In Case Of Emergency: Find Your Blanket

An unexpected gift arrived. Someone out there had sent me a random act of kindness. I looked at the unassuming cardboard box, but did not recognize the sender. A company that was likely used to package and ship exotic chocolates, coffee or biscuits. Perhaps a technological gadget?

With childlike abandon and exuberance, I unboxed the contents. I dug through environmentally (un)friendly Styrofoam peanuts to discover....

A BLANKET! A blanket?!!?

Not just any blanket. A gender-neutral plaid fleece blanket, rolled up in its very own space-saving bag. Who would send me such a thoughtful gift of warmth?

There was a generic card extending its gratitude for my patronage sent by my insurance company, The Profiteers.

The subliminal message was clear:

Dear customer,
in appreciation for your loyalty please accept our gift made out of plastic, a byproduct of the oil industry. Speaking of the oil industry, while we no longer cover any acts of Man, we are pleased to inform you that in the event of flooding, loss of electricity or flying debris, you are fully covered. With a blanket.

This multipurpose blanket, when spread out, will likely attract your loved ones and your pets. In case of emergency, simply roll up your cats and sprint for your nearest door or window.

Always thinking of you and your loved ones during these climate challenged times. Please remember that as long as you have your blanket, you are not on your own.

With utmost indifference,
The Profiteers

Reverse Prank Calling

Self-initiated global research has revealed that various providers are selling our information for considerable profit and miniscule fines.

There has been a recent increase in calls from companies that bypass any effort at blocking them. The polite and courteous "No, thank you. We're not interested," stopped working. In an effort to stop repetitive autodialed calls from call centers that are located in time zones other than mine, I was forced to take desperate and very rude measures. It occurred to me that creating barriers to communication might actually result in the desired effect of having a commission based employee give up.  It also proved to be highly entertaining, albeit very juvenile.

Foreign non-existent accent:

Me: Haya?
John: This is John from hotairductcleaning, we would like to...
Me: Noo. No duck.
John: This is hotairductcleaning...
Me: Duck.Duck. Haya?
Rude John: Yeeeah. I know, you have chickens and sheep...
Me: Noo Chickan. Have duck.
John: *click*

Age barrier:

Kevin: Hi, this is Kevin from Wedestroycarpets.
Me: 'kay.
Kevin: We have a special offer to clean your rugs and carpets.
Me: 'kay.
Kevin: Would you like to take advantage of this special offer?
Me: 'kay.
Kevin: We can schedule you on Friday between 2 and 5 in the afternoon.
Me: 'kay.
Kevin: That's great. Thank you for choosing Wedestroycarpets. I can confirm the appointment on...
Me: MooooOOOOM!!!! There's a man who wants to come over when you're not home. He says he wants to touch my...
Kevin: *click*

What?

Mary: This is Mary. You have won a trip to our time-share resort in Puerto Furtivo.
Me: Maaary, love. How are you?
Mary: We would like to congratulate you...
Me: ETHEL!!! Pack your bags. Your sister Mary invited us to Bali for your birthday.
Mary: Uum..No. You won a 3 night stay at the time-share in Puerto Furtivo.
Me: Eeeh? When did you move to Portugal? ETHEEEL! Did you know that Mary moved to Portugal?
Mary: *click*

Several months later: Antares: 3. "John, Kevin and Mary": Silent.
WINNING!

The Self-Help Industry. Use With Caution.

By Comiclife

There they are. In the self-help book section. Which I have to walk through, pass by or climb over to reach the science fiction section. Which, in some bookstores is located in the back, next to witchcraft, obscurities and uncategorized miscellany.

With dismay, I have watched this section grow over the economic crisis, promising the achievement of happiness in a certain number of steps or habits.  Sometimes they are no more than an oversimplified version of how to practice Buddhism. On occasion, I follow a link only to find myself confronted with yet another one of those lists; different version, same thing. Banal advice with little application or truth.

In RL, I occasionally have to listen to summaries of such books, when a friend is excited about the possibility of self-improvement only to discover the disappointment of being marketed to. Secrets are not revealed, but maybe his life did not need improving to begin with.

I have a habit of looking at people's bookshelves when I am invited to visit their homes. Seeing 10 books on the shelf on organizing, makes me wonder if de-cluttering would not be more easily achieved by donating them. Just wondering.

This is not to suggest that some of these books do not offer value or great insight or that one cannot find useful (why did I not think of that) ideas and suggestions in a select few.

It is the heavy-handed approach of homogenization rather than accepting individuality that bothers me.  I have flipped through a few and what appears to be ubiquitous is the following promise:

Self-help: This is what is wrong with you. If you follow this 52 week program and 365 steps you will be the deliriously happy person you have always wanted to be. If you cannot complete it, no wonder you are miserable. You are as useless as this book. Thank you for making us wealthy. No refunds.

There are no instructions for life or living it. No one provided us with the blueprints of the outcome of choosing option A versus option B. The insightful fellow blogger Marylinn Kelly put it aptly when she described us all as amateurs at life in her post named "Community Theater". Now. That is useful.

Fun With HQ At Ickyeah.

HQ and I made a decision that we had both been avoiding; a trip to the blue and yellow prison that asks its inmates to give back to society by assembling furniture. Storage items were needed, a list was drafted, maps and layouts were studied and an escape plan was hatched.

Ickyeah is doing well despite the economic situation, probably because it successfully traps customers for hours in its one-directional "you must walk through all sections before you are permitted to exit the premises" policy. Quite brilliant actually, because what they are selling is ugly and cheap.

HQ: Okay. We split up. I look for decorative laminated particleboard, while you look for functional laminated particleboard.

Me: Got it.

30 minutes after HQ's clever plan, I am wandering aimlessly in the children section pondering whether I can fit on the sculptural plastic rocking horse. HQ calls me.

HQ: Where are you?

Me: I am playing with a toy rabbit named Fijorgensnorf and am surrounded by freakishly tiny people. Get me out of here. Pleeeeaase.

HQ: Follow the yellow brick road blue arrows, get to the home organization area. I'll meet you there.

After an Ickyeah associate prevents me from going the "wrong way", [Seriously? I cannot go back the way I just came?], I finally get to where I am supposed to meet HQ, but cannot find her.  I try calling her, but Ickyeah is blocking my signal. Oxygen-deprived, I notice that I am pushing someone else's cart and left mine somewhere in the Ickyeah labyrinth. I am beginning to worry that I may never see HQ again, when I hear the following store-wide announcement:

"Antares, please come to the play area, your mom is looking for you."

Oh. No. She didn't!

"Antares, please come to the play area, your mom is looking for you."

Oh. Yes. She did!

After I trek through kitchens, bathrooms, the "restaurant", the Sahara and Sweden, I show up in the play area where parents get to abandon their children in a pool of colorful balls. I can see HQ cracking up when she sees what I am holding. Clutched tightly to my chest is a stuffed toy that looks like a broccoli mated successfully with an icecream cone.

*Childish grin*: "MOM! This is Smorjebijork, can I have him?"

The associate, who is standing next to her, is looking at me with a mix of confusion and horrified pity, HQ is doing her bathroom dance and I finally get to go home. After we scan our own purchases, we escape with candles (not on the list), pillows (also not on the list!) and crap items with more Umlauts than they produce in Sweden.

To be assembled...

Victims Of The Consumption

"The Consumption Consumeth Us All"
(From the logs of Antares Cryptos ca. 2111)

I am a product of my time. A time when the consumption of goods promises an improved quality of life, happiness and the success that can only be achieved through the purchase of things, stuff, objects and gadgets.

Obviously, I am above all of this. I know that I am being marketed to at all times, that while some experience brand loyalty, my loyalty only relates to the quality of and need for a product. I have very high expectations of my electronic toys and gadgets, I want them to perform exactly as advertised. If I buy a piece of craplastic, I do not want to be dealing with software issues, incompatibility or replace it just because R&D has decided that technology is disposable and should not have a life-expectancy of more than 3 months.

I also need to be able to drop things. Repeatedly. They must still function, not break apart into components that even I cannot put back together. Where is the transformer technology that Michael Bay has promised?

My impenetrable anti-marketing castle was not built overnight. Forcefields of eastern philosophy were erected while living in a cave with a Buddhist monk. "Desire is the root of all evil," he taught me, right after I refused to share my last Goji berry with him.

I am onto the technological fruit corporations that spend more on marketing than putting quality on our shelves. Sleek design and imitation metal will not fool my discerning eye and neither do limited editions that evoke an air of fabricated exclusivity. Pretty on the outside, unimpressive within.

What is this? What am I being shown now? Targeted marketing?




H.O.M.Geek! 

Torpedo shaped dials inspired by the movement of orbiting satellites. Automatic winding powered by twin turbines. Materials made of titanium in Switzerland with Swiss precision. Slick and beautiful digital rendering. Who cares what time it is, when this watch comes with powerful sound effects and a soundtrack that reminds me of a movie about dreams.

The perfect watch for an artistic sci-fi geek. In RL this is not just a piece of metal that hugs your wrist, goes "tick tick" and keeps track of time. This watch will kick-start the lagging economy, enable me to fly and give me superpowers so that I can save the world. The titaniuminator of all watches. I must have it.

Inception complete.

Google! What Are You Up To?

You have probably already heard that Google +, currently in beta version, is launching soon. Internet rumor has it that blogger will be renamed Googleblog. Try saying that in rapid succession. Googlebleck. Googooboo. George Bob. Huh? Why not.

It would have been nice for them to announce it on...let's see...blogger buzz, perhaps? At least preferable to experiencing blogger meltdown, chasing widgets that disappear and reappear or wasting time troubleshooting while wondering, what did I do now?

Information is sparse, all I am aware of is that private profiles will be deleted on July 31, 2011 or sooner. What does that actually mean for bloggers or readers? Will it affect us? Anyone know? In addition, as of August, Google will no longer support anything but the newest browser versions. If you have not done so already, now would be a good time to update your browsers.

Time, so elusive and hard to find, which is why I chose the allegedly "simple and stable" blogger platform, despite the fact that other platforms have better templates. Time...Wasted time...Remembering that time is infinite, while my time is not....Where was I? Oh, yes.

This will make it easier for targeted marketing to find us. I am well aware that 95% of revenue for our friendly "free" giant comes from advertising.  "Recommended for you" has never worked for me, undoubtedly the next time I stop to look at something that evokes: "Cool. Someone sculpted a detailed reproduction of the Serenity (Firefly)....Out of cake?!," I will be targeted with cupcake recipes and where to buy them.

I thought it would be a good use of my time to start working on my public profile:

Name:     Sigyisfor Kyiirneayrokull (Maybe something with Umlauts, make it sound more Icelandic? I will never remember how to sign in again).
Location: Planet Earth, orbiting a G-Class star. (Just in case extraterrestrials need to advertise as well)
Age:        12 going on 2000.
Household members: Trillions, I am including microscopic lifeforms. Gross underestimate.
Marital Status: Is this a census?
Interests: Swearing at blogger and inanimate objects that suddenly appear in my path.
Likes:       Privacy. I also enjoy breathing.
Dislikes:    Invasion of Privacy. Not breathing.
Occupation: Of space and time. Sometimes it feels territorial.
Goals:      Training cats to stop sleeping on the remote controls. (Spawn does not like to be moved). Getting blogger to align tabs. And world peace.

One Down, 364 Days To Go

Once again, I have been noticing heart shaped candies in communal spaces, which look and probably taste like last year's.

Valentine's Day is a strange celebratory event.  The concept of "I love you" (once a year, here's a card, confectionery, flowers or a tie, now leave me alone), is foreign to me.  To limit our appreciation and affection for those we care about to one day of the year, while showering them with thoughtless junk, seems counterintuitive.

We scramble to show love and affection by purchasing unimaginative mass-produced cards and gifts in an effort to meet yet another marketing campaign for happiness through the consumption of strategic merchandise.  Before Christmas decorations have a chance to be put out of their misery by being marked down to more than 50% off, the pink and red invasion is already placed on shelves.

With military precision, mostly pink stuffed animals holding ubiquitous heart-shaped pillows parade on store shelves, ready to declare war peace on a household or loved one.  While conservation and recycling is in all of our collective consciousness of late, this does not prevent manufacturers from producing synthetic emotions in the form of plush toys that will eventually end up on a landfill.

With annual amusement, I know that by late February 14th, hormonal teenagers will line up outside variety stores and sweat in card stores in a frantic search for amorosity.  Inevitably, they will leave with funeral flowers and cliched cards, hoping that they might achieve a declaration of their undying love.

Victorians are somewhat responsible for the kitschy images of cherubic children with wings that would not allow a small chicken to become airborne. When did handmade go out of style?  Among friends and family, I am the frequent, willing and grateful recipient of new hobbies and interests.  Someone made it, baked it, constructed it, built it, wrote it, thought of it.  Even though I am not always certain of what "it" is that I have just been gifted (or where to put it), I like "it" anyway.

Just as I was bemoaning the lack of creativity of contemporary cards and gifts, a friend sent me this:
Created by Stephanie Burrows and available here.

I "heart" science.


















I "heart" my family and friends.
















I "heart" my fellow bloggers, readers, followers and commenters.

Commercial symbolism is contagious.

Have a healthy heart day.