Here is a salad spinner I found today. There was a time, back in 2005-2007, when I found at least one of these charmingly useless things in the garbage every week. Really! I became a bit obsessed with finding them.
They became -- for me -- symbols of conspicuous consumption; emblems of my adopted neighbourhood's fondness for disposing of it's disposable income in the silliest ways possible. I mean, a salad spinner is a luxury by definition: "inessential but conducive to pleasure and comfort." But it is, without a doubt, one of the least luxurious luxuries ever!
These days, trashed salad spinners are, at best, a monthly find. I can't definitively say why, but I've given it some thought:
- Today's salad styles do not need as much spinning?
- Industry has perfected a durable salad spinner?
- The fashion of eating salads is waning?
- Salad spinner-related accidents prompted product recalls?
I think getting to the bottom of this mysterious change in people's habits could provide valuable social insights. The problem is a lack of data, and more to the point, lack of funding. I am slowly -- as free time allows -- preparing a grant proposal for a salad spinner alley longitudinal analytical database, or S.S.A.L.A.D. If I find a level of government
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