onsalenow

1998 "On Sale Now"

-Morgan Young

Here I am. In front of my little cyber-friend; The newest magnet to my grey matter. I find myself on an insatiable quest for more & more knowledge of the beige beast. My favorite channel on our television is now ZDTV: all computer talk & gear all the time. I take delight in such trivial tasks as being able to insert the page number, date, and time on this page with just the click of a tile. And then there's the alure of the lastest high-tech gear"A bigger monitor would be sweetwe need more RAMthis mouse is a little squirrelyit's time for a 300+mhz machine."

Looking back, there has always been something to obsessively ponder. I can clearly remember sitting in Mrs. Moore's 3rd grade class at Palmer School on a crispy bright fall day, daydreaming. Thinking how much I would rather be at the Toy Mart store in Maplecrest Plaza picking out a brand new GI Joe; complete with life-like hair and beard. (kung-fu grip was not yet available) I remember thinking about what the thin shoebox like package looked likeI could see the artwork of the action hero as if it were right in front of me. I remember sitting at that little light blue legged desk staring up at the large institutional clock over the door, watching as if time were somehow slowing to a stop; what an eternity it took that fire engine red second hand to make it around just one time. The experience was almost painfull. That was before we knew what self-indulgence was. That was before anyone told us that to fantasize was not always healthy. And so I sat there, but I was really at the Toy Mart picking out a brand new GI Joe. One whose feet weren't loose from constantly removing army boots. One whose arm would stay outstretched holding his government issue plastic revolver. But, above all was brand new, still in the box. It didn't matter that within weeks of a purchase, he would have all the afflictions of my current collection of special teams soldiers. And it didn't matter, that in a few weeks I might not even play with the newest addition to the platoon. All that mattered was that momentthat thought: A brand new GI Joe with like-like hair and beard: a thought that tied my intrails in nots.

And so, now, I realize the pitfalls of obsessionthat fantasy can be unhealthy. But that little 3rd grader with long hair and bell bottoms still resides within me. He pops up when I see the perfect drumset in a music store, the newest, fastest PC periferal. And I get caught upthinking about what it would be like to own that wood-grained deep purple Yamaha Maple Custom Elite drumkit with 20" bass drum, and 8", 10", 12" & 14" toms. How I would set it uphow it would feel to sit behind them. And then, the stark realization that this is a far cry from my $7.00 Gi Joe comes to the fore. And I send the little 3rd grader back to his place in my past. And I know that although these indulgances are pleasant respets from everyday life, they are most likely, more than that. They are probably indicatorsIndicators that there is something not-so-fun or in need of attention in my life. The unpleasantness of behaving and being attentive all day in my 3rd grade class, to the responsibilities of my 34 year old short-haired, straight-legged life. A life that Meg & Slate are smack in the middle of as they now come into the room; full of excitement, full of 3 & 5 year old chatter, full of questions like: "Daddy, when are we going to fly a kite?! And, "What are you doing on the computer?!" I answer, "I don't know," to the kite question. I say, "I'm writing in my journalyou know like 'Doug' does on Nickelodean." What I think is more like, "I'm trying to get in touch with who I was when I was only a couple years older that you are right nowand trying to make it all come togetherhow the boy lives within the man." But, I realize they won't understand thatat least for quite some time.



	1998 "On Sale Now" -Morgan Young Here I am. In front of my little cyber-friend; The newest magnet to my grey matter. I find myself on an insatiable quest for more & more knowledge of the beige beast. My favorite channel on our television is now ZDTV: all computer talk & gear all the time. I take delight in such trivial tasks as being able to insert the page number, date, and time on this page with just the click of a tile. And then there's the alure of the lastest high-tech gear"A bigger monitor would be sweetwe need more RAMthis mouse is a little squirrelyit's time for a 300+mhz machine." Looking back, there has always been something to obsessively ponder. I can clearly remember sitting in Mrs. Moore's 3rd grade class at Palmer School on a crispy bright fall day, daydreaming. Thinking how much I would rather be at the Toy Mart store in Maplecrest Plaza picking out a brand new GI Joe; complete with life-like hair and beard. (kung-fu grip was not yet available) I remember thinking about what the thin shoebox like package looked likeI could see the artwork of the action hero as if it were right in front of me. I remember sitting at that little light blue legged desk staring up at the large institutional clock over the door, watching as if time were somehow slowing to a stop; what an eternity it took that fire engine red second hand to make it around just one time. The experience was almost painfull. That was before we knew what self-indulgence was. That was before anyone told us that to fantasize was not always healthy. And so I sat there, but I was really at the Toy Mart picking out a brand new GI Joe. One whose feet weren't loose from constantly removing army boots. One whose arm would stay outstretched holding his government issue plastic revolver. But, above all was brand new, still in the box. It didn't matter that within weeks of a purchase, he would have all the afflictions of my current collection of special teams soldiers. And it didn't matter, that in a few weeks I might not even play with the newest addition to the platoon. All that mattered was that momentthat thought: A brand new GI Joe with like-like hair and beard: a thought that tied my intrails in nots. And so, now, I realize the pitfalls of obsessionthat fantasy can be unhealthy. But that little 3rd grader with long hair and bell bottoms still resides within me. He pops up when I see the perfect drumset in a music store, the newest, fastest PC periferal. And I get caught upthinking about what it would be like to own that wood-grained deep purple Yamaha Maple Custom Elite drumkit with 20" bass drum, and 8", 10", 12" & 14" toms. How I would set it uphow it would feel to sit behind them. And then, the stark realization that this is a far cry from my $7.00 Gi Joe comes to the fore. And I send the little 3rd grader back to his place in my past. And I know that although these indulgances are pleasant respets from everyday life, they are most likely, more than that. They are probably indicatorsIndicators that there is something not-so-fun or in need of attention in my life. The unpleasantness of behaving and being attentive all day in my 3rd grade class, to the responsibilities of my 34 year old short-haired, straight-legged life. A life that Meg & Slate are smack in the middle of as they now come into the room; full of excitement, full of 3 & 5 year old chatter, full of questions like: "Daddy, when are we going to fly a kite?! And, "What are you doing on the computer?!" I answer, "I don't know," to the kite question. I say, "I'm writing in my journalyou know like 'Doug' does on Nickelodean." What I think is more like, "I'm trying to get in touch with who I was when I was only a couple years older that you are right nowand trying to make it all come togetherhow the boy lives within the man." But, I realize they won't understand thatat least for quite some time.