Velociworld

SAINT LOUIS

I'm not much of a collector, by nature, for the simple reason that if there is a finite set of something, say the 1969 Topps baseball set, or the autographed first editions of Faulkner, once you've completed the set you're happy for a while, then you're fucked. You can't add to it. It's done. Orgasm, quietude. On the other hand, an open-ended collection is maddening. You can't finish it! It can't be closed out! There's always something else to add. No closure. There lies madness, to me.

So I decided a while back to start collecting something that is both finite, and ever-expanding. That would be fine crystal. Because as soon as you have the 8 or 12 piece set, and you are content, your kids will break one of the fuckers toasting Barbie's first cycle, or something, and now you can go buy something to re-complete the set. Perfect, man.

So when I got into crystal a while back, two things came to mind: 1) it must be stemware. If I can't slake my omnipresent thirst from it, it's no good. Keep your crystal umee-corns and ballerinas. Those are dust magnets. Form copulating function is my gig. Always. 2) There is no two. My bad.

What's my point? I do have a point. I always have a point. Witness, then:

I have friends who would be kindly categorized as uber-yuppies. Massive incomes, usually no kids, money is no object, blah, blah, blah. Nice people, they just have materialism issues. They don't keep up with the Joneses. They rub the Joneses' collective noses in the fucking dirt, and dry-hump their dog. Why do I have friends like this? It doesn't matter. Suffice it to say they respect the fact I don't buy into their bullshit, and deep down they dig being mocked by me. It expiates their guilt, I suppose, and certainly entertains me. Call it an interpersonal symbiosis.

Cut to the chase, please: Ah, yes. So while these people have been adorning their dry-sinks and cabinets with Baccarat, I've been collecting Saint Louis. I've never told them what I have because I'm waiting for the point of critical mass, when they could never Catch Up, or to do so would entail having to repudiate their Baccarat collection to make exhibition space.

See, Baccarat is nice. I prefer plastic cups for my vino, but Baccarat is nice. Founded in 1764. Boo-rah. But Saint Louis, man, that's the oldest Cristallerie in France. 1586. That's bloodlines. Personally, I like the stuff, but I could do without it. Again, plastic cups work fine for me. But there is something perversely profane about spending ninety dollars on a glass, and filling it with Two Buck Chuck. And I kill three birds here. First, I get to collect something beautiful that I enjoy. Second, if I complete a set it's only temporary because I have more breakage in my house than a Daytona Beach biker bar. Third, one day, one day, when the time is ripe, I'm going to Explain It All to the yupsters, and send them into a fucking funk-assed panic.

Life can be good, after all.