It’s a filter I’ve developed over the years, honing the perfect tool for appropriate media consumption. Like food, we can’t digest everything. Diets matter, unless you prefer retching in a formerly empty stairwell during a long overdue lunch break. So when I see a photo of Elon Musk, anyone wearing a red hat, or Jennifer Lopez’s newest paramour, I keep moving. Skimming doesn’t capture what I do, since that implies partial reading. I’m happier, healthier, and far less informed.
I’m not a political person by nature. But even still, I can’t avoid the constant drumbeat of the immigration debate, banging on by people on all sides. So what do we do? Build a wall? Not quite.
Walls don’t make a whole lot of sense from a very simple standpoint. That’s all they are. If the goal is keeping people one side, wouldn’t you also consider building a ceiling? A wall without a ceiling is like a box without a top. In other words, a package that would be soundly rejected by even the most apathetic postal employee for improper wrapping.
A fence is a half-measure, though at least it functions without another ceiling installation. They work on their own. No one ever proposes doors, ones with locks and handles, bells and knockers. It adds a certain formality to the border crisis. “Just a second. Who could that be, honey? I’ll go check.”
A curtain would do wonders, especially considering the humidity in the region, giving the crossing a sense of theatricality it’s clearly missing. Or maybe a beaded entrance could add to the pomp of it all. Instead of security, why not border attendant with mints and hand towels on hand? If the pandemic taught us anything it’s that you can never wash your hands too much. Why not make it easier on everyone with a professional?
The transparent solution to midday pangs of obvious malnourishment can lead one down a serpentine path of false choices. Like Christ languishing in the desert during his protracted colloquy with the claret-hued hoofed one, temptation lurks around every menu. This is the difference between desire and necessity, the fight to enjoy, and the fight to survive. What you want versus what you need. Knowing you’ll repeat the process thousands of times until the mortal coil extinguishes, is it too much to focus on the singularity of a single moment in time and space?*
*What do you want for lunch?
When I pay good money, that is to say, lots of money, to sit somewhere in near-earth orbit, watching distant creatures down on stage jam for a few hours, I have a few expectations going in. Some people attend concerts knowing they will barely be able to see the artists, preferring to appreciate the atmosphere of a rather sensory experience.
It’s not a sporting event. Though you do see people with band t-shirts, aping the fashion stylings of overworked roadies, lugging Marshall amps, contraband and neck pillows from gig to gig.
All I ask for is a drunk behind me to singalong with the stars on stage. If I really wanted to hear the acts in crystal stereo, I would’ve stayed home and turned up my hi-fi. Instead I find myself among the fanatics in the outer reaches of stadium seating, listening to their takes on rock and roll poetry.
It’s not harmonizing in the Garfunkelian mode, but it’s close. Plus, it is true stereo, authentic surround sand. The band on stage, the goober in the seat behind me in my ear. What more could I ask for? Not that anyone would be able to hear my cries. While I didn’t technically pay for these additional singers, I pay for them anyway.
I don’t like music. I like music theory. Instruments are not necessary to appreciate music. People are always going on about how music is a language. But I already speak a language moderately well. I don’t need to know another one that’s based in numbers. Instead of listening to a wonderful melody, I’d rather listen to two professors argue over the Phrygian mode than hum along to something remotely catchy. I’d like to understand who are these Phrygians and want do they want. What did they listen to? Did they foresee the musical revolutions to follow them or the preservation of food that bears their name? How did lowly Fridgians impact the refrigeration revolution? How often did their meals go bad? These are all questions that exist outside the realm of top forty radio.
The newest adventure in video game technology has arrived: Brainworm Jim. In a series of platform games, Jim, a ruggedly good-looking and enterprising brainworm, moves through a brain, feasting on whatever he can find. His hunger for adventure is only matched by his hunger for brain matter.
The object of the game is simple. Eat as much as you can without slowing down, while in the process leaving dead ends and conspiracy theories littered around the cerebral cortex. The person should be confused after you escape through a convenient cavity. How fast you navigate through the brain depends on your sense of direction. That and common sense. Each level is a different individual with dangerous aspirations. It could be a captain of industry in need of a reality check, or a delusional politician waiting for the world to enact some sort of worm limits.
Brainworm Jim is fun for the whole family, and in a way, the whole country.
$9.99 on all your gaming platforms. Not suitable for small lobbyists.
My emotional support animal has its own emotional support animal. It’s one thing for me to need a four-legged confidant when navigating the busy streets of a bustling city. It’s quite another for my dog to have someone to lean on during a hard day outside of the office. Does it mean walking three abreast is harder than two? Yes, obviously.
The job of my dog is to give me advice, help me get into spaces that are usually human-only. What’s hard for him is picking out the exact hydrant to urinate on. And having his own best friend, slightly shorter than him, doesn’t hurt.
While I might need help boarding a plane, he needs one digging a hole, chasing a fire truck, or enjoying a piece of government issue postal carrier fabric. His emotional support animal legitimizes these interactions, helping them continue unabated for years to come.
Plus, it gives all three of us lots to discuss during our nightly debriefing over kibble and chianti.
The phrase, “burn it all down” is an interesting one. However, it lacks the imagination you’d think would be associated with the revolutionary class. Burning is fine, but is that the only way to destroy? I think it’s messy and quite dangerous. There’s smoke, fire, fumes, ash, and the whole thing can easily get out of control. Instead burning it all down, why not watering it? It’s just as annoying, but it cleans things. There are other elements besides at our disposal when the subject turns to destruction. Picture hundreds of people throwing water balloons at an administrative building. It’s almost an act of kindness.
Almost.
As the saying goes, everyone wears a different hat. Some wear multiple ones at the same time. But there are others who don’t appreciate that every piece of headgear has an important function.
Bicyclists.
The other day I found myself in line behind a bicyclist. I wasn’t driving. I was standing, waiting to buy a few rhubarb stalks. How could I identify this person without their two-wheeled conveyance anywhere in sight? Simple. They were still wearing their helmet.
Donning a hat indoors if rude but wearing a helmet without a bike is downright idiotic. But it’s social marker. It carries cachet in the certain regions of Kings County. Where the streets slope towards the park and the finest stone is brown.
To be fair, maybe this person needed to protect their precious brain matter, even while standing.
Creative impasses are often worked through not by staring into the AI abyss and willingly accepting one’s inevitable obsolescence, but by banging your head against the wall. The thing is, there are many types of walls.
Are we talking exterior or interior? Load-bearing or thin particle any fantasy Miyagi would have no trouble breaking through.
The image of the archetypal lunatic, with different pairs of socks, muttering about entities following them, many picture this individual within the confines of a padded cell. Too bad padded cells are wonderfully safe spaces. Do you really need to break through something for a breakthrough?
Hard to say. Though hard usually depends on the material in question. Unlike brick and wood, pads give you the ability to effortlessly bounce of the walls. A rather novel idea, for those with something on their mind.
This is why there is a tepid puddle of sameness throughout creative fields. People don’t know where to safely bang their heads. Instead of focusing on how committed your employees are to their jobs, focus on getting them committed. It’ll do wonders for their productivity. Because hitting the wall should be the start of a new, beautiful way of thinking.
Welcome to the era of spatial confusion.
Apple Vision Amateur awkwardly blends digital content with your physical face. (Don’t worry, we’ll get to your mental face sometime later next year)
You navigate simply by using your eyelashes, ear lobes, nose hairs, and the occasional tongue twirl. Millions of subatomic tongue sensors elevate every chomp.
So you can feel the things you love in ways never before hygienic. You’ve never tasted anything like this before.
With Apple Vision Amateur, you have a finite canvas that transforms how you can finally ingest the apps you love. Because at Apple, we believe that “app” is short for appetizer, not application. You can accomplish this by pretending everything on your screen is edible, salting them, honeying them, garlicking them, and ultimately eating them.
Arrange apps anywhere and scale them to the perfect bitesize, making the kitchen of your dreams a tasty reality — all while digesting the world around you. Really. Ever wondered what Manhattan schist tasted like? How about other hallmarks of geology class? With the ease of a text message you will be able to chew on any rock formation that catches your gaze.
Apple Vision Pro can transform any space into your own personal dining table. Expand your appetites, by chowing down on television shows, games up to the perfect size while feeling like you’re part of the action with Spatial Ediblo. Did you watch Jurassic Park and wonder, “that shrubbery in the background sure looks delicious, now I see why most dinosaurs are herbivores.” Now, you can taste for yourself, thoroughly destroying Steven Spielberg’s vision.
And with more morsels than a pizza oven for each tooth, you can eat stunning content wherever you are — whether that’s on a subway park bench beside a madman or in your own bed when you’re the mad one.
Apple Vision Pro is Apple’s first 3D fork. You can capture magical mouthfuls and spatial crumbs in 3D, then relive those cherished bites like never before with immersive taste. Your existing library of food and beverages tastes incredible at remarkable scale. And edible panoramas envelop you — making you feel like you’re standing inside a burrito as the cheese scalds your kneecaps and fingertips.
Apple Vision Amateur makes it easy to collaborate and connect wherever you are. MouthTime tiles are bite-size, and as new diners join, the call simply expands in your dining room. Within MouthTime, you can also use apps to collaborate with colleagues eating the same entrees simultaneously.
Apple Vision Amateur is the result of decades of eating out, staying up late wolfing down greasy dishes for the purpose of transforming what it means to eat in virtual reality. This is the strangest product Apple has ever created. But finally, after decades, you can enter a new technological frontier and eat an apple, thanks to Apple.
Innovation you can taste.
I went to the farmer’s market, excited at the prospect of better fruit, having lost the appeal of apples some time in February. But nothing had really changed. There were no berries yet, no stone fruits, nothing that caught my eye and those of others. It was still a garlicked setting.
That’s when I found myself face to root vegetable with a filthy turnip. Like most normal people, I don’t know much about turnips. They’re not beets and they’re not radishes – two things I do know something about. But the turnip intrigued me. I picked it up – heavier than I expected – and checked out.
On the way home, I buckled it into the front seat, narrating the historic parts of Brooklyn we were passing, since the vegetable was seated well below the window line. Told the story of the five-borough consolidation in 1898, the etymology of stoop, and where Frederick Law Olmsted ranks in the pantheon of great New Yorkers. The turnip didn’t say a word. Didn’t even stare at me. Unlike potatoes, he didn’t have eyes to roll.
I kept going. When we got home, I took him out and asked whether he’d prefer a bowl or a basket. Nothing. I can handle shy people, but this time of obstinacy was tough. I’m inviting you into my home, providing you shelter from the sweaty masses of Park Slope, and this is the all I get?
Nothing. This went on for days. I’d check on the turnip, say good morning, ask if anyone had called for me or knocked on the front door. Relationships are built on reciprocity on trust. With the turnip, I had neither.
I did what anyone would do under similar circumstances. I found a cookbook and leafed through it for turnip recipes. It started as a playful joke.
And then just like that, he was gone. Composted? Possibly. Either way, I never even got to say goodbye.
There are times when I’m doing laundry and I long for the days when all you needed was a clean river, a well-shaped rock and time. One thing you didn’t need was money. Public laundromats have largely stayed the same over the years, cornering the market on loose change, namely quarters. I don’t have much use for quarters these days besides my bi-weekly laundry routine.
I don’t flip them for wagers with friends. I don’t shine them to admire the profile of our first president. I hoard them for laundry. They pile up in a coin dish, next to useless nickels, pennies and dimes. I feel for them, since their purpose has been stripped away as society moves cashless.
Parking meters were once a place where all, except maybe pennies had a legitimate function. Pennies are still good for filling a sock and threatening a would-be assailant. But wouldn’t fewer quarters have the same impact? Dropping them off tall buildings is a big recreation for the foolish, at least before the advent of protective glass and thick netting.
Laundry is where I put my quarters. With each one, I take a step back in time. Just twenty-five cents and everything seems to make sense. I don’t know what I’ll do when I have a washer dryer in my home. Perhaps I’ll still collect coins as a touchstone of a simpler era. A reminder of how things were. Because when a laundromat changes to tap to pay, we might as well close the Federal mint.
In a different era, courts were imbued with a sense of dignity. Whether the judges presiding from a lofty perch and the lawyers making their case, to the jurors listening attentively and everyone else soaking up the scenery from the back of the gallery. There is a lot to object to in your average court case, but most lawyers are not equipped to cut through the noise of modern life.
This is where a shiny objection comes in. Instead of yelling at the judge like a child throwing a tantrum, why not take an alternate tack? Objections are the key to winning or losing. But judges have the advantage. Not only do their sit above the fray, but also do it with a gavel, something no one else in the room has. Lawyers can pound their fists or slap a legal pad against the bench, but these acts are usually frowned up by the judicial class.
What attorneys lack in the courtroom is flair for the dramatic. How can you stand out if you dress the same as opposing counsel? Better yet, how can you hope to make inroads with a skeptical jury when you rely on the same jargon, too? This is where sequins, musical accompaniments, mood lighting, and miscellaneous theatrics. Explore the space.
It’s a stage. Courtroom dramas have dominated the ratings for decades. It’s time our actual lawyers got the message. They are performers, not here to uphold the rule of law, but to entertain us. You’re not just a lawyer, you play one in real life.
Any objections?
Whistling while your work is a staple of good, honest labor. It’s come to define entire economic models. But it’s not the only sound associated with normal routines. Humming while you eat is an important part of proper digestion, as long as it’s done with your mouth fully closed. Muttering while you commute creates a wall of sound that helps others. In a crowded train or bus, people will invariably get too close to you, but not if you’re blanketed by a string of unintelligible utterances, peppering your speech every six to fourteen seconds. It’s the buffer you need, not the buffer you deserve. Mimicking a bird while you drive is a productive way to avoid a string of obscenities lining your vehicle’s interior. It allows you to commune with nature, work on something beyond a new four-letter word you’ve been saving for just the right tailgater. It works with the windows down or the windows up. And it attracts new feathered acquaintances - friends is too strong – everywhere you go.
Revolutions are hard and complicated to win. Devolutions are much simpler, since they involve bowing to the natural disorder of things. Decay is a part of life, or well, the opposite of life. So take that bowl of chowder and leave it in the sun, let it stew and change colors, aromas. Let it turn from expensive appetizer to award-winning middle school science project to biological warfare that you need a hazmat sleeve around your ladle just to stir.
You see, being a revolutionary involves lots of hard work. To devolve, you just have to leave yourself out in the sun. Become an immovable object, learn the differences between egress and ingress. While you’re at it, research “egret,” since the bird ends up coming in conversations between two parties at a standstill searching for the proper word.
But words are overrated. Devolutionary acts aren’t done with aplomb at all. We need to forget reason, forget empathy, even forget language. Grunting and shrieking, howling and freaking, that’s the mark of a healthy devolution.
Instead of focusing on the next level of homo sapiens, let’s throw it in reverse and make our way through the devolutionary highway. All the way back to single cell organisms hanging onto their atoms for dear life.
Sit back, do nothing, and devolve.
We have bigger fish to fillet, fly, float, flutter, foreclose, fold, flour, flaunt, finance, friend, Frenchify, frighten, free, franchise, fracture, flambé, freshen, freeze, fritter, frustrate, fuel, fill, fumble, fumigate, fund, fuse, flex, flatten, fire, ferry, fatten, father, fault, favor, fawn, fascinate, farm, fan, fake, fail, finalize, face, and yeah, fry.
