Breakfast

I guess, in some respects, I've come back around on restaurant punch cards.

I think Subway started it years ago with their stamp cards, and now you can't run a coffee shop, ice cream store, or smoothie place without them. I'm sure Red Lobster would be all over it if they could just figure out how to make a hole punch that looked like a crustacean. I would love it if the trend continued it's way up the retail ladder, and somewhere a guy was getting a free car because he had a little card in his wallet with enough stamps: "Are you sure you want to use this now? Because if you started a new card and got it half full you could get a van!"

Or maybe there's a company that sells exotic animals: "Hey, that's number 10 for you! I'll go get your monkey!" I can just see him there, holding a little yellow card with monkey-face stamps.*

Only it would never happen. There's a cap to where the punch-model will work. Why? Because the only things given away for free are ones that are nearly valueless.

It's a pretty distressing thought. Not only do I regularly buy (or in the case of smoothies, put a down payment on) things that have no real value, but knowing that they have no value I will continue to buy them. I'm aware that fruit, yogurt, orange juice, and whatever roofing compound they sell as "enhancers" and "boosts" doesn't cost that much, and apparently I'm ok with it.

Their promotional endeavors have brought the nature of their business model into stark relief. They sell, for %75 of a full meal's cost, the service of hitting a blender's "On" button. But that doesn't change the fact that there's a solid hour between when I'm done running at the track and when Karate starts, and I need something in my stomach that won't turn to cement while I'm kicking a pad.

So do I want a Strawberry Extreme? Or a Banana-berry treat?

*Gary Larson, my stuff is copyright Sam Cook. So I had better not see this pop up in anybody's one-a-day calendar.

Nuking the fridge

Art is, at its root, a collaborative effort between artist and audience. Creators extend a work into the world, and other people reach out to grab onto some part of it. Some of the audience will grasp it with both hands. Others will catch a single rung and hang on for the ride. A few will look at the work quizzically and conclude that it's a large plate of spaghetti, and thus it isn't fit to be used as a handhold. Every viewer re-authors the work for his own mind, finding a place for it (if there's room) in his own point of view.

And this is why appreciating creative works is a skill unto itself, with its own hurdles and pitfalls that have to be dealt with.

1. There is a difference between something that's "bad" and something that you, personally, don't like. Realizing that is difficult enough, learning to tell the difference is even harder. And it's made more difficult by . . .

2. You don't have to defend your likes/dislikes. People will want you to defend your preferences because many of them don't understand #1. They assume that, if you don't like something that they enjoy, then you think it is "bad" and that they are therefor "stupid" for liking it. (Mind you, these people are often stupid, just not for that reason.) All this being said: No, I don't like Homestar Runner. I don't think it's funny. And I'm tired of getting crap about it.

3. If you don't like something, walk away from it. You'd think this would be easy, but it really isn't. Sometimes you've heard so much about a book being good that you keep reading it long after you've lost interest. Or you'll watch the rest of a movie that you find boring simply because it seems like the kind of thing you usually enjoy.

Or, as was the case with Metal Gear Solid 2, I'd spent so much time following the game's development that my mind simply wouldn't accept that it wasn't awesome. This delusion persisted even after I was tasked with defeating a very large man on rollerblades who threw sticks of dynamite at me. (That is NOT a joke, it is literally something from the game.)*

Grinding your way through a work that you don't like is terrible for you. It makes you disenchanted with the medium, and is generally a waste of your lesiure time.

*This also explains why I walked out of every Star Wars Episode 1-3 movie thinking that it was "alright," and didn't realize it was bad until I woke up the next morning in a cloudy, sickened haze. You know, they should have really put a fat guy on rollerblades IN Star Wars Episode 1. I mean if you're going to screw it up that bad, you might as well go crazy!

To say nothing of caramel

Consider for a moment the candied apple.

Delicious. Healthy as far as desserts go. Fun to eat.

So how come you haven't had one in like ten years?

Why is this concoction limited to fair grounds and Six Flags when it's a nutritious alternative for your snacking needs? What has brought about such a culinary typecast?

Is it the stick? The candied apple is easy to carry, so therefore you can only eat it at places where you do a lot of walking around? Has the dessert been hamstrung by its own portability? 

But that doesn't make sense, because corn dogs are a staple of school cafeterias, but I don't remember even one time that I walked into the lunch room and saw a row of candied apples.

I think the root of it is this strange thing people have about associations. Order a cup of hot chocolate in July and see how long it takes someone to ask, "Eww, how can you drink that? It's so hot outside!"*

What difference does that make? Are you outside? It's not like the local Starbucks is an open-air street vendor. You're making a decision based on what the temperature is somewhere else. If we're going that far, why not eat based on what the weather is like in other countries? 

"Well it's winter in Japan right now, let's make some soup."

*They say this, of course, while holding a boiling hot cup of coffee.

The Sound and the Fury

My political leaning doesn't really have an official name, but I guess I'd describe it as the "Contrarian Party."*

What this essentially means is that I automatically take the opposite stance of the person I'm talking to, the strength of my beliefs scaling to match that person.

I wish I could say that I stir up such turmoil as some grand political statement, or perhaps as an exercise to bring about a genuine discourse on current issues. But the truth is that it's almost a compulsion, fueled by two things:

1. I'm deeply annoyed by anyone who believes fervently that they are right, and other people are wrong because they're too stupid, naive, or uninformed. This accounts for about 95% of politically-minded people, and only half of those would admit to it.

2. Making those kind of people angry is really, really funny to me.

The problem is that politics are so much like college football.

-Large numbers of people follow it, and can't believe that anyone in this country doesn't.

-Everyone who's into it has a side that they champion. The side they choose is conveniently in-tune with the people in their community and/or family.

-By taking a side, people automatically defend that side no matter what, while simultaneously demonizing all its opponents.

Just watch a political party convention, then watch a Saturday afternoon game. Flip the channel to CNN, then to ESPN, back and forth for a couple of hours. The stakes may be different, but you'll see the same sociological mechanisms at work. The only real difference is that most sports fans know their biases are mostly arbitrary.

So that being said, can't we just decide the election with a football game? Does it really make that much less sense than having the guy who you saw spit out of his truck today filling out a ballot?

I mean I'm just saying, we could have all this BS resolved by tomorrow.

*I've seriously considered starting a "Don't Vote: It's Bad for You" campaign, simply because it's the only position that would make both sides mad.

Have I written a post yet today?

I've been accused, usually while playing my Nintendo DS, of needing constant stimulation. As I sit here in front of my dual monitors, each completely taken up by GoogleTalk, YouTube's assortment of old "Kids In The Hall" sketches, the latest Penny Arcade post, and of course WinAmp, any counter argument is going to fall flat no matter what I say.

So I might as well go the full route and tell you that I listen to audio books in the shower. In fact, I bought extra speakers and connected them as a "B" set on my home theater receiver, then hung one in the bathroom and the other in my bedroom, just so I could listen to audio books.

Why?

Because when you add up all the time I spend showering, flossing, brushing my teeth, shaving, dressing, etc., that's like an hour out of every day spent either getting ready for bed or bringing myself to a state where I won't be tempted to crawl back INTO bed. And I feel that time is wasted.

In short, I'm weird. Moving along.

So, one day I was taking a shower, listening to my audiobook. Probably a Discworld novel or one of Christopher Moore's intriguing-but-ultimately-unsatisfying-because-dude-just-can't-stick-the-landing works. And all of a sudden I started hearing music.

At first I wasn't surprised. Some audio books will use a little music here and there, especially as a chapter break. But this music just kept going. Once I realized it wasn't part of the program, I thought maybe it was coming from outside the bathroom window. Certainly, after the night the drunk people started up a leaf blower at 3:30 AM, I wouldn't be surprised by a little music at 8:10.

But it wasn't that either. I was hearing music, and I had no good explanation where it was coming from.

Once I finished my shower, dried off, and walked through my apartment I discovered that I'd set my 2nd alarm to "radio" instead of "off," and that's all there was to it. But for those few minutes, I had to ask myself a serious question: "Am I going crazy?"

And I didn't meant that question in any sort of rhetorical, "oh ha ha" way. Not remembering where you put your keys is the right venue for that sort of humor, but hearing music that's not there? That's a little more serious. 

It's like the music they play in the dentist office. Sure it's peaceful, but you know they want you peaceful because something really bad is coming. Imaginary music is your brain's way of covering up the drill noise.

Questions, especially big questions like that one, are always more fascinating than answers. The idea that a mind in the midst of crumbling could pause to wonder if it is functioning correctly is pretty weird by itself, but there are others too. I especially like the questions that answer themselves. For instance, if you ever ask:

"Do I want another slice of pizza?" 

Then the answer is no. If you wanted it, there would be no question. The mere presence of the question disproves one of the answers.

And it's the same way with:

"Am I a terrible person?"

The answer is automatically "no," because a truly terrible person would never bother to ask.

Money? Baseballs! . . . Office? Submarine!

Greetings from MajorOnlineRetailer.com

Please be assured that this is not a form letter, but rather a personal and unique response to your EMAIL COMPLAINT SUBMISSION about one of our TELEVISION AND ACCESSORIES products.

I apologize for the delay in responding to your message. All of us are working very hard to get out the door by 5, and we strive to dismiss you in the most efficient, sterile way possible.

I am sorry for any inconvenience caused by the blatant lie we posted about the cost of one of our TELEVISION AND ACCESSORIES items. At any given time, despite our best efforts (please see attached legal document for definition of "best"), a small number of the millions of items on our site maybe be mis-priced, listed with features that are not technologically possible, or completely imaginary (as with our "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Real, living Hippogryph!" promotion).

These situations are the result of technical and human errors, which is to say complete incompetence, and I am truly sorry for the inconvenience. Not sorry enough, mind you, to make good on the offer we extended to you in the first place, but still, as sorry as I can be without financial burden.

We realize that this may have been disappointing, but we want to make sure that your decision to make a purchase with us is based on the most accurate information possible.* Which seems weird, since the whole issue is that our information was not accurate.

I am truly sorry for condescending you, then following it up with a bizarre contradiction.

If you want to return this item, please let us know so that we may begin the return process, because the best way out of a legal contract is for everyone to pretend that it never happened.

I understand that you are upset, and I regret that we have not been able to address your concerns to your satisfaction. As before, I don't regret it enough to do anything useful, so unfortunately, we will not be able to offer any additional compensation with this TELEVISION AND ACCESSORIES item and rebate.

We've appreciated your business and hope to have the opportunity to serve you again in the future (please see attached legal document for definition of "serve").

Please let us know if this e-mail resolved your question:

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Please note: this e-mail was sent from an address that cannot accept incoming e-mail, so there's no way I'll ever have to deal with you again.

Best Regards,

Smarmy
MajorOnlineRetailer.com Customer Service (see attached legal document for definition of "service")

*Actual wording.

Pax

Recently I sat and drank a Slurpee on the edge of the International Fountain in Seattle. It was a clear, warm, sunny day, which the city gets almost a dozen of over the course of every year or two.

If you've never had this experience, I have to recommend it. The fountain itself is pretty remarkable. It's essentially a giant stone bowl, a least a couple hundred feet across, that dips down into the ground. Were it not for all the water coming out of the silver dome in the center, you'd think it was an amphitheater. Sometimes the fountain sprays at random, other times its streams are choreographed to music, but understand that that water isn't really the important part. What makes the experience are the people around the fountain.

There aren't any signs that say, "Hey kids, go play in the water!" And there are no plaques that read, "I wonder if you could run up and touch the silver dome without getting sprayed!" Yet every time I've seen the fountain, there are the children, getting sprayed and laughing.

And that's what blows my mind.

This is just metal and concrete. It's a curious configuration of pumps and tubing. In all respects, we should look at it and see a void, cold, lifeless thing. It is an object.

Yet the fountain is beautiful, not because it has some artful aesthetic, but because it draws a certain response from people who see it. Children look at it as a big toy, a giant sprinkler with no signs or barriers to keep them away. Their parents find a conveniently placed concrete bench that circles the fountain, where they can sit and relax for a while. And so an atmosphere of relaxed, comfortable life surrounds the place, all because someone who knew a lot about people put in for a large order of concrete and water pumps.*

*This post is about the Penny Arcade Expo.

West Seattle as best I remember it

Individual sections of a city can be quite unique, and when they're separated by a great divide: economic, cultural, or a big offshoot of the Pacific; they can become like different cities entirely.

If you visit West Seattle, it's probably by accident, because you drove south out of downtown trying to get a picture "like in the Frasier logo," but suddenly you were on the West Seattle bridge and couldn't turn around. So here's how you can identify the area from the rest of Seattle.

-There are places to park
-These places to park do not cost $12
-Every couple of miles, you reach a hill that you can't go up with more than two people in the car*
-No one appears to be talking to themselves while leaning against the side of a building -7-Eleven's are, somehow, even more populous

The neighborhoods of West Seattle feel like the great American small town, as though you just stepped onto the set of "The Sandlot" or "The Goonies." (Upon further research, "Goonies" was shot partly in Oregon, which is pretty darn close.) If the weather weren't caught in a perpetual loop of rainy day-cold day-slightly less cold day-rainy day, it would be entirely livable.

*Let me be clear, it is very difficult to park in downtown Seattle

Any Given Monday

Ask me at the start of the week what I did over the weekend, and I probably won't be able to tell you.

I pause here to stress that this phenomenon is in no way chemically influenced.

I have some kind of natural weekend amnesia. Sometimes I'll have a vague recollection that I did something, but divining out the particulars is far beyond me.

Course lately my weekends have been dominated by Burnout Paradise, so that simplifies the whole thing.

The same problem crops up with my life in general. I can remember the major events of the past few years, but beyond that it's all hazy. Somehow, the way things are now is the way they've always been. When Vance moved to Athens and lived on my couch for three months, when I ate dinner every night in Bolton Hall with Amanda, David, and Jeremy, when I "worked" at STS doing tech support for the dorms . . . these are like movies I saw once or TV shows that came on after The Simpsons in syndication.

And speaking of movies, I'll never be able to tell you what "TRON" is about, even though I've seen it plenty of times. I followed the plot just fine, mind you, but my memory won't latch onto it in any sort of permanent way. There's a guy, some glowing stuff, someone threw this thing at someone, and the rest was light cycles.

I'm the same way with a handful of other movies, and it's especially weird since there are plenty of films (Flight of the Navigator, Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, and Wayne's World come immediately to mind) that I have an uncanny memory for, despite not seeing them for years.

But all of that pales in comparison to a couple of weeks ago, when I had to search my own blog to see if I'd already written a post about something.*

*And I HAD.

RIP little chipmunk

Every time I watch a cat pace though someone's house, I wonder what's going on inside his tiny, kitty brain.

Some would say that thinking creatures come into this world as a blank slate, their consciousness a kind of clay that gets shaped by experience. But that can't be exactly true, because no matter how much "personality" cats have, they seem to agree on a lot.

-Scratching noises are extremely suspicious.
-Small movements must be studied carefully
-The magic red dot can be, and must be, destroyed at all costs.

So then maybe our minds are like mold on your leftovers. They grow freely, and are affected by the environment, but generally they come out in the shape of their container. (And here I'm comparing the genetic predispositions of a cat brain to tupperware.)

There must be something, then, that gets passed down. Some piece of that cat brain is running some very old code, indeed. Down in the most fundamental of processes, something stirs that wants to be on the plains again, tracking a zebra.