In an effort to buy nothing on our Western consumerist ritual Black Friday, I succeeded, save one small purchase: a York peppermint patty. In my defense, the acquisition of such divinity was hardly a gross deviation from normal purchasing habits, and I was most certainly not taking advantage of any holiday sale.
Claiming innocence, your honor.
Stay with me, the York is related. This purchase reminded me of a quirky commercial, where immobile geriatrics bite into peppermint candy only to be instantly whisked away into a winter wonderland, luging downhill. On this day, I had similar hopes of immediate escape. In the midst of our frenetic buying bonanza Black Friday, I wished to sneak out the back alley, to finger dark corners of a wardrobe looking for alternatives, to go some place distant from this bloated celebration of material—of cheap, disposable toys arriving from invisible shores, feeding our growing affinity for distorted pricetags.
I wished to shoot the luge.