Paper Hearts and Shifting Alliances

Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished colleagues, Nobel laureates, fellow fifth graders. The fight is over. The race is run. The dream is dead. I stand before you this evening with a heavy heart. It was my understanding that my proposed changes to our school met with popular support but it seems I will never be able to grant you the extra fifteen minutes of recess and free Coca-Cola you deserve.

I remember the standing ovation I received when I announced my candidacy for Student Council Association President last week and the thunderous applause upon announcing my major running points. I was emboldened. Fearless. Some might say overly-confident, but there was no doubting the poll numbers showing my 65%/35% projected lead. Which is why I am at a loss to understand how I could lose.

A Concise History of Men’s Razors

On the glorious day of November 15, 1904 a patent was granted to Mr. King Camp Gillette for his invention, the safety razor. The man already possessed four patents, but apparently, that wasn’t enough. Consumed by capitalist greed and ambition, Mr. Gillette patented every blade he legally could. He even attempted to patent the broadsword, which had existed for centuries, but being practically unknown in America at that time, he almost got away with it. And he would have too, if it weren’t for the meddling kids of Lieutenant Colonel Jacob Schick who were tirelessly attempting to undermine Mr. Gillette’s every business and patenting venture with their time traveling dog and selective knowledge of history.

Lord Fezzik Creates and Destroys the Passworld

In the beginning was the word, but that word took a pass. So there came into being another word, which was slightly longer and more creative sounding. But this second word was not enough. As it was too close to the first word, the second word would allow access to the first word through itself after becoming known a posteriori. So there came into being a third word which would allow access to the second word after itself was known a posteriori. Once access was granted to the second word it was up to the user to come to know the second word a posteriori which would allow access to the word (henceforth referred to as word1) which could only be known a priori. If the user were able to know both word3 and word2, he would gain access to word1 which would lead to the sacred email inbox of Lord Fezzik.

Lord Fezzik, thought by most to be a brawny simpleton but actually just deeply self-conscious, reasoned that the only way to protect his holy inbox was to create more and more words that one must pass through. For Lord Fezzik knew if his inbox were revealed and someone began spamming his friends with ads for viagra and penis enlargement, he would absolutely die of embarrassment and never be able to show his face at a party again. Therefore, Lord Fezzik created word4 and word5 and so on, and called them passwords.

One day, while out for a stroll, Lord Fezzik was struck by an acutely severe panic attack triggered by the thought that his enlightened inbox was still not secure. His eyes began darting anxiously to each person walking past him, broadcasting his paranoia and pleading with the universe to tell him everyone wasn’t laughing at him. At his wit’s end, he began to spin in place and let out a helpless groan, when a child, about 10 yards away yelled, “Retard!” and threw an apple that smacked him in the temple. The child’s callous act shook him from his anxious state, whereupon a radical new idea wormed its way up and out of his brain; security questions.

Utilizing his heightened reasoning abilities, Lord Fezzik thought that if one were forced to answer questions that only Lord Fezzik would know the answers to, and then have to pass through the multitude of words, he could finally rest assured that no one else would witness his unknowable inbox. So Lord Fezzik commanded the questions to come into being. And they were:

What is your mother’s maiden name?

What was your first car (make and model)?

What year did you graduate from high school?

What is your favorite food?

And at last satisfied, Lord Fezzik journeyed home and laid down to rest.

The next morning Lord Fezzik awoke, rubbed his eyes and stumbled to his computer to check his email. Upon attempting to log in, he was prompted by a security question, just as he had commanded. “What is your mother’s maiden name?” flashed on the screen. He sat upright and cracked a slight grin, awash with pride at the genius of his personalization. “Ms. Fezzik,” he typed and he was allowed to pass. Ironically, it seemed that as protective as Lord Fezzik was with his email account, he still had no qualms giving away personal information to a third party computer system, but…moving on…

Next, he was prompted to enter his password which was ********.
“Incorrect password. Please try again,” was the computer’s response. “What? This can’t be,” he thought, and he typed ******** again. “Incorrect password. Please try again,” was the computer’s response. Lord Fezzik tried again and again but always received the same reply until he realized there were just too many damn passwords and not even he could access his sacred inbox, or golden bank account, or hallowed Facebook page, or angelic Amazon account with reduced rate shipping, or read his friend’s news article recommendations from CNN or the BBC.

So Lord Fezzik called customer service at each one of these fine establishments. To each representative, he calmly and politely explained that he’d created too many damn passwords and couldn’t remember them. He explained he couldn’t remember if he was on word205 or word2005 and that even if he got to word1 again, he wasn’t sure if he could remember what it was, much less know it a priori, which was necessary to know it at all. “And if I have forgotten the word from which all others sprung, then there is no absolute the other words of pass point to, so I’ve just been aimlessly remembering letters stitched together as nonsense leading me down a chasm of falsely represented experiential knowledge (pop-ups) dancing outside the core reasoned and objective definition that is my holy, sacred, immaculate, unknowable and ridiculously overprotected email account.”

“I’m sure that’s true, sir,” the customer service representative replied. “How can I help you today?” “I need to know my password!” Lord Fezzik demanded. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t keep accessible records of our customer’s passwords. However, if you like, I can reset your password and email a new, temporary password to you…”

Glory and the Drive-Thru

America’s landscape is pock-marked with drive-thrus.  Once known for purple mountain’s majesties and its fruited plains, America has streamlined the processing of amber waves of grain into one delectable treat after another.  And in true capitalist fashion of giving the customer what he wants, one doesn’t even have to leave the car.  What could be more American than stuffing those fat cheeks and bloated ass of yours without even having to stand up?  What could be more democratic than the power of choice? (Wendy’s, McDonald’s, Burger King etc.) What screams “freedom” louder than your decision to do nothing?

Life Among the Americans: A Brief Explanation of the Ritual of Thanksgiving

Few things in the life of the present day American are as predictable as the annual ritual they call Thanksgiving.  It is a day when members of the same tribe gather at the home of their oldest member and pretend to get along while they gorge themselves on food and drink and ignore the pressing concerns of their daily lives.  From my years spent living with the Americans, I will try to relate to you this interesting and quirky practice.

AP Anonymous

Ladies and Gentlemen, members of the Associated Press, people of Earth, I am an addict.  I stand before you today a broken man, unable to resist the need for my next fix and consumed by thoughts of time, no, life wasted.  I am a man fearful of the diminishing prospects for my own life and for the prospects of the world.

Just last evening, a young man walked into a grocery store in the sleepy but restless town of Richmond, Virginia and selected a frozen pizza, a bag of potato chips (Lay’s) and a bottle of cheap white wine (because let’s face it, not only is he hungry he’s also classy) to purchase.  While lamenting the wait in the self-checkout line and the disembodied female computer voice at the register, (Welcome, valued customer!) he was quietly, but forcefully and incessantly bombarded with spam news.  No, not news about Spam, the canned mystery meat that enjoys immense popularity in Hawaii, but greasy, vacuous, self-indulgent publications spouting the relationship woes and victories of Hollywood’s elite.  However, he leaves this industrial wasteland of retail production with new knowledge.  Taylor Swift is in love with some guy from the Twilight movies.