A report from the mortuary

I decided that I needed a new coat, and after not being able to find a suitable one at H&M or The Gap – I clearly am not very imaginative when it comes to shopping – my wife convinced me that we should take a look at Saks Fifth Avenue.

This day was the coldest it had been all year (hence my revelation that I needed a new coat), but that didn’t discourage the mobs of morons standing outside the store looking at its famous Christmas displays. I can only guess that the Midwestern states are far behind in the science of animatronics, because I can’t imagine why else one would stand in a crowd of obese families wearing baseball hats and garish basketball shoes in freezing temperatures.

My wife found a coat that seemed acceptable – she’s German and thus has certain fashion idiosyncracies that need to be gently tempered – but when we saw it was around $900 we decided to flee. As we hurried toward the escalator praying that we wouldn’t be approached by a helpful salesperson, something caught my eye. Sex Pistols and The Clash t-shirts! At Saks Fifth Avenue! I was too afraid to slow down and take a look at the price, but it didn’t matter. Here was the ultimate proof that punk rock has lost all aura of being anti-establishment.

Sure, this has been clear since Billy Idol appeared on the scene, but the myth inexplicably remained strong despite of all the evidence against it. So if Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life” being used to advertise cruises and The Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop” mobile phones, CBGBs t-shirts being worn by secretaries from Long Island out on the town, frat boys sporting “faux-hawks”, the existence of Avril Lavigne, etc. etc. was not enough proof for you, then go to Saks and eat shit.