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Oy,
I'm a perfectionist, and fully understand the liability. When I was seven years old, I took it upon myself to GLUE-in the pieces of my lite-brite set once I'd configured the coolest possible design ever. PERFECTLY normal?
Mary Jo Manning—a cute, down-the-street girl I had a crush on—made it quite clear that my toy glue-in-fest was odd and selfish.
I ended up giving my brightly glued electric art to Mary Jo's sister as a gift... or was that punishment for MJ slamming me. Dunno.
Mary Jo never spoke with me again—even after I offered a significant peace settlement; my WHOLE-entire-huge collection of Cracker Jack rings. Cool ones too. I'm still stunned that she didn't cave. How many rings does a girl need?
I'm convinced that perfectionism is genetic! Shortly before my grandfather left the Planet, I sat with him in his tiny, warmly lit kitchen over-looking Sausilito bay. I watched as he knife-carved a baseball-sized apple. Daring, graceful and with one hand, he spun the rind into a single, delicate strip that landed elegantly in the palm of his other hand. He did it so quickly, so deftly. It was a beautiful, dangerous site. It was perfect.
When that last bit of rind fell from the apple, he said in his quiet way and with a european accent, "Is Dat Some-tink"! Translated, I believe he was humbly saying, "kinda cool, huh"?
Me? I'm not nearly as graceful. I'll stick with a carrot scraper.
I've tried to Glue-in LuLu. After seven years, the only thing that's clear is that LuLu has a life of its own; it's a little wild, pretty feisty, and kinda kooky. Whenever I try to define what it is, or aim to perfect LuLu, inevitably I end up at Typhoon, a local bar, with a three-olive martini, scratching my head and mumbling to myself like some loony-toon.
In the end, LuLu is not about me. It's about you. It's for you. It's about shopping in a different sorta way.
On a perfect Planet, everything would be FREE. On this Planet, you just save tons!
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