There are about 151,549 different things I could be doing right now that would actually be productive and I don't feel like doing a one of them. I've shirked any semblance of responsibility I might have (which is surprisingly considerable for an "unemployed" expatriate) and dragged myself off the couch solely for water and a peanut butter sandwich and a half. I've downloaded a good deal of music, including most of The Dillinger Escape Plan's catalog. I may have a new favorite metal outfit, although they are a bit of a hard listen.
I'd make excuses for this behavior (at least I was up at 7.10 this morning, it's been a drizzling and partly miserable day, won't SOMEBODY appreciate the sheer volume of music downloaded, Mother Jones had some REALLY interesting sh*t in it) but it really doesn't solve any of the underlying motivational issues. So the bottom line remains the same: I have spent the day stealing your precious air, just sucking in air, nourishing my body with the oxygen it contains and blowing out nothing but carbon dioxide and waste gases that I cannot use effectively. I feel like I should apologize, but I won't. It wouldn't change anything anyway. I'm going to work on my other blog now. Thanks for reading! (No, you may not have the last five minutes of your life back.)
29 April, 2011
28 April, 2011
Tyranny in Blue and Yellow
There's something vaguely sinister about Ikea. I have a hard time defining it, which leads to chuckles from my friends and family when I first tell them, "I think there's something vaguely sinister about Ikea." But I think it has to do with the uniformity with which their stores are laid out and the fact that every last little piece of everything is for sale. You can buy it all, even the fake computers and TVs, I suspect. And there are those little arrows telling you where you should be going. Not where you MUST go, mind you; no, that would lay bare their hidden agenda of world domination for all to see.
The store is far too clever to give up its intentions so readily. Instead, Ikea entices all with its promise of fashionable, cozy modernism for any budget. Are you well compensated? We have a luxurious sofa for you for $600. On the lower end of the pay scale? Here's a futon for $150, a light fixture for $5. And it's all so tidy and kempt. They've even arranged the furnishings for you: they have "apartments" as small as 55 square feet laid out in their stores, fully bedecked in their wide variety of coffee tables, bunk beds and kitchen ranges.
Interestingly, like the ersatz apartments built within the stores, there are almost no windows in the stores themselves, at least on their sales floors. They mimic casinos in that way, further embedding the notion that one isn't in a furniture store so much as an alternate reality, an Ikea world where things are peaceful, harmonious and tastefully decorated. One could easily lose track of time (there is a distinct dearth of clocks in Ikeas as well) and find him- or herself spending an entire afternoon in its cozy confines.
The icing on this conspiratorial cake is Ikea's ability to put a warm, human face on all of this. So insidiously ingenious is their plan that one cannot help but to ignore all of the aforementioned subtle clues to the store's true intentions and embrace the fluffy consumerism promoted inside.
I suspect that there are others out there who, like me, have begun to divine the plot for world domination buried deeply within the smartly-appointed store but who are just as unable as I am to discern enough of the details to rip the mask off this institution and expose its nefarious plan. So, in the interests of all of humanity, I shall continue to make the occasional foray into this Swedish heart of darkness, brave its enticements of moderately-priced modernism, purchase an item or two for closer inspection at home and report, dear readers, on my findings. Wish me good fortune.
The store is far too clever to give up its intentions so readily. Instead, Ikea entices all with its promise of fashionable, cozy modernism for any budget. Are you well compensated? We have a luxurious sofa for you for $600. On the lower end of the pay scale? Here's a futon for $150, a light fixture for $5. And it's all so tidy and kempt. They've even arranged the furnishings for you: they have "apartments" as small as 55 square feet laid out in their stores, fully bedecked in their wide variety of coffee tables, bunk beds and kitchen ranges.
Interestingly, like the ersatz apartments built within the stores, there are almost no windows in the stores themselves, at least on their sales floors. They mimic casinos in that way, further embedding the notion that one isn't in a furniture store so much as an alternate reality, an Ikea world where things are peaceful, harmonious and tastefully decorated. One could easily lose track of time (there is a distinct dearth of clocks in Ikeas as well) and find him- or herself spending an entire afternoon in its cozy confines.
The icing on this conspiratorial cake is Ikea's ability to put a warm, human face on all of this. So insidiously ingenious is their plan that one cannot help but to ignore all of the aforementioned subtle clues to the store's true intentions and embrace the fluffy consumerism promoted inside.
I suspect that there are others out there who, like me, have begun to divine the plot for world domination buried deeply within the smartly-appointed store but who are just as unable as I am to discern enough of the details to rip the mask off this institution and expose its nefarious plan. So, in the interests of all of humanity, I shall continue to make the occasional foray into this Swedish heart of darkness, brave its enticements of moderately-priced modernism, purchase an item or two for closer inspection at home and report, dear readers, on my findings. Wish me good fortune.
26 April, 2011
Lamentations of a Weather Nerd
One of the great frustrations I have had while living in Spain has been the attempt to get good, accurate, up-to-date weather reports in this country. You know, like those they have in America. My efforts have undoubtedly been hindered by the fact that I haven't lived in an apartment that has a TV since 1 November of last year, but still, one would expect to find something online that resembled what the United States has at its disposal. But alas, all of the weather sites that I know are US-based and a bit dicey in regards to their international forecasts, or at least that's how it appears to me.
Let's take Accuweather's site as an example. Here is what the forecast for Tampa looks like. Here is what the forecast for Barcelona looks like. Can you spot the difference? I thought so. Stevie Wonder could spot that difference. It's pretty big. I went to the BBC's website to try and get a video forecast and found one--that was posted yesterday at 2.30 in the morning. Way to phone-in the weather forecast, Beeb. And Spain's national meteorological site has few of the bells and whistles of its American counterpart.
To be fair, Weather.com and Weather Underground seem to put forth as much effort in dressing up their international forecasts as they do their domestic forecasts, but that really doesn't support this screed. Besides, they ARE based in the United States, so I would expect that their international forecasts, while less of an afterthought than those of Accuweather, are still not where they concentrate the majority of their efforts. And that leaves me a bit suspicious of the forecasts issued by these otherwise-venerable institutions. And so the search continues.
Let's take Accuweather's site as an example. Here is what the forecast for Tampa looks like. Here is what the forecast for Barcelona looks like. Can you spot the difference? I thought so. Stevie Wonder could spot that difference. It's pretty big. I went to the BBC's website to try and get a video forecast and found one--that was posted yesterday at 2.30 in the morning. Way to phone-in the weather forecast, Beeb. And Spain's national meteorological site has few of the bells and whistles of its American counterpart.
To be fair, Weather.com and Weather Underground seem to put forth as much effort in dressing up their international forecasts as they do their domestic forecasts, but that really doesn't support this screed. Besides, they ARE based in the United States, so I would expect that their international forecasts, while less of an afterthought than those of Accuweather, are still not where they concentrate the majority of their efforts. And that leaves me a bit suspicious of the forecasts issued by these otherwise-venerable institutions. And so the search continues.
13 April, 2011
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
This is, without a doubt, my favorite sports time of the year. The NCAA Tournament is big fun, especially in its first and final weekends, the Super Bowl is indeed a spectacle and the World Series is often worth watching (for the most part). But the best tournament, at least for my money, is the NHL Stanley Cup Playoffs.
In the Playoffs, what is normally a fast, hard-hitting sport becomes even more intense than one would otherwise think possible. Defenders (and forwards) fall in front of a piece of vulcanized rubber traveling at times in excess of a hundred miles an hour just to keep it from finding the back of the net. I'd hate to see what some of those welts look like. Men skate with spaghetti for legs into third, fourth, even fifth overtime periods as fans sit transfixed into the wee hours of the morning waiting for someone, anyone to tuck the puck behind the goalie and put an end to the evening. Grievous injuries are ignored, coaches are told by other coaches to shut their yaps, razor companies across Canada and the northern U.S. anxiously await the end of the various series so that another town's men might once again groom their beards and the Gillettes of the world may once again turn profits.
Of course, the festivities are that much better when one has a rooting interest in the tournament. This year, my Tampa Bay Lightning are back in the playoffs for the first time since 2007 and I cannot wait to watch the action. Even if I have to wait until the next evening to do so. Or stay up until 4am. Doesn't matter. What passes for a beard on my face is slowly, inexorably growing toward its ultimate destiny as the Bolts tangle first with the Pittsburgh Penguins. I'm almost giddy and face-off's still 40 minutes away. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
In the Playoffs, what is normally a fast, hard-hitting sport becomes even more intense than one would otherwise think possible. Defenders (and forwards) fall in front of a piece of vulcanized rubber traveling at times in excess of a hundred miles an hour just to keep it from finding the back of the net. I'd hate to see what some of those welts look like. Men skate with spaghetti for legs into third, fourth, even fifth overtime periods as fans sit transfixed into the wee hours of the morning waiting for someone, anyone to tuck the puck behind the goalie and put an end to the evening. Grievous injuries are ignored, coaches are told by other coaches to shut their yaps, razor companies across Canada and the northern U.S. anxiously await the end of the various series so that another town's men might once again groom their beards and the Gillettes of the world may once again turn profits.
Of course, the festivities are that much better when one has a rooting interest in the tournament. This year, my Tampa Bay Lightning are back in the playoffs for the first time since 2007 and I cannot wait to watch the action. Even if I have to wait until the next evening to do so. Or stay up until 4am. Doesn't matter. What passes for a beard on my face is slowly, inexorably growing toward its ultimate destiny as the Bolts tangle first with the Pittsburgh Penguins. I'm almost giddy and face-off's still 40 minutes away. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
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