Pause TV show, order that actor's shoes, car, breasts. It's retail nirvana!
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2008/08/01/notes080108.DTL&nl=fixThis is my dream. It is but a humble vision, completely reasonable, also very, very American in its blatant love of large amounts of unnecessary crap combined with a screaming disregard for anything resembling tact or humility or the simple act of, let's say, tasteful restraint.
It unfolds thusly: I stroll the city streets, enter humbly into a cafe, or maybe a bookstore, boutique, log cabin, museum, dog kennel, crematorium. It does not matter, for wherever I happen to be, I will surely see something I want.
Perhaps it is that shirt you're wearing, or your shoes. Perhaps it is that nice ring, or your coffee mug, or your haircut or your contact lenses or your nipple implants or your charming effervescent smile, your small intestine, that painting, the bathroom tile or that used syringe right there on the floor.
What the thing is, of course, does not matter. All that matters is that I like it. And, as a devout American consumer, if I like it, of course that means I want it. If I want it, of course that means I must have it. And if I must have it, well, I must have it right now. What, you're gonna make me wait? The hell you are. Then the terrorists win. ...