little things go
By Paul Mantee
My New Year’s resolution for 2006 is to refrain from being persnickety. Even if it involves no longer writing for The Malibu Times.
Did you know, for instance, that there are 11 types of Colgate toothpaste today on the shelf at Ralphs Market? Count ’em: Cinnamon Spice, Mini-Breath Strips, Mint Zing, Tartar Control Cool Mint, Tartar Control Crisp Mint, Total Cavity Protection, Luminous, Fresh Confidence, Vanilla Mint and Oxygen Bubbles.
As of Jan. 1, I resolve that this type of excess will no longer upset me.
When I was a child, there was one Colgate, one Ipana, one Pepsodent with Irium, and one Iodent No. 2 – For Teeth Hard to Brighten. (Note: Even at 11, it perplexed me that there was no Iodent No. 1-For Teeth Easy to Brighten.)
It’s time I let it all go.
I used to wonder, every time I looked at the flat colorless Malibu Civic Center complex, what on earth was in the architect’s mind? Obviously, he had no idea that Malibu was flanked by mountains to the north and the ocean to the south. Or else why would he design a building that belongs in the heart of Downey?
I am determined bad taste will cease to disturb me in the New Year. I plan to look past the mundane toward the concept of a lovely park the City Council has promised us on the adjacent land.
Currently, I live in Malibu’s oldest condominium complex. It’s called The Maison De Ville. Very French. How come? I often wonder. You really can’t share your address properly unless you talk like Charles Boyer or Leslie Caron. Plus, we’re hardly located in the south of France; we’re located south of Oxnard, for cryin’ out loud. Besides, the place doesn’t look particularly French. It merely looks like a bunch of apartments smack against one another. Whatever happened to names appropriate to their surroundings? The Sea View? Ocean Image? In case you’re unfamiliar, the complex is sort of a gateway to Malibu Canyon. The Gateway Arms? Never mind.
In the coming year, I plan to dump this concern into the trash bin that already contains a considerable list of my irrelevancies.
Suzy the Significant and I are planning dinner at home at La Maison this New Year’s Eve. Why? Because the local restaurants are in the habit of raising their prices significantly for the evening on entrees one can get a lot cheaper the night before, or the following year, for that matter. Previously, I’d cynically observed that this phenomenon is the restaurant’s unique way of thanking Malibu residents for their continued patronage. However, I’ve promised myself in the New Year to rest easier and assume the practice is in place merely to defray the cost of the horns and the paper hats.
Speaking of restaurants, you can hardly sit down in an Italian one without a busboy bringing you a little dish of chopped garlic swimming in olive oil. Though if one were sitting in a restaurant in Italy, one is more likely to get a serving of bread and butter. The occasional dynamite sauce notwithstanding, I’ve never seen a real Italian drop a piece of bread into a pool of olive oil and chopped garlic on purpose.
Nevertheless, I’ve decided to relax and to accept the practice as being as uniquely American as chop suey or spaghetti and meatballs, and just shut up about it.
I further plan to overlook everyone who says “no problem” instead of “you’re welcome,” as if there might have initially been a problem had I not said thank you. I’m also committed to ignoring the fact that people who used to have problems have magically replaced them with issues.
I’m so enthusiastic I’m actually going to jump-start my New Year’s resolution even before 2006 begins. To wit: Yesterday, outside of Ralphs, the seasonal robot with the red hat who sits there and rings his bell and wishes everybody a Merry Christmas drove me nuts. He tinkled and wished me one as I went to search for a market basket, he wished me another one after I’d found a basket, and still another one on my way into the market and a final one as I left. I said Merry Christmas to the same guy four times in 20 minutes.
So what, I asked myself? Christmas, by its very nature, is repetitious.
Did you know there are a dozen varieties of Coca Cola on the shelf at the market today, whereas in olden times there was one, and only one? It came in a small green see-through bottle and cost a nickel. Who cares? Not me. And there are nearly 20 types of Kleenex. Serving, I would imagine a variety of nasal issues.
Finally, to everyone who is gracious enough to thank me for doing this column over the past year, I resolve to say, no problem.