Purity and the Art of Gettin' Dirty

Sitting on a most assuredly filthy side of a statue near Central Park in a pristinely white sundress, I noticed my chocolate chip cookie had decided to lightly decorate the front. I dwelled for a moment on my general lack of white dresses then remembered my wonderful capacity for staining, which rivals that of a five year old on a muddy playground with a melting ice cream cone.

I guess you could say I'm not afraid to get a little dirty. (oh the innuendo!) Or maybe I just get a little too engrossed in experiences to notice silly things like the front of my shirt. Or my Tide-to-go pen is my ultimate cop out. (Though I did not have it with me at time of need. Of course.)

I had visited MoMa earlier in the day with a dear friend, and we had viewed some splatter paintings(my terminology expresses the expanse of my modern-art knowledge). We both could recall times in our lives when we decided to create one(she, church mural - you go girl; me, summer camp circa '96), either intentionally or otherwise. I just thought it was the least effort/most fun way to paint. My idyllic summer camp outfit would speak to this, except it did not survive the incident. That did not go over well at home. (Acrylic paint is some pernicious shit.)

I think of the beauty of dilution. Often a saving grace when it comes to preserving the purity of a garment, dilution has saved my ass quite a few times in the laundry room. Though dilution may remove the chocolate from my white sundress, it does not preserve the purity in all situations. It possesses a double-edged sword-like quality(cue Billy Mays chiming in with: CUTS THROUGH STAINS) outside our dear laundry rooms.

I think of Volcker and the concept of compromise. And the beautiful fundraising focus of our elections. And a most interested deep-pocketed party: banks! Diluting the stipulations of what-is-allowed to make some pockets smile and of course, "serve the American people". It's nice to no longer have to consider myself a politician(note: if I ever really was) when I reflect on chewable tidbits like that.

To be fair, I should have prefaced this brief foray into ethics with: this is coming from an accessory to an umbrella theft at the MoMa museum earlier today.(It was raining, we were wearing white. I think that grants me Greek politician level of impunity. Zing!)

Fortunately, there are some people that don't get as engrossed as I do when eating a chocolate chip cookie. They keep their hands clean, and maintain some shred of purity in our splatter-painted world.

Want your khakis to be stain-resistant? Slap some on Glass-Steagall. It's an old-fashioned remedy.