against a wall. He hits me again and again. I shout at him to stop, and turn and look at him with shock. Stop hitting me with a huge black padded electric hammer! It isn’t normal. It isn’t nice. This is a public space, not a motel room. I wander off, muttering.
Brookstone
.
A decade later, they’re still trying to make a sale. That is so American. I admire that quality, being a person of no persistence myself. But then I goggle at the audacity, not the endless drive to sell, but the endless drive to sell
this
. Really, my mouth falls open and my eyeballs bulge. Who buys this stuff?
A third of Americans are obese and you just know Associated Press doesn’t tell you how many are morbidly obese because it’s too horrible and secretly shriekingly funny, even to Brookstone. Because Brookstone customers are either amazingly fat or they’re headed that way. Something tells me they’re Blue Staters growing into Red Staters, or Red Staters who have faced facts. Brookstone stuff is really expensive, even for madly stupid stuff.
Pools are very important to Brookstone. Most people
swim
in pools, you’d think, but in the Brookstone world view, pools are reasons for white people to float on massive loungers (“easily supports hundreds of pounds”) accompanied by a Snack Buoy, a round red floating tray with five cup holders and a central compartment containing what appear to be thick slabs of Spam. The loungers also come with speakers in the headrest, controls on the armrest and an extra cup holder in the other armrest lest the Snack Buoy float out of reach. One lounger is motorized, with two handles and propellers under your ass. Another takes two people side by side, facing each other. “Now couples can enjoy a chat without straining their necks to talk.” Yeah, I hate having to move my neck. My husband and I almost never bother to speak because of it.
The pool theme appears to have little to do with water. All the devices have one aim: to make even the smallest movement unnecessary. It seems odd, as you could just as easily do this (by this, I mean nothing) on the grass. At no point does Brookstone expect your body to touch water. A pool as a weight-gaining device. Interesting idea.
Next comes six pages of poolside hammocks for people who want that floaty sensation and the sight of water while having nothing to do with the nasty stuff. And you can buy gear like a personalized Coast Guard–approved lifeboat ring (“Griswold Family Pool”) in case someone falls in by accident and has to be fished out and dried off. It doesn’t say if it comes with a cup holder.
Then there’s sporty stuff for people who play competitive group games, alone. There’s a lone baseball containing an electronic device that measures the speed of your pitch, and a personal digital golf game with a little strip of AstroTurf and a screen that tells you all the stats for the shot you would have made had you been at an actual golf course losing some of that weight. This item cannot be shipped to California, Brookstone notes, but provides no explanation.
What? Yes, there is a drink caddy for golfers that shoots your prepared drink out of a dispenser disguised as an actual golf club. Fill with hot or cold beverages. They must be making this up.
This is how I measure everything: Would you sleep with someone who drank out of his golf club?
Next come exercise machines—treadmills, cardio steppers, exercise bikes and something called a Fold-A-WayElliptical Strider, which I think is a machine that makes you walk. To nowhere. I have a pure horror of pointless labour. To me, if you walk or ride a bike, you should get somewhere. So why not go outside instead of spending six hundred bucks to stay inside with the machine you’re not going to use? Or burn some calories cleaning something. Cleaning’s the sport for me.
My dislike of stationary exercise, especially if it doesn’t even aid the power grid, comes from a passage in Margaret Drabble’s
Brookstone
.
A decade later, they’re still trying to make a sale. That is so American. I admire that quality, being a person of no persistence myself. But then I goggle at the audacity, not the endless drive to sell, but the endless drive to sell
this
. Really, my mouth falls open and my eyeballs bulge. Who buys this stuff?
A third of Americans are obese and you just know Associated Press doesn’t tell you how many are morbidly obese because it’s too horrible and secretly shriekingly funny, even to Brookstone. Because Brookstone customers are either amazingly fat or they’re headed that way. Something tells me they’re Blue Staters growing into Red Staters, or Red Staters who have faced facts. Brookstone stuff is really expensive, even for madly stupid stuff.
Pools are very important to Brookstone. Most people
swim
in pools, you’d think, but in the Brookstone world view, pools are reasons for white people to float on massive loungers (“easily supports hundreds of pounds”) accompanied by a Snack Buoy, a round red floating tray with five cup holders and a central compartment containing what appear to be thick slabs of Spam. The loungers also come with speakers in the headrest, controls on the armrest and an extra cup holder in the other armrest lest the Snack Buoy float out of reach. One lounger is motorized, with two handles and propellers under your ass. Another takes two people side by side, facing each other. “Now couples can enjoy a chat without straining their necks to talk.” Yeah, I hate having to move my neck. My husband and I almost never bother to speak because of it.
The pool theme appears to have little to do with water. All the devices have one aim: to make even the smallest movement unnecessary. It seems odd, as you could just as easily do this (by this, I mean nothing) on the grass. At no point does Brookstone expect your body to touch water. A pool as a weight-gaining device. Interesting idea.
Next comes six pages of poolside hammocks for people who want that floaty sensation and the sight of water while having nothing to do with the nasty stuff. And you can buy gear like a personalized Coast Guard–approved lifeboat ring (“Griswold Family Pool”) in case someone falls in by accident and has to be fished out and dried off. It doesn’t say if it comes with a cup holder.
Then there’s sporty stuff for people who play competitive group games, alone. There’s a lone baseball containing an electronic device that measures the speed of your pitch, and a personal digital golf game with a little strip of AstroTurf and a screen that tells you all the stats for the shot you would have made had you been at an actual golf course losing some of that weight. This item cannot be shipped to California, Brookstone notes, but provides no explanation.
What? Yes, there is a drink caddy for golfers that shoots your prepared drink out of a dispenser disguised as an actual golf club. Fill with hot or cold beverages. They must be making this up.
This is how I measure everything: Would you sleep with someone who drank out of his golf club?
Next come exercise machines—treadmills, cardio steppers, exercise bikes and something called a Fold-A-WayElliptical Strider, which I think is a machine that makes you walk. To nowhere. I have a pure horror of pointless labour. To me, if you walk or ride a bike, you should get somewhere. So why not go outside instead of spending six hundred bucks to stay inside with the machine you’re not going to use? Or burn some calories cleaning something. Cleaning’s the sport for me.
My dislike of stationary exercise, especially if it doesn’t even aid the power grid, comes from a passage in Margaret Drabble’s
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