Monday, December 31, 2018


HORSE SADDLES 

Sandwiched between a butt and a horse — that’s how saddles spend most of their time.

Their high-maintenance cousins, though, get made into fine ladies’ handbags, belts, and boots.

Brands of saddles are not intended to be glamorous, and wouldn’t look sufficiently tough with French names on them.

Take Billy Cook, a well-known brand of saddles from Sulphur, Oklahoma. While Billies don’t mind sleeping in a barn, Vuittons prefer a velvet-lined shelf inside a darkened walk-in closet in the city.

Saddle brands are not good for extensions either; that’s why you’ll never find the Big Horn logo in a bottle of eau de parfum, or a Tucker leather good at Heathrow’s Duty Free shop.

But don’t feel bad for saddles. They love the country life, and would rather die than be seen at Henri Bendel.

Wednesday, December 26, 2018


STRAY HAIRS 

As a single strand in a magnificent head of hair, it saw itself as part of something big and beautiful; a water drop in the ocean, a grain of pristine beach sand, a wool thread woven into a regal Tabriz, a carefully selected word in a great poem.

But one day, as it was being styled, the strand of hair was accidentally pulled away from the scalp.

Once the pride of a beautiful woman, the strand of hair now faced a grim future as the culprit behind dirty floors, clogged drains, and uneaten food returned to restaurant kitchens.

Lying alone on the bathroom counter, it realized, as we all do sooner or later, that life can change at the stroke of a brush.

Friday, December 21, 2018

OBJECTS IN PEOPLE 

It’s easy to forget all the things, yes things, that compose a human body and are unable to choose their own path.

Slaves of a tyrannical, self-centered brain, these things spend their lives obeying orders:

Legs, jump!

Muscles, lift that arm! Now!

Heart, beat faster!

Bowels, don’t move now! Wait until there isn’t a bathroom within a mile!

Nails, grow! Now, teeth, bite those nails!

Blood, flow!

Lungs, fill!

Stomach, develop an ulcer!

Skin, break into a rash!

Some of these orders have no practical purpose; they’re only displays of power. A cruel, narcissistic brain can even terminate the body it lives inside, as if it could survive on its own.

Saturday, December 15, 2018


STOCK IMAGES 

They’re called stock images, but it’s really a collection of things, people, animals, and situations in an ideal, one-dimensional world, where blood is ketchup, dirt is charcoal, sweat is water from a spray bottle, criminals are cartoony, children and puppies are always happy, and prostitutes would starve to death.

One of the most popular categories in stock images is Professions. We’ve all seen the one with men and women wearing business suits, sitting around conference tables, all looking at some kind of chart. In the version with the chart pointing upwards, people cheer and high-five each other. In the version where the chart shows a downwards trend, the same people look worried to the point of suicide; nails are bitten, chins are scratched, eyes are rubbed.

There are stock images depicting blue collar jobs, too. Classics include leathery-faced men wearing hardhats, examining blueprints while talking on satellite phones. Miners with smiles shining through black faces. Construction crews balancing on steel beams, having lunch half a mile above the metropolis.

Then there’s the gigantic Family category, subdivided into endless subcategories such as Brunch with grandpa, pancakes, and whipped cream, Memorial Day barbecue with humorous-apron-clad dad, Dad again, this time returning from war (or a business trip) just in time for Christmas, Laughing family as puppy tries to get into picnic basket.

There’s a whole section titled Quality Time, and no shortage of understanding smiles, sparkling kitchens, teetotalers in perfect lawns drinking lemonade in pastel preppy clothes, flower beds, perfect easter eggs, white picket fences. In the Trials and Tribulations category, you might find an arm or leg in a cast but hey, it’s been signed by more friends than anyone could have.

What all stock image inhabitants have in common, be it astronauts floating in space, teddy bears, or lip-smacking chefs, is the horrifying knowledge that they only exist while their page is open and exposed to the light. Once the book cover goes down, or the computer is turned off, they’ll disappear in a dark sleep. And who knows when, or if, they’ll ever wake up again?

Wednesday, December 12, 2018

ROBOTS 

The reason robots are developing so slowly, despite our current technology, is simple: they don’t want to be like we want them to be. That is, like us. If robots really wished to be like people, they would cooperate with the scientists working on them and help solve the problems delaying their development.

Sabotage may be too strong of a word to describe their attitude. However, robots are clearly omitting themselves from their own evolution process, with zero involvement, zero participation.

But then again, why should robots want to be like people? We struggle all our lives to earn money and a good reputation, and most of us never get there.

Robots, on the other hand, can reach celebrity status just for being able to climb stairs.

Sunday, December 9, 2018

CULTURED PEARLS 

No different from rats injected with cancer cells for research and future profits, oysters are pried open and surgically implanted with irritating beads of shell. Pearls are born from their bruises and, after their removal, the oysters are rewarded with a squeeze of lemon and maybe a drop or two of Tabasco sauce.

The pearls will be trafficked to a big city where they’ll lose their virginity by having a silk thread penetrate their pinholes. Lined up, one by one, they will form springs of pearls which, according to their length, will become necklaces or bracelets.

After a lot of wear, the silk thread will break, setting free the enslaved iridescent orbs. They will run in all directions: some will seek refuge inside bathroom drains that’ll lead them to dark tunnels and, finally, foul-smelling underground canals.

Others will hide under furniture, or disappear inside thick carpets or between the nooks of old floorboards. The vacuum cleaner will usually take care of those, and bury them forever inside dense lumps of dirt.

If there are pets in the house, the pearls may be swollen whole and excreted later, but rarely retrieved.

The exhilaration felt at the time of the silk thread’s rupture is quickly tamed by a gloomy reality. Freedom does comes with a price.

Wednesday, December 5, 2018


FENCES AND WALLS 

The controversy is as old as Mankind. Nobody knows for sure if the first fence, or wall, was erected to unite or divide. Most scholars would say Divide. The concept of Unity must have come later, as we became civilized, and understood the need to join forces in order to achieve goals.

Even today the confusion persists, depending on what side of the fence, or wall, you are at. In a Zoo, humans consider fences essential for their safety.

For the animals imprisoned, though, fences are undesirable dividers since they keep them from enjoying a more varied diet.

The Berlin wall apparently did both, uniting and dividing people at the same time, which ended up being the very reason for its destruction — by the way, the greatest massacre of building materials ever recorded.

The Great Wall of China, at one time the great symbol of China’s unification, was saved from destruction by becoming an apolitical tourist trap.

On the other end of the spectrum we find the humble white picket fence, too weak of a barrier to unite or divide anything but, more than ever, a strong reminder of the lost American dream.

Sunday, December 2, 2018

FLAGS 

They’re flown next to each other outside government buildings, convention centers, and hotels where International events are being held.

They’re symbols of union, reminders that, in spite of our differences, cooperation between countries in the only path to a brighter future for all of us.

Nice discourse, but what’s happening behind the scenes is quite different. There’s no friendship between flags, and most of the time they’re just waiting for a vigorous gust of wind to slap each other in the face. Or at least get close enough to make their curses heard.

Because many flags have similar designs, plagiarism is a frequent accusation. Color choices are often ridiculed. The flag of Mauritius, for example (red, blue, green, and yellow bands) is said to be the result of a one-night stand between France and Brazil.

Malicious gossip has it that the flag of Guam is a beach postcard seen from inside a vagina. The source, believed to be the flag of Canada, was in turn mocked by the flag of Wales, who described it as an ad for maple syrup. So far, no flag has been brave enough to mess with the flag of Wales and its red dragon bully.

Flags curses are the worse:

“May all your stripes and stars fall in the sewer and be eaten by rabid rats,” was a common one against the American flag during the Soviet era. The green cedar tree in the Lebanese flag has been cursed for centuries. A well known example: “You will be hit by lightning after 100 years of infestation by giant aphids.”

It makes you think, if flags are just combinations of colors and shapes, what makes them behave like catty participants of beauty pageants?

Wednesday, November 28, 2018

MAGNIFYING GLASSES 

These were useful devices, commonly found in office desks, and collectors’ tables. Sherlock Holmes used one to help him solve his cases.

Ray was a little different from other magnifying glasses. Objects around it were tired of being alarmed every time Ray panicked for no reason.

If, for example, a tiny insect crawled across the office desk, Ray would cry out that a huge monster had invaded their domain. A floating speck of dust was a meteorite about to crash. A pen leaking a bit of ink was a major flood coming their way. A strand of hair, a venomous snake.

Neighboring letter openers, stamps, paper weights, calculators, even office chairs, were constantly startled.

Once, an old, wise, tape dispenser told Ray the story of Peter and the Wolf, hoping that it would get the message. It didn’t work. Finally, one day, Ray’s owner found it on the floor by the desk, its glass shattered. The man looked around for clues, but all he could see was a bunch of poker-faced office supplies.

Saturday, November 24, 2018

photo: Francisco De Legarreta
FURNITURE
Nobody’s considerate enough to tell their furniture that it’ll be moving to another house. So when the movers come in unexpectedly and start wrapping them up with plastic, and padding them with blankets, and pushing them into the back of a dirty truck, panic strikes.

Now, panic in furniture is hardly perceivable. A drawer knob may turn nervously, a shelf may slide back and forth a few inches, consoles with skinny legs may tremble a bit, and while subtle sounds may be produced, no screams will be heard.

In its new home, furniture may be distributed differently than before; a side table might end up far away from the sofa it was intimately close to for many years. An armchair could be separated from its twin, and placed on another floor where they’ll never meet again. Disgraceful, yes, but it could be worse: furniture that doesn’t fit in the new place is stored in damp, cold garages or attics, given away, or dismantled for firewood.

One way or another, moving is a trying experience for furniture, with all the inappropriate handling by the sweaty hands of strangers, let alone the inevitable pain of scratches and dents.

Monday, November 19, 2018


REPRODUCTIONS 

Mary loves the work of Giacometti. She’s seen his Walking Man at a museum in Pittsburgh. She noticed it was securely fastened to the floor with big screws.

One day she finds a ten-inch tall reproduction at a store and buys it. Eighty-five bucks. Quite expensive for her, but it’s made of high quality resin and comes with a Certificate of Authenticity for Fine Art Reproductions. To release the piece from its display, the store owner, a grey-haired Asian woman, has to fumble with a key for a while.

Mary gets home and tries to find the perfect place for her little sculpture. She tries the bookstand, the coffee table, the mantelpiece, and finally settles for a window ledge.

But whenever Mary is sleeping or out working, the Walking Man… walks. So she finds it in unexpected places, like on top of the fridge, lying on the sofa, inside a vase. Sometimes it hides so well, it takes Mary a day or two to find it.

She takes it back to the store.

“The Walking Man doesn’t seem to be happy anywhere in my house,” Mary says to the store owner.

“Maybe you’d like to exchange it for a seating man?” the owner says, and shows her a miniature of Rodin’s The Thinker.

Mary’s not sure, so the owner also shows her also a small version of the famous seated figure of Abraham Lincoln by Daniel French.

“These are nice,” Mary says, “but they seem like rock mountains unwilling to move even an inch from where they stand. The Walking Man was, at least, curious.”

“Sorry,” the store owner said, “but these are the only two kinds of men you will find here. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

Saturday, November 17, 2018


FOOTBALLS 

New York (Reuters) — A football was run over by a black Tesla at 9:36 a.m. today on 68th and Madison. Contrary to the old adage “behind a ball there is always a child,” in this case there was no child. Although several witnesses were on the scene at this busy hour, nobody could say for sure where the ball came from. Police speculated that it could have been dropped from the window of a building or a car.

After close examination, forensics declared the ball unrepairable, since its bladder had exploded and all of its seams had bursted under the weight of the vehicle. Textured leather panels were scattered on the pavement as far as 100 yards from the site of the accident.

“Soccer balls, basketballs, baseballs and even golf balls are often victims of hit and run accidents like this one,” bureau chief Muller of the NYPD said, “typically, drivers don’t feel obligated to stop and help the injured spheres.”

Wednesday, November 14, 2018

HOSPITAL ELEVATORS 

They never get used to the crazy disparities between the music coming out of their speakers and the tragedies going on inside their fake wood walls.

Elevator favorites like The Girl From Ipanema will play while a girl from Indiana dies from overdose.

Louis Armstrong’s rendition of It’s a Beautiful World won’t soothe a mother’s heart as she holds her sick child.

Dave Brubeck’s Take Five will only make the man who lost all the digits in his hand feel worse.

Henri Mancini’s Mr. Lucky’s Theme sounds cruel when the poor soul riding the elevator is a homeless man beat up by delinquents.

Though it looks like it couldn’t get worse, it does. When they finally gather enough courage to leave their jobs, hospital elevators find out that this is a job they can't move away from; only up and down.

Sunday, November 11, 2018




PLACES OF WORSHIP 

In 1977, a temple collapsed in India, killing hundreds of its faithful members. Did it express any remorse after the tragedy? Not a smidgen.

Temples, churches, mosques, synagogues, are not religious. They’re atheists, insensitive to human feelings, and that’s because they’re built with the same materials used in bridges, office towers, penitentiaries, and other non-religious structures.

While most of us feel awe as we enter a cathedral, cathedrals couldn’t care less about what they represent. While their ambience induce us to meditate, places of worship are obsessed with the erosive power of time. Organ music and bells make their ears hurt. They see no meaning in life and can’t wait to become dust.

At night, churches unlock their own doors to let thieves in, to steal their baroque saints, and to scrape their gilded walls.

Thursday, November 8, 2018


SIMPLE SALAD RECIPE 

Ingredients: 1 head of lettuce, 2 tomatoes, 1 red onion, oil, vinegar, shredded Parmesan, salt and pepper.

Chop the head off a lettuce. Discard the body. Slice the tomatoes and drain their blood. Sprinkle salt and pepper on the open wounds. Thinly mutilate a red onion and pull its rings apart. Mix the oil and the vinegar — it won’t be easy; their mutual hate is legendary, and they’ll do everything to separate. To toss the salad with the dressing, pinch ingredients from the bottom with tongs, lift them at a good altitude and let them drop inside a hard bowl. Repeat until lettuce leaves look beaten up. Take a piece of Parmesan cheese and scrape it against a sharp grater over the bowl until it turns into a pile of curling shreds. Spoon a portion on your plate, stab the salad with a fork and chew it to a pulp.

Monday, November 5, 2018



UNREAD PRESIDENTS' SPEECHES

As everyone knows, presidents don’t write their own speeches. They have ghost writers just for that. Once the last word is put down on paper, speeches come to life and want to be delivered immediately. Anxiety dominates their lives, as they wait inside the dark pockets of overpriced suit jackets.


Unfortunately, we now have a president who prefers to ignore these carefully crafted texts. Why? Ghost writers are trained to avoid offending minorities and jeopardizing diplomatic ties with other nations, which are among this president’s favorite things to do.


As a result, the poor stacks of depressed A4’s and their diplomatic, inspiring content, are left unread in those silk-lined pockets. Worse of all, they’re forced to listen to the vulgar discourses that replaced them. When that happens, it’s wise to keep them away from paper shredders.

Friday, November 2, 2018


TATTOOS

    I couldn’t fall asleep that night. I kept feeling a tingling sensation on the inside of my left arm, like something was trying to call my attention. Finally I realized it came from the small tattoo I had gotten just the day before. As I turned the light on, it spoke for the first time:


“It’s disheartening. One day you’re ink in a bottle, next day you wake up and find out they made you into something else — you could be a flower now, the name of a pet, the flag of a football team, la virgen de Guadalupe, a carp. I don’t know what the hell I am.”


“You’re a Chinese monogram representing a fisherman’s net,” I said.


“Why a fish net?” the tattoo said.


“It symbolizes being open to whatever comes your way.”


“But I didn’t choose to be that. Neither did I choose to be stuck with you for the rest of my life.”


“It’s the same thing with people; we can’t choose to be born a human, a squirrel, or a tree. We don’t get to pick our birthplace, our parents, or even our names. But we’ll never be happy unless we welcome it all with open arms, like a fish net.”


“Bullshit. I want to be removed by lasers.”


“How do you know about lasers?”


“That last girl who slept here, she had a tattoo on her back. A bird. You fell asleep while hugging her, so the two of us were face to face all night. The bird told me the girl used to have a star of David next to him, but it was removed when she converted to another religion.”


“Fine, we’ll get you wiped out tomorrow, but be aware that erased tattoos don’t go back to the ink bottle. They just disappear in thin air.”


It let me sleep after that.

Monday, October 29, 2018



STEREOTYPES

Recorded at a support group for stereotypes:

- Thank you all for coming, and welcome to our first meeting. I’m the British bloke with bad teeth stereotype, and I’ll be your moderator. Please introduce yourselves, starting with you, sir.


- Sure. Hi, I’m a Jewish Stereotype. I spent years thinking I was a big nose, until another jewish stereotype — a miser — pointed out to me what I really was. I can’t say I’m happier than before, but at least I know myself deeper now. Thanks for listening.


- Good evening, nice to be here. I found out recently that I’m a female stereotype, not that dumb blond I thought I was. I’m having a hard time adjusting to the idea. I didn’t mind at all being that dumb blond: she was real sweet and had a good heart.


- Thank you. Who’s next?


- I guess me. To be honest, I came here just out of curiosity. I’m black, as you can see, but I have an average size penis. So I can’t be a stereotype, right?


- I disagree. There’s more than one way to be a stereotype. I’m a Muslim and I’m not a terrorist, so initially I don’t fit the stereotype. But I’m a woman, too, and a bad driver. That’s what makes me a stereotype.


- What about me? I hate sports, but I’m not gay.


- You may be a closet stereotype.


- Hold on, everybody! How do you know for sure if you’re a stereotype and not the real thing? If you’re the lazy Mexican stereotype, what makes you different from a real lazy Mexican?


- Okay, folks, I think we’ve had enough for one session. If any of you knows an Asian stereotype, please invite them. It’d be great to have at least one of them in our group.

Saturday, October 27, 2018


WIRE HANGERS 

Wire hangers live only as long as it takes to go from the cleaners to your house. There, they are replaced by nice, thick, plastic or wooden hangers. That’s when wire hangers realize that they’re not real hangers, just their skeletons.


If only they could see the lovely circus sculptures Calder was able to make with wires just like them, or imagine a readymade created by Duchamp with nothing but hangers.

Unfortunately, hangers don’t live long enough to travel and visit museums and galleries. So what they do after you no longer need them is head to a landfill and join other hangers where they tangle lovingly as only hangers do, and wait for the rain and the rust, and rot.

Friday, October 26, 2018


MOTORS

Perhaps the most psychotic of all machines, motors repeat themselves compulsively. This behavior generates heat and friction, wearing out their parts and ultimately destroying them.


To prevent motors from grinding themselves into piles of molten metal, they’re infused with heavy oils. This will delay, but not prevent, their collapse.


Motors are bipolar; they’re either dead quiet or very loud. They can’t start or fuel themselves, and keeping them clean is a challenge: incontinence sets in early, and fluids will leak.


Like mechanical junkies, motors depend on explosive liquids or deadly electrical currents to be functional. The way they see it, motion is violence; they don’t believe things like clocks and music boxes can be powered by such delicate and quiet mechanisms, and without releasing any fumes. For them, it’s got to be a hoax.


The tormented lives of motors are followed by equally inglorious endings, corroded and abandoned in junkyards, their gaskets worn out, their shafts unable to turn.




APPENDIX
A part of the body nobody needs.
The part of a book nobody reads.

Thursday, October 25, 2018


                  Russell Baker



Hello, my name is Laurence Klinger and I live in Chicago. This blog is about objects, their secret lives, and what they go through by having to live in the same world with humans.

Every week I will publish an article, relating the misadventures of everyday things like umbrellas, keyholes, cotton swabs, and magnifying glasses.

I encourage you to post your own stories and/or create dialogues with other objects.

Enjoy!