For me, one of the most exciting things about moving to New York was the fact that I was finally justified in buying THE umbrella.
In California, it’s a pretty lame investment to buy a quality umbrella. Why would you? It sprinkles like 9 times a year. You can get by just fine with one of those pocket-rocket umbrellas, the portable rainwear equivalent of the IPOD Nano.
Even in California, though, it was important to me that I carry a respectable umbrella. I bought one from Barnes and Nobles, one with literary quotes written all over the face. I LOVED that umbrella and I loved it even more when people would say…”Hey! Is that a Steinbeck quote on your umbrella?” I’d smile and say “No, that would be Faulkner”. It was utterly obnoxious.
Coming here though, I knew that I’d have to step up my game. No more gimmicky umbrellas from Barnes and Nobles. I had these visions of walking down the crowded streets of New York with the JUMBO umbrella that forced everyone else off the sidewalk. I imagined that when it would stop raining, I’d brandish the thing like a cane, not unlike the one wielded so handsomely by Scrooge McDuck.
Take a moment to soak in the regality of that image: Me in a buttoned down pea coat, a $100 scarf from Burberry, perhaps a fedora? And to top it off, THE umbrella faithfully by my side doubling as a walking stick as I ever so coolly navigate 5th Ave. How exorbitant!
If you know me at all, you know that I can’t afford a pea coat or a Burberry scarf. Nor have I accumulated the requisite amount of Timberlake points to pull off a fedora. But a stately umbrella is certainly within my grasp.
Remember Senator Ted Kennedy’s funeral?
In the midst of the tears, eulogies, and solemn remembrances, I had just two questions burning in my mind.
Do these big shots all buy their umbrellas from some politico-elitist warehouse? And, if so, where can I find it?
Because seriously, no matter how hard I look, I can’t find the umbrella that can lift me from my serfdom into the aristocratic stratosphere.
You should see me on a rainy day in New York. I’m checking out umbrellas like construction workers check out college girls. Just unadulterated, grotesque LUST.
And I curse my hopelessly inadequate collapsible umbrella. Sure it keeps my head dry, but what is it doing for my bruised ego? It just screams second-class human being.
But I will wait patiently under its demeaning shade. I didn’t come 3,000 miles to simply settle for a spindly, sorry excuse of an umbrella.
I will wait to find THE umbrella. And then you better watch out.
“Out of the way, inferior pedestrians!”
“You better lift your dinky, polka dot umbrella when you pass me!”
No more wet pants means no more inhibitions, no more indignities!
World, you can get under my umbrella. Ella Ella
EH EH EH
Under my atomic mushroom umbrella Ella Ella.
EH EH EH EH EH EH