The Stanley Cup
Reflections on my brief flirtation with one of the quintessential symbols of our cultural zeitgeist
I didn’t have anything to write about this week, or not really anyway. I definitely had some ideas, but they were half-formed or not very good. You deserve better. I was just about to pack it in, and say to myself that I don’t actually have to write every week. I mean, no one is making me do this — it’s the kind of thing no one asked for but you’re getting anyway (sort of like a time share presentation or a relative stopping over unannounced). Those are the best kinds of things, don’t you think? Anyway, the point is that just as I was going to blow it off this week, my brand new Stanley cup was stolen at the gym. The Stanley cup that I didn’t even want two weeks ago. And I thought, wow, now that’s something to write about!
My wife bought one first, that’s how it started. That’s how a lot of things start I suppose. When I first saw it, I teased her, saying that she was just jumping on the bandwagon and flocking to the next “in” thing. I went on about how Stanley cups are basic, that they are just the next Yeti, and so forth and so on. It was good natured fun.
Really, though, I was curious and intrigued by this giant monstrosity of a cup just hanging out on our counter all day. This curiosity stems from something that you should know about me.
I collect mugs. Not officially or anything, except for those nifty Starbucks city mugs, that’s definitely official. The rest of the collection, mostly of the metal insulated variety, is haphazard at best. I just sort of accumulate them like one accumulates friends. I never quite know where most of them come from, they just sort of appear. I get them at Costco, or work, or they are given to me by other people in my life. And as sometimes happens with friends, these mugs are in my life one day and gone the next with just the memories left behind.
This habit of collecting mugs, we’ll just call it a habit for now, to be polite you know, is extensive enough that the folks at my coffee shop and at work comment not infrequently on my mugs. They compliment me when I have a new one or joke about my extensive collection. It’s good natured ribbing, I think.
Even with all of these mugs, though, I had not properly cracked the car cupholder problem. The good ones don’t fit and the ones that fit kind of suck (or are small). Enter the Stanley. After seeing it inhabit space on my counter for a week or so, I knew that I had found a new friend.
Now, I couldn’t just use my wife’s mug. I hinted at it a couple of times — she didn’t touch it for several days! That didn’t go over well. She didn’t think that was very funny, as you can imagine, and I knew it was wrong in any event. If I wanted one, then I was going to have to admit it to myself and buy my own, like a grown adult. So I got on Amazon, as one does these days, and started the process. I was not prepared for the numerous color choices. I thought dark blue, easy, done. Nope, not how it works. It’s a bit of a vortex. You only get the colors that they have available, and it’s a mishmash of options, sort of like a box of sixty-four crayons with half of them missing. After some initial indecision, I finally landed on Chambray, a nice light blue (which much to my chagrin is no longer available).
Thanks to the dialed-in infrastructure that helps perpetuate our pervasive consumer culture, I received my straw-holding talisman outside the front door the very next day. I don’t want to say it was love at first sight — that’s sort of of an odd way to interact with an inanimate object — but there was definitely a strong connection. It was big and sturdy and comforting and I immediately started using it all the time. I also thought, maybe going forward I shouldn’t be so dismissive of the “in” thing, perhaps fads aren’t all bad.
I did have limits. For instance, I didn’t take it to work. Or, well, I didn’t take it into work, I definitely took it in the car every morning on my way to work. I have an image to uphold after all, and an enormous insulated mug does not play well into what I have carefully cultivated (what that is, you might ask, is open to interpretation). To protect my work reputation, the ginormous mug stayed by itself in the car. In the house, though, it followed me everywhere. We were inseparable.
Much like my wife in the past has exulted the virtues (to anyone and everyone that she knows) of Belize, Peloton, and German au pairs, I felt myself on the cusp of the same with Stanley. I was on the path to becoming part of the vocal crowd of micro-influencers trying get others to validate my own decision to add a Stanley to my life (suppose maybe with this I’ve arrived there now, who’s to know). And then just like that it was gone, out of my life.
This is how it happened, or at least how I experienced it.
I had a nice large block of time to myself on Saturday afternoon, so I went to the gym. Well, we call it a gym, it’s a little more health club than gym. My plan was to work out a little, relax, and maybe do some writing. For my workout, I decided to walk around the indoor track. I put my friend the Stanley on the window ledge, as I had previously done numerous times with numerous other mugs, and I set off on my walk.
This was not a fitness walk, though obviously I tracked it with my watch (because if you don’t, did you really do it). This was more like Henry David Thoreau walking through the forest, only inside and around a very short track over a basketball court. It was slow and contemplative, is what I’m trying to say. This is what my workouts have mostly been lately, which should probably be the subject of a separate essay. I was in my head, listening to music, thinking a little about consequential things in life, but mostly just spacing out. When I was done, after a leisurely two miles of walking in circles, I went to grab my Stanley mug and it was gone!
I was devastated. At least as far as I can recall, I have only had three things stolen in my life. A massive book of CDs in middle school, an iPhone in Washington, D.C., and now a Stanley cup at my gym. It is a nice gym, too, so it was a little jarring. Honestly, I blame the kids — I think I’m old enough to do that now. Anyway, I probably went through all of the stages of grief in about twenty minutes, and then I promptly ordered another one when I got home.
During the incident and after, I started thinking what I could learn from the whole affair. The shortest and most immediate answer was not much, just try not to be an idiot next time — either pay attention or don’t leave it where someone could easily steal it.
There’s also something to be said about our relationship, or my relationship, to stuff. I’ve always liked objects that I can hold and that give off a pleasant tactile sensation. I like reading physical books more than listening to them. I’ve written already about how much I enjoy playing records. This means that we have a lot of things, too many really. When viewed from this angle, maybe it’s the case that someone was doing me, or my wife, a favor. Although because I did immediately order another one, if it was a favor, it was a short-lived one.
As I reflect on the experience, though, I do think it would be nice, as I get older, to have less stuff that I am attached to, less to keep track of, less to be invested in, and to then have less general clutter in my life. I expect it would make me happier. By being less attached to things, I would lessen my mental investment in our physical space. Figuring out how to do that is hard, though. It involves sorting through the constant struggle of taming my attachment mentality while getting rid of things. It is something that we are focusing on this year, but every shirt I donate or book I give away feels a little like losing a piece of myself. I think, what if I want to wear that snarky off-color shirt that doesn’t fit from twenty years ago or re-read that book that I hated. This is a constant struggle in our lives, and the very real (albeit transient) grief of having my mug swiped at the gym highlights that I still have a lot work to do.
As always, thank you for reading. Please send me a note or leave a comment with any reactions.
Haha, yes, good questions! First, I do think I drank more water. Second, yes, I immediately bought a replacement and a second, smaller one, for my office.
For the last few weeks, I’ve been pondering/judging the ubiquity of these while secretly considering buying one. My main question is whether I would drink more water during the day if I used this instead of a normal sized mug. So my questions are: Did you drink more water because of the sheer size? And will you buy another one?