Ken Harrison 6:41 p.m., Dec. 12
Going out on a limb and saying that the following thingy is definitely among the Top 5 Most Useless Things on Craigslist:
Seriously, who needs a four-inch-long ceramic shoe? What are the potential uses for such an ersatz antique? I can think of none. Though, it puts me in mind of shoes and how badly I would like to own the following:
Got to love the color, "Brown Rage." You won't like me when I'm angry and wearing my boots! In my motorcycling days (which, hopefully, will come again) I would have killed for a nice pair of harness boots--perfect for kicking shifters and protecting your ankles in the event of a wipeout. Speaking of motorcycles:
Totally rad bike. Look at those knobby tires and rubber-booted fork stanchions. Illest of the ill, in terms of vintage, Brit motorcycles. I could so bomb around on that, in style and with pride. It'd be cool as a nicely restored vintage machine or as an old-school bobber. Damn, sometimes I miss having a moto to tear up the highways and byways with--such an epic way to get around. I live without motor these days for numerous reasons (not burning gas, not having money, staying fit, not sitting in traffic, etc.) but I can't deny my deep love of motorcycles. They're just so fun.
You'll notice that I've been trying to segue from ad-to-ad, summoning some sort of theme from the ether. Until this point, I was doing fairly well, but the connection seems to be evaporating as I try to work the next (and my pick for the day's best) ad into the mix. It just doesn't seem to follow, so I'll throw it out there and abandon the theme:
It's like a Build Your Own Waiting Room Kit. You could set the Nice Red Chairs up in your living room, put on a little Muzak, stock up on back issues of "Better Homes and Gardens," "Parenting", and "Bon Appetit," maybe a little "Newsweek" if it feels right and the opportunity presents itself. Then tell all your friends to make appointments so they can come by and sit around while your hired receptionist takes calls in hushed tones and repeats the phrase, "just take a seat, the doctor will be with you in a few minutes" over and over and over and over again until it takes on the properties of a mantra, as if the phrase began to vibrate in harmony with the primal thrum and buzz of the universe, synchronized with the the whirr, click, hum, and clack of Everything and Anything. The sitting parties begin to move in stereo, pushing and pulling the very air around themselves until things settle into the groove and rhythm of eternity, playing the neverending symphony of silent concordance.