Wake up your eggs.
January 29, 2010
When you don’t watch television regularly…who am I kidding? Even if you do watch television regularly, commercials are bizarre. It’s been a while since I’ve done a commercianalysis, and nothing depicts the cultural sinkhole that is Western society quite like commercials for processed meat.
In a world of anthropomorphic food, a Ben-Stein-esque egg takes roll of a class of bored, monotone student-eggs, all of whom are perplexingly named “Egg.” Suddenly and without warning, club dance music begins playing, a disco ball lowers, and a can of spam bursts into the room, supposedly to liven up the classroom. Two adolescent eggs collide with one-another in celebration(?), cracking and supposedly inflicting mortal wounds, which may or may not correlate to the image of a plate of scrambled eggs and cooked spam, which morbidly follows. Given the imagery, I can only surmise that the Spam company is pushing the idea to children that the addition of spam makes being cooked alive an attractive alternative to grade school.
Putting a face to the pages.
January 27, 2010
Clutching my soon-to-be-signed "A Whole New Mind," and paper for taking notes. Uber-geekage.
For centuries, reading something in printed text meant it was coming from a greater, more influential world than you inhabited. Anytime you were required to type something, it carried a certain weight. Well, in spite of the word processor, the digital revolution, and the advent of Twitter, I still have a certain degree of respect for the printed page, which is what brought me to Powell’s Books in Portland, to attend author Daniel Pink’s Portland stop on his book tour.
Entering a room of 100 or more Dan Pink fans clutching his latest book Drive and reciting Johnny Bunko’s career guide rules like mantra has a way of shattering any illusion of the personal, one-on-one connection you might think you have with the author. If I was a tick less tactful and two ticks more insane, I might have stood up and shouted “No one understands you like I do Dan! No one!” I restrained myself, since if I were to be forcibly removed from the event, how would I get my book signed?
Anyways, in spite of being visibly fatigued from being on the road, Pink brought fresh, thought-provoking insights into the deceptively tricky subject of human motivation. Like any good writer (or speaker), Pink speaks and writes with the same accessible wit, keeping his audience guessing, at times, at what angle his next point was coming from, even when devoted readers already knew the punch line. He kept the attendees involved, sometimes through participatory demonstration and other times by Socratic method, which humorously failed more often than not.
"Proof of human interaction," as Dan put it.
Having never attended a book tour session before, I discovered it has a way of adding an additional living, breathing dimension to the already fulfilling experience of reading a book cover-to-cover. There’s also a unique energy present when you put get together a group of people who share the same passion—or just interest—in the same subject. It’s a rewarding experience, particularly when you have the opportunity to ask the author of a book on human motivation “what motivates you?”
So yes, top 10 Dan Pink out-of-context quotes from the event:
10. “Ok, I’m deciding to abandon the Socratic method…”
9. “Let me say one word about open source: it’s weird.”
8. “Cut. Fade out.”
7. “Businesses treat people like horses that are slower, better smelling, and a little smaller.”
6. “Vermont: the Oregon of the East.”
5. “Buying Cheetos should not be a moral position.”
4. “Grits!”
3. “I’m pretty sure that’s how we are out-of-the-box. When the product ships, that’s the default setting.”
2. “With 100% turnover, people are like light bulbs. Ooh, one burned out. Lets take a new one and screw it!”
1. “Julio, are you a professional musician?…Yes?…Okay, someone else.”
“I don’t care for Paris.”
January 15, 2010
“You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There’s nothing to that.”
Café Aroma in Yangon, Myanmar
Almost a year ago, my life took a five-week detour to Southeast Asia. The blog basically took a hiatus for five weeks and restarted with my only mention of the trip being a post about a dream I later had about Fiji. I had posted plenty on the band’s travel blog, and I returned with little else to say about the experience. As indicated many times, I do not romanticize travel and I look forward to the day when I’m too much of a curmudgeon to step on a plane. While I’m neither a tourist nor an adventurer, I did have a wonderful trip and brought back two truly personally fulfilling moments. The first I chronicled here, and the second happened while perusing the shops near my hotel in Yangon, Myanmar.
Untitled impressionist painting. Author unknown.
After hitting up the bookstores and a few clothing shops, I came across a small shop selling original art works. I greeted whom I thought to be owner, a young woman, and browsed for a few minutes. As I thumbed through some miniature pieces, the young woman approached, pointed at the collection and quietly said “impressionist.” When I asked if they were her works, she said no and said she studied with a local artist, and that the paintings were his work. She told me she had no paintings for sale, but her preferred style was realism. We chatted for a few moments about art styles and I drew upon my limited knowledge of art history to make conversation. She seemed happy to share what she knew, and I later wondered how often she had the opportunity to discuss art with someone besides her teacher. I browsed for a bit longer before eventually coming across one striking piece whose color scheme made it stand out from the others. I bought the piece for the marked price—five dollars—and would later regret both not buying more and not paying more.
I met a lot of people on my trip, and I regret that I only really connected with a handful. I set foot in cities I never would have ever thought to visit, yet it didn’t change that it was always my foot. That fact did not necessarily take away from the trip as much as it affirmed that I was looking for the same things abroad that I looked for on a daily basis—meaningful connections, coffee shops, and spacious bathrooms.
“If you went there the way you feel now it would be exactly the same.”
-Jake Barnes
Not flying. Failing, with style.
January 7, 2010
“Have you noticed that everything on planes is very tiny? There’s always tiny food, tiny liquor bottles, tiny pillows, tiny bathroom, tiny sink, tiny soap, everyone’s in a cramped seat working on a tiny computer. There’s always a small problem: there’ll be a slight delay, we’ll be a little late, if you could be a little patient! We’re just trying to get one of those little trucks to pull us up just a little closer to the jetway so you can walk down the narrow hallway and there’ll be a man there in a tight suit and he’ll tell you you have very little time to make your connecting flight. So move it!”
-Jerry Seinfeld
I really wanted to find a coffee shop in this airport, since I don’t think I have Phoenix on my “Life in Caffeine” list. Unfortunately I was only able to find a Starbucks. Alas, the great Arizona coffee investigation twas not meant to be.
The quality of life on an airplane lies somewhere between freshman all-male college dorm and refrigerator box, but no one seems to notice. We drink our watered-down juice, sit in our ultra-upright seats, breathe recycled B.O. and flatulence, and sit physically closer to strangers than we are emotionally close to our immediate family. No one complains, though. We shuffle around each other in the isles, sneeze on old people, and drop suitcases on six-year-olds and no one says a thing. At the dawn of the age of the airliner, it’s as if they were playing a sick game of “would you rather…”
Travel by automobile and ship for the rest of your life.
or
Travel ten times faster, but lower the quality of your life tenfold while doing so.
No...he didn't. Yes. I did.
Of course, someone has to make money off of this travesty, and, as we all know, it’s not the airline industry. Once you’ve lowered your living standards to plane flight level, suddenly you desperately need to feel privileged. Eating at a high-priced Burger King after getting off of a plane flight just adds insult to injury (or injury to insult), so I opt for the comparatively ritzy bar and grill. If I’m going to get ripped off, I at least want to enjoy the food. It’s also fun to listen to people spending $12 for chicken strips and $7.50 for a beer gripe about the superficial excess of Southern California.
Well, the turkey club sandwich was horrid, and now here comes the bill…
“He’d just been hosed pretty hardcore.”
“We all got experiences…”
January 6, 2010
I woke up a few days ago and realized that I won’t be able to get by on stealing shadows and selling them on ebay for the rest of my life. My film script isn’t getting done, I’ve got credit card dept because ostrich feet don’t just buy themselves, and apparently a 10% discount coupon for a tow doesn’t count as auto insurance.
And I thought I was in America.
In spite of it all, I do still actually have a job, which is nice. Since I’m proud of my job-finding success, I’ll share a couple interviewing tips that have always worked for me. So all you college grads, soon-to-be college grads, and parolees, heed my job interview wisdom!
Keep your work up-to-date! If it’s been a few years since you graduated, and you’ve still got that thesis or dissertation gathering dust in your closet, think about revising it. Possibly a re-release special edition version with commentary and bloopers. For an extra-professional touch, consider a limited edition holographic cover.
Know your employer. When I was in college, business and econ majors threw the best parties. If you’re interviewing for a business-type job, try to drop a few references to indicate you get out some. A partially faded “over 21” stamp on your hand is a good touch. Try to wear something that has a hint of cigarette smoke, just to show that you’re cool.
Companies like to hire creative people. I often submit my resume in code, to show my potential employers that I’m not only an outside-the-box thinker, but to also demonstrate my creativity. I also used google translator to convert my name into Swedish.
Pick good references. Try to pick those who know you the best and can represent you well. I often write one for myself, because projecting a good self-image is important. Since I haven’t technically ever been employed before now, I asked the guy from Quizno’s to write me one. I don’t work there, but I go there a lot and they know me pretty well.
Include a large photo of yourself. This is particularly effective if you are attractive.
Include information about your service work. Non-profit organizations look great on resumes. I include my band, since we play a lot of shows but don’t really generate much income. I’ve also kept a careful record of everyone I’ve lent money to, and I also ask for paper instead of plastic whenever possible.
Appear valuable. Try to mention how little spare time you have since you’re always busy. If they think others are interested in you, they’ll be interested in you. Also, show up a little late and ask if you can leave early because you’ve got a “previous engagement.” It’s a plus if they think you’re popular. Wear expensive things.
Be memorable. You want to stick out from the other candidates. If you have a tattoo, display it. Consider dyeing your hair something striking. Learn some card tricks.
Be yourself. Trust me on this one. If you don’t, there may be complications later when your name, birthdate, and gender don’t match your social security records.
This advice costs you $14.99. Leave it in my paypal account. The one that isn’t suspended.
“Being a gangster isn’t as much a job as it is a poor lifestyle choice, and being a bounty hunter isn’t as much a job as it is avoiding a real one.”
Your friendeds are not my friendeds.
January 5, 2010
Once again, if you haven’t read William Deresiewicz’ article “Faux Friendship,” I highly recommend it.
I recall my first year of grad school being crazy enough without the complications of electronic social networking. As if I didn’t have enough reasons to feel old in my early twenties, on my first day I had a student abbreviate a discussion with me into another language (“Hey. Can we convo? LOL. Sorry, I like to abbrev.”), and soon after I felt the outward pressure of dealing with virtual friends—hereafter referred to as “friendeds.” After much prodding from my peers, I finally opted to give Facebook a shot, but only if I could assure that I could have all the privacy I wanted, and more. I resolved to only “friend” people that I had actual face-to-face interactions with, but my interactions on Facebook were limited until I discovered my personal Holy Grail: ultra-paranoid privacy settings. Thanks to the setting which removed my searchability on Facebook, I was free to happily enjoy all Facebook had to offer from the confines of my virtual cloaking device.
As the years have gone by, however, the ever-widening user base has had some undesirable results. While Facebook features (Facebook chat, applications, video, etc.) have consistently expanded, I’ve always had my private little wall that prevented “that one creepy guy from the coffee shop who I really never want to talk to” or “that obnoxious girl from my sophomore physics class,” or “my high school graduating class” from attempting to “friend” me. Sure, you can always ignore the friend requests, but can’t they just not know I’m there? Regardless, I’m proud to say that I’m still app-fee and I have resisted the urge to upload video or engage in real-time chat. I also was completely invisible to all but those I actually wanted to communicate with. What’s nice, is that I have had that choice.
You can run, but you can't hide. At least not anymore.
As of December 10th, I can still opt out of search results, but I have no means to opt out of being “friended” by “friends of friends” if they happen to see my picture or name in a group or wall post. “But they’re your friends’ friends,” Facebook says. “Why wouldn’t you want them to be your friend?” Well, if you’ve got one Facebook acquaintance that’s “friended” all of Northwest Ohio—and we all have got at least one who has—then that opens you up to all of Northwest Ohio as a “friend of a friend.” My real friends’ friends are not mine, so why on Earth would the Grand High Facebook council assume that I want to have the friendeds of my friendeds be able to see me? Facebook friendeds of friendeds are exponentially further away from being actual friends. Sure, there might be some that are, but does that make it worth opening me up to all of the friends of a guy a met once at a conference in New York?
The painful truth is that social networks like Facebook and MySpace have the power to dictate social privacy trends. What makes Facebook different from myspace is its respect of privacy, which has steadily eroded with every new app. Every “feature” which enables users to share more establishes a new trend which eventually becomes a standard. Not only do these new features presuppose that people want to share as much as possible, they actually encourage people to make public things that they would have never considered to display in the past. As much as I hypocritically condemn the self-important web 2.0, whether or not you want to share pictures of yourself doing a keg-stand in a unitard isn’t my business. However, you make it my business by giving all of them access to me.
I notice that every time I type “friend,” it means less and less until the word is almost meaningless. I wonder if having 1,283 “friends” on Facebook has the same effect on actual friendship?
“This information is name, profile picture, gender, current city, networks, friend list, and Pages. The overwhelming majority of people who use Facebook already make most or all of this information available to everyone. We’ve found that most people who do limit access just want to avoid being found in searches or prevent contact from strangers.”
-Facebook Blog
“…a chance to escape and treat [yourself] to something special.”
January 4, 2010
I'm totally feeling the positive difference being made in my life. The barista made me a latte instead of a wet capp, by the way.
I had some time to kill and stopped into one of them swanky coffee establishments that the greater Tacoma area seems to be a big fan of. Cutters Point sells on the glitz and polish, following the high ceiling (and highfalutin’) decorative motif that fell backwards out of a Pottery Barn truck. I’m tossing around the idea of converting my dining room into a Cutters Point location, so I gave their franchising brochure a looksee:
The Cutters Point coffee shops are unique. The use of rich mahogany wood and accents in each shop helps create a nautical theme unique for each town or location.
Look, guys, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’ve got to push the envelope pretty far to be unique, especially in the Pacific Northwest. Your use of mahogany wood is not unique (see: Forza. Or Tully’s), and if you’re using it in each shop in every town, how the hell is it unique?
We train all our staff to remember the names and favorite drinks of the regular customers –with the goal of making every customer a regular.
I quote one of my favorite college professors who was disinclined to give me a high-five if I passed my comprehensive exams on the first try: “I’m not going to reward you for merely doing what you are expected to do.” I can understand that perhaps not every coffee shop stipulates that their baristas memorize names, but it’s the type of business where regulars are part of the game. The worst baristas I’ve encountered remembered me after a few visits, and typically had some idea what I was going to order.
Every Cutters Point store offers our own line of hats, shirts and custom products. This serves as a marketing tool as well as providing quality products for our customers.
I must admit, they did have a pretty big wall of crap. I’m not sure why I’m so annoyed about their mentioning hats. Why not mugs? Or tumblers? Who the hell buys a hat at a franchise coffee shop?
We only have to look at giants like Starbucks to see the trends. Several years ago it would be unheard of for a retailer to open a store across the street from one of their already successful locations. Today, we see this all the time.
Read: We’ve got comfy chairs and shiny stuff. Bring it, Starbucks.
Cutters Point coffee shop offers fresh brewed coffee and premium hot and cold espresso drinks. Plus, most shops offer a wide variety of baked goods which include muffins, pastries and cookies.
Your pastries suck, by the way. I’m just sayin’.
Coming to a clearance rack near you!
January 3, 2010
With every consumer product, whether it be music, clothing, food, or what-have-you, there is a mastermind and a target demographic. When the item is released upon into the public, someone had to have been the brainchild to say “This is exactly what I had in mind! People will love this.” This idea is particularly baffling to me when I hear about large-scale productions such as The 41 Year Old Virgin Who Knocked up Sarah Marshall and Felt Superbad About It or Stan Helsing and realize that people had to conceive these films and put forth significant, time, effort, and money to producing them. Perhaps, like the dozen incarnations of Coke and Pepsi that came out in the late ’90s, they’re just banking on one very specific demographic, but these poorly conceived, humorless cesspools dressed up as “parody” consistently tank at the box office and rarely make enough money to warrant their production. Why do these things happen? Why?
I bet Rahm Emmanuel bought one.
If you’re going to produce something of questionable market value, do so on a small scale. Case in point, Obama family paper dolls. Sure, the obvious question is “why is it necessary to produce paper dolls of the Obama family?” Action figures, Barbie dolls, and bobble-heads I can almost understand, but cut-out paper dolls? I have to wonder whether little Sacha and Milea Obama are happy or horrified at what must inevitably be poor depictions of themselves in two dimensions. When it comes down to it, I guess I’m just curious who’s buying these things.
By the same token, who the heck is reading this blog?
Resistance is Futile.
January 2, 2010
We worry about a lot of stupid crap in our society. What makes it worse is that it’s never the right stupid crap. We worry about “global warming,” and the “crisis in the middle east,” and the “fuel shortage,” and “death.” What kills me is that we don’t need to worry about any of these problems, because they can all be solved, quite simply, by one powerful force.
Yes, indeed. That seemingly innocent pamphlet chillin’ in the pouch of the seat behind you, next to your illness bag and your emergency instructions. With the flip of only a few pages, I came to the terrifying realization that if one person were to possess all of the items in the SkyMall catalog, they would wield the ultimate power over nearly all of existence. Listed below are a few of the things that the the artifacts of this SkyMall catalog would either destroy or render obsolete. Keep in mind, my memory of the exact items in the catalog is a bit rusty, but I’ll try to remember the best I can.
The SkyMall catalog empowers its holders to control:
Gravity: Trampolines, moon shoes, and even $3,500 trips that guarantee a gravity-free skydiving experience.
Humanity: Literally dozens of robots capable of performing human tasks ranging from vacuuming, dusting, feeding and caring for pets, sorting CDs, and eating children.
Literacy: Clocks which don’t use numbers, pens that read.
Cultural diversity: Pens, handheld devices, and computer program which instantly empower the wielder with bilingualism.
Inertia: Skateboards which require no force to propel the rider.
States of matter: Electrical power grid, and roughly anything smaller than that can be instantly transformed into aesthetically pleasing boulders.
Limbs: Sensor operated trashcans, voice operated coffee makers, indentured servants.
Knowledge: Robot which contains encyclopedic knowledge of human history and English language.
Death: Escape ladder from room, soul-capturing digital camera, Necronomicron ($17.99, $29.99 for authentic human flesh-bound edition!).
Thermodynamics: Countless tools for controlling temperature of everything from luggage, food, and car seats, to hardwood floors and the surface of Ganymede.
Class distinctions: Middle- and Lower-class empowering self-help books, “money saving” home improvement kits, firearms (including a marshmallow gun capable of embedding a marshmallow in an adult male skull).
Metabolism: Rendered obsolete by Hollywood’s secret “cookie diet” allowing one to lose up to 37 pounds a day (chainsaw not included).
Exercise: Belt flexes abs for you, sweater curls dumbells for you, goofy robot tazers your testicles until your lazy ass gets up and runs around the block a few times.
Such power should not be offered to travelers. Imagine if one man held all of that power. He’d be unstoppable, and his house would look incredibly tacky.
“I cannot comply.”
Ok, ok, ok, fine. I’ll do it.
January 1, 2010
It’s 11:45pm on January 1st, and I was really thinking I wouldn’t do anything as ridiculous as National Blog Posting Month, but…yeah I’ve got no explanation for this. Perhaps it’s my need to put something on my list of accomplishments for 2010, since 2009 was a pretty accomplishment-saturated. So here I am, cranking out some sad semblance of a blog post with ten minutes to go in the inaugural day of a new decade.
The theme for NaBloPoMo this time around is “BEST.” I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care to investigate. I still firmly believe that encouraging mass daily blog posting is not healthy for our society (note the category of this post), and I in no way condone or support NahBlowPoeMoe by participating. In fact, by some form of twisted logic that only makes sense to me, my participation in NawBlewPooMew is a form of protest. Perhaps this year we will come to our senses as a species and find real ways of communicating with each other that don’t involve self-obsession.
…like there’s any historical precedent for that.
*grumble* I’ll see you tomorrow.
