This weekend I met a guy as involved in motorcycles as I am. Which is to say, when he has a free moment, he browses Craigslist and EBay Motors to drool over the listings. He doesn’t have a motorcycle license, and isn’t going to buy one any time soon. I have a perfectly serviceable scooter, and nowhere to store a larger bike, but dammit, I like looking at them fancy new bikes. In fact, I like looking at the new ones better than I would like having one. I know if I had one I’d grow tired of it, but the longing is sweet.
His wife grew tired of the motorcycle talk, but later admitted to similarly compulsive, aimless browsing on PetFinder. They have nowhere to put a dog, no time for walking a dog, but dammit, she loves looking at new puppies up for adoption. They just bought a house, but they also still look at real estate listings. And so do I, even though I don’t have the time, money, or inclination to buy a home right now.
I guess it’s sort of like looking at pretty girls go by even though I’m strictly on the one-to-one– it’s pretty much just pleasant and harmless. But in the same way, it annoys and disturbs me. You don’t really want that, you know it’s foolish and impractical and she’s probably a horrible person with bad gas mileage and much higher insurance premiums, what with that huge, shiny engine and those long legs, and who’s got eighty grand for a down payment these days anyway? Shouldn’t I be doing something better with my time than aspirational window-shopping? When did I become this bourgeois freak? I could be changing the world, creating art, taking a nap, picking lint out of my navel, any of a million more productive and useful things. Instead I’m shopping for things I don’t want.
Secretly Ironic 