So many things today, it seems, “rock.”
Advertisements directed at under 34-year-olds invariably claim their product or service “rocks.” The rocking is sometimes underscored with the word “BOOM” — shown, spoken or both.
Radio stations, of course, “rock,” though it’s unlikely MTV still rocks.
Student evaluations of (good) teachers assert the professor “rocks!”
Rochester, New York’s airport abbreviation is “ROC”. So, of course, the airport, too, “rocks.”
Because of its airport abbreviation, Rochester is “Roc City” and, as a result, our massage and tattoo parlors, roller derby and even our rib-fest Rocks.
People also rock. Or at least they used to. And they rocked in rocking chairs. Sometimes in the parlor, other times on the porch.
Furniture was manufactured to rock. Even the Shakers, hardly the group that comes to mind when thinking of which groups “rock,” rocked.
But in the antique furniture business, rockers might as well be sold as boat anchors.
Because they just don’t sell as home furnishings. Or, if they do sell, they only sell at a very cheap price – the cost of firewood, for instance.
And rockers that sell seem destined to function as living room sculpture in the same way Nordic Track machines function as bedroom sculpture. No one actually uses either item.
Rockers are big and – what with their extending rockers – fill-up space in trucks, vans and on antique show floors that might find more profitable utility housing less voluminous items.
Boston rockers – those spindled, high-back, plank-seated behemoths – were worth $50 thirty years ago. Today, I’m not sure one can get fifty bucks for one.
Recently, at an antiques show, I intentionally dilly-dallied in the hope that someone else would buy the very modestly priced Gustav Stickley rocker being offered elsewhere on the show field.
Nope. No takers.
So reluctantly, I bought it. But did so with regret knowing I’d have to lug it all the way to the parking lot. And despite the fact that I know I’ll make money on it.
I guess I’m rocking.