Glorified trash

Glorified trash
Tuesday, April 11, 2006

A friend of mine has a large cache of unique little bottles in her cabinet. They are empty remnants that once contained delicious Spega Yogurt. So I started begging her to save me some glasses from any future Spega snacks.

About a month ago, she obliged me with my first Spega bottle. Around that time she was going through some real rough emotional shit. One day, at the lowest part of that period, she left me a very sad note about how she felt.

One week later, she was doing much better, so I put her note into the Spega bottle, sealed it with tape and told her I was throwing her bad day into the bay, for the ocean to carry it away.

So, yeah, that sort of started a thing.

I started asking her for more bottles.

I filled them with notes and sketches. Each one contained a “message” of some sort. They were decorated with highlighters, white out and other office supplies; then sealed up and chucked into the bay.

Here is yesterday’s:

It’s a “Massage in a bottle”.

I sit in my office/cube listening to new records, typing stories and working on the message for that day. I’ve thrown probably 15 of them since I’ve hucked that bad day into the water last month. Of those, I’ve actual only been lucky enough to have personal eaten the yogurt before cleaning the bottle and disposing of it.

Message in a bottle is not an accurate term, this is glorified litter. I’m taking glass garbage and dumping it into the ocean. I get that, nobody will probably ever see them but me.

It’s even occurred to me that many of them might not even make it into the bay.

I think Elvis might be getting them. I throw them from a channel underneath the 3rd street bridge and the absolutely brand new bridge they have been building from scratch but it has a sign that says “historic bridge 1916” on it. Elvis, our local crackhead, camps out on the other side of the channel. His sheets and tarp have been out there so long, it fits into the landscape, providing great cammo. There is a very good chance that Elvis may be collecting them before they escape the currents embrace into the bay.

That thought “bums” me out, but I keep “crack”-ing ahead. I guess I’m addicted to it.

Thanks for the pic-pics Sonia.