Thursday, March 17, 2005
Why is it that nobody ever chides me for important things?
I'm making my morning coffee at work this morning, and one of the other people in the building drops by to microwave her tea. I held my tongue, since who in their right mind would ever microwave tea when there's a perfectly good KETTLE right there? (Which there was, since I had just boiled it to make my bitterly sweet caffeine-juice.) Still, she remarked on my shirt. Some of you may know this shirt, some may not. Let me simply state that it is Lime Green, and those capitalizations are definitely necessary. Personally, I like the texture of the fabric it's made of, and the green is simply a fringe benefit, but that's beside the point, which is that there is a St. Paddy's Protocol that needs to be followed.
Seriously, I was told that my Lime Green Shirt is the WRONG GREEN. Wrong! Green! Seems that the proper St. Paddy's Green is more of a dark, musky green reminiscent of moss or hideously dyed beer. Now, I'm not Irish, (or at least not directly, as I have relatives there, but nobody close that I've y'know, met) so I doubt that I will be assaulted by leprechauns or anything. I tried to explain that the only properly green shirt I have has ninjas and tacos on it, but she just laughed and said that I could have worn that one and she would have mentioned the ninjas. (But not the tacos? Strange...) Finally, almost as a final smack with the shovel that has been dumping on me, one of the guys I work with, who was wearing BLUE no less, managed to get the final verbal crack in. Sigh...
Why isn't anyone around when I do more genuinely silly things, like order Stikfas? Split Reason sent me their March newsletter yesterday, with a mention that there are new Stickfas in stock, namely a samurai, a spaceman and a female barbarian that comes with a dragon! Instantly, those familiar words flooded into my brain like a pack of kindergardeners who just heard that Kraft Dinner was being served after a week of brussel sprouts: IT MUST BE MINE. No less than 5 minutes later, my credit card was debited with the purchase, and I wish I could say that that was the end of the story. Somehow, no doubt through powers insidiously not my own, my shopping cart had held not just the dragon + rider set, but also a ninja and a pirate that came with a skeleton companion. If it had been in stock, there would have been a legionnaire in there as well.
So beat me for it: I'm weak. The promise of instant gratification, plus the total lack of effort needed for the expenditure makes buying stuff over the internet a total black pit of potential doom for those with poor impulse control. Well, specifically those with poor consumer impulse control; I doubt that many of those guys that start bar fights on the drop of a hat are lamenting in this manner.
If it were as simple as having the devil and angel show up on my shoulders and argue into my ears as to the merits of these buying binges, this would be a non-issue now wouldn't it?* Because seriously, if you were to ask me why I spontaneously buy things like this, I would have no answer. Torture would probably reveal a hidden truth like "I like to have Stuff" or something equally silly.
In the last few weeks, I've purchased a 1337 hoodie, an I (Pirate) Hollywood tee, said stickfas, forty dollars of Allofmp3.com goodness and three comic books. Now that I write it, it doesn't seem like a lot, but going through it in my brain, it flat out screams YOU ARE SPENDING TOO MUCH. It's like being in a fistfight with a falling anvil. Er, scratch that; it has nothing to do with a falling anvil, but I like the analogy so I'm leaving it in.
I think the final analysis will have to be done when I see my credit card bill. It probably won't have any affect on my habits, but it'll be at least informative to be able to quantify how much a lack of self-control can cost someone. I flip-flop between whether said quantity will be large or small, especially considering the fact that I'm living at home again. No rent, food, power, internet or laundry expenses frees up a hell of a lot of Stuff funds, and the spectre of returning to school and having to face these figures has continually had the same threat value as a rubber monster from a bad Doctor Who episode. Sure, I can tally up the numbers, and looking at them say "Wow, that's a lot of money!" but it's just so hollow. My budget might be written in Swahili, and I would give it the same blank stare, nod and say "Uh huh". Then again, my budget has such items as "Beer supply", "Casino cash" and "Recreational opiates" on it, so maybe my thoughts have somehow gotten from the subconcious depths of my brain onto the paper without covering any territory in between.
It's rather clear at this point that I have no way to get to some form of a conclusion with which to stop writing this post. This time, I refuse to say "I got nothing" and just stop. Like a slave propelled by the points of spears, I have no choice but to keep writing and hope that something comes up.
...
UP.
-----------------------------
* Alas, those two left me for dead a long time ago and haven't shown their faces around here since. I wonder where they got to, but I'm torn between the "sunning on a private island in the Caribbean" and "dead and on fire in a ditch somewhere off the Jersey turnpike". ¶ 9:57 a.m.
I'm making my morning coffee at work this morning, and one of the other people in the building drops by to microwave her tea. I held my tongue, since who in their right mind would ever microwave tea when there's a perfectly good KETTLE right there? (Which there was, since I had just boiled it to make my bitterly sweet caffeine-juice.) Still, she remarked on my shirt. Some of you may know this shirt, some may not. Let me simply state that it is Lime Green, and those capitalizations are definitely necessary. Personally, I like the texture of the fabric it's made of, and the green is simply a fringe benefit, but that's beside the point, which is that there is a St. Paddy's Protocol that needs to be followed.
Seriously, I was told that my Lime Green Shirt is the WRONG GREEN. Wrong! Green! Seems that the proper St. Paddy's Green is more of a dark, musky green reminiscent of moss or hideously dyed beer. Now, I'm not Irish, (or at least not directly, as I have relatives there, but nobody close that I've y'know, met) so I doubt that I will be assaulted by leprechauns or anything. I tried to explain that the only properly green shirt I have has ninjas and tacos on it, but she just laughed and said that I could have worn that one and she would have mentioned the ninjas. (But not the tacos? Strange...) Finally, almost as a final smack with the shovel that has been dumping on me, one of the guys I work with, who was wearing BLUE no less, managed to get the final verbal crack in. Sigh...
Why isn't anyone around when I do more genuinely silly things, like order Stikfas? Split Reason sent me their March newsletter yesterday, with a mention that there are new Stickfas in stock, namely a samurai, a spaceman and a female barbarian that comes with a dragon! Instantly, those familiar words flooded into my brain like a pack of kindergardeners who just heard that Kraft Dinner was being served after a week of brussel sprouts: IT MUST BE MINE. No less than 5 minutes later, my credit card was debited with the purchase, and I wish I could say that that was the end of the story. Somehow, no doubt through powers insidiously not my own, my shopping cart had held not just the dragon + rider set, but also a ninja and a pirate that came with a skeleton companion. If it had been in stock, there would have been a legionnaire in there as well.
So beat me for it: I'm weak. The promise of instant gratification, plus the total lack of effort needed for the expenditure makes buying stuff over the internet a total black pit of potential doom for those with poor impulse control. Well, specifically those with poor consumer impulse control; I doubt that many of those guys that start bar fights on the drop of a hat are lamenting in this manner.
If it were as simple as having the devil and angel show up on my shoulders and argue into my ears as to the merits of these buying binges, this would be a non-issue now wouldn't it?* Because seriously, if you were to ask me why I spontaneously buy things like this, I would have no answer. Torture would probably reveal a hidden truth like "I like to have Stuff" or something equally silly.
In the last few weeks, I've purchased a 1337 hoodie, an I (Pirate) Hollywood tee, said stickfas, forty dollars of Allofmp3.com goodness and three comic books. Now that I write it, it doesn't seem like a lot, but going through it in my brain, it flat out screams YOU ARE SPENDING TOO MUCH. It's like being in a fistfight with a falling anvil. Er, scratch that; it has nothing to do with a falling anvil, but I like the analogy so I'm leaving it in.
I think the final analysis will have to be done when I see my credit card bill. It probably won't have any affect on my habits, but it'll be at least informative to be able to quantify how much a lack of self-control can cost someone. I flip-flop between whether said quantity will be large or small, especially considering the fact that I'm living at home again. No rent, food, power, internet or laundry expenses frees up a hell of a lot of Stuff funds, and the spectre of returning to school and having to face these figures has continually had the same threat value as a rubber monster from a bad Doctor Who episode. Sure, I can tally up the numbers, and looking at them say "Wow, that's a lot of money!" but it's just so hollow. My budget might be written in Swahili, and I would give it the same blank stare, nod and say "Uh huh". Then again, my budget has such items as "Beer supply", "Casino cash" and "Recreational opiates" on it, so maybe my thoughts have somehow gotten from the subconcious depths of my brain onto the paper without covering any territory in between.
It's rather clear at this point that I have no way to get to some form of a conclusion with which to stop writing this post. This time, I refuse to say "I got nothing" and just stop. Like a slave propelled by the points of spears, I have no choice but to keep writing and hope that something comes up.
...
UP.
-----------------------------
* Alas, those two left me for dead a long time ago and haven't shown their faces around here since. I wonder where they got to, but I'm torn between the "sunning on a private island in the Caribbean" and "dead and on fire in a ditch somewhere off the Jersey turnpike". ¶ 9:57 a.m.
