IKEA is Scandanavian for EVIL

My friend Tim picked up a "build your own chair set" from IKEA today.

"How much did the chair cost, bud?" I said.

"Oh, not too much. Only fifty for the chair and thirty for the footstool."

It took a moment for those numbers to set in.

"How much?" I said.

"Only eighty dollars for the pair!" Tim said with pride.

I was left stupefied. How is eighty dollars a good deal for a chair and footstool? A chair and a footstool that you have to build?

"That sounds expensive, Tim," I said.

"It's not," he reassured me. "Now help me build it!"

I looked at the design and thought to myself, "Boy, this looks really simplistic for eighty bucks." But, being a good friend, I lent Tim my masculine prowess and went to it.

It was great. The building of the chair took about fifteen minutes, and the accompanying footstool took only ten. I looked (and tried out) the finished product, and realized how comfortable and sleek it was.

I had been wrong before. IKEA’s furniture isn’t "simplistic"—it’s "minimalist." And "minimalist" is okay. It means that the thing is straightforward and functional, not flashy and annoying. Plus, I enjoyed building the chair. It was fun. And the finished product was really nice.

It's odd how IKEA indulges the masculine impulses to build and use tools, and yet bends them towards creating something stylish. With products from IKEA, strength really meets taste. And for only eighty bucks? Suddenly the numbers didn't sound so high.

"I could get used to this," I said to Tim.

"The chair?" he replied.

"Well, yeah, but also building my own good-looking stuff."

"Yeah," Tim said. "I love IKEA."

I loved IKEA too. For a moment.

But that moment passed, and with it went my newfound affection for the Swedish furniture people. I was walking out of the room when it hit me.

IKEA was evil.

They're vice peddlers. Think about it: the first hit of heroine is always free. Why? Because the dealer knows that the buyer will come back for more. You're hooked after one taste. IKEA's the same way. "I'll just get one chair," you think. But you end up coming home with a chair, a footstool, a bed frame, and a bookshelf. Not because you need them, but because you feel good when you finish making them.

It's evil. It's insidious. It's… a damn genius marketing strategy. That's what it is.

IKEA is a horrible company.

And yet so good… so very good. Um… I've got to go. I think I'm just going to look at the IKEA website… just to see if my suspicions are correct, of course. Research. You know.

[where's my VISA?]
-brian

text size = too big

Today I was on my parents' computer, reading a paper I wrote, and just felt like something was wrong with it. I got to this passage:

"What, though, is reader-response criticism? The question requires no short answer. Reader-response criticism is the academic explanation of what we do every time we take up a book for leisure reading: it is an investigation of what actually happens¾not what might, ought to, or could occur in a reader. Reader-response is a loose affiliation of theorists around one key belief¾'The reader is a major player in the making of a text.'"

If you didn't read that [and I wouldn't blame you], it was a brief introduction to reader-response theory criticism. I honestly think it's a well-composed paragraph. I use just the right number of big words to make it look smart, and just enough small ones to make it look friendly. Smart and friendly. Yay!


But it looked dumb and silly to me when I was reading it. Now, on my [now broken] laptop, the text looked just fine. So I knew it wasn't the text itself. I checked my parents' word processor settings, and I noticed what it was:

My parents have the text magnification set to a ridiculous level. Read the paragraph again like this...

"What, though, is reader-response criticism? The question requires no short answer. Reader-response criticism is the academic explanation of what we do every time we take up a book for leisure reading: it is an investigation of what actually happens, and not what might, ought to, or could occur in a reader. Reader-response is a loose affiliation of theorists around one key belief: 'The reader is a major player in the making of a text.'"

The point being, the bigger the text size, the more stupid whatever you have to say looks.

[consider and grow.]
-brian

fortune cookies are fun again

Okay, nobody really believes that authentic Chinese fortune cookies are Chinese cookies containing authentic fortunes. But we all open them up and wonder what the fortunes will say anyway. But often they're just dumb: sayings like "Lend a hand to someone less fortunate than yourself." Blah. Boring. I'm not consulting cookies to hear proverbs. I'm looking to be entertained and, perhaps, enlightened.

I don't know about the second part, but my friends taught me a game a few years back which has greatly maginified the fun factor of fortune cookies. It's called "in bed." For those of you who haven't heard of this, "in bed's" rules are simple: add "in bed" to the most appropriate (read: hilarious) part of the fortune. So, a boring fortune like "Lend a hand to someone less fortune than yourself" becomes about a thousand times more interesting when it reads "Lend a hand to someone less fortunate than yourself in bed."

Anyway, I so love this game that I actually keep the best fortunes on me at all times: they're in a special pocket of my wallet. So, without further ado, here are my best (actually discovered) fortunes:

10. "Lend a hand to someone less fortunate than yourself in bed."
09. "Be daring, try something new in bed."
08. "Your talents in bed will capture you the highest status and prestige."
07. "With integrity and consistency, your credits in bed are piling up."
06. "Versatility in bed is one of your outstanding traits."
05. "You create enthusiasm around you in bed."
04. "You will be successful in bed through innovation and determination."
03. "A great pleasure in life is doing what others say you can't in bed."
02. "If you continually give, you will continually have in bed."

And, my favorite, la piece de resistance...
01. "If you can befriend yourself, you'll never be lonely in bed."

[suddenly hoping fortunes do come true]
-brian

five funny things from this week.

1. "Can we make this quick? I left my daughter and three dogs in the car."
--A woman at Coco's speaking to her realtor.

2. Bottled water has an expiration date. How the hell does water go bad?

3. A friend of mine was joking around about white supremecy. I pointed out that he had a shaved head, wore a leather jacket, and had a superman shirt on.

4. The funniest combination of sounds in the english language (divorced from meaning) is "semiotic poopjoint."

5. "I like me a lot more when I'm unconscious at night."
--Me, epiphonizing.

[a good week]
-brian

how to ruin your day #17

1. wake up and go to church.
2. volunteer to record the service.
3. realize you don't know what you're doing.
4. manage to record the service anyway.
5. sing as you get in your car.
6. play one of your favorite cds as you drive home.
7. take a nap when you get there.
8. get up and go get a nice, footlong sub for dinner.
9. dress up.
10. go to a really good play.
11. mingle with the cast and listen to them say neat things about you.
12. sing a jingle or two on your way back, like "eight-hundred five eight eight two-three-hundred, EMPIRE!"
13. add the finishing touches to a one act play that you have spent 50 hours writing.
14. save.
15. stand up.
16. remember your laptop.
17. think, "oh gosh, it would be horrible if i dropped this right now!"
18. drop "this" right now, where "this" is any laptop containing YOUR WHOLE F'ING LIFE.
19. try to catch it, only to ensure that it lands flat, but hard.
20. look at it.
21. realize that it's not "alive," where "alive" is any condition other than "dead."
22. try to turn it on.
23. hear very distressing buzzing noises.
24. receive false hope when the apple logo and the spinning wheel appear.
25. receive even MORE false hope when the computer shows the "starting mac os x" panel.
26. wait twenty minutes, checking every ten seconds to see if it starts working.
27. wait twenty more minutes.
28. watch the bar fill!
29. watch the bar remain full!
30. watch the bar do nothing!
31. turn off computer.
32. reboot.
33. instead of an apple logo, see a crossed-out circle.
34. pray.
35. go to sleep.

[groans all around on me!]
-brian

things never said.

I talk. A lot. And I say a good deal of the things on my mind. But lest people should think I have absolutely no discretion, I am about to prove them wrong.

There was a girl. Her name was "Gingersnap." It wasn't really. But [as I've done before] I call her "Gingersnap" just so you won't ever confuse her pseudonym with the Gingersnap you know. So... if you know a Gingersnap, change her name to "Cinnamon Teardrop." And if you know a "Cinnamon Teardrop..." I dunno, just do whatever the hell you gotta do to understand that you don't know who I'm talking about.

backstory:
[I met Gingersnap at a favorite restaurant a few years back. We became friends and talked from time to time. Eventually I asked her out on a date. So Gingersnap and I went out once about a year ago. Why only once?

Well, shortly after, I asked her out a second time, and she said yes. She told me to pick her up from her house. But when I drove over see her, she wasn't there. So I knock on the door, her mom answered, and said that she didn't think Gingersnap was expecting anyone.

I called Gingersnap, and she said she was on the freeway and would call me when she got back. She didn't that night.

Or ever again.]

That sets the stage for the following events.

Today my best friend and I go to aforementioned family favorite restaurant where Gingersnap works. She's on the clock. She tries to avoid me, but is apparently told by her boss that customers have to be served. So she comes us and feigns surprise at seeing us. "Brian, hey!" she starts. "I haven't seen you in, like, forever!"

There is so much I want to say.

Considered responses:
-Not since you stood me up.
-That's what happens when you intentionally avoid me.
-Your plan worked!

Actual response: "No, you haven't."

Later on in the conversation, I ask how life is going.

"Pretty well," she replies, "but I feel like I'm stuck in a rut."

Considered responses:
-You look like it too.
-You are.

Actual response: "I'm sorry to hear that."

The food comes, Nick and I eat. We overhear an elderly woman say to a consultant: "Can we make this quick? I have my daughter and three dogs in the car."

We laugh, and imagine all the ways that could be construed. I can't help imagining a newborn surrounded by two unfriendly rottweilers and a pug. Anyway, Gingersnap returns to give us our check. We chat again for a bit.

Finally, she says, "Gosh, I've been 20 forever."

Considered responses:
No more than 365 days.

Actual response:
"No more than 365 days."

...

Oh well. I guess nobody's completely tactful. Least of all me.

But I can keep things to myself.

[peace out]
-brian

post-script: it just occurred to me that i may have kept it to myself then, but i didn't now. but that doesn't change the fact that i have... a head.

insomnia in stock now!

at 4, i'm still up. very awake.

i don't have homework. i'm not watching a movie. i'm... this is going to sound weird... afraid of my bed.

about a week ago, i was supposed to go to sleep, but i had drunk 64 ounces of diet coke at denny's and just couldn't. so i stayed up until 7 playing smash bros. melee with my roommates. yes, this is extremely irresponsible, but shut up, i was perked. needless to say, when we were done playing, i crashed. and hard.

but since then, my sleep schedule has been comepletely f'ed. (by the way, "f'd" stands for "frustrated." just in case you were wondering.) the next night i went to bed at 6, then it was 4, then 5, then 3, then 6, then 4 again.

this doesn't explain why i'm afraid of my bed. in truth, i don't know if i can explain it well enough to satisfy a person's insatiable curiosity about my various [ridiculous] neuroses. but i will try.. take this account for what it is.

so after staying up 'til 7, when i went to bed my body felt very... weird. heavy in spots, twitchy in others. it was unsettling. i mean, if you can't feel rested after staying up for twenty hours straight, hopped up on diet coke, then when can you?

since then, i've just been... i dunno... uneasy about my bed. i feel great in the rest of my house, but whenever i lie down, i kind of tense up. i wish this wasn't the case, because being tense before trying to go to bed is a recipe for insomnia. which, if you have read thus far, i've been enjoying lately.

it would be nice to just fall asleep. i'd appreciate me a lot more if i was unconscious for the night.

-brian

I know I haven't been very good at keeping this blog updated. But I have a good reason.

Well, actually, I don't. But I don't need one. A blog is a voluntary thing, right?

I think I'm supposed to say "Yes!" to that, but in reality, I feel a sort of obligation to write more regularly than I have. If not for your enjoyment, then for my own retro-spection.

About once every week or two, I look at my old blog posts from the previous year(s). This is a sort of ritual for me, a touching-base with my own past to get an idea where I am, and where I've come from. But if you look at my blog, it isn't "Dear Diary" crap that I'm talking about. Sometimes it's theological or philosophical musings, sure, but more frequently it's this or that funny experience that lets me reminisce. Besides which, I feel the need to "tell" about the humorous.

So what does the notable absence of posts suggest? I guess there's a few options.... funny things are happening to me less, I'm finding some other outlet to tell those stories, or I've forgotten how to tell about the funny things that happen. I'd say that maybe I've lost my sense of humor, but my friends would mock me incessantly.

Why am I telling you this? I don't know. I don't really care if anyone reads this, either. I just needed to tell it. Maybe in saying something about my writer's block I can at least chip away at it.

-brian

pug dealings.

There is the matter of Patrick the pug.

Patrick is a six-year old dog who lives with some of my good friends. He is brown, and ugly. His eyes almost always have dollops of yellow mucous on them, and his ears perpetually smell. It is a strain for him to climb onto the couches, and he steals your seat when you get up because—hey—your ass is somewhat like a couch cushion heater.

The other night I visited these girls. I went over there to do homework, actually, but ended up watching video clips on the internet for about three hours instead. When I got worn out, I stretched out on a couch to rest my weary eyes.

I heard wheezing, so I opened my eyes. The wheezing was coming from the ugly, yellow-dollop-eyed, brown pug. He was on the floor looking up at me as though tired.

"Hey Patrick," I said.

He licked his feet in response.

"Do you want to come up?"

He looked at me, and turned his head to the side as if to say, "Words mean so little to me."

So I patted the couch cushion in what I hoped was an inquisitive way. But it might have been imperative. I'll never know, because I can't talk to dogs. Whatever the case may be, he wheezed much harder as he tried unsuccessfully twice to make it up onto the couch.

Then he gave me a look which might have been inquisitive or imperative. I don't know exactly what happened, but I got the impression that I should help him out. So I picked him up.

He settled on my chest, facing me for a second. I stared past his dollops of mucous, and I think we had a master/pet moment.

Then he turned around, settled his ass directly in front of my nose, and passed doggy gas. Promptly thereafter he fell asleep.

There was no guessing after what I smelled: the meaningful look in his eyes was not inquisitive, or imperative, but simply indigestive.

But I love him nonetheless. At least he's cleverer than this parrot.

[what's that—oh, PATRICK!!!]
brian