Pursing Without Shame

A while back, I was listening to This American Life, as I am wont to do when the powers that be deny me a new hour of Car Talk, and I heard David Segal explaining why he just couldn't get a couch. It was sort of funny, in a weird, I'm-totally-going-to-gossip-about-you-behind-your-back-now way, and I didn't think about it much until the other day.

See, it's all about how David Segal was on a search for the perfect couch, not for religious or allergic reasons, but just to replace the train wreck that was his first couch. The only problem? He went looking with a specific image in his mind and it really didn't fit with the Ikea reality at all. Sort of like Goldilocks syndrome, an affliction in which nothing is ever right and the Mama and Papa Bear are ultimately responsible. This all culminated in visiting an artisan furniture maker who was custom designing couches, with these supremely cool materials, and even then, David Segal just couldn't bring himself to buy it. It just wasn't what he imagined. And so, welcome back the old, ratty couch.

When I heard this, partly because of his nasally voice, I figured he was a Woody Allen type. Extremely neurotic except Segal's neurotics just focused on upholstery instead of emotionally unavailable women. Because, I thought, who would ever spend so much time reflecting on a fucking couch? And while this bad attitude could possibly be attributed to hunger pains, hangover, or itchy bra strap, I'm pretty sure that it was just eight minutes spent ranting about couches.

But the other day, I realized I'm just like this guy. In fact, I am the couch guy. And here's why: I cannot find a purse/bag/junk carrier that I like. And reason? Because I somehow envisioned this idealized purse and now, cannot find one individual with leather binding abilities who has executed what was in my own mind. I've been going a little nutburgers trying to find my vision, dashing in and out of Pasadena stores, searching across eBay, enduring the jumbled mess that is Craigslist -- all for bupkis.

I will try not to go on here - I am about hitting the eight minute mark on typing and starting to feel slightly guilty that I am doing a David Segal here. But I have to say that I'm not sure if I will ever be able to buy a purse again and if I do, it will only be the purse that I sort-of-kind-of-can-live-with, instead of the purse I live-to-dream-about. And, I have to say, I understand Segal -- it's sort of a letdown to find out that what you really want is unattainable. I can even say that it's worth spending eight minutes talking about it on National Public Radio, without shame. Because it's not just a couch or a purse anymore.

As a matter of interest, if any of you, searching around, find a battered leather purse, big enough for library books and notebooks, but not bigger than my entire rib cage, with a little hardware on the front (perhaps in the form of pockets) and both a sling shoulder strap and two shorter carrying handles, email me immediately.