12.1.2009

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I'm making another bag of popcorn. Don't judge me.

My job has me helping people find clothes that fit them and that they love. A personal shopper if you will, and you must because that is my official name. I am also responsible for having in-store events where small and large groups come in and spend their money. Tonight we have some folks coming in, and they're looking for clothes that are interview appropriate.

We were told to dress business casual. I completely understand what that means, I used to be an office plebe. I would spice it up by sometimes throwing on some Jack Purcells with my wool pants. But I also understand how to dress for interviews because I have had both interviews and got jobs from these interviews. I was instructed by the lady who dresses our mannequins that I might not want to wear my slim pants. As she said this, she looked down at my pants and added, "No denim either."

I wasn't sure how to take this. Most people appreciate my sartorial choices. I also feel like we all express ourselves through our clothes, and I sort of refuse to feed into white men's conventions of workplace dressing. I didn't say any of this. Instead I said, "Oh ok. What should I wear?" Little did I know, this question would send me into a tailspin that would plague me the rest of the day.

Generally, I feel confident when I get dressed. And clearly, someone else does too if they hired me to outfit people for a living, right? Something about what this lady said made me feel a little out of it, like "Do I really know what business casual means? Do I actually have clothes that would reflect this?" To me, I don't think about calling a style of dressing anything other than "Look fly". I would say that is my style mantra. I'm not trying to do "cocktail casual," "white tie," or "southern gentleman chic".

Ok, so I decided that maybe I should get some pants that are not so skinny. I don't do the kind of pants that are more like leggings or running tights, but I do have a number of skinny pants. Interestingly enough, I have been considering filtering in a few more slim but not skinny styles back into my repertoire so I saw this as an opportunity to get something new that clearly reflected something missing from my wardrobe. And we got these new navy chinos in last week, and there was only one pair in my size.

Clearly, those pants were mine. But then I figured since I was sort of doing some shopping that maybe I should take advantage of my discount and get a shirt or two. This is where it got a little insane. I thought I wanted one shirt, then I found this other one. Then I thought maybe I only want one, then I thought well you need to treat yourself sometime, you've been working hard. Then I thought, well I don't really need any of these shirts and then I put them back. Then I grabbed them again and went to the register.

I was not done wavering. Not having a job will really make you question what you spend your money on. I really enjoy eating and paying my bills, so it makes sense that that is where my money has gone the past few months. I stood there at the register for a few more minutes deciding whether I needed all of this or none of this. I waited for it all to get rung up to decide that I only wanted the pants. That was fair, I really do have quite a few shirts and these new ones I was thinking about are mere clones of things I already own. Then the idea popped into my head that maybe I should go check out the Polo kids section at a department store and see if I could get some kind of deal. I had some money burning a hole in my pocket, and it was starting to hurt. Hurt bad.

The kids section clearly speaks my language. After buying the children's t-shirt a few months ago, I was convinced that maybe I could fit back into kid sizes again. Why not save myself a few bucks and get a better fit? What didn't seem to click is that it still costs money to buy clothes, whether they are for children or not. I feel like that thought didn't enter my head because I was still reeling a little from that weird interaction with the lady that made me feel like a frump or something.

I found one shirt that I loved, I tried it on and bought it. I walked around a little more, in a sort of daze kind of like, "Um, what the fuck is going on!?" This happened another time when I was pulling into a parking place and I was feeling a little sleepy. There was something about the intoxicating feeling of the heat in my car and the fact that I was real sleepy that had me end up running into the car next to the spot I wanted to park in. Here, that intoxicating feeling made me buy this child's size shirt. I will say that it did fit, but that is beside the point.

When I made it out into the parking lot, but before I got into the car and hit anything, I decided to just take the shirt back. I do not need any more clothes and I did not get that good of a deal. I told the guy that I found something else. It was the same guy who rang me up just minutes before. He seemed so sad, both times. He was working all alone, and then to have one of your few sales result in a return would make me sad, too.

What may be so weird about all of this is that every day I tell people, "You should really treat yourself. Get yourself something!" And when it comes to buying things for myself, I am becoming a bit of a scrooge, when I was once Imelda Marcos. Or maybe Michael Jackson. It does have me wondering if this is a sign that I will one day end up on What Not To Wear, like all those women who dress crazy and who don't buy things for themselves, or take care of themselves. I still bathe and regularly get a haircut! And I still have clothes that look good. I won't end up on that show, will I?

No. It's just really hot in here and I need nap.

Hope you are well.

Jon

11.24.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

A couple things. First, I just ate a bag of popcorn. I should not eat corn. But it was calling me, especially after reading this article. If you read it it should not make sense why I ate the popcorn. But I love that stuff, and it does not love me. I need to throw out the other bag.

I recently downloaded the T-Pain app for my phone. Having never been a real fan of his (I did try to love "In Love With A Stripper" but I hate strippers), I was intrigued by the autotune part of the program. We've been having fun recording impromptu songs about the dogs or making rice--all over original beats provided by T-Pain. I have since tried to record other original songs, including love songs and ballads and today, rap.

First, I just started singing into the phone, something to the tune of "Tea for Two". That did not sound like a hit in the making, so I proceeded to check out the original T-Pain songs that came with the program. But before I did this I recorded the first verse of Salt-n-Pepa's "Shoop". Apparently I did not need the autotune there because there were no effects on the recording, which really takes all the fun out of it! The program includes his hits "Stipper" and some other random joints. I picked "Stripper" to try. I used the intro to just say "Yeah yeah You haven't heard it like this before" a couple times. The words were coming up on the screen, but I couldn't bring myself to talk to some lady about her thighs, and I couldn't keep up. At all.

Then the verse started. I know it seems like this is a bit of a slow song, but the verses are very quick, don't make sense, and don't rhyme. They are basically him just kind of talking fast, but not in a rap kind of way, just in a weird way. I could not keep up so I ended up doing some jazz runs and some scat-style vocal noises. Needless to say, I did not make a very convincing cover of "In Love With A Stripper".

It seems like nearly anyone these days can just crank out a hit about anything. Maybe I'm just stifling myself and my creativity. The song about rice was kind of hot. But I am no T-Pain.

Jon

11.5.2009

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I have spent the last month entirely ignoring writing. I've realized that over the course of my life there have been times that I go completely under the radar, I go underground. You won't hear from me for between four and six weeks unless you call me. For some reason, I don't respond to emails or voicemails, I don't call anyone, either. Most of the time these weird periods are probably prompted by something, I couldn't tell you what, though.

In early August I got fired. It was both the most incredible thing and the most shaming thing to happen. I was excited because my job had grown stale, and my full growth had been reached, and sometimes I need a swift kick to the pants to get my shit together and get moving. But being fired also made me feel real bad. It was like all the possible negative things I thought about myself were true. I did the whole DABDA grief thing--denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance (this is where my degree in psychology comes into play). And now I'm back.

As it turns out, the place where I worked before loved me, as have all the other places I've ever worked. They took me back immediately. So during the past few weeks, I've been working hard and doing it BIG. I've been listening to a lot of Whitney and Janet--and not just new stuff. I've been taking it way back, to "Whitney" and "janet." I have found myself thinking to myself, "Geez. Music was so good back then. What has happened!?" I think my coot-ish tendencies are beginning to emerge. Okay, some of them are not new. Just the other night we were folding sheets and I said, "This is how we do it. Like this!" And I was only half-joking. I like to think I'm pretty laid back about many a thing, but there are some things, like the folding of things, where I get a little crazy. We all have our something.

This past weekend we had a great time in San Francisco. I saw our friends Laura and Maura, who are always fourteen barrels of laughs. Both my abs and my cheeks were sore from all the laughing. When we got there, we skipped the hotel and went immediately to dinner. Seeing them sitting there at the bar, as we walked by, was so exciting! We hadn't seen each other since May or so, and it was just like no time had happened. None of us are from San Fran, so we were all kind of crazy being in this new place. But all of us getting together, I think, brought us all a sort of gravity that allowed us to feel comfortable in this weird place.

I realized that I may be staunchly East Coast. Sorry Snoop. San Francisco is a beautiful city, no doubt. But at the same time, I'm a little like "What does it have that I can't get without a seven hour plane ride?" What it had was Maura and Laura, and we will go anywhere for them!

As I'm writing this, I am feeling a little like I don't know where this is going. I should go get ready, get this day moving. Don't expect the next break to be as long as the last one. For reals.

Adios por ahora.

Jon

9.28.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I am sitting here watching "Dancing With The Stars". I haven't really watched it before, except for a few times in grad school when I would be stuffing my face with spaghetti and needed something for my eyes to do while my belly did all the work. I get the appeal--clearly, we love watching people compete in things like singing, dancing, modeling, being a tool. I need to now reroute where this was going to go--I must admit I am really into the routine Melissa Joan Hart just did. I have sort of loved her since we only knew her as Clarissa.

Remember when she got all fat and had babies or something? Or when she appeared in that Britney Spear's video "Crazy"? I wonder if she has had some kind of relationship with Britney, through all the shaved heads and umbrella attacks. Wouldn't that be something if Ms. Joan Hart and "Crazy" had become and stayed friends? If so, I hope she was involved in the intervention process. Maybe she would pull some tricks from her Sabrina sleeves, using the cat or something to tear Jayden and Brayden, or whatever the other kid's name is, away while distracting Britney while daddy Jamie took them to a safe house. Who knows. It's weird that both of these women, who were sort of at the top of their respective games a good ten years ago, continue to be within the range of some sort of celebrity. I guess all it takes is a couple dozen donuts and the ability to dance, which begs the question: why am I not a celebrity!?

I have been so tired lately. I drank a diet Mountain Dew a couple hours ago and I am so sleepy! It's so interesting to me when I tell folks that our drank of choice is diet Mountain Dew. They judge and judge. But it tastes so good! And it's less harmful that coffee, I think. We once tried to purple kind, Ultraviolet. It comes out purple, and the carbonated part is blue. It's so crazy. That did kind of make me question the life choices I was making at the time, but then I just chug-a-lugged and I was over it. I bet that one has a lot of chemicals in it, though.

Just wanted to drop a quick note. I hope you are well, especially after Jenny Slate said fuck on last week's Saturday Night Live. I hope that gets you guys at least a few more viewers after Justin Timberlake crazy takeover last season. By the way, can we do something about him appearing this season? Like maybe not have him appear. That new haircut does nothing for me other than remind me of his "Bye Bye Bye" days. And I'll admit, "No Strings Attached" is N'Sync's masterpiece. But his hair was not. See what Lorne can do.

Jon

9.23.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Clearly, I've been gone for a minute. I haven't really been doing much lately, but my creative juices have been a little stagnant it seems. What's weird is that my social calendar has exploded over the past two or three weeks; maybe this is where most of my time has gone? I don't know how or why this has happened because all my friends are in grad school, so shouldn't they be doing work or something? Not that I'm at all complaining. In fact, I love it. When your friends get all bogged down in work, you don't get to see them often. So I am trying to take maximum advantage of their availability.

Another weird thing that has taken place happened last week. For some reason I decided I needed to hear some Toni Braxton. So I had a Toni Braxton music festival for a couple hours. It is striking to hear how her voice has changed since she first diva'd onto the scene. Where she once sang for real for real, over time she has taken to just sort of gutturally groaning. Because she was never one of my main ladies, despite my owning of most of her albums, I don't really care that her voice has changed. I do care about that weird disease or condition she came down with in the recent past that caused her to cancel some of her Las Vegas stint. I mean, I want no one to fall ill. I don't really know what else to say other than the music festival was a little random because, hello, who even knows Toni Braxton's name these days. Apparently I do.

We are in the middle of Fashion Month, with New York wrapping last week and London finishing yesterday. I am considering adding some fashion commentary here because let's face it--it is one of my obsessions. You already know about Whitney and Janet, and probably already know about my obsession with bathrooms. We will see. I also have a mildly-ironic, but mostly not obsession with Gloria Estefan, as in I cannot listen to "Coming Out of the Dark" without crying a little as I think about that bus accident she had in the late 80s that almost killed her. That woman is a survivor. She is no Tina Turner, but Mrs. E has seen it and come into the light. Despite appearances, my feelings toward Gloria are no where near the height of my feelings for these other things. And I talk about her often.

Geez, my biggest obsession right now is probably Kim Zolciak's "Tardy for the Party." I am not even only ironically interested in this song, I am honestly into it. It is a jam, as in the kind of jam that I also sincerely enjoyed like "Mambo #5" and Marky Mark's "Good Vibrations". I realize these songs are all kind of dumb, and maybe even a little weird, but geez-oh-pete, they get thangs moving and swaying and the next thing I know I am late getting somewhere because I had to take a shower because I got too sweaty dancing around the house. Anyway, this song is hott and I think you would be hard pressed to think otherwise. At least it's no "Tightrope".

I guess that's all I have to say. I'll try to write back sooner.

Jon

9.14.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

The following is a list of questions currently plaguing my brain:

1. I was listening to some Toni Braxton today, and all I could think about was trying to figure out what happened to her. She started out with such a nice voice, good songs, she titillated us with "He's Making Me High," made our hearts cry with "Un-Break My Heart." And then she kind of decided to only wear bras and panties and sort of growl. So what happened to Toni Braxton?

2. My friend Harry sent me this link to this bizarre video of Tyra Banks. Why won't she answer any questions about why Twiggy and Paulina left? Set. The. Record. Straight. Please. Also, her new "natural" hair is a nice look. I think that in this video, the new hair allows us to see her brain working, because the look on her face is one that somebody may make when they have shit themselves. I don't know this from experience.

That's all I got right now. Despite all this "free time," I can't manage to write you. I will be back asap, promise.

Jon

Oh, P.S.
I watched Whitney's interview on Oprah today. It was both revelatory and insane. I laughed out loud several times, nervous laughter though. It was almost too real. But I've been in a Whitney mood since then. So I made a playlist. The following is a warning: the bass on "My Love Is Your Love" is intense, so make sure you turn it down when you're jamming. Okay. I'm Out.

8.29.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I don't know about you, but I am kind of a fashion nerd. I know obscure facts about designers, I read about a thousand magazines a month, and my new obsession is reading fashion blogs written by eighth graders. It's insane that these children are taking to the internet with their own fashion nerd-dom and getting some hardcore press about it. I am mostly talking about this child, Tavi.

She is insightful and interesting in ways that I know I wasn't when I was her age. It blows my mind. But it does all make me feel better about being obsessed with things that so many other people make fun of or simply hate. But I will tell you, like that scene involving cerulean blue in "The Devil Wears Prada," we are all affected by fashion.

The Gap has been struggling the past few years to find their voice in today's market. Are they going to be a place where you can find more affordable knock-offs of runway clothes, or are they going to return to their root of denim and chinos and tees. I still don't know if they know. But the current campaign featuring all their new fits of denim got me a little excited. I will say, The Gap was my first taste of fashion. I bought this crazy plaid old man jacket than I subsequently returned because I didn't think it was wholly appropriate to wear in seventh grade. And I was a little afraid of being beat up for wearing it. But nonetheless, I needed more and more.

I've always kind of supported The Gap because they do have great things. There was a while there where I wanted everything they had. This was probably ten years ago now. Somewhere along the way, they lost their footing and their taste. It all became cheaply made, yet still kind of cute. But cheaply made. And their prices did not match the quality they were trying to pawn off on us. Then Patrick Robinson came around, maybe two or three years ago, to take over and reimagine the entire brand. This is where all these new fits of jeans come in. He realized that The Gap is all about great basics, so he and his team went back to the drawing board. What resulted is six new fits and styles for women and seven for men. I, naturally, was most interested in the skinny. I would not categorize my style as anything hipster, but I do love some skinny jeans. Thus, I was excited about The Gap finally having a version that was called skinny and actually fit well. They have been trying to sell "skinny" jeans for a couple years now, but they more capably fit Dumbo. Clearly not skinny.

I had been to their webpage to read all about these new jeans. As the September magazines started to arrive, there were little foldouts in every issue, promising that they would have a fit and wash for every. single. person. Awesome. I wanted to know more about the skinny jean, but the website said it was only available in stores. So I went to the store.

After two or three walk-throughs of the sales floor, I could not find anything called skinny jeans. I asked the dude who seemed to work there. Which I should not have had to do. If you are rolling out an entire new denim line and it is being advertised EVERYWHERE, the least you could do is be excited about showing them to me. He was a little sleepy, so I let it slide. "Do you guys have the new skinny jeans?" "No, we don't carry those in stores." "But they just came out this week!? And the website said they would only be available in stores." "I know, I'm sorry. But we have something else you might want to try." "Oh that's cool."

Patrick Robinson. This goes out to you. I wanted to try these jeans, and I probably would have bought them if they were great, and I really wanted them to be. But they weren't there. What are you doing!!?? I was excited about this, I want you to do well. I love jeans. And the fact that I became a little obsessed with these means your marketing is doing its job. But they weren't there.

Maybe this should all just go to show me that sometimes stepping back a little and breathing, maybe not being so obsessed with clothes and such might help. But I really blame this on the marketing scheme. There were videos, and ads, and billboards, and signs. All of that did get me excited. I wanted to support The Gap, and The Man. I love corporations! But I can't do it if there is no product.

I know I addressed this to you, Rachel, but I wonder if some of the world's teenage fashion bloggers might have some insight. I mean, The Gap did it for me when I was their ages. Who knows. I'm going to go sit in my Levi's and stare at the wall.

Jon

8.25.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

There is a haunted mansion in Savannah, GA that is said to be something like the most haunted place in all of the United States. It has been known to cause you pain in your groin, it is so haunted. The real kicker here is that there is a mysterious staircase that appears some times to some people, and not at other times to other people. In fact, even two people viewing it at the same time may only result in one of them seeing this staircase. Such was the case with Ben and his friend Sarah. He saw the staircase.

We were talking about this haunted staircase this evening, and I raised what I feel to be a very valid point--how can a staircase be a ghost? It is not undead. It was not ever alive. How can you or a house be haunted by the ghost staircase? If is it only the ghost staircase that makes this house the most haunted place in America, I am confused as to how exactly it works that this staircase can in fact do hauntings.

I guess I believe in ghosts. There was once this lake we had to swim in at camp, and sometimes I could feel very cold spots when other spots were very warm. Was I experiencing a haunting? I like to think that it was more me experiencing the result of some kind of contamination or the changes in temperature exist because of acid rain or it is a by-product of global warming. But you know how they say ghosts always make the space around them very cold? Maybe I was experiencing a ghost. I would just move to the warm spots because those cold spots made me very uncomfortable.

But I don't know if I can say that water can exist as something "haunted" and then turn around and say that something as un-alive and inanimate as a staircase could not be haunted. I wonder if the staircase moves around at night, all Marley style like "A Christmas Carol". I imagine that would sound like earth quakes, and would in result in a little more than some groin aches. Which brings me to this--THIS STAIRCASE CANNOT BE HAUNTED!

Perhaps there is someone who is haunting this house that moves the staircase back and forth depending on who is doing the leering from the front door. It could operate like those giant staircases they use to get to the top shelves at Staples and Office Depot, maybe it's all on wheels. But that is really giving this haunting thing too much credit. I've already disavowed the theory that that lake from childhood was haunted due to the actuality of it being contaminated by something of some sort. So this staircase also cannot be haunted because it is a staircase. Case closed. Right?

What do you think? Is this worth pursuing? Should I devote some if not all of my current state of free time to researching this phenomenon? Let me know.

Jon

8.20.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Yesterday I saw this lady in the street. We are sort of acquaintances, I suppose. We greet each other. She always talks about how cute our dogs are. Her dog is a bit of a beast, so I don't really say anything. I know neither her name nor her dog's. But we greet each other as if we hang out all the time, or something. She seems nice. We've been living here over a year and I don't feel appropriate asking her her name. Is that bad?

There is a similar situation with a couple down the street. They also have a dog. And this dog loves our beagle. I mean, he is awesome. But this dog loses her shit, lays down in the street or the dirt, gets on her back, and proceeds to attempt to seduce him every time she sees him. I think if dogs had a mating dance that it would look like this. These two ladies are super sweet and they always ask about my job and how things are going, and we exchange that sort of pleasantry. They each have a name, which they have told me. And I even said when this happened, "I was wondering if it was too late to introduce ourselves after we've been greeting each other for so long!" She said no, so it was cool. But that was like five months ago. I know their collective names, but I don't know which name matches which person. Is this bad?

All of this makes me think of what might make me a really bad person. During my sophomore year of college I lived in an on-campus apartment. Looking back, it was no where near as insane as my last two years which I spent on a residence hall, complete with freshman and creepy RAs. But it seemed so weird at the time. I lived with two brothers and a friend of mine. The brothers were okay, they liked to play video games a lot and one ate dinner alone by candle light. And by candle light, I mean a big fat candle with three wicks. But they were nice and put up with my incessant Lil Jon music playing.

My friend decided he was going to do an internship or something, so he would be moving out. He never told me any of this. We might have had a falling out related to my eating of his roasted turkey or when I flipped my shit about someone drinking my orange juice that was actually hidden behind the milk. I may not have been the best roommate, but he could have told me he was leaving! I come back from winter break, knowing my friend is gone, and wondering if we were going to be getting a new roommate. Oh, one weird thing about these apartments is that the rooms were seriously eight-by-eleven. I could reach the computer, fridge, and door all from my bed, which was nice but also a little weird.

We ended up getting a new roommate. He was moving his stuff in, and I greeted him, told him my name, asked if he needed any help moving in. He introduced himself. I didn't really hear what he said because I was distracted by the weird smell coming from one of the brother's cooking in the kitchen, so I was maybe only half-listening. I didn't hear his name. But I felt bad for possibly asking him to repeat it so I just smiled and nodded like I heard him. "Welcome," I said as I turned up my music and settled in.

I did not know this man's name for the entire semester. We would see each other on campus and just do the bro-nod in the other's direction. His name was either Brian, Jeff or Scott. We never hung out or really pretended to be friends. I probably ate his chips, or something. It now seems like this is a bit of a pattern--forming sort-of relationships with veritable strangers that I interact with on a somewhat constant basis, who know who I am, but I don't know who they are. I know all the names of the people I love, and all the names of the Jackson children. But for the life of me, I cannot remember the name of that lady who walks her dog. And she's so nice!

I am convinced there is a point at which it is no longer appropriate to ask for someone's name if you have had interactions with them for an extended period of time. It just feels weird. "Hi lady who I say hello to every morning for the past 365 days. What is your name?" That sounds weird! But she knows my dogs' names! Ack!

Maybe this isn't such a bad thing. I tend to get pretty attached to things when I care about them, so if I keep these people at a distance and they move, or their dogs die, it won't be such a big deal. I don't know. I still feel kind of bad.

Tell me what you think.

Jon

8.11.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I just drank two glasses of Chinese herbs. I am supposed to drink three glasses a day and I already drank one, and it was getting late so I figured I should just do the last two at the same time. Now, I am washing said herbs down with a Miller High Life. I wonder what my acupuncturist would say about all of this.

I have come into a lot of free time recently and I have tried to make the most of it. I have decided that this $1500 bag that I wanted may not be the most responsible purchase, ever. In fact, the entire thought process I had about the purchase of said bag reminds me of a similar pattern of thoughts I had as a kid. Do you remember when everyone had a beeper? I think the technical term was pager, but only doctors and moms called them pagers. Looking back, I am not sure if I completely understand why beepers were so completely pervasive. What exactly was their purpose? I think it was to let the person you are beeping know that they need to call you or maybe get in verbal communication with you in some way. Remember folks who had special codes all worked out with their family or their fifth grade boyfriends? I think it was some pretty serious business.

My mom had a beeper. She wasn't a doctor. She just had one. I think MCI got her a good deal. I remember doing anything I could so that I could just hold it, maybe carry around when we were at the mall, you know, let the clip hang out of my pocket. I had no business with a beeper. I didn't have any friends who needed to get in touch, I was a fifth grader. I was always with my parents, so they didn't need to do anything to find me because, hello, I was right there. But it seemed all the cool kids had beepers. And they had them in cool colors. I remember beeping my friend Naseem from time to time just to see if she would call back.

I wanted a beeper so badly! One day when we were at the mall, I knew it was time. I had been pricing beepers, so I knew how much they cost. But what the world didn't know was that I was so about to fool them. When I was pricing beepers, I was also pricing beeper cases. You know, the actual brightly colored thing the beeper slid into. This is what people recognized if they thought you had a beeper, the case and maybe the clip hanging on the outside of a pocket on your hip. I knew that if I just bought the beeper case then it would look like a full-blown beeper and my place as a cool kid would be cemented.

The thing cost $16, so I saved and saved. I don't remember ever really having lots of cash as a kid, but I remember there was this extremely vague idea that we were to get $1 per week as an allowance. But I don't remember how often that actually happened. All of this is to say I don't know where exactly the money came from, but I had it. I had been preparing for a while now and I knew that I wanted the neon yellow beeper case. My family was down at Pizza Hut. We loved the Book It program because it allowed us to get those awesome personal pan pizzas from the Hut, which for some reason we only ever got at the mall. The beeper store was down near the entrance to the food court.

I begged off standing in line at Pizza Hut saying that I needed to go to the bathroom, which was next to the beeper place. I walked down there. "I want the neon yellow beeper case please."

"Do you know what kind of pager you have?"

"Of course I do, why would I buy a paaager case with no paaaaager?" I replied.

"Ok, that will be $16."

"Fine. I have it all. My mom would not appreciate you treating me like this. In fact, that's her paging me now..."

"Here you go! Enjoy it!"

I was elated. I didn't make it past the Arby's, though, before complete and total buyers remorse overtook my sub-adolescent conscience. I don't really have a beeper! How will I explain to my parents that I spent all that money on a beeper case, only to just have it so that people will think I have a beeper! I did ponder using it to hold gum, as there was a bubblegum beeper they sold at the Media Play. I wanted to buy that one because it made a little more sense for me as I was a child and all, but the clip didn't look right and I don't like fake things!

After a moment or two, I turned right back around and returned to the beeper store, which really was just a counter in a wall that displayed beeper paraphernalia. "My mom said this cost too much. I need to return it for a refund."

That was that. My brush with the beeper case was swift, and for just a second I felt like I could really be going places. But it seemed like the only place I was actually headed was one of those situations where you do something dumb, your parents find out, and then you have to make up some kind of story about why what just happened just happened. I didn't have many friends, so using the one I had made no sense. I couldn't justify this extravagance.

I never got a beeper, but I did carry my mom's for a while after she got her service cut off. This was a few months or maybe years after the fad had passed on from my fifth grade. But I will tell you, there was something a little cool about turning on the vibrate alert and saying, "Oh, that was my friend from Atlanta! I'll be right back!" as I would walk away, laughing to myself.

Talk to you soon.

Jon