POSTS FROM January 2002

I've figured out why people are materialistic: it's because we're all shallow snobs. Hahaha! No, just kidding. We're materialistic because it's much easier to define happiness in terms of tangible objects than in terms of emotional fulfillment.

Materialistic happiness is defined in quantitative terms, usually linked to monetary values. For example, I can say that I can die a happy man if I own a Hatteras 90, Porsche 911 Turbo, and a Gulfstream V-SP, all of which can be obtained within a matter of days provided that I have the $30 million available. This definition of happiness took me about 5 minutes to think up, and the path to obtaining these items takes just as long to concoct: win the lotto, become a rock star, or pull off an Enron. Because there exists a clear goal, I can now work towards that dream, akin to putting eternal happiness on layaway—“$2 million saved, $28 million left to go.”

However, the reality is that most people won't ever make enough money to drop $30 million simply on modes of transportation, which is why we settle for getting “the next best thing.” We seem to spend an entire lifetime climbing the Great Status Ladder by constantly upgrading our possessions trying to reach the pinnacle of luxury in hopes that it will bring us happiness and respect, when in fact it's much more like an addiction: when we develop a tolerance (i.e. get bored) to our current possessions, we seek to buy the next generation of stuff.

Even when people do strike it rich though, the mere prosect of being able to purchase “everything of their dreams” often sends them into depression—most recently exhibited by many dot-com millionaires suffering from sudden wealth syndrome.

So I guess the whole point of this is that I'm going to be less hell bent on getting new stuff. Maybe.

Ohmigod! There's an In-n-out burger and a Krispy Kreme in Daly City, and it's only 5 minutes from my place! It's probably because it's the year of the horse.

Do you find that regular dictionaries are too slow on the uptake? Pseudodictionary will fulfill your every loquacious need.

There is nothing more ironic these days than the Enron code of ethics.

Don't have any real money to place a bid for Enron's code of ethics? Just escape from the real world to Everquest, where serious online addicts have created an economy that has a GDP just shy of Russia.

Me sports fan. Me not understand youth hockey just game. Me too stupid to read about other stupid hockey dad. Me feel angry. Me want to avenge son's penalty by punching other people. Me now feel like man.

Gluttony + capitalism + naked girls = Wing Bowl.

911 calls from idiots. Always good for a laugh. The funniest one, though, is about Joe, his car, a deer, a dog, and a phone booth.

Recently read books that I'd recommend: The Burden of Bad Ideas is blunt look at how public policy can have the best of intentions, but in reality fails in the most miserable way. If you're a cynic, you'll probably enjoy this book a little too much. White Teeth by Zadie Smith is a great whirlwind of cultures and eras all packaged into a very witty novel.

I saw her at Borders on Powell and Post. A sullen goddess who personifies the essence of light—not the theoretical light-in-a-vacuum, straight line, free of all obstacles kind—but the earthly rendition of light that glides through the air, flitting from one reflective surface to another with little regard for refraction or diffusion, forming the glimmer on the glossy magazine page in front of my roaming eyes. She's definitely the adventurous type; you can see it in her effervescent eyes, unable to be masked by the gloomy expression that's draped on her face. Eyes that have seen the world from the 29,035 precarious steps of Mt. Everest, examined the bullhorns of the 2 bulls that never quite caught up with her in Pamplona, peered down into the eviscerated remains of the World Trade Center. Why wasn't goddess-of-Borders carving down Kirkwood at this very moment? Who would let such perfect specimen of evolution be in a such a funk? Anyone could see her perfection, which appeared and disappeared beneath the warm fabric of her I-just-want-to-be-comfortable outfit: v-neck, curve, slack, curve, slack, curve, curve, slack, Adidas women's Response Trail.

“The Grand Canyon's really nice this time of year,” I say as I catch a glimpse of the National Geographic Adventure in her exquisite hands.

“I just got back!” She replies, with a laugh that could cheer up even the most despondent misanthrope. “My sister and I were there backpacking for a month. Wish I could go back...” She adds, and then trails off into a saddened stare at her shoes.

“What's got you down?” I replied, but only in my hyperactive mind, because her cell phone rings and whatever bits of digital noise that enter her delicate ear command her to depart from my side—3.0x10⁸ m/s to be precise.

Hopes dashed again.

This picture about a boy and a turkey on Weber's home page is really funny.

No, Penelope Cruz isn't that hot.

I was driving down 280, right before it joins with 19th Ave when I spied a cop behind me so I decided to take it easy and keep it at 65 in the middle lane. Two minutes later, the cop is still there cruising along at 65—most highway partol cars drive at about 75—so I was pretty sure that he was out to get somebody. At this time a very shiny new blue Corvette Z06 was in the left lane, inching his way past the cop and I say out loud (as if that guy could hear me), “I really wouldn't do that if I were you.” The Corvette holds his position in the cop's blind spot for another 30 seconds, and then decides to bring it up to 70 to pass both the cop and myself. What a dumbass. The cop merges into the left lane with about 2 inches between him and the Corvette and, probably with great satisfaction, turns on his lights. I laughed so hard, I think I might have spit on the windshield.

Yes, trying to find a solid approach in asking women out can be an amazing moral quandry.

Have you heard of Nixie tube clocks? I think they're definitely very charismatic pieces of antique electronic components. Is there a kind reader who would like to buy one for me?

Yes, America has taken obesity to unthinkable dimensions. I had assumed, however, that most Americans took some sense of responsibility when it came to their own personal girth and so reading satirical writings from The Onion about class-action lawsuits against Hershey chocolate was funny. Well, leave it to Fox News to run a story that basically legitimizes the possibility of just that.

Professor Marion Nestle of NYU is such a supporter:

“You're asking people to control what they eat when the food industry spends $30 billion and more on marketing designed to make them eat more...”

So, she's basically saying that the American diet is dictated entirely by the media, and obese people are helpless in controlling the actions of their own limbs. Riiiight. People engage in advertising-induced gorgefests because they're victims of aggressive marketing? I don't think so. Let's say that all marketing for food is banned. Are people going to forget about Ho Ho's and Ding Dong's? Will cravings for a double Whopper, super-size fries, and a mondo-sized milkshake simply disappear?

Please people, lets all use some common sense.

Applying for jobs online can be quite demoralizing. I sent my resume in to a company that uses the BrassRing job software, and ended up feeling like nothing more than a number. It starts out pretty innocently by asking you to cut and paste your resume into the little text box. But then on the next page, it runs your resume through a filter and returns a distilled listing of the names and employment dates of your previous jobs, and your degree. That's it. None of your fancy proactive words, unique extracurricular activites, action words, or feats of wonder make it on to this condensed rap sheet. And to top it all off, their only acknowledgements to you are a job reference code and your candidate ID. That's pretty cold.

This car defies all laws of moderation, conformity, efficiency, and truly has gone beyond the limits of good taste. The poster says, “it looks like a Radio Shack exploded inside....” Nevertheless, it's freakin' hilarious.

Lookin' to git your travel on? See the promo for Delta: We luvs us some flyin, and it be showin' like a mutha f*cka!

How big of a beer drinker are you? Can you correctly identify beer bottles without the labels?

I'm back! The Asia Trip pictures are posted. More to say later...