Post-it

Art Fry and Dr. Spencer Silver, a hymnal, Cynthiana, Kentucky, and Boise, Idaho, a "permitted bootlegging" policy, and canary yellow: sounds like the bare bones of a novel-in-progress by Thomas Pynchon, doesn't it? But no, according to the obviously 3-M flak-written wikipedia entry, all of the above figure prominently in the All-American success story that is the Post-it. To know that the real, original, official, branded Post-it has always been made in Cynthiana, Kentucky, does my American heart so proud in these days of tumbling DJA and rampant globalization and rumblings about a world currency. We might not be able to make cheap toys like we once used to, but daggummit, we can make bright little pieces of paper that'll stick on just about anything and be removed just as easily, "without leaving any residue." As I always say, residue? Residon't if you know what's good for you.

Perhaps the most useful tidbit I gleaned from the wiki Post-it entry, though, and a tidbit that will come in handy since just today I've decided to become even more self-righteous and not be beholden to any branding whatsoever (well, after I post this Post-it post with the brand-oozing picture of the famous Post-it [BTW--which just today I learned means By The Way, when for years now I thought it meant Bilk Those Wyomingians--any Boss trainspotters out there: I did indeed misquote Bruce Springsteen in yesterday's post {it should be "show a little faith, there's magic in the night"}; sue me and never allow me to pump my fist along to "Badlands" anymore]) is that now that 3-M's patent on the sticky little papers has expired and anyone can produce and market his or her own sticky little papers, the "accepted" generic names for the sticky little papers that the obviously 3-M flak suggests include "sticky notes" or "repositionable notes" or "repositional notes." Thus, next time I need to remind myself to buy a box of kleenex facial tissues, I'll have to jot a reminder down on my handy repositionable note. Nice try, 3-M. Post-its are post-its. You try walking into Office Max Staples your nearest office supply retailer and asking the clerk, "Where do you keep your repositionable notes?" If you only get Maced chemicals sprayed in your face or Tasered get the shock of your life from some handheld device you'll be lucky. Repositionable notes, God help us. Though, come to think of it, change the "o" in notes to an "a" and you'd have a pretty good name for a specialty plastic surgery business. But I regress.

It's a good thing I'm a stickler for correct spelling, because in having to click back to wiki several times to make sure I get the spelling correct on that ridiculous repositionable (I'm still waiting for someone to reposition some bacon, covered in chocolate! from Malley's to my gut), I read the entry more closely and discovered that not only has 3-M trademarked the term Post-it, but they've also trademarked the color canary yellow! What the hell's going on here, folks? You can trademark a color? I'm doing the paperwork for "kind of teal" tonight. And why stop there? Screw the trademark, I want to patent that sound my stomach makes when I haven't eaten for three days thanks to that microwaveable burrito I bought at Stuckey's that probably now-defunct generic laugh-getting tawdry roadside restaurant cum knickknack emporium.

But my point: One of the best things about being a pack rat is the perpetual possibilty of discovering some long-forgotten treasure. Earlier today I was looking for my list (on letter-size paper; no Post-it repositionable note could hope to contain the list) of possible Halloween costumes for the year 1987 (don't ask, it was a quirky year), when I found a dusty old folder that upon opening it brought back a rush of sweet and not-so-sweet memories. For there was my file of unused Post-it repositionable notes. Not unwritten upon, but unused; notes I had actually jotted down intending to use, and then for whatever twists of fate or second thoughts, I chose not to use them. But loving trees as I once did (see below), I couldn't stand the thought of throwing away wasting perfectly good repositionable notes, which, depending on fickle fate and third thoughts, I might find the use for again sometime.  And so, because sharing is good, and at least unilaterally cathartic, I will now share with you some (not all, privacy is a Constitutional right that in this web-frenzied, Reality TV world, we should all exercise a bit more often) choice repositionable notes from my past, complete with annotations.

"Am not!" Long story short: Out of sheer politeness one time I tried to engage a deaf mute in a friendly conversation, using what I thought were appropriate hand gestures. The man took offense, at what I still know not what, and he whipped out a pad of paper and wrote "asshole" on it and shoved it toward my face. Never leaving home without a pen and a healthy supply of repositionable notes, I jotted the above down. By the time I was finished composing and looked up, though, the man, obviously not counting on the fact that I could fight fire with fire, was hightailing it away from me.

"I O U a BIG HUG. C U Tmrw." Back in my tree-hugging days, I was especially fond of one tall tree in particular, so I hugged it everyday. But then I was taken sick, with flu-kind-of-like-but-not-really symptoms. Not wanting to expose my beloved tree to ill health, I wrote it (okay, Trunkie, I called the tree Trunkie) a repositionable note and took my usual walk down to the park to stick the non-residue-leaving repositionable note on Trunkie's trunk, just so he would know. But when I got to the park, the big men were cutting Trunkie down. "Why?" I wondered, in a rather sickly voice. "Dutch elm disease. That tree's dying a slow death unless we cut it down." In time my own symptoms abated, though my doctor still just laughs when I tell him I once had dutch elm disease but now I think I've built up an immunity. Think. Haven't hugged a tree since.

"J.A. 212-555-639_" From just a few weeks ago. I got a voice mail from Jennifer Aniston, raving about the blog, chortling about the word "desuetude," dishing some dirt on David Schwimmer (sp?), and telling me she just had to jet to Cleveland to try some bacon, covered in chocolate! and that she'd love to hook up. So she starts giving me her phone number and right before the last number, she says, "Oh darn, that's Brad again on the other line, I'll be back in a minute." It's been four weeks of waiting on that minute, and still no final digit.

"This is just to say I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast. Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold." I was ready to leave this on the refrigerator door when I realized that I had eaten my roommate's stale chocolate-covered graham crackers (please tell me graham cracker is a generic, not a brand name) he had left under the sink last Lent and which truth be told nearly made me wretch and then I realized it was William Carlos Williams, the great American bard poet who had written the poem about eating the plums.

"Buy more Post-it notes." Well, obviously this one is now obsolete. I'll have to re-write it "Buy more repositionable notes." I had had the genius idea once when opening a new package of actual Post-it notes to flip all the way to the ante-penultimate note and write this message, so when the time came when I would soon be needing a new package, I could be reminded to buy one. I thought the third last one was appropriate: it gave me time to plan a shopping excursion without the threat of possibly running out of repositionable notes before I would be able to go shopping. Alas, it was November 5, 1987, and by the time I had reached the ante-penultimate repositionable note reminding me it was time to purchase a new package of repositionable notes it was Christmas morning and I was just going to use a repositionable note to jot a quick thank you note to my deaf/mute friend (different one, a real friend; I don't hold grudges against groups of people) who had left me an entire six-pack of repositionable notes in my stocking, when what should be the next repositionable note in the stack? You guessed it, the now-suddenly superfluous reminder to buy more repositionable notes. Ah, the non-residue-leaving irony of it all!

As I always say, obviously, if you can't write it all on one repositionable note, it's not worth writing at all.

Butterglory-Stuck