The Anal Stage
A small Shop-Vac recently came into my life, courtesy of my mother, who was worried about the upkeep of my house. (I’m basically twelve.) After using this device I feel better equipped to understand the continuing optimism of American culture. The machine is messianic. It redeemed my house. It sucked my troubles away to a placeless place—the interior of the Shop-Vac not being on my cognitive map. Here there be dragons composed entirely of cat hair.
