Things I Don't Understand - Part 2

The Things People Choose to Say to Test Microphones

Sibowitz. Sibboleth. Syphilis. Symptomatic. Psycho-somatic. Synchronized efforts at mutual destruction in times of nuclear stand-off. No matter how you say it or what you say if the microphone isn't on - it won't come through. For that matter, unless what you're saying during testing will be said by one of the more important people who will eventually take the stage and speak - all and any words you speak have no other purpose than to show off/reveal your incredible/deplorable vocabulary.

Honestly, if on stage amidst a bunch of techies preparing for an event and the only word you can think to say into a microphone is "syphilis", perhaps you need to take a personal day. In fact, perhaps you need to get that looked at. Or if you already had it looked at you should trust the doctor that the medication perscribed will make the unsightly rash go away.

It won't. Even if it does - syphilis is a state of mind. You're screwed (not physically as that would just cause problems for other people).

Back to microphones and people unwittingly confessing their inner anguishes as they attempt to ascertain once and for all whether or not the microphone is on. Maybe they blow into the microphone. Maybe they tap it a few times. Either way - unsatisfied by the fact that their harsh breathing sounds and obnoxious tapping have deafened the entire room - they're going to say something. Something embarassing.

"Is this thing on?" Which, as a question, is completely worthless as they would have had their answer after "is". In which case the question couldd have been shortened to a sweet and terse "On?" Nothing embarassing about that. Heck, you'd probably look smart were it not for the fact that you've just sounded like a caveman for all the room to hear withyour mono-syllabic query of room-wide forced audience-ship. But isn't that better than sounding like a complete dumbass who can't tell that everyone in the room has heard everything he's said yet still attempts to confirm that by speaking non-sensical words and questions like "You in the back, Frankie - stop talking to Jessica - Frankie, can you hear this?" Again, assuming he heard enough to turn and look at you with the annoyed look that suggests he was finally getting somewhere with Jessica after two-weeks of working together on-set with the band-members looming overhead presenting a constant and seemingly insurmountable obstacle to any chance he might have with her - the only girl on the road-team, and thus in desperate measures - the only thing that might suggest your latenight coitus will be expelled into something other than a cup/tissue/dark well of self-loathing and doubt which leaves you trembling in your bed. Assuming he looked at you with that annoyed look - you didn't even have to ask the question. Successfully interrupting his advances is all the confirmation you really needed. In which case you should have made it worthwhile by mentioning an embarassing congenital defect or genealogical trait no mate could find attractive.

This is really a lose-lose scenario for techies. Unless executed in a team fashion with one man conversing directly with another at the back mixer board. Then, and only then, is there any hope of redeeming the techy from a fate of room-wide loathing and oafishness.

Things I Don't Understand - Part 1

The Economic Status of Malaysia

For three years I spent time in and around the oh-so lovely island-splattered area of Malaysia. On top of sexy natives, (less sexy) turtles and more poisonous wildlife then I'd care to go outside to experience - they have an economy. Now I'm no economist. I'm not. Though I said I was once and may again in the future if it's ever a matter of national emergency (an American National Emergency - not Malaysian, as that entails little more than heavy turtle populations in tidal pools). But as a non-economist and someone who still insists to the IRS that he's never earned more than $0.30 an hour, I feel quite qualified to comment on the entire economy of Malaysia.

Why?

Because it consists entirely of a guy selling snorkels out of a shack made from driftwood. Sure they may have a thriving piracy industry going on the side, but my attempts at getting statistics on that aspect of "business" found me with a machete sticking out of my left thigh. So I digressed.

But Ikthanto - the snorkel renter - told me that on average he makes about 40 of whatever they call their currency an hour thanks to a booming tourist population. He was either lying to make himself look better or 40 of whatever his currency is called - we'll call them horeshoe crabs - isn't very much money at all. Considering his business's headquarters had an Eeyoric tendency to collapse we'll assume the latter. Damned inflation, in 1943 a man could live 2 weeks on 40 horseshoe crabs.

So there it was. The economy of an entire tropical region dominated by one man, a mesh bag filled with snorkels and, what we're assuming is a wallet full of cool-looking shelled creatures.

I've always assumed that a strong economy relies on competition. I know this because in order for me to win at Monopoly I have to actually play someone else. And because monopoly is an economic term, and because monopoly requires at least two players, I can assume a proper (and fun!) economy requires two players as well. I decided I needed to locate a second snorkel renter. There were none. Malaysia's snorkel trade find's itself under the cruel cold hand of Ikthanto - Snorkel Warlord of the South Pacific (SWOSP or Snorkel WOSP assuming you can say that without imagining a bee-like insect capable of breathing underwater). I can't.

With the Snorkel WOSPS greedy thumb placed dastardly over the snorkel tube of Malaysia's economy - I found myself wondering if there was any hope for these islanders and their Gecko-god Pili. Obviously the God will be fine, but the people will probably suffer. So still I wondered (but not about Pili). Was there a chance of liberating these once noble, snorkel-loving people's from the dominating force of the SWOSP?

If there was ever hope it's here and now. It exists in you and me. Write your congressmen. Write your friends. Your family. Your children. Your loved ones. Your love-children (avoid letting your wife read that one). Or if you're consequently divorced after the whole love-child scenario, write your estranged wife. The point is - no matter how comfortable you feel writing to these people, we need to set our inhibitions aside and stimulate the US economy with a surge of stamp purchasing!

Huzzah! It's a two for one deal! We boost our economy while increasing the value of horseshoe crabs (which comes about by removing the SWOSP from power). Come on people - keep up.

Perhaps the real reason I don't understand Malaysia's snorkel-driven economy is because I know nothing of malaysia. Or snorkels. As I've never been to Malaysia, have never even bothered to Wikipedia Malaysia (as I'd at least know the currency at that point), nor have I cared to do the legwork to further that part of my knowledge.

I don't understand how Malaysia's economy works and never will make an attempt to try.

I'm an Economist goddammit! I've got much better things to do with my time.

Like boggle.

State of the Senses

The human condition can be described in no better terms than “frailty”. Our sense of personal well-being fluctuates with every headache, rush of euphoria and substance intake. Feeling down? Take a healthy heaping of caffeine or alcohol. Have a headache? Try taking a run or some aspirin.

But what astounds me more than the flux of humankind’s self-perception is how seldom they register the moments of clarity in contrast to the moments of pain and discomfort.

Perhaps you can relate.

When you have a sore throat, a tooth ache or are simply congested you take notice of your miserable state. You think ‘Man, this sucks.’ But now think about the opposite end of the pole. When you’re sitting in a park on a beautiful spring day. The sun is shining but a nice breeze cools you even as the solar rays warm you in this natural confection oven we call earth. You close your eyes and breathe in deep. The scent of blooming flowers, fresh grass and rain in the distance fill your olfactory receptors with a pleasure unparalleled in the array of smells. You fell entirely comfortable.

But do you take note of it?

Probably not. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that means for you feeling perfectly well is the rule rather than its exception. But I doubt it. I am incredibly pessimistic but I credit this doubt not to this negativity but rather to the tendency of people to dwell more on pain than pleasure.

Yes, your mind is flooded with endorphins in those moments of intense pleasure, but somehow they seem to fade faster than the throbbing impulses which inform our mind of recurring agony.

Two days ago I sat in the City Hall Park staring at the fountain. People came and went as I stared intensely upwards with no thought in my mind other than a stern concentration on one fact: I am sublimely comfortable right here and now. At that moment there was no future. No past. No concern for what I had to do in an hour or what I’d done years before. Broken relationships. Triumphs of the horizon. All received a present nullification in face of supreme relaxation.

I focused on these thoughts as I took stock of every muscle, nerve-ending and synapse my body could locate with nothing more than thought. Yes my muscles were sore from working out – but it was a pleasurable soreness differing in every way from the ache of influenza.

My mind was clear.

When was the last time you could say the same?