American Fez

As the leaves make their final farewells to the trees, I also bid adieu to Cedar Street. I was watching the world from my window when I made the decision to depart. There has to be a room with a better view than this, I told myself; a superior rectangle of world somewhere else that's more inspiring that this present portrait of quotidian ennui.  Perhaps it was just the net curtain irritating my face again, but I knew it was time to move on. Just take a look for yourself: Commuter traffic struggles over the speed bumps in the street. The mailman shuffles down the sidewalk with his burden of unwanted consumer catalogs and credit card bills. Screaming children are dragged to school by exhausted parents. A homeless man collapses on the curb wondering where it all went wrong. All the neighborhood front and back yards have been paved over, so the early bird can catch no worm, fluttering aimlessly from wire to wire instead. And in the nooks and crannies of the cul-de-sac, a stray dog that...

I never understood why the protagonist in 'Eat, Pray, Love' traveled to three different countries to sample food, transcendence, and romance. Elizabeth Gilbert could easily have experienced all three in Naples and saved on her airfare.  After all, Napoli, besides being the home of pizza, is also a city of many fascinating churches and Sophia Loren. Its centro storico is quite different than the lungomare or the affluent neighborhood of Chiaia, so Elizabeth could at least feel like she was visiting three different environments despite remaining within the confines of the capital of Campania. But I would never presume to find fault with the logic of an international bestseller (although such editorial changes would certainly have reduced the budget of the movie adaptation). In fact, with enough ITA Airways air miles, a smart person could Eat, Pray, Love for free in Napoli. Well, the pizza would be about ten euros or so. Entering the Duomo is free but you'd surely leave a do...

You may notice the appearance of American Fez has changed. It is not as debonair as it once was; it's dressed down now and not as polished or well-groomed as previously. All its former 'sprezzatura' has been eliminated in favor of simple, utilitarian presentation. Suffice it say, the American Fez is no longer turning heads at Design Central. In fact, this poor blog would probably be unceremoniously ejected from Design Central and its membership card ripped into tiny pieces. This unfortunate tate of affairs occurs because I've been forced to switch blogging platforms from fashion-conscious Typepad to sweatpant-clad Blogger. So not only have I been required to swap my glad rags for plain old rags, I've also had to mess around with the so-called Domain Mapping (which is like trying to learn to tie your shoelaces with your teeth). Consequently, I'm not ever sure if loyal readers can even find me and my nonsense anymore. So if you are legacy reader from bygone days...

Life is a supermarket featuring maze-like aisles stocked with a variety of different experiences: some fresh and organic, many often frozen TV dinners, and a lot canned in gooey syrup. You'll need help getting what you want down from the top shelf, and you'll find yourself put in the awkward position of asking a sullen stranger with a name tag if there's more of it stored out back. Don't forget your discount coupons and loyalty cards when you go shopping. And it's best to make a list before you visit, although that's impossible unless you've been reincarnated. So how did you end up pushing the shopping cart with the broken wheel? Difficult to maneuver and causing obstructions in the personal care section. Perhaps you should have just taken a basket instead? After all, you only came in to pick up a few things. The basics. At least that's what you told yourself. So much for the Ten Items Or Less lane idea. Ah well, you'll just have to wait in the long...

If there were dreams to sell, what would you buy? Thomas Lovell Beddoes would be as forgotten as me had he not asked this question. Of course, I was never remembered in the first place, as I only shopped for dreams in Life's bargain bins, always searching for cut-price reveries in Ambition's clearance aisle. And I got what I paid for, oh yes, just look upon my works and despair. I'd ask for my money back but there's always a 'no refunds' policy for cheap dreams and customer service is non-existent. Alas, most everyone's dreams are Made In China these days; knock-offs of the real thing; fake fur concealed inside a cubic zirconia. I suppose that's enough for most people: the illusion of good living, the chain-clanking phantom of happiness that's the same as a real ghost except it can only walk into walls and not through them. This is the endgame of a world in which we've all become well aware that we can't have nice things anymore, so why...

The sun rises like a well-rehearsed after-dinner speaker, clearing its throat of clouds before reciting the events of the day in a bright but sententious beam of a voice, making sure its rays project all the way to those slumped at the ends of the Earth. Acknowledgement and appreciation of the previous night's PowerPoint presentation of shooting stars is made, followed by polite jokes to put the atmosphere at ease, then many warm words of wisdom are spoken and the audience is baked with light. I usually find a seat back in Row Y because I'll burn if I get to close to the stage. Sometimes I listen to what the sun says but all too often I'm just checking my phone or hoping we'll take a break to find some shade. After all, the sun will loudly pontificate all day and its shadows can be very long indeed, especially when you're not in the mood for hot air. Let's not forget, my pale skin and moon face mean I'm an SPF 80 kind of guy. Only happy when it rains, as th...