar high of youth that will decay into the chronic credit card debt of adulthood, because America's sales pitch convinces us that cravings should be satisfied even if we can't afford them. As always, the treat is also a trick. Boo! Beware.

Cider With Poesie

I tarried awhile on the bridge, taking pictures of the river in early morning autumn fog, imagining myself a character in the atmospheric opening paragraph of a spy novel, or obscured somewhere deep in the umpteenth verse of a T. S. Eliot poem. "Who is the third who always walks beside you?" It's the gloomy ghost of a street-sweeper, perhaps, forever doomed to wave his spectral broom at swirling leaves. Or maybe it's just a sleepy college student returned from Coronavirus break. I had not thought Intro To Western Civilization had undone so many.

Despite the strong claims of Spring to be the season of renewal and rebirth, I've always felt Autumn is the true time of fresh beginnings, probably because September was the month when school started and year-long leases were signed for new apartments with new friends in new areas of the city. In other words, I associate Autumn with embarking upon great adventures, with a first foot on the road of those picaresque quests that lead to an exciting future. But here I am on the bridge again, neither here nor there, as yet another Autumn floats upstream with the fog. I can't help thinking the apples I picked were already rotten.

Technicolor Dream Raincoat

An overly-enthusiastic shop assistant tries to sell me a new-fangled rain jacket that is so "Hi-Tec" I can't understand how the hood works. There are so many straps, buckles, snaps, zippers, and draw-strings it 's more like a Rube Goldberg machine than a regular anorak.

According to the dictionary-sized sales brochure attached to the jacket's adjustable sleeve, it's possible the inside lining can pull-out and with the help of some pegs and a telescopic pole (not supplied) provide emergency shelter in the form of a portable bivouac. In fact, the pockets are so deep and roomy they can easily contain all your camping equipment and food, making the traditional back-pack and picnic hamper obsolete.

That's great. But will the damn thing keep me dry in a storm? The assistant claims the jacket is so waterproof that some deep-sea divers have even started wearing it instead of a conventional wetsuit when exploring the ocean depths. Indeed, so positive has been the response of the oceanographic community to this jacket, the jacket's manufacturer is currently sponsoring Season Seven of Under Water Mysteries on the Travel Channel.

Okay, fine, I say. But can you explain to me how to put the hood up?

There's a full-length instructional video on YouTube, the assistant replies, featuring slow-motion HD aerial drone footage of how to operate the hood in a series of easy to follow steps. Online chat on the manufacturer's website and twenty-four-hour telephone helplines staffed by a team of certified experts are also available.

In the end, much to the assistant's chagrin, I opt for a much simpler and cheaper jacket. This jacket comes with an ordinary hood you just pulled up over your head when it started raining and pushed back down again when it stopped. Not very fancy but at least I know how it works. And the cheaper jacket is only "water resistant," not "completely waterproof," but seems to offer reasonable protection against the elements should I get caught in an unexpected downpour.

You won't be able to go swimming in that, the assistant says, and you'll need to bring a separate tent if you plan on sleeping in the woods.

I just want to wear it traveling back and forth to the office, I say Mine is an average commute, not a triathlon, and it's a desk job, not a Survivalist course.

The assistant gives me a pitying look, as if I'm missing out on life's great adventure. You only live once, his eyes imply, so you should live each day as an extreme sport. But of course, that is exactly what I do do. Every day I play the extreme sport of trying to be a normal person in this day and age. And it's extremely exhausting, I can tell you.