Open Writing

I know of no one in America who isn't irritated by junk mail, and the more stressed we become by contemporary life here, the more difficult it is to tolerate the time-wasting, patience-devouring task of dealing with the daily avalanche.

But there is one notable exception - the catalogue. Everybody loves a catalogue.

For many of us, they may only be valued to mark the passing of the seasons, like changes in the foliage; or, for those of us who crave attention, as a reminder that we really do matter to somebody. This of course excludes those addressed to Resident.

But not withstanding, failure to receive one’s customary batch of seasonal offerings is like rejection in a love affair, or being away from home at Christmas. It leaves one with the sad, hollow feeling of being neglected and cut off from things once held dear.

With each passing year, I marvel at the variety of 'stuff' being marketed through catalogues and it’s hard for me to imagine that even the people who actually shop by mail would find anything they absolutely can’t do without in these strange, esoteric collections.

Many of the products remind me of the advertisements in the end pages of magazines published in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. I am fascinated by the apparent gullibility of a readership that would buy these cures, salves, contrivances and wonder products. But I am equally beguiled by the thought that any of the advertisers were cynical enough to base a business on such implausible claims. Well, it seems that those days are not over, as some of the gadgets in my latest catalogues will attest.

I became intrigued by this mysterious field of endeavour long before I became the target of direct mail. During many tedious airplane trips, desperate for something to pass the time, I would leaf through the in-flight gift magazines.

Each contained a treasure house of seductive devices. Pens that were also radios; black boxes that would rid your house of every pest and critter that walked the earth. Spiked shoe soles that would aerate the lawn while you take a pleasant afternoon stroll around your lot - around and around and around and around! Golf balls with built-in radio-finder beacons; devices to ease the aches in your feet, your back, your neck, etc., etc.

The variety of such dubious products is endless - evidence of a significantly large, nether world of designers and manufacturers of 'stuff'. I used to think that all such merchandise must originate in Thailand, or Indonesia, or like places, but I have visited those countries and saw no evidence to support my theory.

So who are the gizmo designers and manufacturers? Where do they live and work? Have you ever actually met anyone who owns a factory that makes executive toys, or someone who designs detector alarms to keep Rover off the couch? What an experience it would be to run across one of these elusive characters at a cocktail party, that is if you could get them to admit it.

In reality, they’re probably all around us, posing as bankers or insurance salesmen, perhaps hiding their real pursuits from even their near and dear ones. If you think that’s unlikely, reflect on all the serial killers, embezzlers, spies and the like, who have gone quietly about their business for years, under the unsuspecting noses of family and neighbours.

Whatever the truth, they are an imaginative group. Their genius embraces every engineering discipline and they are also skilled in psychology, demography and market research. They know with great certainty that x percent of the population will find a radio pen irresistible; or will be unable to function effectively without a satellite navigation system to tell them the latitude and longitude of their local supermarket. How else could they thrive in the 'stuff' business if they didn't have such knowledge?

The 'stuff guys' are also ingeniously efficient when it comes to getting an idea into high production in no time flat. No sooner has some new technology emerged from the research institutions of the world, or been removed from the secret list by a government, than they incorporate it in a gadget that will alter your brain waves to improve your or sex life, or cure your rheumatism.

I can’t wait for an electric shaver that can be set by a timer to get the job done before I wake up in the morning.

Many of the world’s problems could be solved if we could just out a bunch of these geniuses and set them to work to end pollution, or traffic congestion, or religious wars.

It will never happen of course. They’ve been underground since print media came into being. Busy, invisible and anonymous, and that’s the way they like it.

But I know they exist - I’ve got a radio pen to prove it.