Buying On Credit

A few months back, NPR started a new segment which they wittily entitled 'All Tech Considered.' I rarely listen in (as I no longer even own a radio), but one of the first segments revolved around a company with a creative solution to email inundation. This was in November, so excuse my sparse details, but the company had developed a system which assigned a certain number of credits to each email account on its server at the beginning of every day. Users would expend these credits with each new email in increments of 1, 3, and 5. When the credits were gone, so were your email privileges. The idea is that with each email you must stop and consider the level of importance of that particular communique - is it so important to warrant 5 of your rations; is it even worth loosing that one little credit?

The idea of taking those email abusers and literally cutting them off at the tap is absolutely brilliant. Of course, there are those who oppose the idea, but - surprise - they are exactly the ones that such a service is meant to discipline. It got me thinking of all the different listserves and blast lists I'm on, and how much simpler my life would become without the constant interruptions and side comments. Overtime, however, my mind began to wander further. I began to ponder what life would be like were such a system applied to other things in life. Watching TV would be a simple; the better the show the lower credit (since you're using your time smarter). Socializing would truly become an art, as the dimwitted among us would finally be forced to think before they spoke. But it wasn't until after all these months that the most practical application for this system came to me.

If I could limit any person for any one action through a limited number of credits - I would limit my dad on his amazon.com purchases.

Now I love my father. He is a kind, generous man who truly cares for me and, though we are separated by hundreds of miles, thinks of me often. I know this not only because he texts me "Are you OK???" every 24 hours he goes without hearing from me (God save me when he figures out how to 'nudge' on twitter), but he also dotes on me quite often. But, like I said, the doting is frequent, and always - always - from amazon.com.

Now before I begin to come off as some ungrateful brat, not everything is bad. My dad has always thought it very important that my sister and I have a broad range of experiences. Thanks to this philosophy, I have hiked the Rockies, snorkeled the Caribbean, spelunked the Ozarks, rafted the Arkansas, climbed the top of St. Peter's Basilica, biked Hawaiian volcanos, Space-Needled Toronto, and block-partied in front of the White House when Obama got elected. And for all of these reasons, and more, I am grateful to him. But he is also responsible for my knowledge that there is no variety of Chef Boyardee that can't be delivered to my door in twenty four hours. And that is a problem.

Though it is the bain of western existence and the root cause of our current economic meltdown, materialism is a difficult habit to kick. Though it sometimes may not appear so to my friends, the past few years I really have been trying to tackle the inevitable by product of materialism - I call it stuffism. But pair up online shopping, with its ease and availability and two day shipping options, and my father, with his generous attitudes and stable source of income, and you have an insurmountable recipe for disaster. Think Hurricane Andrew - only in cardboard form and with friendly delivery men.

And so I am left with a conundrum. Barring a tragic loss of luggage or massive technological failure, I am pretty well established in my little world. I don't need any more stuff. And, yet, it comes. And not only comes the stuff, but also the other stuff - the inquisitively too large boxes, the packing bubbles (note: not even bubble wrap!), the needless inserts which I forget to throw away. It is incredible how a single thoughtful gift could clutter one's place so. And I'm left with the burning question of how to shut the flood gates. Do I bite the bullet and take it like a man? Do I potentially upset/offend him by asking him to stop sending me Elvis CD's? And what if he doesn't get it and simply substitutes Elvis for The Carpenters?

And that's when it occurred to me. Put him on online shopping rations, based on the practicality of the item in question. New can opener, sent regular mail? 3 credits. Eighteen pack of Wolfgang Puck's Chicken Pot Pie Soup, overnighted? 5 credits. Poster of Yoda so I finally have some decorations for my wall, no matter the shipping method? 1 credit. There are obvious pitfalls in this plan, but I imagine most of its can be resolved through crowdsourcing, user reviews, and contracting some guy in India to monitor purchase trends for redundancy.

Of course, there is another solution that doesn't involve reverting to cash gifts and allows him to retain that 'thoughtfulness' dynamic which motivates at least 89% of his purchase decisions (I am fairly certain that 8-11% of them are motivated by humor. There are times when such is the only conclusion that makes sense.). Purely digital gifts, something downloadable and external-hard-drive-able, could prove to be my saving grace. Earlier this week I attempted a foray, and suggestive hint, into these uncharted waters by gifting him something on iTunes. Time will tell, but I can only hope he'll be so taken with the technology that his dollars will eventually be funneled mostly through the wires in my walls instead of through my doorway.

That is, of course, until Amazon implements the shopping ration system. But even then, I think I might let him off the hook for digitally distributed gifts. It'll be my way of saying "Thanks for being thoughtful."

The Puzzle of the Blackberry

Not to be egotistical, but I like to think of myself as a pretty smart guy. For years, though, I have been absolutely stumped by the Blackberry. I get that people want email, but Blackberries are by no means the sole solution there. And let's be honest, it's not like anyone buys anything for a calendar function. Yet even bringing up all the functions and bells and whistles that come with such a sleek plastic shell is really nothing but a bunch of smoke and mirrors - it distracts from my gut honest confusion.

What I really don't get about the Blackberry is the incredible level of enthusiasm their owners demonstrate. If you have ever even talked to a true Blackberry owner, you probably walked away aware of the fact that they are the proud owner of one of the many models. In some cases, more than one of the many models (all in active use).

I simply do not understand it. The only thing keeping the cult of Blackberry from really hitting its apex is that they have yet to all move out to the wide open spaces of Wyoming and start a compound. But if they did, you can be sure the first they'd do is BBM each other about it, add the move date to their calendar, and then tell all the non-Blackberry friends about this new cool thing that they can do that should totally be the reason why everyone else should get a Blackberry. I'm not hatin' - I'm only calling it as I see it. We all know its true.

I actually began, or at least tried, to talk to my friends about their Blackberries, and in time hoped to understand their infatuation. But in my attempts, I got a lot of fluff. I was told on more than one occasion that everyone had one, and that I should get one. I was told about the email. I was told about the keyboard. The calendar came up. One person even told me they had reconnected with an old friend thanks to the BBM function. (In case you don't know, BBM is BlackBerry Message).

Suffice to say, I was unimpressed. Save the BBMs (and brick breaker), there was nothing these Blackberry people could do that I couldn't on my own smart phone. But still, there was that enthusiasm. Now, I love my phone. It's an AT&T Tilt, and it is awesome. I have email, a full QWERTY keyboard (those sliced Blackberry's can eat it) with real buttons (as opposed to that iPhone thing). It also has a full HTML browser that functions like the iPhone's. My calendar is synced with Google. And it is built on an actual OS - with Java capabilities and everything. But I do not rave, rant, or renounce other devices. I, simply stated, lack this enthusiasm.

There was one common attribute of the Blackberry, however, that came up time and time again - organization. And, I think, in that one element I accidently tapped into what makes the Blackberry a Blackberry. It holds their life. It is, as a professor of mine put it, the umbilical cord. Any other electronic with this kind of mass hysteria would have been shunned by the more mainstream crowd simply on principle. In all other circumstances, the threshold of fanboydom would have been broken long ago, discouraging would-be users by the fanatical purism that normally accompanies anything expensive and with batteries. Yet, Blackberry adopters tend to be, well, average - maybe even normal. Which means the Blackberry is something different.

It might be that it is a network of people to plug into; all connected, all organized, all sharing the same experience of dependence on the same device. And that makes it more than a phone - something many owners subconsciously recognize. The users don't refer to their device as 'my phone,' they reference 'my Blackberry,' which I think goes beyond some type of brand snobbery. All things considered, I think that such statements in and of themselves provide some light behind the Blackberry. We don't have a word for what cell phones are becoming. 'Cell phone' made sense 20, even 10, years ago, when it was a device to make calls without a landline. But think of all we can do now. We have tried 'smart phone,' but that is fairly inaccurate. The devices are only as smart as we make them, and what percentage of time on these devices is actually spent phoning any more?

One of the reasons, I think, Blackberries have proliferated is that it is more than a brand name - it is a label, a method to describe the device in my hand and all the things I can do with it. Think of it like Band-Aid, or Cool Whip; these words convey so much, but are actual products and not a type of product. It gives those who can't or won't tweak a phone like my Tilt a means to capture all the functionality. It also sidesteps the need to learn, understand, and comprehend the wide world of handheld electronics. I have seen a similar phenomenon with the iPhone, which, from a linguistical point of view, performs the same function ('smart phone' describes a phone which is smart, but 'iPhone' is a new word entirely). Be it a Blackberry or an iPhone, with one word you know what you're getting, and, perhaps more importantly, everyone else knows what you have - no complex explaining required.

It may sound somewhat contrite, and even a bit of a stretch, to claim the success of the Blackberry is derived mostly by its ability to simplify our conversation. But with vocabulary comes conceptualization, and conceptualization begets understanding. And, in this particular case, it may be that understanding (or demystifying a complicated new technology) has lead to commercial success; it has made mobile computing accessible for the masses.

I, at least, would never question the social utility of simplification, particularly in an American setting.

America's Business Ain't Business

I was browsing YouTube the other day when I came across a gem of Glenn Beck ranting on about a rising tide of communism in the United States. It's not as if Glenn Beck really needs a reason to rant, but his issue of the day was President Barack Obama's announcement that executives of companies who receive federal funds out of the TARP will be getting a fairly steep pay cut. And he was angry.

Traditionally, I would ignore his objections as traditional partisan positioning. It's standard fair that the party lacking in influence, or its foot soldiers, tend to scream bloody murder over anything the other side does – warranted or not. During the Bush years, for instance, liberals loved to decry a rising fascist state no matter what the occasion. The very next day, however, I came across a piece in the New York Times on the very same subject. While the Times is adult enough to guard itself against reckless labeling, the writer was far more open (and more eloquent) about his concerns. Though Beck was content using empty terms and allowing his audience to fill in the blanks with their own worse-case-scenarios, this Times writer outright stated the issue at hand – rich people, and companies, were being told how to spend money.

Under normal circumstances, I would be inclined to join their ranks. According to every internet survey I've ever taken, I am highly economically permissive. Individuals create wealth by providing services society values, and they reserve the right to expend this wealth however the may deem prudent. I am of the opinion that the United States has enjoyed its dizzying rate of success because it has allowed market mechanisms to determine these values – a system which has proven incredibly efficient and fair. Societies which have proven uncomfortable with allowing such an intangible system to dictate prices or compensation or choices have felt, and shown, the effects. Zimbabwe is perhaps the most extreme to date; the government has rejected the most basic of market functions which has undermined the countries ability to even produce, import, or distribute food. Australia, in a lesser example, has legal limits on broadband usage, which has caused the country to be left far behind in the global growth of efficient and cost effective online music and video distribution. Suffice to say, government interventions rarely determine the best allocations of resources of any kind.

There is a flip side to such freedom and earning potential, however. Pro-business environments mean more than light regulation and freedom of movement for people and capital; it also means strong rule of law, and protection of both tangible and intangible property rights. Society builds and secures these public goods, and those who personally benefit also have a responsibility to contribute back relative to their success. The more success, the more responsibility. And I am of the opinion that those who have received direct funding from the national coffers hold the most responsibility to the society.

We are in a period of far from normal circumstances. When Beck and the Times bemoan the government setting executive pay, they to fail to acknowledge reality. They talk of Washington setting wages, and there is a kernel of truth in this accusation. But they fail to recognize who is effected – executives of companies who have received TARP money, and only those who's incomes would otherwise land in excess of $500,000. These are the failing firms from our daily headlines; companies who have been mismanaged, and executives who have taken irresponsible risks and are now in need of public help. These are the individuals who rolled into Washington begging for their bailouts. But, most importantly, these are people of power and of influence who, for most of their adult lives, have felt untouchable and rarely taken orders.

They now they face rules and scrutiny, and are they ill-adjusting. Under normal circumstances, they would be fully entitled to prance about their boardrooms and do as they wish in their realm. Many of these firms, however, are now partially or technically owned by the taxpayers, which makes these executives a weird variant of public servant. It is an unfortunate, and hopefully temporary, status for many of them. What's more, from all the talk, one would think more than the highest of payrolls at a short list of firms were at stake.

These recent pronouncements of limited pay for a limited range of individuals is far from the rabble-rousing it has provoked. Communism, it is not. The rich are not being targeted for their status. Nor are they being stripped of their wealth. But an increased level of expectation relative to the support they have received is not unreasonable. They threw themselves into the game of politics. They asked to be brought into the political sphere. It's time they wake up to the realities of the game for which they asked.

And, if nothing else, perhaps all of this pain and heartache should remind all parties involved why the the United States has historically stayed out of the business of running business.

Appliances and Groceries

The future is upon us. Granted, it is not quite now, but it is totally coming. The other day I was reading up on the latest in grocery shopping technology, and let me tell you - there is some pretty sexy stuff out there.

Now I know that grocery shopping may, at first, not seem all that interesting. Let's be honest - what has really changed about the whole 'grocery store' model since the introduction of the aisle? I can't answer that question, which I am fairly certain proves my point. Grocery shopping is boring. It is static. It is shelf to cart to register to bag to cupboard. So how do you make it exciting? Through in a little pizazz! And silicon.

I suppose I should take a step back and explain myself a bit. You see, I hate shopping for groceries. Actually, I don't only hate it, I loath it, I dread it, and I avoid it to the point that I have, at times, gone weeks with no food in my refrigerator. It is not that I simply don't like it - I am legitimately BAD at it. I'm the type of guy that would go in for bread, walk out with ketchup, and have no recollection of how either the mistake or the purchase was made.

I get lost and confused, both of which make me frustrated and further disoriented. And even though I realize everyone always says you aren't supposed to do it, I tend to shop while hungry. And not just hungry. Starving. Like head splitting, room spinning hungry. Normally when I get back from my excursion into the wild, my brain is so worked out that it is all I can do to crawl to the couch and order a pizza, which totally defeats the initial purpose of going to the grocery store.

I am also poorly trained in the arts of food procurement. Whenever I go to a grocery, I see people pick up products and give them a good turn around (I have always assumed, but as of yet not verified, that they are inspecting for quality). Then comes the approving nod, and the epic placement of said foodstuff in the basket. Interestingly enough, that is how I navigate an electronics store.

But when it comes to groceries, I haven't a clue as to for what they are searching. I can interpret all kinds of lingo on the side of most any tech toy, but only last week did I learn that you consume cholesterol; I had always thought the body produced it. As a defensive mechanism, as well as a means to avoid judgement, I mimic the inspection ritual. After all, if I have rotated and nodded, who is to second guess my judgement? I have made my choice, and, besides, they won't have to eat it. Keep in mind, however, that I have no idea what I should be evaluating.

Case in point: I once bought a bunch of plantains which I had mistook for bananas. Until a friend told me so, I just thought they were particularly ripe and tough.

If you ask me, grocery stores are crowded, overstocked, poorly designed wastelands. It's like a bad joke: you could get lost for days and still go hungry because you can't eat the food until you pay at the register - which they have cleverly hidden behind the labyrinth of shelving holding the food which you can't eat. Anyone who doubts the laws of social darwinism would be relieved of all doubt should they go grocery shopping from my vantage point. It is the state of nature to the core - solitary, poor, nasty, and brutish. Short, however, it is not.

All this may soon be changing. Online retailers such as Amazon.com have, for sometime now, been delivering dry goods. For instance, my father was once kind enough to gift me 2 pounds, 5 ounces, of biscotti, presented in a convenient plastic tub, for the everyday low price of $18.99 - a 7% discount off the list price. I agree - who could say no to such a deal?

But for those inclined to food of more substance, Amazon has also recently been experimenting with a complete grocery delivery service in their hometown of Seattle. To best understand the concept behind the service, think of it as the classic image of the milk man from eras gone by, only now he also brings tomatoes. Plenty of grocers have been experimenting with similar services in major cities throughout the country for a few years now, delivering varying assortments of dry goods, meats, fruits, vegetables, and staples such bread, milk, and ice cream. Essentially, if it can be found in their stores, it can be delivered to your home.

Due to their expertise, however, Amazon has the potential to revolutionize the grocery home delivery industry. The concept combines their specialities - delivery, logistics, and online ordering - with one of the most competitive, thus easily entered, industries in the US. Most importantly, however, Amazon does it all without free standing grocery stories, eliminating the high real estate and redundant labor cost its competitors face. Operating expenses for the company are lower and, thus, the consumer would see more competitive pricing. In plain english, it means better service and lower prices.

While all of this may be convenient, it isn't particularly exciting - and is certainly not game changing. If anything, it's almost turning back the clock to an older model, albeit revamped and more efficiently executed. What could come next, however, is of a different variety. The current model requires me to place an order, or establish a basket of goods to be delivered on a periodic basis. Basically, I would get my milk, bread, and OJ, but I still have to get online and do it myself.

But as we speak, new technology is being tested which would monitor what I have in my cabinets and fridge, and automatically place orders for me as I run out of food. Distribution centers would then fill and deliver order these orders directly to my house. Said another way: it tracks how much milk and Frosted Flakes I have left. When I run out of one of them, new supplies are delivered directly to my door - and the only thing I'll have to do is sign my name. Groceries, just-in-time style.

I really don't think it is possible for me to explain within the limits of this entry the leaps and bounds by which my quality of life would improve were such service available to me. I love the sound of never thinking about food buying again. I would get back all that wasted time spent hunting down aisle after aisle. Even current delivery options are fairly inexpensive; more importantly, consumers such as myself could get on with our lives with lower stress and better nutrition (due to actually having food in the house for a change). Plus, the good people in the delivery truck would do the ritualistic inspecting of the foodstuff on my behalf - when I order bananas, I'd get bananas.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I it turned out that my friends hated the concept. They laughed, they scoffed, they belittled. One even warned such a system would institutionalize endemic obesity and isolation - with no grocery stores to patron and food too easily available, the population at large would get overly fat and never leave the house. Some even expressed privacy concerns. I imagine they are worried about heavy handed marketing, but just think of the embarrassment of the government knowing when I've let my milk go bad.

To that end, imagine a day when Star Trek style food replicators can track how many times you've made which type of food in what quantities and temperature and for how many people. And we worry about Google tracking our search entries.

Most them, however, simply did not understand my issue with grocery shopping. It seemed to them that paying someone to deliver your food is a waste of time and a sign of laziness. And perhaps it is. But try to think of 10 phone numbers off the top of your head. The only phone numbers I can remember are the ones I knew before I got my first cell phone. So the cell phone has made me lazy when it comes to phone numbers. I'll give you that.

But it has also allowed me to be far more productive through email and texting. I can hold 10 conversations at once through those mediums. Using them, I have literally planned entire days within a few minutes and coordinated a fund raising event held over several city blocks. Ahmed Maher has used the exact same method to coordinate mass protests against the Egyptian government. Compared to that, memorizing the phone numbers involved sounds pretty insignificant to me. Not to mention, Facebook can replace any lost numbers three times over.

For some, I suppose grocery shopping provides a sense of normalcy in ones life. And for them, I have good news - the traditional method of foodstuff procurement is going nowhere anytime soon. But physically going to the grocery store is no longer an absolute requirement of daily life. If we judge our time to be better applied elsewhere, it is now within our means to make that a reality. And besides, most of the presidential hopefuls in the past election cycle couldn't even recall the price of milk. That's how long it had been since they had shopped for food.

Think of all the things I could go out and do, if only I could avoid that pesky checkout lane.

Eye Contact with Coffee

I drink coffee. Sorry, I misspoke. I drink a lot of coffee. It is not that I am addicted; I prefer to conceptualize myself as a user. Coffee is, to me, one of life's simple pleasures. I fully recognize this enthusiasm is not mine alone, but I do like to think I exhibit my interest in a way easily differentiated from the masses.

For me, coffee is a beverage meant to be enjoyed over time and good conversation; should conversation be lacking, quiet contemplation will do. Whenever it is within human power to do so, I drink from a mug, a glass, or something else of substance which will not simply be tossed away at the end of our time together. As the British snootily approach their tea, so do I treat my coffee. If you ask me, 'getting coffee' should be an event unto itself.

My problem lies in the manner by which the elite of the industry, Starbucks, conducts their business. Starbucks, as most anyone can tell you, is an Americanized reinvention of the strong tradition of European coffee bars. Americanized is the key, with its focus on speed, volume, and portability. Of course, the obvious solution is to patron other shops. A resolution if there ever was one, in theory. In such a solution, however, I run into a problem. Thanks to Starbucks' market/world domination, it feels as if every other coffee shop out there feels compelled to copy them, more or less exactly. And in the event you were not aware, we sadly live in a world where paper cups are the default setting, and subsequently quickly carried on to complete the remainder of the day's agenda.

I am not entirely sure what brought me to do it, but the other day I had a particular desire to stir the pot a bit, to stand in defiance of all the institutionalism which surrounds my beverage of choice. Perhaps it was a spike in my inner romanticist, but I decided it would be an excellent idea to saunter on over to my friendly neighborhood Starbucks and enjoy a nice mug of coffee with nothing else but a smile.

Traditionally, I'll catch up with a friend or take a nice book. I'll admit, there have been times when I've had the uncontrollable urge to simply sit, think, and enjoy my drink all by my lonesome. These stints, however, have always been conducted from behind the safety of my laptop so as to not draw attention to cook in the corner oddly sitting by himself and emptily staring out into the world beyond the window. If anything, I like to think that they may perhaps assume I am deep in thought, preparing a thesis of the most epic proportion.

But on this day, I walked in completely unencumbered. My goal was to sit at my table, by myself, and take in the world. I ordered my coffee for here, and spied a seat. For kicks, I even made eye contact with the barista. In retrospect, that may have been a poor choice. It was uncertain as to if they could actually serve 'for here' style in a mug; my initial array of options were to keep my paper cup inside, or walk away with it. They would also let me buy one, and be generous enough to pour my drink in it $12 later.

Having victoriously received my coffee in a mug designated for problem customers, I took my place by the window - no book, no friends, no computer. I was particularly proud of my spot, from which I could see most of the foot traffic for a reasonable distance in all possible directions. And, thus, I readied myself for a nice, lengthy period of 'me time.'

Also, I lasted for, at best, 10 minutes.

I don't know what it was, but I couldn't shake the self-consciousness. Perhaps it was due to the fact that my actions were entirely purposeful, but I felt as if everything I did was attracting attention, that every noise I made was drowning out the entire of the store. I couldn't relax, I couldn't detach, and, so, I couldn't think.

More significantly, however, I couldn't help but wonder about my traditional distractions. American society is certainly not designed for stillness. We have a national love affair with fast cars, Blackberries, and CNN. Even as I sit here writing out this entry, I have music in the background and am continually glancing to see if I've missed anything on gchat. To go back to subject of Starbucks, think for a moment about how their main method of beverage distribution is paper. Paper is disposable. Starbucks is also certainly a way of life for many - myself included. If a nation can be so taken by a company built on disposability, what does that say of the nation, or at least its outlook on a great many things?

Interestingly though, I find that as I try to focus to write this entry, with all of the surrounding distractions begging for my attention, my mind wanders (in a good way). More than an argument for ever more attention deficit issues, it makes me wonder if I have not come to be programmed to thrive in a loud, yet multitasking and productive environment. Lose all the activity, and I lose my musing.

So perhaps more than the monk approach of sterilization, in a society such as ours, so geared towards activity and complexity, our most relaxing times can be found not in the complete absence of everything familiar, but in the presence of a single 'fake' distraction - simply slowing down with something easily ignored.

The next time I feel so inclined, I think I might take to a book which I have no intention of ever completing. I'll open the cover, and see where my mind leads me.

A Nice Idea

I struggle with sentimentality. It's not that I'm bitter or jaded or anything along those lines. I simply do not do the sentimentality thing very well. That being said, I sometimes wonder if I'm alone in my observations. Perhaps I it is my fate that will turn out senile, but it seems to me that Christmas has risen in insignificance over the past few years. Said another way - the holiday seems like so much less of an event than it once did.

Sure, I'm getting older, and part of getting older is that things appear less magical. But, to be honest, it is pretty hard to remember the last time it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Or feel like it for that matter. I don't do a lot of mall shopping, or shopping in general, so that may also be part of it - no perfect holiday-themed displays stand to remind me of all the merriment and cheer I should be exuding.

But I dunno. It still feels like the streets don't show it, the people don't express it, and the world plain doesn't feel it.

In many ways, I am part of the problem. Here I am, stumping as the vanguard of Christmas defenders, yet, in the interest of full disclosure, even I have let Christmas morph into some significant/punch line sedu-holiday. As an example: For some time now, I have been working to convince a friend of mine to come to my New Year's party. She claims, though I am skeptical, that her whole town is trapped in several feet of snowed. I insisted that the warmth of our friendship would melt a path to the nearest airport. She scoffed at the idea. I accused her of failing to embrace the power of Christmas magic. She asked me why Christmas would possibly care about New Year's. I, in turn, casually explained to her that I had seen the movies - where there is snow and December, there is also Christmas magic.

Somehow, she remained skeptical.

My cynicism aside, it was an interesting concept; Christmas and New Year's pitted against one another. We were in the hight of banter, so I feel fairly certain that such was not what she intended, but it does bring up a point worth discussing. Are these holidays mutually exclusive? Were they ever? Should they be? Calendrically, they fall so close together, yet it is true their importance varies. It seems to me that the only problem with my friend's analysis was that New Year's would be the one unconcerned about Christmas' welfare - not the other way around.

Perhaps it is, again, an issue of my age. I am far more enthusiastic for a holiday dedicated to festive celebration. New Year's simply feels to be a much larger event. Even with all its accoutrements of religiosity, Christmas is a holiday known more for its stresses than its merriment. Like a wedding, it is a day of carefully and vehemently guarded pomp, ceremony, and tradition; social mores and rules which dare to go unobserved. New Year's, with its focus on mortality and temporal progression, begs to be observed with spontaneity and indiscretion. Perhaps its proximity to Christmas is no accident; we all need a well deserved break from all the institutionalized merriment.

But what should we make of the decline of Christmasness felt throughout December? Is there a war on Christmas? Is the decline evidence of an increasingly secularized society? I won't claim to be the end-all source on all things Christmas. I certainly won't claim to be a representative sample of the population at large. And, to the relief of all parties involved, I won't even try to claim my experiences are the same for those around me. But I have to tell you that it doesn't seem that there is some secret group of militant secularist marching forward against the friendly, neighborhood manger scene.

If anything, there may be a movement against the stuffiness that has become the holiday. Americans prefer to relax. We have less leisure time than before. We have a recession to forget. Christmas is, after all, meant to be a holiday. In all of our tradition, in our unbreakable rules, it is entirely possible we have created something ultimately unsustainable. Maybe it is that Christmas is becoming reimagined away from an undemocratic endorsement of a particular religion and towards a national cultural holiday - keep the gift giving, enjoy the carols, relax and reconnect with those we love, but, by Santa, drop the blood pressure raising rules and expectations. But what if we get lost in some materialistic netherworld in lieu of any semblance of a sentimentality that once was? What is Christmas if we completely remove the original idea of peace, goodwill, and, most importantly, love that it was intended to reinforce?

It is, of course, entirely possible that I am simply jaded to the whole idea, and am fooling myself over its decline. Perhaps Christmas is out there, brighter than ever, and I'm missing the forest for the trees. If for no other reason than for the sake of that blessed and aforementioned Christmas magic, I won't completely dismiss the idea that Christmas might still exist as it once did. Or that we should do what we can to keep its spirit alive. But these are deep thoughts that will require much time and lots of quiet reflection.

For now, all I can promise is a raised glass come New Year's Eve in honor of an idea.

The Incident of the Highlighter

People who know me know I like to read. They also know that my life allows for little of it. Between work, school, and socials, there is hardly any time for this quiet little pleasure. Which is why this evening has been decidedly disastrous.

The issue is that I have a quirk. I don't like to simply open a cover and fly through the pages. I like to pace myself, to think, reflect, turn back to find that detail I seem to have already forgotten. I like to digest, if not savour. This practice is, of course, not quirky in and of itself. But if I come across a well written passage or an earth shattering phrase or a witty little saying, I just have to mark it. I have tried several methods over the years - pens, markers, highlighters, earmarks, post-its. I even tried scribbling notes in a separate notebook for a time. For the record: by no means is that an efficient means of documentation.

A few months ago, however, while blazing through an anthology for my European civilization class in a last-ditch effort to scrap together a paper I had been ignoring, I came across a system which - until this very evening - has served me quite well. It is a clicky-top-pen-style highlighter. I cannot tell you why it has worked so well for me - or for that matter, from whence this thing came. One day it was sitting there in my apartment. I did not purchase it. My roommate never asked for it. It appeared, and that is all I can tell you about our first introduction.

There is nothing particularly fancy about this highlighter. It is yellow, which, let's be honest, is fairly tame as far as highlighters go. It is also a bit on the fat side. I must confess, though, that it does produce a highly satisfying click. It is deep. It is methodical. It is firm. After years upon years of listening to high-toned and meaninglessly brief clicks from tiny and frail ink pens, the contrast is welcomed. When I hold it, its presence is felt. When I click it, its voice is strong. Perhaps these factors are insightful for explaining my fixation: As I read, when I come across a passage of weight, a passage that at that very moment I know I will want to remember forever and more, a passage which screams its significance to me from the very page on which I gaze - in this highlighter, I have found the means to match such an occasion. When I mark with this tool, it is not simply a notation - it is an event.

Which brings me to my original point.

Tonight, I had time to read. I settled in, highlighter in hand, with a book that I've had no time to work through. My expectations were high for a pleasant evening. I won't bore you with the details. We both know what is coming.

Similarly to the marker in question, my reading came to a dead stop. I tried, valiantly, to read on, but my mind simply wouldn't stop trailing back to those deserving portions which would go unnoticed in a future flip-through. I sat there, fretting over what would be the most prudent course of action. I pondered if I should I adopt a new system, yet even when recognizing it would only be temporary, I couldn't do it. The inconsistency of highlighter and ink and back to highlighter was unacceptable to me. Eventually, in defeat, I turned to convey my experience instead of dwelling on my pitiful, even woeful, paralyzation.

This bothers me to no end. I tend to pride myself on my flexibility, on my ability to adapt to rapidly changing environments - to roll with the punches if you will. We all have ticks. We all have those little corners of our lives which we prefer to keep tidy, neat and perfect. But a highlighter - really? A minor disruption caused by the yard stick of corporate stability proves to be my achilles heel? One would think I should have been able to rise above such an insignificant pitfall. Indeed, I expect it of myself. Yet in this moment of personal growth, I failed.

In many ways, I suppose we all prefer to think of ourselves as impervious to outside influences. One imagines this sentiment proves to be true for the most part, depending on the individual in question. I wonder, however, if we too often prepare for the big disruptions. As a society, we are built on the 'Big Idea' - Democracy, Manifest Destiny, Civil Rights, Freedom, the Family Unit. Our own time, for better or for worse, is driven by Terrorism; Obama won on Change. Bush arguably won on the idea of himself (W - The President).

We know how to react when the Big Idea is challenged. In many ways, that it will be assulted is to be expected. The Joker of Batman would call it 'part of the plan.' Our time and energies are focused on the preservation of the big to such an extent that the small can now be more disruptive. As such, we tend to over react. For myself, I don't sweat the small stuff. Perhaps that is why it hits me so hard.

Maybe I should thank whoever introduced me to this noteworthy tool. Maybe I should be angry at them for so poignantly highlighting my failure.

Either way, tomorrow I will take my opportunity for growth, go out, and purchase an identical replacement. And in 8-10 months will write again about the failures of my pen and myself.