Watching storms start to form over America

[sovay]

Today I paid my taxes and buried my umbrella. It was free from the World Wildlife Foundation, but I expected it to last more than a month. Having already cracked from the stress of the wind on my way to the post office, it snapped in half and blew inside out as I walked back from my dentist's appointment. After that it was a beautiful piece of conceptual art and absolutely no use at keeping off the rain: I gave it a state funeral in the trash can outside the Au Bon Pain on Cambridge Street. It had a wooden shaft, black metal struts, and a blue-and-white design of pandas. I felt bad for the pandas, but I think "decorative" is the least endangered species. I am told it's going to snow tonight.

ALL RIGHT, NEW ENGLAND, YOU CAN STOP NOW.

Comments

[nineweaving.livejournal.com]

I preserved my umbrella by the simple expedient of downfurling it and getting soaked. The longest-lasting umbrella I ever had was the cheapest and ugliest: a seventies atrocity ringed in chartreuse, Tang orange, electric violet, and hippo-shit brown. Had that for over 30 years. Couldn't lose it, couldn't break it, couldn't wear it out. Until one day, I opened it and every rib and joint and strut in it disarticulated, and it fell apart, like the Deacon's masterpiece.

The nice ones go first.

Nine

[sovay]

Until one day, I opened it and every rib and joint and strut in it disarticulated, and it fell apart, like the Deacon's masterpiece.

The greatest umbrella story of my personal experience belongs to a high school friend of mine named Steve, who was part of the concert choir and jazz band's trip to England and France in April 1999. It rained a lot on that trip. Steve's umbrella began to die in Rouen. Struts caved in. Panels began to flap. Two days later in Paris it gave up the ghost while a group of us were out walking—in the rain, naturally—necessitating Steve to dash out of sight to replace it. He returned with a gigantic montrosity in pastel pink and purple flowers which almost labeled itself in superfluous neon, "Hello, I was the first umbrella in sight."

It kept him dry for the rest of the trip, though. So it was cool.

[nineweaving.livejournal.com]

"Hello, I was the first umbrella in sight."

Awww. They met cute.

Nine