The Grab Bag
Bags gotta be grabbin
When I was a kid visiting my grandparents in the summer, they used to take us to this restaurant/lounge called Landers. It was a “get all fancied up” kind of place, which we did not really have where we lived unless you counted putting on khakis to go to the Chinese restaurant. A night out at Landers thrilled me for a few reasons. For one, it meant that I got to wear a dress. I was one of those little girls who loved poofy-frilly-skirty-balloony dresses; the shinier and more likely the material could spontaneously burst into flame, the better. My years trying to look like a living doll lasted from about age four to age seven when I grew out of those types of dresses and was compelled by the tyranny of girl culture to put together something called an OUTFIT that reflected one’s STYLE, both of which the other girls had. I did not. I still don’t.
The other thing I loved about Landers was the gift shop. The owners of the restaurant were a Lebanese family. After stuffing ourselves on lamb, rice, and other kabob type dishes, the grownups lumbered out of the dining room to stand around in the lobby trying to inconspicuously adjust their belts. Meanwhile, my brother and I, hopped up on our allotted three Shirley Temples (extra cherries, please), made a beeline for the gift shop.
The shop had things like jewelry, glassware, commemorative spoons, porcelain figurines, embroidered pillows, and postcards. In retrospect I see how weird it was for a non-themed type restaurant to have a gift shop. Like you had such an amazing meal there that you felt like you needed something to commemorate the experience and that something was a figurine of a frog sitting on a log with a fishing pole in its hand?
My grandmother also loved to wander and poke around the store. My brother and I tried to time it so that the three of us “happened” to be in there at the same time. This was key. On a good night, my grandmother would have been feeling her third Manhattan just enough to be amenable to buying us something off the shelf. That’s how I scored a super sweet music box that played “Music Box Dancer.” Does it get any more peak 70s than that? But usually she let us pick out our own grab bags.
They kept a big wicker basket by the register filled with brown paper bags tied up with different colored ribbons. Choose any one for a dollar and marvel at the mystery prizes inside! Pencil sharpeners and scented erasers; little plastic change purses, sticker sheets; sometimes there might be a miniature jigsaw puzzle or a package of rubber fish (I DON’T KNOW!). Of course it was leftovers of whatever didn’t sell in the store, but to us it could have been a sack of pirate’s gold. Children of the 80s were easily pleased, placated by stuff like balsa wood airplanes that broke when you tried to put them together and jars of sand. We were not evolved, but we were inventive.
The grab bag is the greatest invention since radar. I will not be taking questions at this time. It is the easiest, most low risk way to channel the thrill of surprise. It stokes discovery and feeds curiosity. The grab bag makes your imagination fire on all cylinders: What could it be this time? Maybe something awesome or so dopey it is hilarious and oddly cool! And I realize I am deeply overthinking and overselling this whole situation, but for me the grab bag is like having a teenie-weenie adventure. What you end up with only you can determine. What you make of any of it is up to you. See also: LIFE.
This week I’m test driving my own version of The Grab Bag here as a feature I’m thinking of incorporating in the new year. I’ve been inspired by people like Eric Pierce, Austin Kleon, Beth Lisogorsky, Kevin Alexander who include periodic round-ups and short recs., and other types of odds and ends in their work. They’re all thoughtful, interesting creatives who consistently bring substance to any topic. I always come away from their work with something new to think about, read, watch, or listen to, and I feel like I know the person behind the page just a bit more. And I really like the idea of having a spot to share random items that caught my attention and I want to talk about, but maybe don’t make a full meal.
So fix yourself a Manhattan OR a Shirley Temple (extra cherries required) and let’s grab them bags!
Somebody Somewhere: I am powerless to resist a show that rips out your heart Kali Ma-style while somehow managing to get you to scoop up the pulpy mess, hand it back over and go “Again, please.” Thanks Somebody Somewhere! The show follows Sam (Bridget Everett), a 40-something, who has come back to her hometown in Kansas to care for her dying sister. The series begins with her sister already passed, leaving Sam to navigate family relationships, friendships, and her own inner-challenges. I realize the description makes it sound like a feature from a 90s women’s magazine. Believe me, it doesn’t come close to capturing Somebody’s gorgeous beauty, tender humanity, and weapons-grade level of comedy. Quiet reckonings is the best phrase I have for this series that will stick to your ribs if you let it. I see it was passed over for any Golden Globe nods. As the pretty woman said: “Big mistake. Huge.”
The Name of This Band is R.E.M. (band biography by Peter Ames Carlin): I am not an R.E.M purist. I came to them in the late-80s/early-90s via Lifes Rich Pageant because, yes, fine, there was a BOY who I LOVED and who LOVED R.E.M and so by the Teen Crush Transitive Property I MUST LOVE YOUR BAND. Whatever. It worked out. Not with the BOY, but the music stayed and that’s probably the better deal anyway. The Name of This Band is a great read. I knew very little about the legendary music group from Athens, Georgia even as I followed their music more closely. Carlin is a lyrical writer who makes the music come alive through the text. The evolution of the band is interesting, but what fascinated me was their work ethic. R.E.M truly made music on their own terms in a startlingly democratic fashion. They chased sounds, techniques, moods, and ideas that primarily interested them without compromising for a label or market. Reading this book also sent me running back to their albums, many of which I hadn’t listened to in decades. They hold up sonically and artistically. I think R.E.M is an important historical echo to pay attention to in our present chaotic times.
In the news: N.H. capital includes Satanists in Nativity scene to ‘avoid litigation’
Town officials in Concord, New Hampshire have allowed The Satanic Temple (TST) to “join their nativity scene” on the city plaza. The decision was made after facing the threat of litigation and being forced to ban all forms of religious display. Members of the TST installed a statue on the plaza of Baphomet: a deity of the religion that looks like a goat crossed with an irate telemarketer. Baphomet wears a purple stole and has yellow eyes (so help me, yellow eyes!). They also included a tablet inscribed with the TST’s seven fundamental tenets that lasted for about 15 seconds before being vandalized. I feel like the spirit of George Carlin is speaking to us through this news story and would have something very smart and cutting to say politically as well as in terms of religion. I, sir, am no George Carlin. I support freedom of religion as well as the separation between church and state. But I will say this:
To the TST: consider that the resistance here may be doing you a favor. Look what’s already happened to this holiday season. Do you really want to wind up with the total commercialization of Baphomet? Do you want to see chocolate Bapho Balls on the shelf as early as September? Think about having to suffer through days of hearing songs like “The Twelve Unholy Curses of Baphomet” covered by people like Jason Aldean and Mariah Carey. Not to mention the pressure to go all out and decorate so your house is really Baphomet-ready. And don’t think you can get away with repurposing your Halloween skulls and mechanical bubbling cauldrons. People will know and the neighbors will talk. In conclusion: TST: take the unintended win. Everyone else: keep in mind that you can’t spell SANTA without SATAN.
Lastly…a Leeetle Lens Zen!
I love sharing my photographs, but still can’t quite figure out where they work best. INTO THE BAG WITH YOU!
Winter can be a total wang, but the early morning colors and hues have been a bit unreal. Signs of the Rapture (Maybe. Also: I volunteer as tribute!) or Mother Nature rewarding the early morning fools. Either way—I’ll take it!
Beautiful piece. I'm there with the virtual hug for "Somebody Somewhere." That ending, thee stirring rendition of Miley Cyrus's "The Climb," is so well done. I read that the writers and producers always had that song and that moment pinned for the show's finale. I thought that was cool. Also, Everett has performed that song many times, so it's sort of like her favorite. The Brad interaction was so fun.
First, thank you for the kind words! I really apprciate that, and am glad you find what I share interesting.
There are two invioable truths in this article. First: the magic of the grab bag. The record store I go to here sells "mystery bags," which is really just a fantastic rebranding of "records we can't sell." You never know what you're gonna get, and there has never been a time when I don't walk out with at least one of 'em. Greatest invention since radar? Yes.
Second is the Teen Crush Transitive Property. Newton probably talked about this at some point. I'm not saying this law caused me to pick up several R & B records in the early 90s, but I'm not NOT sayin' it, either. That R.E.M. book sounds fantastic.