Tommy Pickles Existential Crisis

Tommy Pickles: I don’t know what to tell you Dr. Lip Schitz, I cannot escape this feeling.  I look at myself in the mirror every morning and I feel like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho.  There is an idea of Tommy Pickles, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real “me”—I am simply not there.

The other night I spotted this beautiful girl at the bar.  She was wearing a pair of jeggings that perfectly captured the voluptuous contours of a collegiate body that was bound to lose its appeal within the next five years.  A modest t-shirt limited my ability to gauge the size of her milk mounds, but the screen-printing on her shirt was all I needed to fully understand her degree of sexual promiscuity.  The front of the t-shirt said “4^th Floor Hutch Hunnies” and the back boisterously stated “We like it on top”.… I’m sure her parents would be proud to know that their baby daughter explicitly advertises her preference to be the pace-setter during missionary sex. 

Anyway, I approached her with some cheeky humor, filtering her responses for intelligence/socio-economical status in hopes of making a superficial connection that I could capitalize on.  I overheard her talking about the Hunger Games Trilogy with her friend, so I used that as my entry point—women love thinly veiled romantic fiction, especially when compartmentalized into trilogies.  Remember that Doc.  Our conversation exponentially blossomed from there.  Because she was the most attractive girl at the bar, every meathead wearing a hemp-necklace approached her with the fury of a soon-to-be neutered golden retriever….I felt her interest in me waning.  At this point, I was faced with a scenario that I have become all too familiar: fuck or flight. 

Honestly, I try to develop relationships with women and friends based on the merits of my personality, but when my efforts fail, I always have a smoking gun—I’m Tommy fucking Pickles.  Anyone who possesses a cable connection and a birth certificate from 1987-1993 knows who I am.  When I expose this celebrated attribute, all the girls want to see my “pickle” and all the dudes want to know what it is like to bathe with Angelica. 

I’ll spare you all the monotonous sexual details that led to the climax of my identity crisis Doc, but basically I went home with this broad.  Naturally, she assumed the “on-top” position.  I gazed longingly into her vapid eyes as she moved up and down…but then my brain was struck with a vision that crippled my ability to enjoy the act of fornication.  Suddenly, I saw myself from the third person perspective as if I were an audience member watching my own reality show.  The past, present, and future all began to meld into one central feeling of despair. Whenever I have sex, my abs ache the next day as if I had put my body through a rigorous sit-up routine at the gym.  Every time I move, or flex my torso, I feel a strain in my stomach.  It is not a painful feeling but rather, a welcomed feeling of triumph—a relic of my sexual conquest.  Historically I am a fan of said feeling, but at that moment I became disgusted with the actions that enabled me to lay this girl in her sleep number bed and the very idea of my contrived identity.  I am nothing more than a character whose actions have been shaped by the cheers and jeers of an audience for 21 years.

 Who am I? I remember screaming out at this innocent girl.  A cold sweat came over my body and my member went flaccid.  No explanation could have set this girl’s fragile emotions at ease….so I left.  All of my friendships and relationships are dependent upon the character and fame that I acquired as an adventurous bald headed one year old. 

Dr. Lip Schitz: That is a troubling story Thomas.  At what point in your life would you say that you began to develop this keen sense of seeing yourself from a “birds eye” view?

Tommy Pickles:  As the show accurately depicts, my Dad, Stu Pickles, was an inventor—err actually a “failure” is a more accurate job title.  He just liked to play with power tools and tinker around with toys in the basement to compensate for his sham of a childhood.  Regardless, after 20 years of failing to come up with a single invention capable of putting food on the table, he invented the Yak-Bak which he sold the to Mattel for a lucrative sum.  Shortly there after, my mom caught him in the garage with a freshly “legal to consent” Suzy, beat-boxing on his flesh bone like Biz Markie.  I always thought that my dad was referring to snickers bars when he said he loooooooved chocolate, but alas, he was expressing his affinity for ebony chicks.  Last I heard the two of them were living somewhere in Barbados off the royalties of my Dad’s Yak-Bak Fortune. 

            As it turns out my psychotic woes were not brought on by my absent father, but more so by his legacy invention—the Yak-Bak.  I would play with the Yak-Bak for countless hours, mimicking “Macho Man” Randy Savage’s guttural voice in those Slim Jim commercials.  I would record, playback, critique, and rerecord my voice until I sounded the way I wanted to.   In theory the Yak-Bak sounds joyous, almost fun, but it’s the first time I remember being able to view my actions in the past, critique them in the present, and make favorable changes for the future.  The Yak-Bak enabled me to become a casual, and eventually critical observer of myself. 

Now I know that self-reflection is imperative for growth.  Presumably, people have been reviewing, analyzing, and judging their pasts and altering themselves for the future since the dawn of time, however, technology has changed the process of healthy reflection. Personally, I never had the chance to reflect on my actions and find my identity in a healthy way because of the television show I was on, and the digital era I grew up in. It is impossible not to see myself from the third person perspective as some sort of character.  Between the Rugrats, the Yak-Bak, home videos, blogs, and Facebook, everyone one of my memories has been chronicled in a vivid way.  My T.V. career may have ended years ago, but technology has enabled me to rewind, fast forward, and critique my existence as if it were a show stored on my DVR hard drive. 

 Facebook, specifically is damning because the validation or rejection of self is so instant and visual.  By visual I mean that there are a series of videos, photos, status updates, and wall posts throughout my life that evoke vivid emotions, allowing me to either marinate in my triumphs or wallow in my despairs.  Whether it’s looking at photos of my state winning high school football team, or that summer I spent in France indulging on crepes, chardonnay, and Parisian whores, I always feel energized by the documentation of my happiness, but it is just as easy to mull over life’s disappointments.

 Facebooks “see friendship” function is a window into my social progression. Every digital conversation that I have ever had will exist for eternity.  Sometimes I’ll look over conversations with people that are no longer in my life and try to pin point when the tone of our friendship/relationship changed.  I try to use the digital dialogue to aid my mental memory of events, but the faintest ink is better than the strongest memory and soon the only recollection I have of an event is how it is represented on Facebook.

  The Facebook machine is also instantaneous. Whenever I update my status, it’s a stream of consciousness—a cathartic release of emotion or whit.  I sit and wait for the that little red number to appear over the globe in the left hand corner—a “like”, a comment, anything really. As I feel incrementally better about myself with each response.  It teaches me what people want and do not want from me and in the process contrives my personality.  In other words, what type of statuses, photos, and memes, and the characteristics/themes associated with them are worth adopting into my being?  This process supplants internal reflection.  Everything is a public decision that I share with an audience for their approval or disapproval.  All of this probably sounds like technical jargon to an aging man like you Doc, but the truth is that the digital representation of self is nearly synonymous with identity. 

Dr. Lip Schitz: You seem to be lacking a clear and defined purpose.  Structure is crucial in order for you to realize Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs.  If you have nothing to get up for in the morning, then surely you lack a reason to go to bed at night.  Time loses its value without structure, goals, and benchmarks for reaching those goals.  What would you say is your purpose in life?  What do you want out of this world and…yourself?

Tommy Pickles:  That’s a deep question Doc…. Admittedly, my goals are just as conceited and selfish as the next individual.  I want to be loved, even liked by as many people as possible.  I want true and meaningful relationships and friendships.  I want to see the aggregate of my hard work materialize into a college degree with my name on it.  I want a 1040 with a six-figure income.  I want to return to my hometown and donate enough money to the local library that they will rename it in my honor and people will drive by and think “wow that guy really did something special with his life”.  I want to wrap myself in a cocoon of material possessions until my insecurities and vulnerabilities are protected by the intangible value of my 5-stall, centrally heated garage.

            The Greek’s have a word called Thurmos that literally means the desire to be recognized by people, not only now, but also for eternity.  Every morning, while I am asleep, the sunlight pierces my windowpane and numbs my brain, reminding me of the consciousness and the reality that I must face.  At that moment, I turn and bury my head back into my pillow for one last taste of solace.  Dreams are free of noise, expectations, and obligations—a beautiful state of tranquility.  Recognition, fame, or whatever you want to call it, is a slippery desire.  If you do not have it, you want.  You strive for it.  However, coming from somebody who has it, I would do anything to let it all go. I am merely the victim of someone else’s selfish desire to be recognized.  My parents and the creators of the show traded my privacy for fortune, my identity for fame, my childhood for instant gratification.

Dr. Lip Schitz:  Wouldn’t you say that the fame and fortune that you acquired from being on the Rugrats has enabled you to achieve all the goals that you mentioned?

(Jason Russell-Kony 2012 Creator)

Tommy Pickles:   That’s exactly my problem.  Most people spend their whole lifetime climbing Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs, whereas I was handed enough instant fame and money to supplant the steps of true self-actualization.  And, this all happened to me before I even developed a conscious or learned to wipe my own ass.  People who achieve mass recognition without the struggles of hard work and the creation of value are not equipped with the emotional and intellectual tools to survive.  Look at child actors, lottery winners, film makers who disguise themselves as philanthropist dedicated to taking out Ugandan terrorists, and especially reality T.V. Stars…the list goes on and on.

I don’t even know who to blame anymore. Money always muddies the feeble parameters of morality.   Reality television especially disgusts me.  People who have no skin in the game continuously exploit modest individuals by putting them into social constructs with the promises of free booze, an unlimited wardrobe sponsored by Under Armor, minimal obligations, and of course international fame.  Audiences everywhere root for mayhem and the psychological destruction of normal human beings.  The more mayhem, the more entertained the audience is, and the more money everyone makes.  The humans on the show become cartoonish versions of themselves with each passing episode.  This happens, in part, because much like the Facebook status, the gratification or rejection of self is so instant.  Countless websites, fan forums, and post-show specials give audience members a platform to actively participate in the formulations of the characters they want to see on the show.  The characters on the show become critical observers of themselves and pander to the audiences responses because their relevancy and essentially their paychecks comes from pleasing them. 

Dr. Lip Schitz:  In the time of Ancient Rome, people used to pile into the Coliseum to watch gladiators fight each other to the death.  Though on the surface this may seem crass, I would argue that it is an essential component of keeping humanity sane.  Freud came up with this idea of the Id vs. The Ego.  Simply put, the Id harbors the innate, animalistic components of personality—the need to reproduce and destroy.  The human brain is obviously more complex than that of an animal, so throughout time we have learned that there is much more to life than passing on your seed and dying.  The Ego focuses on the reality principal by trying to please the desires of the Id in realistic ways.  I would argue that reality television picked up where the blood shed at the Coliseum left off—it provides the masses the opportunity to service the desires of the Id in a healthy way—at the expense of only a few.

Tommy Pickles:  Ha-ha.  Listen to yourself, at the expense of only a few?  Can’t you see that I am apart of that few.  I have seen first hand what fame and characterization does to people.  Chucky had a predisposition for anxiety on the show and now he is a delusional schizophrenic mess.  He calls me periodically to pitch ideas about how to get the Rugrats back on television.  “When is the gang getting back together for another movie? How about a reality Rugrats series where we live in Italy for three months and work at a pizza shop?  American Idol is looking for two new judges, use your celebrity to leverage us a spot Tommy”

            Phil’s level of delusion and desire to get back into the spotlight is even more depressing.   Every time I see him he is wearing the same Austin 3:16 t-shirt that he purchased 15 years ago.  His skin looks more tan and glabrous with each passing day.  He has been trying to get onto the reality series WWE: Tough Enough for as long as I can remember.  Like most wresting stars, or childhood actors with unrealistic expectations of reaching the limelight one last time, he has battled drug addiction and alcoholism since 13. 

            As a child, I had no sympathy for Angelica because she was a narcissistic twat but now I pity her.  More than anything, she wants to be a Kardashian.  She married J.R. Smith about two years ago but it ended after three months when Deadspin broke a story about J.R. tweeting a photo of his dick to a Stanford co-ed.  She plans to audition for Basketball Wives this fall.

            These testimonies perfectly capture the destiny of anyone who has ever been characterized by a television show—once a reality star, always a reality star.  If there is not a camera to document their existence then they are left with a crippling sense of loneliness, emptiness, and delusions of importance.

Lip Schitz:  Thomas, you need to take a step back and look at what you have.  You are young and still have a lifetime to make whatever it is that you want of yourself.  Do not let your past define your future.  Depression is simply an illusion of circumstances, as is the “character” you feel has been created in place of your identity.

Tommy Pickles:  It is too late for me Doc.  My character follows me wherever I go.  It hunts me.  It haunts me. It chases me like a fire-breathing dragon named Reptar, except the grave consequences of life cannot be summarized into 15 minute parables like they can on Rugrats.  Maybe I am ungrateful, and perhaps we are all just actors in a play called Life!, waiting for the right casting call to help us achieve temporary happiness….I just wish I were given the chance to choose my character.

Dr. Lip Schitz: Who are you?

Tommy Pickles: Nothing more than an idea Doc…as fictional as the reality in front of me.

7 Facebook Personas We Could All Do Without

Facebook Personas

Facebook does not operate with the same social norms of face to face human interaction.  Thus parasitic personas have risen to the surface that six years ago would have been stifled by simply saying "Larry, are you seriously expressing your emotions in Coldplay lyrics right now?" or "Devon--if you hi-five yourself one more time after making a joke I'm going to break your hand off".  

This is the world we live in....

1) The guy who likes his own status.

This type of guy is subtly the most irritating persona on the web.  Liking your own status is like wearing a t-shirt for your own band.  Of course, you like your own status—otherwise you would not have posted it!  However, this does not mean that you should give yourself a thumbs-up like an ass clown.  Look, my dog can lick her own privates but I still look her right in the eyes when I catch her doing this and say “a bit indulgent, don’t you think?” 

2) BFF’s (who love to advertise their best friendship)

This persona is the joint effort of two people who, throughout the day, write on each other’s walls.  These people clutter and dumb down news feeds with the sustained fury of a caffeinated Rush Limbaugh.  The content of their posts range from inspirational memes, to ludicrous spring break plans—which usually leads to one friend declaring to the other: “we need to have a SKYPE DATE to discuss the plans and quotes I posted on your wall earlier!!!!”  90% of the time these two people are roommates and could have had the exact same conversation in person, in a matter of minutes…but where is the social validation in that?


3) The Guy who inexplicably posts rap lyrics 

I could be wrong, but I am willing to guess this guy has never sold drugs or broken a hundred dollar bill on anything besides a pack of skittles.  Likewise, I doubt they will ever develop enough respect to be deserving of being referred to in the Spanish formal tense.  These dudes usually have girlfriends and yet their posts consistently refer to woman negatively.  As long as the message is delivered under the guise of a rap lyric—all is well.

4) The Political Pusher

Politics should only be discussed—with any type of intensity—after a couple of beverages.  This type of person constantly jams up the news feed with articles from obscure publications and quotes from their favorite presidents (only on slow news days).  Usually they end their posts with some sort of call to action like “Get out and Vote!” or “What are you doing about reducing your carbon footprint?????”

5) The obsessive/aggressive sports fan

Everyone has a friend like this.  They are not fun to watch the game with in person, but it is entertaining to watch them chronicle their aggression on the social airwaves.  If the Packers are playing, they will post after every offensive play that progresses over 6 yards. “Niccce cut Ryan Grant”.  The support is kosher but this type of person will flip on a moments notice as soon as someone drops a pass or the ref blows a call (so really anything that negatively effects his team’s efforts). “Roughing the passer Are you f*cking kidding me? The NFL is for p*ssies.”

6) The guy/girl who posts song lyrics to describe their mood

The difference between the rap lyric poster and this type of persona is that the lyrics are actually applicable to a person’s current state.  That does not, however, make them any less annoying.  As a rule of thumb I try to avoid referencing Ke$ha when summing up my struggles with the opposite sex—and John Mayer for that matter.   

7) The asshole that is always trying to get you to read his blog

This person might actually be the worst type of person on the web.  They are generally arrogant and misguided.  Their ego is artificially swollen into believing that anybody would want to read their take on anything.  Where was their authority derived from?  Where do they get off thinking that anyone would actually want to read their take on something like credit cards, or Facebook personas? Fuck this person.  :) 

Thanks for reading ;)

Wake up Mr. West--I have a problem

Whenever I run on a track, I make sure that Kanye is there to narrate my attempt at physical fitness.  A movie montage breaks out in my head with the song “Last Call” playing in the background.  The camera angle cuts back and forth from the first person perspective to a side view of my stride.  A feeling of invincibility rushes over me as the song builds up to the chorus.  Everyone in the gym starts to feel my heart rate increasing, the burning in my gluts, and even the bittersweet irritation of my nipples chaffing against my cotton t-shirt.  A sizeable crowd begins to mount behind me as they cheer me on to a successful workout.  It is almost as if everybody is listening to the exact same song I am at the exact same time.  And we all have this incremental boost in our swagger, which materializes into running that much faster. It takes every ounce of my self-restraint to not yell out “Mayonnaise colored Benz—I push miracle whips!” as I finish mile one.

I am a self-diagnosed Kanye-A-Holic.  If I go longer than four hours without hearing a song off the College Dropout album I get the shakes.  But like a heroin addict who can get by on xanax until their dealer comes thru, I am able to settle for a crappy synthetic radio jam like 808 and Heart Break in a pinch.  I often find myself trying to parallel his lyrics in conversations ranging from the meaning of life to the Cuban Missile Crisis. The question is why?  I do not have the slightest idea what its like to stunt on a jumbo-tron, or to be the owner of a 20,000 dollar Jesus piece, or to have bi-weekly brunches with Jay-z and Beyonce….but by god I would love to. 

Music panders to every emotion imaginable and when an artist pours his soul into a rhythmic, cathartic release, it is beautiful.  The beauty of any art is this: we continuously harbor painful/triumphant memories, and the crippling self-awareness of our shortcomings and vulnerabilities—that we need an escape from ourselves.  We become bored with the trite voice inside our heads so we live vicariously through someone else’s description of the human experience.  Sometimes we can directly relate with the message of the artist and other times we cannot, and yet we do not care.  The latter is exactly how I feel about Kanye West.  

Who else has the bravado to shit on america's
sweetheart? And still bounce back.

I cannot directly identify with what he is saying but I respect the way he carries himself.  He speaks with confidence, candor, and consistency.  Too often, I let social norms and the status quo dictate the person that I am but Kanye is not shackled by the rules of normalcy.  I suppose when you are rich, famous, and talented you can get away with just about anything but Kanye does this with an attitude and style unlike any other artist.  I wish I could go through life like Kayne but I would be perceived as cocky, arrogant, and thick headed.  But that desire is the empirical value of his music: he personifies a demeanor we wish we could all ostensibly present but instead we can only embody him internally, and by ironically imitating his lyrics at house parties or in the privacy of our vehicles.  His music describes the human experience through his eyes and its kind of romantic to try and imagine the lens with which he sees the world through, if only for a moment.

Art, in any capacity, has a lot of value to me because it’s a means of expression, escape, and it has an eerie way of unifying people.  For example, many people think that Bon Iver’s “Skinny Love” accurately describes their romantic plight, just like their are those who believe daily horoscopes accurately describes the essence of their lives.  It’s a self fulfilling prophecy in the belief that “we are never alone”.  Social interaction is driven by the fear of loneliness and the silence that is associated with it.  Music solves both of these problems because fans connect with other fans and thus are not alone as the music fills the silence.   

The perfect example of this is of course concerts.  Concerts alter our moods, inhibitions, and confidence. We have a chance to be around people who all came to see the same person purge their emotions into a symphony of theatrics.  There is something rather comforting about having at least one thing in common with thousands of people in a single area.  This comfort allows you to relax, release, and enjoy.  I specifically remember my knees bending in ways that they never have before while listening to the sweet live guitar rift of Blink 182’s “What’s my age again”.  Similarly, the first and last cartwheel I ever did in my life was when I heard the live sax-a-phone solo in Dave Matthew’s song “The Warehouse”.  I was hardly myself and I never felt better.  

I suppose as a white male I can identify with somebody like Dave Matthews or Blink 182 more than Kanye but they do not evoke nearly as much emotion out of me.  I don’t even want to know how I would act if I ever got the chance to attend a Kanye concert but my guess is I would have a hard time reverting back to reality after having my swag gland artificially stimulated for two straight hours.  Music is so important because it gives you a chance to either affirm your reality with a new perspective or temporarily escape it, while simultaneously connecting with both the artist and the people around you.

I bought my whole family whips, no volvo's

Next time I'm in Church please no photos,
Police escorts, everybody passports,

This the life that everybody ask for

Sorry, that was the last Kanye reference --Watch the throne while I am in Kanye Rehab.   The cure? Two hours of Jason Aldean’s Pandora station followed by one hour of Garth Brooks, followed by Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” played continuously until I stop referring to myself as Ye’.

Cruise-Ships & The Banality of Relation-ships

Cut to a setting at a coffee shop near the Miami coast.  The weather is gorgeous, the crop of people trekking thru the area are youthful, determined, and ignorantly oblivious. 

Gerald: (sets down his chi latte) Yo! buddy its good to have you back in God’s country.  How was the Caribbean cruise? Tell me everything.  What was the spread like?  Did you meet the indigenous people of Disney Island?

Arnold: (takes a deep breath and stares off into the horizon) Gerald, you have no idea what I have just been through.  In the weeks leading up to the cruise I found myself loathing the very thought of it.  My preconceived notion of cruises was based on that one Cuba Gooding Jr. movie where he mistakenly boards a gay singles cruise. I thought the boat was going to be littered with overweight tourists who wanted nothing more than to eat buffet food, drink to excess, and tan their pasty white complexions into a lobster tail red.

Gerald:  Sounds like heaven, what chu bitch’n about?

Arnold: That’s just it man, I thought I was going to hate it but it was heaven.  It may have been the greatest week of my life….until I arrived at the realization that it was all an illusion.  Cruise ships are like being in a relationship. 

Gerald: How is cutting through the Caribbean on a 80,000 square foot vessel that has an Old Country Buffet every 10 feet like being in a relationship?

Arnold: Think about any girl that you’ve ever dated in your life.  When you are getting busy the excitement stems from the unknown.  What is she going to do next? Whoaa was that her tongue nearing my ahhh…is she really going to let me hit it from behind?

But it doesn’t have to be sexual, maybe she blows your mind intellectually or emotionally in a way a girl never has before.  It’s the honeymoon phase, you know? She can’t do anything wrong because it’s all new.  You want to explore every inch of her body, every fold in her brain.  You cannot get enough.

            The first day on the cruise ship was just like the euphoric feeling of being with a new woman.  The cruise staff greeted me with a pineapple cocktail the second I walked on the ship.  I didn’t even need to pay cash, they just asked for my room number.  I felt compelled to explore every crevice of the ship initially but I got caught up at the self-service ice cream machine that was located on the ships upper deck.  I grabbed my cone and dipped my toes into the wading the pool while the multi-cultural staff tended to my every need.  I have never been so happy in my life.  The breakfast buffet, in particular was like nothing I had ever seen before.  The lox were fresh, the bagels were soft, and they even had bacon wrapped honeydew topped with a sliver of brie.  Bacon wrapped honeydew with a sliver of fucking brie!  Can you imagine? Every corner that I turned there was something new and exciting. Bacon wrapped honeydew is to the cruise ship what stand up 69-ing is to a relationship—an unbelievable perk.

Gerald: You’ve seriously dated a girl who doesn’t let you hit it while stand-up 69-ing?

Arnold: It’s a metaphor you jackass…keep up.  The honeymoon stage went on for a couple of days and things just kept getting better.  You know the little things.  It’s the way the wait staff fluffed my pillows every morning.  It’s the way they made sure there were fresh towels in my cabin at precisely 9:30 am.  It’s the way they looked at me sincerely every time I passed them in the hall and said “how are you today sir”.

I had dinner every night at 5:30 at one of the five premium restaurants on the ship.  The same wait staff would rotate each night to the restaurant that I was eating at so they began to get to know me.  Well, not the “real me” but rather, how I like my steak done and the fact that I prefer desserts filled with chocolate vs. fruit.  The little things add up and I had a growing sense that these people cared about me. Then I instantly grew bored with them.  At that moment, I realized that there was nothing left to discover.  The cruise staff spoiled me rotten and I found myself growing progressively disgusted with the whole thing.  The only means of excitement left on the trip was when the boat docked for “day trips” on an island. But it was a controlled and contrived excitement because the cruise line planned everything that I did in advance.  Part of me was turned off by this contrivance, but the other part liked the comfort of not having to make decisions for myself.

The boat stopped at a total of three islands and I did the exact same thing at each: para-sailed, went to the gift shop (strategically placed close to the harbor) to purchase a neon cutoff t-shirt that said something like “I was here: Key West 2012!” and a post card to send back to my friends as proof of my vacation….before B-lining back to my place of comfort—the boat. Sadly I went to three exotic Caribbean islands and all I have to show for it is six fucking neon t-shirts and a half smoked faux Cuban cigar.  At the time, I saw no purpose in venturing any further than that because I just wanted to get back to the boat where people knew how I liked my steak!

Gerald:  Thanks for sending me a post card asshole….

Arnold: By the fourth day, I had sampled nearly every drink on the menu and I had devoured every type of cuisine.  In order to keep things interesting I began to test the limits of the wait staff’s hospitality.  The more I pushed the more accommodating they were and the more frustrated and bored I became with the whole thing.  I ordered 4 cheeseburgers with 2 sides of fries from room service at 4:30 in the morning and the food arrived 20 minutes later.  I didn’t even eat it. I just let it rot on my desk in front of the vanity mirror for the wait staff to clean up in the morning.  I wanted someone to express some real emotion to me. Discontent, jealousy, frustration, anything!  But they didn’t…they took everything in stride with a smile on their face.

Every night at dusk I would go down to the boat’s 3^rd floor deck to run laps.  As I circled the boat I became infatuated with how beautiful the horizon looked and how deeply blue the water was.  However, the infatuation soon faded into lust and romantic fantasies about leaving the boat behind.  I just wanted to get into one of the rescue boats and trek off into the horizon but where would I even go—there was no land in sight.  Who would I even be without the comfort of the cruise?

Gerald:  So you are saying that your identity entered a temporary state of paralysis while you were on the cruise?

Arnold: Exactly, a cruise ship is like a pressure cooker for simulating the stages of every relationship. At first, everything is exciting and euphoric.  After the excitement fades away, the basis for the relationship becomes the established comfort zone.  Exclusive relationships exist solely because they are efficient, easy, and predictable.  It’s much more efficient to spend time finding one person who embraces your strengths, hobbies, aspirations, and overlooks your faults, than it is to convince multiple people that your life has some sort of value. You use this comfort zone as a crutch to avoid any scenario that threatens your perceived well-being and in the process your individual identity is compromised.  The identity of you and your significant other begin to meld into one indistinguishable, interdependent being.  Suddenly you find yourself only associating and socializing with other people who are also in relationships, thus eliminating the possibility of ever lusting for someone or something else.  This leads to complacency.  When you feel completely satisfied with who you are in terms of someone else, it’s easy to abuse the relationship, either consciously or subconsciously.  That’s the precise point that a relationship begins to erode—when you know someone too well to the point that you exploit them.  The longer you rely on the comfort of someone else, the more difficult it becomes to reenter society as an individual. When you are locked into a long-term relationship life becomes a calculated set of destinations, rather than an aimless, yet, organic journey of finding yourself.

On the last day of the cruise, I awoke and went down to the accounts payable office to settle my outstanding bill.  I left the wait staff a generous tip for their service over the last week.  After that, I headed towards the breakfast buffet one last time before docking on land.  As I approached the buffet, I was astonished to see that the bacon and honeydew were in separate trays.  Why are they not wrapped around one another?  And where the hell was the brie!??? The wait staff had already been tipped out, what was their incentive to impress me? Their hospitality was an illusion, their sincerity was an illusion, the whole goddamn cruise was an illusion that I grew to depend on over a week.   Although at times I tested their affection just to keep myself entertained, having the option of neglecting someone is more appealing than having no one who cares enough to let you neglect them.  The second they stopped caring, I realized just how much that week meant to me--even if it was an illusion.  With them, I was a needy, selfish human, and without them, I was a lost, torched soul who did not know where to turn.

Gerald: So, much like a woman, the wait staff neglected you after your perceived value had diminished.  You have been back in America, on solid ground for three days now …how are you holding up?

Arnold: (Staring off towards the Caribbean Sea) I would kill for some bacon wrapped honeydew with a sliver of brie wedged in between…

Gerald: Wait.... are you talking about the food? The standup 69-ing? A woman? The cruise wait staff????

Arnold: Its a metaphor Gerald, life is one big metaphor....

Is Alanis Morissette an Idiot? Irony vs. Coincidence

Alanis played the character of god in Dogma.  A woman
playing god: is that ironic? or a coincidence? Don't ask the
woman pictured.

“Isn’t it ironic how Michael Phelps, my favorite athlete, got caught ripping a bong at a college party and then two weeks later I got busted in the dorms for smoking weed because I tried to use a Doritos bag to block the smoke detector.”

            No. It is not ironic.  It is a coincidence—and a minor one at that.  Seattle columnist Dan Savage successfully altered the history of the word Santorum, much in the same way that Alanis Morissette obliterated the meaning of irony.  Her song “Isn’t it Ironic?” does not come close to exemplifying a sliver of irony, which confused a mass amount of people, thus resulting in 15 years of statements similar to the one above.  The events that Morissette describes in her song are mostly coincidences.

            A coincidence is when two independent occurrences collide to form a unique, and often-hilarious outcome.  Situational irony (the type Morissette aims to convey) exists when actions have an effect that is contrary to the expectation.  The expectation needs to either be universally understood by being implied or explicitly stated.  When the result of something is contrary to the expectation, irony exists.  The lyric, for example, “10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife” by itself is just a coincidence.  If Alanis found herself in the same situation at, say a Steakhouse, then it would be ironic because one would expect a steakhouse to have a breadth of knives.   Nevertheless, forget abstraction—let us get concrete.

Examples of Irony (Some of these are hypothetical so please do not take offense)
Lets start simple:

-You are a dentist who has a serious case of gingivitis.

-You are a child who only prays to God for two things:
1) That Santa will bring you an iPad 3 this Christmas.
2) That your parents over sleep their alarm every Sunday morning.

-A bully on the playground constantly berates and harasses you.  As a means of retaliation, you retort to the bully with a cocky and clever sing-along “thas alright, thas okay, urrrr gunna pump my gas someday.”  Twenty years later, you find yourself working at a 711 outside your hometown pumping gas for the bully who is now the owner of said 711.

-You pull up to a stop light and look to your right. In the lane next to you, there is a Chevy 4x4 with a Jimmy Johns delivery topper perched on the roof of the vehicle.  Disgusted, you turn your attention to the car in front of you only to see an equally repulsive Toyota Prius with a “Drill Baby Drill” bumper sticker. 

-You are the head of CIA.  Your job is to protect and secure our borders by providing the government with top-secret information about our enemies. However, you begin to worry about how the recession will affect your career.  Fearing job security, you decide to sell some weapons to our enemies.  Over the next 15 years, you work on locating the weapons and suggest to the government that we wage a couple of wars in order to keep our borders safe.  Years later, you write a tell all book in which you state “The decision made absolute sense from my standpoint.  A temporary breach in national security led to a generation of job security for my division and the defense department as a whole.”

-You smoke Camel Crush cigarettes and puncture the mentholated bead in the filter before lighting. 

-You used to think that ESPN’s NFL pregame was paramount in terms of insight, humor, and opinion.  Then the other day you watched the telecast for a whole hour after accidently hitting the close captioning button. You realize just how obtuse and humorless the show really is when all of the on-air personas are boiled down to pure text.  As you sit on the couch reading the transcript of the show, you cannot help but notice the excessive use of the word “man” and how often everybody refers to themselves in the third person.  Suddenly, you begin to feel bad for the person sitting in a cube somewhere typing word for word what these guys are saying. 

Keyshawn: Boom where’d you get that haircut? You look like Danny Devito in Taxi
Boomer: I’ll tell you what Key, this cuts looking a lot better than your ability to predict games this year.
Keyshawn: hahahahahaha ahhh man Boom you sure know how to zing me (slaps the table)
Ditka: (raspy tone) God I love football you guys crack me up.
All: (Unison laugh)…….
“”
“”
“”

Boomer: (Out of breath) Alright folks--we are having a lot of fun here this morning but lets take a commercial break.  Up next the Mayne Event!  Kenny finds out what type of shampoo Tom Brady is using on his luscious locks and how it’s the Key to his success.

-The state of Wisconsin is livid about people who drink and drive.  Legislation and smear campaigns have raised the collective consciousness to the consensus that it is in fact a bad thing.  However, many bars in Wisconsin prohibit people from parking in their lots over night.  Not sure if you are too drunk to drive? Don’t worry there is a breathalyzer at the door for a nominal $1.00 fee (buy one blow, get one free!).  But hell--its much easier to criminalize and lock people up than it is to provide the means for a solution.

-John Cougar Meloncamp makes millions of dollars singing about how rewarding it is to grow up in blue-collar Middle America, thus ensuring that he will never have to drive a tractor, fix his own vehicle, or live in a little pink house ever again. 

-Barack Obama is the leader of a country where he could not even vote for himself 150 years ago. 45 years ago, he could not enjoy a Coca-Cola at the same establishment as a white person in any state below the mason Dixon line.   Now he is arguably the most recognizable and powerful man on the planet—how’s that for situational irony? Sometimes irony can be poetically just.  

Part 2: Examples of Coincidence Coming soon

Hey Credit Card Companies-->F*ck You.

The American dream, according to Wikipedia, is defined as:
 A national ethos of the United States in which freedom includes the promise of prosperity and success….life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement.

That is a beautifully written, outdated fallacy. The new American dream (or perhaps the real American Dream) looks a little bit more like this: It is every Americans civic and economic duty to spend as much as they can today to ensure the future prosperity of America.  This new ideal is the not the creation of the consumer but rather a debt perpetuating instrument called the credit card. 

Credit card companies present themselves as enablers of this dream.  They position themselves as selfless philanthropists by granting American citizens the opportunity described in the latter half of the Wikipedia definition—a chance at “a better, richer, fuller life” (minus the need for ability or achievement).  Strip away the fluff of the phrase and it is easy to see the underlying truth: “Spend today….pay for it for the rest of your life.”    

Credit cards have ushered in a generation of people that buy into these debt-enslaving instruments and the culprit is not the consumer, but rather the entity. These instruments have not only wronged a generation of people (myself included) but also the very dream they claim to be aiming for—the future prosperity of America.            

 I showed up on my college campus as a savvy 18 year old.  I thought I was a lot smarter than I was, but as it turns out, I was more naive and obtuse than most.  During the first week of school, I found a coupon in my dormitory mailbox for free pizza at a local restaurant. Within a week of college, my body was already craving the dietary staples of pizza and beer—so the mere mention of “free” lured me in.  At the entrance there was a slick man shaking hands while handing out clipboards and pens. The man was of course a credit card tycoon.   Behind him, there was a mountain of “free“ pizza.  He told me that if I filled out a short personal information survey, I was free to indulge.

Personal information surveys are the equivalent to offering a woman a backrub during the seduction process.  It’s a seemingly harmless excuse to get close to another person without stating intent.  Sensing my skepticism, he told me that there was no obligation to sign up for a card, as he stressed the importance of building credit and earning rewards.  Eager to eat, I scribbled my contact information on the form and the man thanked me with great delight. I engaged in flirtatious foreplay with the debt devil.

What happened next was a rollercoaster ride of blurred euphoria and a subsequent mixture of regret and shame.  It all happened so fast. When my pre-approved application for a Discover Card came in the mail a week later, I filled it out and started charging everything—all in the name of building credit. Suddenly, I found myself 1,500 dollars in debt.  My incompetent spending earned me a Discover Card fleece blanket, and four 8 oz. vacuum-sealed skirt steaks—in 6 years. Under the influence of pizza aroma, and the promise of financial freedom, I became the victim of a heinous credit assault.

I am fully aware of my stupidity but some of the blame should be put on other pivotal enablers.  Why did the university allow the credit card company to solicit our business with direct mail?  Why did the owner of the pizza joint endorse the man pushing credit cards on 18 year-olds?

The reality is that credit companies are malicious when it comes to targeting young people.  They lure naïve individuals who define adult independence as purchasing their own groceries and wiping their own asses, with complimentary gifts. The practice is flawless from a revenue standpoint because a person, who is stupid enough to trade their personal information in exchange for pizza, is likely to indulge in frivolous spending habits.  Unfortunately, “good business” can be guised under unethical false advertising. 

What is there to actually discover at discover.com?  That I’ve been pre-approved for a high interest rate credit card that has a 5,000 dollar limit?  Finally, a company that understands my innate desire to mortgage my future so that I can start living the way I want today!.....because as a Black LT Discover card holder, “anything is possible.”

            Credit card companies are legal loan sharks that compete for business with clever product names and tag lines in attempt to empower a consumer’s sense of freedom and identity. Companies that sell easily abused products should be required to use generic names like “Credit Card Company 1” and “Debt Device 2”.

For instance, look at the prescription drug industry.  Drugs are named with basic scientific titles that evoke little to no emotion from users.  To most, the terms Ritalin and Adderall mean absolutely nothing, but their function is widely understood.  If a doctor offered his patient a choice between the two, they would likely be indifferent.  However, imagine that Adderall renamed its product “Magic” and the patient was approached with same scenario.  Magic would be the drug of choice a 100 times over because the name is more appealing.

            Discover’s product differentiation model is equivalent to the above hypothetical scenario. Isn’t it ironic that a domain that suggests exploration and wonderment belongs to a credit card company? The Discover domain should be reassigned to a company that actually makes sense. (I suggest stumbleupon.com be granted the domain)  

             The last cigarette advertisement aired during the Johnny Carson show in 1971.  Since then, the FCC has outlawed the glamorization of cigarette usage on television.  Likewise, companies that sell alcohol are not allowed to display people drinking their products.  Companies that sell inherently detrimental products are not allowed to romanticize what it is like to be a user.  Credit card companies, on the other hand, are allowed to depict people climbing mountains, flying first class, and eating cuts of steer only available in the remote annals of Africa.  The underlying theme of these commercials is obvious: with card X anything is possible—or as Discover eloquently puts it: It Pays To Discover.

            Companies like Visa and Discover are able to plaster their names all over the country’s biggest events because they have loads of money.  The irony is that they make their profits from consumers that are the exact opposite of their commercials.  If people were able to pay their balances on a timely basis, then the credit card industry could not afford to advertise.  Instead, they fictionalize the lifestyles of card members and reap the benefits of people who default on their debts trying to live out these fantasies in reality.

Furthermore, increasingly austere tobacco regulations are making it unattractive to continue to smoke.  In the near future, congress will pass a bill requiring cigarette packs to depict the inevitable results of usage—so mangled babies, black lungs, and rotten teeth will be on packs of Marlboro Lights soon.  Credit card companies should be held to these same standards.

Credit card companies offer consumers the opportunity to customize the image on their cards.  They do this by collaborating with a local sports team or by allowing users to put a picture of their Great Aunt Nan on the card.  This practice plays into the American consumer’s obsession with customizing a ubiquitous product with their uniqueness.  In the process, a device that promotes frivolous spending is assigned to the consumer’s fanship or family.  The ill intent of the device is guised under these customizations. 

 Instead, cards should depict the likely result of usage—a man sitting on a park bench, dressed to the 9’s with his shoulders shrugged, pockets turned inside out, and a look of despair and confusion in his eyes. The picture should be watermarked so that in bold 16 point font a warning can be issued that says: WARNING: YOUR CREDIT SCORE DETERMINES YOUR ABILITY TO SECURE A JOB, A MORTAGE, AND YOUR OVERALL WORTH AS A HUMAN BEING! SPEND WISELY!

Sadly, the barometer for a person’s competence in modern society is based on their ability to borrow and buy goods and the masses need to constantly be reminded of this.  Just like we are constantly reminded that cigarettes are bad for our health with anti-smoking campaigns, TRUTH ADS, and lawsuits. 

As Credit card companies continue to incentivize acquiring cards with customization packages and free airlines miles, they are in turn creating habitual errant spenders.  Awareness is crucial, and the above suggestions, though hyperbolic, are steps in the right direction.  

            Look, I understand that not everyone is in credit card debt and those who are foresighted and fiscally responsible will never be victimized by Credit Card companies. However, American culture, down to its very core, is built on consumerism--the need for the newest, brightest, and most expensive product of the season.  Day after day, we are bombarded with advertisements that remind us of our inadequacies and media hubs telling us that the only way to avoid the next great depression is to SPEND NOW. 

            With unemployment and wealth disparity at an all-time high, where are people suppose to get the money to, well, be American? Credit Card companies feed on these ideals by exploiting consumers who cannot stop indulging their every whim. 

Employ a recovering alcoholic at a nightclub and eventually he will be back on the sauce; offer high-interest short term loans to people who are born to consume and eventually they will be in debt for life.  Debt instruments only hinder the possibility of prosperity and success described in the old American Dream.   The new American Dream casts a grave shadow on American citizens, but at least someone was nice enough to give them a chance to Discover.™

Cigarettes and Iphones: Which has more utility in the modern world?

With the analog apocalypse and yearning for a simpler time aside, I am still reluctant to purchase an IPHONE.  Until my recent epiphany my biggest gripe was the price.  AT&T offers an unlimited text, calling, and the smallest data package for 75 dollars month—who has that kind of money?  Then it hit me, I spend that sum (roughly) on cigarettes every month.  If only I could just burry my addiction to tobacco I could easily become an IPhone owner.

           Now I know it may not be proper literary form to assume what the reader is thinking, but I’ll assume most of you are screaming “EASIEST FUCKING DECISION EVER, put down the cancer sticks” as you are reading this.  But what I am suggesting to you is that my concerns run much deeper than just the price—it’s actually my skepticism about giving up one for the other. So it has come to this: before I assume the role of an IPHONE owner I must fully hash out what I will be gaining by the purchase and what I will be giving up.

Stylistic Liquidity

          Much like a woman recovering from a self-esteem boosting boob-job right at the peak of ovulation (leading to an unexpected pregnancy), the decision to purchase an IPhone is going to take some precise timing, planning, and a little bit of luck. Monumental purchases always have unintended consequences if the timing is off.   The problem with purchasing technology is that the marketplace reinvents itself too quickly.  If I wait for the price of the IPhone to drop, I will be stuck with an old model.  If I purchase the phone too soon I will spend a ton of money and deal with a bunch of preliminary software bugs.   

If I purchase an IPhone I am going to be locked into that purchase and the brand identity that is associated with it. The opportunity to develop a unique identity amongst a sea of other IPhone owners is difficult because it is expensive to do so.  The only way I could distinguish myself is by purchasing an array of accessories.  If I start to think like this, I know I am in trouble:



“Maybe I’ll go with the green case today, or perhaps the red one.  Screw it the fourth of July is coming up, where is my red-white-and-blue case? The one with strategically placed rhinestones in the shape of stars that captures the very essence of my patriotism.

Ask any pubescent child who has ever tried to ease the social aggravation of wearing braces by periodically customizing their teeth caps to reflect the current holiday or their artistic angst.  The verdict?  You can’t accessorize something that is socially repulsive into being acceptable.

            It’s much easier to alter my cigarette smoking habits to reflect my current feeling.  Camel lights are my baseline brand but my purchases alter depending on my mood.  If I am feeling especially frugal, I’ll roll my own.  If I am feeling cash saturated, I will throw down for some Parliaments. Because cigs are so cheap (relative to the IPhone) and quickly consumed, I am able to adapt my brand to fit my current need. (ADVANTAGE CIG)






Social Worth

I’ve been smoking cigs for about 14 months so I feel like I am able to speak on the behalf of habitual smokers. Yes cigs are expensive and yes they are bad for your health but let me remind you that they used to be a perfectly acceptable social norm.  I use cigarettes for a variety of things but I think it’s most valuable use is to connect with other people and also myself--in reality.

In today’s social world, we have become progressively numb to letting our guard down in the physical because of the Internet and its omnipresence. When I see someone smoking a cigarette outside of a public place, I feel an instant connection with them because they are openly advertising something about them self that I can easily identify with.  My hope is that the conversation progresses beyond just talking about cigs or the weather but our shared interest is the catalyst to that opportunity.  IPhones on the other hand prevent this type of connection because users are always buried in asocial world that exists somewhere beyond the immediate present.  I fear that by replacing cigs with an IPhone I will lose many opportunities to spark organic conversation.

             Cigs also provide an escape from awkward social situations.  Whenever I find myself in a place where I lack confidence or there is a great amount of tension, I am able to step outside and collect my thoughts with a cig. If I tried to step outside and collect my thoughts for five minutes without a cigarette people would think I was nuts.  The same concept applies to public places with lots of people—if I were to just stand around without appearing busy, people would instantly discount my social worth.  A cigarette puts me at ease.

The IPhone could solve much of what I just described of course because anytime I may be feeling frightened, alone, or awkward, I could just bury my attention into the digital abyss of entertainment that my phone provides.  The difference is that I will not be reevaluating my situation and looking within myself for answers but rather leaning on the social comfort of my phone.  An IPhone is a means of extro-spection and a cigarette is a means of introspection. (ADVANTAGE CIG) 

Ability to consume:

The utility of a cigarette has been marginalized by legislation preventing smoking indoors.  This is probably for the betterment of everyone, but it limits where and to what frequency I can smoke.  The hurdles to consumption provide me with a feeling of delayed gratification which only makes the cigarette that much sweeter.  There is nothing better than a smoke after a long hard day at work.     

As an IPhone owner possessing the power of 3G and a fully charged battery, I could theoretically consume whenever possible.  Indoors, outdoors, in a car—Hell I could even surf the Internet hands free during sex thanks to SIRI technology. (ADVANTAGE IPHONE) 

Social Taboo

I used to look down on people with smartphones because they always seem pre-occupied with validating what they are doing in terms of what the rest of their social-sphere is not doing (thank-you Facebook status updates) but the presence of smartphones is so wide spread now that it is completely acceptable to do so.  I often find myself referencing someone’s twitter update or Facebook status during a real conversation and the moment passes without criticism.  We live in a digital world and being perpetually attached to the digital dimension is completely normal.

Cigarettes, on the other hand, have regressed in terms of social acceptability.  They stink. They kill. They are completely taboo.  Whenever I meet a new group of people or hang out with someone for the first time I Fra-breeze the hell out of my car and I try not to smoke in front of them in order to avoid judgment. Being a closet smoker is becoming progressively difficult and time consuming.  At my parents’ house I migrate towards deciduous shrubbery when disposing of my butts in order to avoid the criticism they will offer up when the leaves fall of the trees.  

In the middle of writing this paragraph, I stepped out for a cigarette in front of a coffee shop and a man driving a gas guzzling Chevy 4x4 slowed his truck in the middle of the street just to yell “SMOOOOKER!” at me, as if I had just exhaled a vile toxin into his precious air. (ADVANTAGE IPHONE)

Perception from Law Enforcement

I’m obsessed with petty crime or at least getting away with frivolous acts.  Some of my favorite past times include jay-walking, stealing range balls, and texting while driving.  There is a fine line between someone who is texting and driving and simply changing a song on their IPhone.  

As an IPhone owner I would relish the opportunity to trick law enforcement of the latter.  I imagine that if I were to be pulled over by an officer I could simply hold up my IPhone and say “sorry sir, there must be a misunderstanding, you see I am an IPhone owner and I was simply trying to shuffle my playlist. “

The officer’s look of disgust would quickly turn to envy at the misunderstanding. At that point I would toggle over to my apps page and show him my police radar application to service his ego. “I’m a big fan of your work sir, some people listen to the radio, but I enjoy listening to police calls.  He’ll laugh and ask me what I pay monthly for the phone while simultaneously motioning that he would like to give the interface a try.  I will direct him to the shotgun application and let him aim it at cars passing by and we’ll have a big chuckle.  The life of an IPhone owner must be sweet. 

            Recently I’ve been hand rolling my cigarettes (to save money) so to the eyes of a skeptic they may appear to look like joints filled with schedule 1 narcotics.  Although I am sure I could convince the same officer that his “reasonable cause” for pulling me over was just a big misunderstanding, I can’t imagine the post-pullover-chit-chat would be nearly as inviting.  (ADVANTAGE IPHONE) 

           Transitioning from once vice to another is always tricky because I am forced to make a decision that compromises my immediate identity, paving the way for my future being.  But sometimes I just know when a change is needed, and I need a change.

            Cigs, or the IPhone?  I think my analysis has led me to the inevitable decision of becoming an IPhone owner.  The IPhone may cause my social skills to regress 15 years but in the end, I suppose that is better than losing 15 years of my life to cigarettes. 

             We had a good run “Cigarettes” but being able to showcase a flush Angry Birds scorecard, complete with 3 stars at each level has become just as much as a conversation starter as you ever were.