My Tiny Brain

I found a hand written note on a Post-It in my wallet, it was written to me.  The message was cryptic and incomplete, as if the note-leaver assumed I was a mind reader who'd understand its obscure context.  I stared at it... I tried my best to interpret... and then I recognized the writing.  It was mine.

I'm a husband, a father, and a professional in a technical field.  Life is busy and I think the neurons responsible for absorbing new clutter in my brain filled up years ago.  The only way to fit new stuff in is to push some old stuff out but those pesky neurons are sentimental, it seems, and they'd rather hold onto the dusty memories of bad childhood dreams than make room for "pick up milk after work".

To extend my memoronic capabilities I allow certain things to spill out onto little pieces of paper, I write notes to my future self.  While this is a handy and often indispensible tool, it suffers the same drawbacks my brain cells do; gradual accumulation of clutter, and lack of recall.  You see, writing a note to my future self does not guarantee that the future me will read it.  That "me" has to remember there's a note to read!

Here enters technology to save the day.  I recently acquired (quite delinquently) a mobile device that hosts an electronic memory bank for lists and notes.  It is a digital repository for thoughts akin to a physical extension of my neural network.  It's like my brain just knocked out a wall and added a new room that I carry around in my pocket.  With a cheerful little song, and a bit of a wiggle, it even reminds me when I need to remember something (now if I can just remember to take it with me when I leave the house).

Note to self... sell 3M (Post-It) stock and buy Apple shares. 

Truthfully, I've been using computers to augment my brain for quite some time, but this latest addition to my computing arsenal is tiny, really slick, and has me reflecting on cultural trends.  Since the dawn of the Industrial Age we've been offloading tasks to machines, it seems we've come far enough to entrust our very memories to digital devices.  Do we really need our lazy brains to remember anything anymore?

In my experience, men are more likely to acclimate easily to handheld devices that compliment cognition and tote effortlessly in one's pocket.  I believe this is for two reasons; out of sheer necessity (because men have very poor memory), and because men are already quite accustomed to thinking with what is in their pants.

Easy Riders

As parents, Cristy and I do everything we can to ensure our kids don't hit any unexpected bumps in life's road.  Actually, if you extend that analogy a little further... it feels more like we're clearing forest, grading land, and laying down fresh asphalt that is smooth like stretched velvet.

No bump is too small to warrant attention, apparently.  Peaches get peeled, pitted, diced, and served in tiny bowls to avoid the hideously fuzzy skin that would surely kill the children (or so we're lead to believe).  The giant red, not-seedless, grapes purchased accidentally must be cut open, seeds removed, and bagged nicely to qualify for consumption in a school lunch.

The cumulative effect of this mind boggling pampering causes something I call "Smooth Road Syndrome" in which suspensions grow soft and vehicles settle into low-rider profile.  When your chassis rides a hair's breadth from the blacktop you sure look cool!  Until you hit a speed bump.

I had never imagined how true-to-life this analogy was until we took the family hiking this summer. The dirt trail through pine woods was scattered with exposed rocks and tree roots and my youngest son, Joey, was wearing his low-rider shoes.  He tripped the whole way up, the whole way down, and made it very clear to everyone on the mountain how displeased he was with the unimproved surface.

Last year, we hiked Green Mountain, a local grass covered foothill popular for its easy trails and city views. On our decent down a trail hewn from rocky hillside, stepping over large rocks and taking care not to slip on patches of gravel, my older son, Garett, said, "Whoever built this place sure hasn't done much with it".

Perhaps our parental paving machine, responsible for such an easy ride, should start shedding parts into the roadway as a way to keep the drivers sharp.  "Watch out for that bolt!".  "Oops, sorry about that wheel stuck in your grill".

Eventually, the big machine which has been leveling ground (and eclipsing the path ahead) will run out of steam or reach the end of its contracted duties.  Hazard signs will go up... and its operators will wave the drivers around.

Good luck kids!

Saving BIG

Years ago when wholesale warehouses were just getting traction in the direct-to-consumer market I lived with a young couple who eagerly signed up to save big. It was summer, we lived in a small house with no air conditioning, and they came home from the warehouse with a 40 pound bag of oranges.

In the absence of proper refrigeration (of which there was none at the required scale in our house) an owner of 40 pounds of oranges has two choices; peel and eat 24 hours a day for 2 weeks straight, or hastily open an Orange Julius.

What came in the door next was equally astounding... a 5o pound bag of flour. I had rented a room from this couple for a few months and never saw baked goods anywhere near the kitchen. Despite this, they were apparently gearing up to open an in-home bakery business... or to become weevil farmers. I didn't stick around long enough to find out, they needed my room for food storage.

Today I am a warehouse shopping member myself, a status I can claim only by association as it was my wife who signed us up. I'll never forget the first day she came home with shampoo.

Samples are plentiful in warehouse-ville. The cavernous store is a veritable buffet of processed, frozen, and re-heated bites individually containerized in plastic cups or skewered on colorful toothpicks. They are prepared and served by minimally paid retirees with sore feet, their wrinkled and awkwardly gloved hands moving morsels into position almost as fast as hungry shoppers eat them.

I always appear to look on the samples with interest, my face poised with an inquisitive gaze as I approach the table. And when the food bit makes it into my mouth I raise my eyebrows a bit and nod approvingly. I'll even spend a moment studying the box and then ask "where are these?" even though my stomach is already at the next stand. In reality, the elderly lady behind the table who lost her savings in the stock market, who was assigned to Hot Pockets on isle 7 this morning, and who is now sweating behind a toaster oven doesn't give a rat's ass what I think.

Shampoo samples would be useful, but you never see those. It's hard to find a place to rinse between pallets on the warehouse floor. I'd pay money to sit outside the store on free shampoo day and watch the patrons exit. "Look kids! That guy's head looks like an anvil".

The shampoo that came home with my wife was not sampled, but I'll get to that in a minute. The hard part was not getting the dolly's wheels over the lip of our shower basin, it was trying to squeeze into the shower myself the next morning. Thankfully, there was a convenient pump on top... almost certainly a suggestion made by the manufacturer's lawyers. Attempting to wrangle a slippery shampoo barrel (while naked!) to ease out a coin sized dab on one's palm would surely be injurious.

Three days later my wife's hair decided it didn't like the new shampoo. Her hair is special, not only does it have body and shine, it also has opinions. My hair is more guy-like, it says "whatever!" to things like beer, axel grease, and fire. So the shampoo was mine... twenty years worth. I had no idea what to do with the matching barrel of conditioner... though an inflatable kiddie-pool and wrestling came to mind.

Right now, I am working my way through a 60 year supply of women's multi-vitamins. My biggest fear is not that I will grow breasts, but that (given the vitamins are already long expired) my new boobs will arrive already wrinkled and saggy.

If these side effects seem unappealing let me remind you that, per unit, we paid half what we would have spent anywhere else. We saved BIG!