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Monday, September 20, 2004


windex has got to be one of the best smelling liquids on the planet. even better than my watered down dolce & gabbana from canal street. even better than starbucks coffee or earl grey tea (next time you smell that shit, think Trix cereal and let me know if you smell it too). maybe not better than Bleech White whitewall cleaner or Hot Shot stain remover. but that's only because they smell very similar to the original: Windex.

i've thought a bit about this infatuation. basically because it's just really weird. and it is an infatuation. i have Windex in my car, at work, and several bottles at home. i use it to clean any surface imaginable, including those that will likely be discolored or tarnished by the blue chemicals.

i am able to trace the origin of this compulsion to when i was working at Dunkin Donuts in 12th grade. we would have a list of chores that needed to be completed by shift change and one of them was to clean the displays and countertops with Windex, using coffee filters. apparently paper towels were more expensive than a coffee filter. in my more sophisticated use of Windex, a mere coffee filter would never stand up to my cleansing spree, but at the time it sufficed.

this particular chore became my favorite, i now realize, because it was able to cut that smell. that repulsive DD smell that has, to this day, left me with a loathing for the lingering odor of food on my person.

about a year ago i visited a friend in Boston to celebrate St. Patrick's Day and get otherwise foolishly intoxicated. the ritualistic visit to an out-of-state friend that is always fun but leaves you wanting more of the same. when we returned from the bars one night, after taking pictures with strangers on the T (the non-murdering kind, thankfully) i started Windexing this rather large mirror that hung on my friend's living room wall. the mirror was obstructed in part by one of those round wicker chairs that only bachelors and cool chicks seem to have. when i tried to deny this awkward piece of furniture as an obstacle, my foot found a jagged piece of metal protruding from the wicker base. i whined about the puncture but continued to spray and wipe, inhaling deeply. i stained her carpet with my foot's blood.

other than tracing the route of this love of Windex and the self-awareness of my acceptance of similarly scented chemicals, i am befuddled by how strong and loyal this affection has been. Windex may be the one thing i've consistenly enjoyed without exception. even when i open the bottle and take a big whiff (which, i've been told, is huffing; but it can't be if you don't get a buzz, so i refuse to believe it) i am never overwhelmed, never disappointed.

for some absurd (and somewhat disturbing) reason, this lovely blue chemical has equated itself with a form of relaxation, or at least distraction. maybe it just lets me cut through that grimy hovering sensation of overall density and mass. burdens are wiped clean. stains are removed. i'm not a drab or sickly colored gutless or jelly-filled circle.


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