Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Sometimes it's okay to spend your money on something stupid. In my case, it's thirty year old die-cast robot toys. Notice the hand painted artwork. It's like a legacy of skill and technique molded into a middle finger and aimed squarely at Adobe. I like to envision the inferred ensuing destruction occurring in the form of several or more decimated city blocks, also painted in oils. Why not? After all, the human race only gets one last stand. Or maybe two.
Yours truly, Steve A., the blase blogger, aka Matt Zen, the guy who goes six months between posts, recently found himself tossed out onto the unemployment line. Not so bad, one might say. Just the final step in the five year career of a dutiful employee working for some rich white guy's tax shelter. But then what happens?
Within two weeks I began to develop an upset stomach. Like, a crazy, audibly gurgling, upset stomach...after all, I'm too old to be kicking about on the dole. It kept getting worse, so two days before my insurance policy expired I decided to make one last trip to the local expedited for-profit medical center to get a prescription. Boy am I glad I didn't!
Not being able to find the place (a new facility,) after several passes, I continued on to the local center of commerce. There, I stopped in at the local vintage toy store (small towns really do have the best,) thinking to discuss pawning off some part of my sizable collection, as well as make good on a previous an offer on a Converters Jumbo Defender. Lo and behold! Sitting on the floor was a pile of vintage robot toys from the era of the Real Robot, an era I hold dear. Change of plans! After examining a few pieces I made my selection and then an offer, finally walking out of the establishment with a few less cares, the least of which being an expensive prescription that I could no more afford in my current state of employment.
Later, after examining and polishing my new treasures, I realized something; the churning stomach that compelled me to head out the door in the first place had subsided. And with each passing day of caring for my new acquisitions, cataloging and filing, my stomach felt better. It is as if the special treat that is tending to ones particular interests is enough to settle an inflammation and agitation that only occurs when dealing with the realities of the world as they manifest themselves outside of ones own self. In short, doing the thing that makes one happy, however ridiculous, is the action that makes one healthy.
I can't explain exactly what it is about 80's Mecha that secures my happiness, but I love talking about and considering it. Now that I'm bounding about as opposed to being bound up, I'm more willing to embrace the notion of following ones bliss, for it is most definitely the correct path for anyone not otherwise "making a good showing" with their pocketbook. Surely there is more written on this subject by wiser men, but here it is experienced to be known.