self portrait tuesday #25 (april fool)

I have been up in the attic, going through boxes, getting ready for The Biggest Yard Sale Ever. a sale I've been talking about having for two years now, that I totally flaked out on having last spring, a sale that desperately needs to happen for many many reasons. the land of junk that resides above our heads is quietly taking over.

and so I came across these skates that I bought four years ago at the thrift store for $3.03 a pair ($3.03 because that's how it goes down at the thrift store-- items randomly priced at $1.59 or $2.29 or $.69, always with the nines and does anyone really know why?) and the skates? tragically, they do not fit. I'm guessing I knew this when I handed them to the cashier. I'm thinking I had big plans for ava and the skates. ava (and a lucky cousin or friend with the right sized feet), who would be the envy of all the neighborhood kids. perhaps I thought they would be able to start a junior roller derby event (the unparalleled coolness of these 'tri-star' skates being the obvious impetus for such a debacle). maybe I envisioned her (and spunky skating partner) taking on the mean girls of the neighborhood. obviously, I was dreaming up reasons to take the skates home with me. they're classic, people. the definition of the word classic. and I'm thinking my eyes probably started to glaze over when I thought back to my elementary and junior high school years-- when roller skating was The Shizz.

but there's no time to sit down and think back, I said this before, I have no time. however, the first thing I do in this situation is stop my flow of work to reminisce. something about having no time and so much to do compels me to procrastinate wildly. and by procrastinate wildly, I mean stop everything and try to squeeze my feet into found skates. and then spend thirty minutes taking photographs of them. and then spend many many more minutes thinking about how roller skating ruled my world. sitting in the middle of enormous junk piles, it all came back: the birthday parties at the local keele roller rink where they always served cookies with pink icing and played 'YMCA'. how sweaty and nervous I got when the stodgy woman in thick glasses used the DJ's microphone to announce 'couples skate' (to this day, I cannot listen to peaches and herb's 'reunited' without feeling some mixture of dread and hopefulness). and you know I was so cool skating backwards to blondie's 'heart of glass' and queen's 'another one bites the dust'. YOU KNOW I WAS.

I had my own special pair of fake leather skates with royal blue stripes, wheels and laces. but they were from walmart and I couldn't shake that. my friend/enemy camille had white leather skates with translucent red wheels that sparkled and giant-sized pink pompoms that had been purchased at the roller rink. AND she had a short red satin skating skirt. AND everyone circled around her in the middle of the rink to watch her do special skating tricks that often involved superfast twirling. AND her parents let her see 'saturday night fever' at the drive-in. AND she had breathtakingly beautiful long blonde hair. AND her name was camille. I hated her. I loved her. nothing I did could ever come close to matching her superstar status (even though I was featured in the local newspaper where my grandparents lived for skating downtown to my grandma's office supply store everyday for a week). feh.

and in the midst of all this thinking back, I suddenly remember I am sitting in a pile of junk that needs my attention. of course, this brings on even more daydreaming and remembering and I spend many more minutes thinking about how foolish it is that I have all this junk in the first place. really, it's not that simple (it never is) but it's all I can think of while swimming in a sea of dollhouses and baby clothes and lampshades and forgotten party supplies and nursing bras. well, that and my brother von-- who, ever since he decided to travel across europe and move to new york in 2001, has had to pare down his belongings to the absolute bare minimum: his laptop, a small amount of clothing and the finest microfiber towel money could buy. oh, there's probably more. I know he owns just a little bit more (in the way of a pillow, a down comforter, some books and a really great old iron light-up arrow he swiped from a sign somewhere) but most of that is in storage or lost or gone, I think. while I'm surveying the mountains of unecessary items we've accumulated in such a short amount of time, I hear his words:

"you're a slave to the stuff, man. YOU'RE A SLAVE."

am I? is it foolish that I can't let go of skates that don't fit me (and won't fit ava for a couple more years) because of the possibilities they hold? because they were an awesome thrift store find? probably.

and speaking of things that are unquestionably foolish, a word of advice: do not try on skates that don't fit and then try to stand up in them on the slick wooden floors of a small attic space. even if you did 'turn it out' at the roller rink back in the day. even if you are known for your serious balancing skills.

ah, so much for making the best use of time. and so much for not having the time to write (funny how you always make time to do the things you really love).

more april fools documenting the silliness here and here.