"It's not instant enough!"

Snappy and passion-filled, these were the words of a friend speaking on the subject of reheating food in the oven as opposed to the microwave.

The oven, I'd argued, retains the crispiness of a pizza base or the stability of a pie pastry - and we all know that a pie's pastry is make-or-break, literally. I said if we didn't have to contend with time, the oven would win.

But she was quick to remind me that we are always contending with time, and so, whenever we juxtapose the quick-start blitzer with the oven's knobs, fan-force and backlight, most of us will simply give shrug to the latter and declare, "It's not instant enough."

Little did I know then, but she had it right. In another time I was content with waiting for my dial-up internet connection to load my Neopets profile or that Homestar Runner episode, even though the latter's audio would run ahead of the video by dint of, you know, the dial-up. Things like this were far from instant, but they were more than enough.

In another time, there was this thing called 'patience'; and even when it came to technology - even when a web page would load in its stop-motion-style unveiling as each bit by literal bit of content appeared onscreen - I remained content.

Now, jump forward to last week: I did not remain content. There was an internet outage - or rather, an internet hissy fit - and it just wouldn't sit still. I tell you, the web of 2014 was as sporadic as a flickering dim light swinging on a cord in a horror film, and had this fit lasted any longer than it did, I would've had a case of hissy to call my own.

See, I'd been promised broadband with download speeds that made one's face alight. But on that day, during that bout of internet indecision, it was more akin to dial-up, albeit without the electronic scratching noises that many of us can play by ear. This wasn't right, I said. This wasn't instant enough!

Even when the connection appeared to have fixed itself, web pages would load in a jittery slowness. It was like coming early to the airport, expecting it to be empty, and finding an impossibly long queue leaking into the foyer because everyone else had had the same idea. It was the bane of the first world, and I was its unsuspecting victim.

But yet, in this moment of strife was an afterimage of reminiscence. I recalled my old dragon from Neopets - now starving to death from a lack of sausage omelette - and asked him, "At what point did this all start to change?"

Coffee will never be instant enough. Not ever.

Technology is meant to help, not hinder; it's the magic of the modern world; it's there to astound and to surprise us on a planet which grows increasingly destitute of wonder. And indeed, it does astound - once. But following that, it becomes common place - so much so that even wonder itself may soon wither into novelty.

Somehow, over the last two decades, our expectations have become so inflated that they now coincide with basic rights. Our soons have been superimposed onto nows, and our needs and wants have become so interlaced as to remove all difference. The time bracket has become our worst enemy, and technology's best selling point. Wonders are no longer appreciated but expected.

However means through which this change has occurred, it's been slow and insidious, a usurper who for years we never knew was king. And if we are the masters of ourselves, then we have only ourselves to blame. Ironic, isn't it, that in many ways my twelve year-old self was more mature than I am now at twenty-five? A small part of me knows that this isn't how life is meant to work.

We are mammals; we adapt; and we adapt far faster than it does us good. We rip the extraordinary into its constituents, but the re-assemblage thereafter is a chore that takes too long. A web page used to take thirty seconds to load; now, if it asks for more than three, my instinct is to hit refresh repeatedly and with increasing violence, rather than give it the time of day.

You can sit on a seat thirty thousand feet in the air and travel at over 900kph, and that was wondrous, too, once. Now, along with the cramped seating and the lacklustre movies, human flight is an age-worn oven. It's not instant enough.

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Why an atheist shouldn't take offence when a religious person presents his or her beliefs

Every atheist I know would say that God does not exist. They know what the word 'atheist' means, and they stand by it. If I asked them if God is a fairytale character, they'd probably say yes.

I'm fine with this. I'm all for people making up their minds. I just wish that more people would.

So, God is a fairytale character. This means that he's in the same boat as characters like Pinocchio, Snow White, and, according to Once Upon A Time (and nothing else), Elsa the Snow Queen.

Of course, if God and Pinocchio are interchangeable, then it's fair to say that their values are interchangeable, too. So we could take God's words away from God and attribute them to Pinocchio instead.

Some of Pinocchio's words, values and commands include:
"Love Pinocchio with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind."
"Love your neighbour as yourself."
"Honour your father and mother."
"Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with Pinocchio's spirit."
"In the beginning Pinocchio created the heavens and the earth."
"For Pinocchio will bring every deed into judgement, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil."

Ridiculous, right? Pinocchio isn't even real, let alone a real boy. Living by these words, or even letting myself be affected by them, is tantamount to me crafting a wooden puppet, naming it Pinocchio, and deciding that this puppet wrote a bunch of laws by which man should live, all with his stubby little puppet hand that can't even grip.

In fact, I am so certain that Pinocchio hasn't written a single thing in the history of the world (what with not existing), that if someone approached me with a Pinocchio doll perched on his shoulder and said, "My friend Pinocchio says that you're living a sinful life," I would probably laugh. In any case, I wouldn't care. And the reason I wouldn't care would be based on my absolute certainty that Pinocchio does not exist. Pinocchio is a fairytale character. No doubt this man would be judging my beliefs, but I personally wouldn't be offended.

Whenever someone's judgements personally offend me, it's as a result of one of two things: my own doubts or my own insecurities, and the two are not mutually exclusive. I would argue that this cause and effect relationship applies to everyone.

I might feel insecure if I walked into a corporate building in shorts and a tee shirt and found that everyone else is wearing suits and ties. If those in suits and ties stared at me, I would feel even more insecure. I'd feel this way because, while a part of me believes that people shouldn't care about what I look like, another part of me would be believing that I'm out of place, that I don't fit in, that those staring are silently ridiculing, and that I should probably find the nearest exit before someone decides to say something. This same part of me might even take offence at all the staring.

This compiled feeling of judgement would be based on an insecurity in my belief system regarding my image, caused by an overwhelming and opposing belief (however strong) that anyone who enters a building like this one ought to be dressed in smart attire, and anyone who isn't ought to be shunned. A silly belief, I know.

Of course, it wasn't until this moment that I realised my 'who cares what you wear' beliefs weren't as firm as I'd thought. It was hardly the pairs of judging eyes that caused me to take offence so much as the volatility of my self esteem. It turns out that, regarding personal image, I didn't truly believe what I thought I did.

On the other hand, I'm never offended by someone's judgements when I'm certain that I'm right. If someone approached me and told me that I can't spell, I wouldn't be offended because I know that I can spell quite well, and this knowledge would be stronger than their opinion. I might get frustrated if the person persisted with examples that actually proved my point rather than his, but I wouldn't be offended.

I wouldn't be offended if someone told me to sweep my chimney to make way for Santa this Christmas, either. If I prided myself on the dust-ridden state of my chimney, I might feel sore about this man ordering me, without using much tact, to clean it. But I wouldn't feel offended over the fact that my disbelief in Santa was being judged because I would know that my disbelief in Santa is the correct belief to have.

And I wouldn't be offended if someone told me that Pinocchio created the world, Pinocchio loves me, and Pinocchio has a plan for my life. Even if my way of life was being judged, I wouldn't be offended because Pinocchio is a fairytale character.

To many an Atheist, God is also a fairytale character, and yet the mention of his name stirs offence almost anywhere, as if each person has been personally attacked. Strangely, if the name 'God' was substituted with 'Pinocchio', I highly doubt that we'd get the same results.

Someone, please, tell me what the difference is.

To recap:
1. Pinocchio is a fairytale character. I would not be offended if you told me that he was real.
2. God is a fairytale character. An atheist should not be offended if I tell him that he is real.

Like I said, I'm all for people making up their minds, but anyone who takes offence when their beliefs are challenged - anyone who feels insecure when their way of life is called to question - hasn't.

Either God is a fairytale, or he isn't.

If he is, then there's no reason to be offended when a Christian presents his or her beliefs, because those beliefs are a part of the same fairytale. They're fake. They have nothing to do with real-world morality.

So if a man does get offended or is affected in any way, then my guess is that there's an underlying doubt or insecurity regarding this man's disbelief in God. What he wants to believe (what he claims) doesn't line up with what he might actually believe (how he reacts/taking offence). Two beliefs are conflicting, like mine in that corporate building.

Now, I'm not saying that the condemning stares and scowls were morally just. Those people aren't perfect, either. But people will always believe things that you and I don't believe. When someone's belief is strong enough, he lives by it, and he feels the need to share it with others. Sometimes it's out of passion, sometimes out of love, and sometimes to condemn. Whatever the case, his attitude isn't my problem. My problem lies in what I believe and how I choose to react.

I felt insecure in that building because the stares and the scowls made me second guess my 'wear what you want' belief system. I wasn't as secure in those beliefs as I am about, say, my competence at spelling. In order to avoid taking personal offence, I need to make up my mind about the beliefs regarding my image. In the same way, a lot of atheists need to make up their minds about their beliefs regarding fairytale characters.

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TV series withdrawal

Living life is like driving a car that can't reverse. The farther you go, the more things you see that you'll never see again. Hindsight and reminiscence invade the recesses of our minds, growing up and up like weeds to pull us down. But going back is impossible. Even the weeds know that what’s been done cannot be undone. Still, the truth is hard to swallow.

I’m speaking about TV shows. When I finish watching a good series, my first desire is to erase my memory and watch it anew for the first time. But my hopes are short-lived. It cannot be done, my mind so reminds me. Instead, I'm transported into a pit of hopelessness, occupied by one thought: I have to wait thirty weeks for season two?

Torture, I tell myself, crossing day one off my calendar. Time couldn’t go slower if it, like me, had a mind to try. I re-cap the red marker when another truth intervenes. “You know, if you spent less time watching TV, you’d have less weight clogging your mind. The only weeds are the memories in which you’re doing something other than that which you should be doing. Make better use of your time so that one day, when your journey ends, you’ll step out of your car, you’ll look back and you’ll see, in amongst the weeds, an entire orchard abounding with fr---”

Thirty weeks? What am I going to do for thirty weeks?

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Fate is real, and he likes to mock you

The following scenarios illustrate how Fate works in this world of his. You neither argue with him, nor avoid him. If you try, you will be mocked. Simply accept: Fate isn't your enemy; Fate is your god.

1.     Watch one episode of a television series. I dare you. One year from now, you'll turn on your TV, stumble upon that show, and realise that it's the same episode - the episode Fate chose for you.

2.    Steve comes over. He shows you a YouTube clip, thereby giving you permission to show him one.
Yes! you think to yourself. This will be great!
Two minutes in; your favourite part's coming up. Steve has to see this.
*Bzzzzd!* It's his phone. No! Don't read your petty texts! Look at the video!
Fate whispers in your ear. "He missed it."

3.     Time to drive to Jen's engagement party, but the music in your car sucks, so you turn that knob, you flick those radio stations. A song you like! Yay!
Wait... is this the first chorus or the third? This better be the start--
*Slap!* Have you no faith, fool? The song's nearly over! Bow to fate!

4.     Dear human,
Want to pass that truck on the highway? Be my guest. Meanwhile, I'll just shrink this passing lane over here… 
What? You needed that? I'm sorry; I didn't know. 
- Regards, Fate

5.     Not all hope is lost. Back at home, you still have that movie on your USB stick; and, fortunately, after plugging in USBs a thousand times, you've mastered the rotation to fit it in on the first try. The trick is to get it on the side that's-- DAMN IT, FATE!

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Everything in my life happens in twos!

Hear me out. It's more a theory than a hypothesis, you know, because it's been tested. A hundred times, even, and a hundred times it's happened. When a thing occurs in my life, it occurs again. Everything in my life happens twice!

Last week the keyboard tray on my computer desk fell apart. Just fell apart. The screws had been loosening themselves, I guess, and all at once three of them popped out. The next thing I knew, my fingers were typing the air.

I reattached the keyboard tray, which took longer than expected because there were screws that had to be undone to get to the screws that had undone themselves; but eventually it was back in place. A minor setback on my easy life, I thought. But not one second after sitting back on my chair did my computer blue screen on me! Coincidence? I think not!

"Um, but those are two different things happening," I hear you say. In a sense, you are right, but they have one thing in common. They are both minor inconveniences. One minor inconvenience occurred right after another! Not only that, but my computer (which I've had for two years) had never blue screened before that point, and the keyboard tray had never fallen apart before that point! 

Still not convinced?

Last week a friend was in town for a few hours, and she called me hours in advance, asking if I wanted to catch up. I did, so we did, over dessert. Two days later another friend called me to say that she was in town for a day and asked if I wanted to catch up. I did, so we did, over coffee (at Starbucks). See the pattern!?

The week before last week I'd caught up with yet another friend at the same Starbucks mentioned above, at the same seat at the same time of day. (I didn't choose the place to sit. They got there before me). Also, coffee!

NB: I'm so introverted that I myself never take the initiative to catch up with people. All of these ideas were theirs!

LAST WEEK I tutored a student named Finley. His dad only had twenties, so he paid me $10 too much, and asked if it was okay to pay me $10 less the following week. Not being a thief, I said, "Sure." On Wednesday I tutored Stephanie, who requested $10 change because she too only had twenties. I checked my wallet, but having no change, suggested that she pay me $10 less at the next tutorial. She agreed, and then it hit me. Everything in my life happens twice! (I promise I didn't orchestrate that second instance).

NB: I only tutor two students at the moment, and never before has this kerfuffle over payment occurred.

These are just four examples within the same week. No biggie, right? Wrong! Consider every other week in my life and the possibility that they contain at least four instances of stuff happening twice! (Believe me, I could go on).

I've shared this (tested) theory with several mates. Tatai's dubious to the say the least. The sceptic in him says, "You only take note of the things that happen twice, so of course you'd say that. If you compared those four things with everything that doesn't happen twice, you'd find that the proportion of things happening twice to things happening once is extremely small; and therefore, the things that happen twice are merely coincidences."

Uh, good point. However, "Things that have happened once are only things that have yet to happen again, testified by the examples I have just provided." Come to think of it, I'm fairly certain we've had two conversations about this theory!

Perhaps you too are sceptical. Fair enough, I say, nodding. It isn't a science (yet), for I have no current way of presenting a cause-and-effect relationship between the stuff in my life and the fact that said stuff tends to happen twice. But I'm working on it.

The other obvious question is, "How do you know that the stuff that's happened twice won't happen a third time?"

The answer: "Stuff that happens a third time is destined to happen a fourth. In other words, 'A thing happening twice is itself a thing, which can also happen twice.'" 

Therefore, my theory boils down to this. Everything in my life happens in twos. While 'everything' might be an exaggeration, my theory wouldn't be a theory unless 'stuff happening twice' in my life wasn't so prominent that I became aware of it. Four cases in seven days, I tell you. Beat that!

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Wacky things we get told to believe, for no real reason

Case One

One rainy day during high school, I was sitting inside, eating my lunch when Jeanne, a fellow student, decided to educate me.

She'd obviously noticed that I'd peeled my banana like any normal person would:

But it wasn't good enough for her. She approached me, placed her hands on her hips and declared, "You're supposed to peel it from the other end." By 'other end', she meant this:

"Why?" I asked.
"Because that's how monkeys do it."
I looked around to find my friends nodding in agreement, the way you'd nod in agreement if Gandalf had spoken. Evidently Jeanne was quite wise. But I simply raised my eyebrows. "Are you a monkey?"
"What? No," she replied. I think she was upset, because she took off.

Sure, there could be actual reasons, such as the fact that it requires less effort, to peel a banana from the other end, but "because that's how monkeys do it" isn't, of itself, a reason to do anything. Why would we want to mimic monkeys? Should we speak like monkeys, too? Why not go one step further and build nests instead of houses because, you know, that's how birds do it?


Case Two

I never believed in Santa or the Tooth Fairy, or even the Easter Bunny. I think, during my early childhood, my parents must have said, "They aren't real. Don't listen to anyone," in super stern tones. Not that it would've mattered. Everyone outgrows these beliefs sooner or later.

Strangely, a lot of people never stop believing the myth that the daddy longlegs is the most venomous spider on the planet (and that its fangs are too small to pierce human flesh).

I consider myself quite a gullible person, which is why it surprises me when I think back to that fateful day on which I too was told to believe the myth, and refused. Despite being only eight years old, my undeveloped capacitors for reasoning somehow deciphered that the claim didn't make any sense.

"Its fangs are too short. Well isn't that convenient?"
"Why is an eight-year-old schoolmate telling me this, and not the news, or my dad, or someone who knows stuff?"
"Why are there zero reports of someone with a cut on their foot standing on a daddy longlegs and subsequently dying?"

All of these questions rummaged through my mind, ransacking the furniture and messing up the carpet. But I knew better than to argue with a classmate who placed his Scrabble letters diagonally across the board, and whose facial expression said, "No matter what you say, I know more than you."

Here's some research to debunk the myth forever:

"Supposedly, daddy longlegs possess extremely powerful poison, but their fangs are too short to penetrate human skin. To find out, [Mythbusters'] Jaime and Adam hunted down a host of daddy longlegs and took them to a spider specialist who could milk out their venom. Next, the spider specialist compared the toxicity of daddy longlegs venom to black widow venom. The red-bellied widow won out, busting the myth.
A microscopic measurement of the long-legged spider's fangs proved their miniscule quarter-millimeter length could puncture human skin, taking a double bite out of the daddy longlegs myth."

Case Three

Several years ago, I was having lunch at a café with some mates. I bought a Coke Zero because... I don't know. "I don't want cancer!" I told myself, which is why I don't know. I think I'd never drank Coke Zero before. Anyway, one of these mates (it might have been Jeanne) said, "Eew! You shouldn't drink that."
"Why not?"
"A chemical in the sweetener is used in embalming liquid!"
I think someone changed the subject, because I never got the chance to say, "And water is used in nuclear power plants. Best not drink that, either."

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Speaking with robots will be socially awkward

Sometimes I ponder what the future might be like, you know, after I'm dead. I think about the things I'll never get to experience, which you might argue impossible, since I've never experienced them. Either way, it's kinda sad.

Recently I thought of those annoying automated phone operator thingies that force you speak to make conversation with them. They suck, mainly because I never know what to ask for until I'm given the choice. And instead of giving you choices, they simply ask, "What's your enquiry?"

And I reply "I received a letter telling me to-"

And they cut me off, "I don't understand whatever it is you just said," which, of course, defeats their very purpose. So frustrating. But what if this didn't just occur on the phone but everywhere else, too? The future would suck. Take, for instance, the following scenario.

-----------------------------

Deep down, we all know that machines will rule the world one day. And even if not 'rule', then at the very least replace checkout operators.

Self-service checkouts are only the beginning. Supermarket franchises will soon be offered human-like robots to replace checkout staff. They'll be individually groomed (by other robots, who work in factories), so that no two robots look the same. They'll even have nametags, like 'Sue' and 'Hal' - mostly three-letter, one-syllable names to cater to a wider audience; but on occasion you'll meet a 'Maximilian' or a 'Jacqueline'. It's more realistic that way.

Say, for instance, you reach the checkout with your trolley of groceries, and Hal greets you with a wave and a smile, and says, "Hi there, Jesse." (He knows your name from an online passport database).

As this is the future, the world is overpopulated and supermarkets are perpetually aflood with customers. Naturally, quite the queue is lined up behind you: impatient eyes watch as you formulate your generic response to Hal's equally generic, albeit automated, greeting. And in those split seconds between voice prompts, you ask yourself, "How do I do it?"

Not minutes ago, you heard the previous discourse between man and machine, and you shake your heard as your mind replays the scene.

"Hi there, Geoffrey!"

"Hey, Hal."

"How is your day going, Geoffrey?"

"Well, my car broke down on the way to work. But a man pulled over to help out, so I stole his car and ended up making it in time. It was hectic, but I'm here now, so that's good, right?"

"I'm sorry, Geoffrey. I do not understand, 'Well, my car broke down on the way to work. But a man pulled over to help out, so I stole his car and ended up making it in time. It was hectic, but I'm here now, so that's good, right?' Please try a shorter answer, like 'Good, thanks.'"

"Oh, well… it was good."

"Wonderful. Cash or credit, Geoffrey?"

You shudder at the memory of Geoffrey walking off, an abashed expression pasted onto his face. It was so awkward. Everyone was laughing at him, except Hal. Hal doesn't laugh.

Years ago, when you called the tax department, they didn’t ask for verbal responses, only numbers. '5' for general enquiries. It was always general enquiries.

Then businesses got all obnoxious with their tech, forcing people to talk instead of push buttons on the keypad. As if saying 'general enquiries' in a tone that implied the recipient was both foreign and deaf was ever easier than pressing 5. Half the time you'd get a response, "Sorry, was that 'student loans' or 'tax returns'? The answer, of course, was neither. And it certainly wasn't fun if you were in a public space.

Even then those were the good old days. You know, when supermarkets had real humans at checkouts. Now, not only are there less jobs, but you have to contend with robots everywhere you go! They don't even blink, and the ones that do are always on a five-second timer. Sometimes, if you're at the end checkout, you can look down at all the other operators and notice that they all blink in time with each other.

It's not right; the conversations aren't even real! But if you don't greet them back, they stare at you in a perpetual stasis, wide eyes and creepy smiles waiting for your reply.

Hal is no different. As you reminisce on times past, he looks at you with false anticipation on his plastic face, and crane-like hands hover over the conveyor belt, set to move upon your reply. But who wants to talk to a robot and risk looking like a total loser? Who wants to converse with someone who doesn't really converse? It's then that you remember the scarcely advertised 'code' for a free discount.

"Hi," you then reply, all moping and whatnot.

"How was your day, Jesse?"

"Bad."

"Oh!" Hal pauses. You take his creased brow as a sign of pity. "Well, let me offer you a box of Coke Zero for 25% off."

The black box of sugar-free goodness sits atop all other items as you wheel your trolley across the car park. You realise you were only given the discount because you spent over $100 on everything else. Below that, and Hal would've said, "Oh, that's too bad," and nothing more. You wonder if the awkwardness was worth it. I mean, you only get the discount every three months, and it doesn't roll over if you don't use it.

-----------------------------

If we think of the future in this light, it doesn't seem so amazing after all. Of course, though, the deeper meaning underlying whatever it is you just read is the overarching metaphor about the mundane uniformity with which we live our lives. Jokes. I just made that up at the end.

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Ten Reasons Why I'm the Most Ignorant Human Being Alive

Need someone to laugh at? No worries! I've compiled a list of reasons why you - yes, you - are more smarter and more better than me.

1. I never really know whether to 'bake' or 'grill' something. If it's sweet, I bake it. If it's savoury, I refer to the recipe. If the recipe says something vague like, "Cook at 180 degrees," I go nuts.

2. I googled how to change a tire one time when I had to change a tire one time --- only until I had the flat tire removed, though. The rest was self-explanatory. Heh.

3. I've never been on a bus besides a school bus.

4. I have almost zero geographical awareness. Almost. I've been brushing up, but I just can't shake that American-ness off of me.

5. Until a few years ago, I thought that the internet was some magical, invisible substance that floats in the air, which computers and whatnot can grab and interpret. Who knew that instead there are these massive, bulky wires that sit in the ocean, extending from country to country like a worldwide web!? Oh wait.

6. Until last year, I didn't know what a Hen Party was. Nobody tells you these things!

7. I know next to nothing about cars. I mean, I know more about planes than cars, and I hardly know anything about planes.

8. List of things I know about alcohol:
            a) Moscato is cheap and yum.
            b)

9. I'm half American Samoan, but I can't speak any Samoan. What I can do is switch up my accent.

10. To counterbalance my ignorance, I keep up with current affairs so that when someone asks me, "Did you hear about x happening at y?" I can say, "Yes."

What? Oh, don't you worry about me. I mean, if these are the only things I'm ignorant of, then life can't be all that bad, right? Right? Someone say something.

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More Betterer

Let's face it. English is too damn demanding. We have to spell words, use commas and full stops, and then decide how many exclamation marks to use at the end of something remarkable!! And then that's not all. Nowadays we're having to contend with… with…  double superlatives! "Say what?" You ask, your tone aghast and your face warped with shock. Precisely.

Let's be clear. Saying things like "more nicer" and "more stronger" don't make any sense. But not saying them is yet another cumbersome task for the burden of speechcraft. All these regulations - it's hard enough as is not to break the law without worrying about the rules of… how do I say it… language! Well, worry no more. For I offer you the most moral code of moral codes: if you really don't want to give something up, justify it!¹ After all, if you can't beat'em, join'em.

The phrase "more better", along with all its variations, has become widely used in today's declin- I mean Western society. It probably stems from the fact that some words allow you to attach "er" to the end, like 'cuter', 'smoother' and 'funnerer', while others don't, like 'satisfied-er' and 'beautiful-er'. In the case of the latter two, one should say "more satisfied" or "more beautiful". Halt! All of a sudden we have two different utensils for the exact same piece of pie, and only one of them ever serves as proper etiquette. It's only natural, therefore, that they sometimes get mismatched, or we simply become too accustomed to our spoon of choice.

There are two main reasons why a man shouldn't say terms like "more better".

1) They don't make sense.

2) They sound retarded. The 'er' in "better" does the same job as the word 'more' preceding it. Forsooth, they mean exactly the same thing and do exactly the same job. Thus, if you say something like, "My new job is a lot more better," it's like saying, "My new job is a lot betterer," or, "My new job is a lot more more bett," to either of which I'd ask, "Who hired you?"

But this phrase, which simply leaves the word 'more' completely and utterly redundant, has been ingrained into your minds like the alphabet. Like how one plus one is two and not, in fact, sixty-five. It's part of the basics, and cannot be simply erased without you questioning the authenticity of your very own childhood. Fortunately there is no such need to wipe your memory. At least not yet.

It should be noted that I'm a man who doesn't just complain, but comes up with solutions as well. In fact, I can think of an entire one reason that completely justifies the use of 'more better'. Take Bobbery, for instance. Bobbery broke his leg last Sunday. It's now Tuesday. Life sucks because he's maimed and can't do much. But he can still talk - and his mouth is now his only remaining source of dignity. Screw that up, and he might as well be a fish.
Sarmeena, one of his good friends, pops in for a visit. "How's the leg?" she asks.

"Well," Bobbery begins, "it's more better than it was yesterday."

"Uh, what did you just say?" she says, her tone aghast and her face warped with shock. Rightfully so.

"Sarmeena, I can explain."

"I'm listening," she concedes, proving her loyalty as a friend through thick and thin.

Bobbery takes a deep breath. "You see, yesterday I was feeling a bit better than Sunday; but today I'm feeling much better than yesterday."

"So?" Hostility is creeping into her tone now.

"So, the amount by which I feel better today in relation to yesterday is greater than that which I felt yesterday with regards to the day before."

The ensuing silence is awkward, and Bobbery senses that the threads of their friendship are wearing thin and farther between. Much to his relief, she simply laughs and flicks her hair. "Oh, why didn't you just say so?" And she proceeds to share her chocolate with him, chocolate that she was about to keep to herself. It's berry and biscuit.

So what did Bobbery mean, exactly? Simple. The improvement in Bobbery's health between Monday and Tuesday was greater than the improvement between Sunday and Monday. Thus, he feels more better today than he did yesterday. So long as this explanation can apply to your uses of the term 'more better' or any of its variants, you will be able to defend ridicule, embarrassment and the Facebook-approved certainty of your friendships.2 You can thank me laterer.

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1.    Sarcasm

2.    This justification actually holds no water at all. "More better" still sounds retarded because Bobbery could (and should) have instead said, "even better," or, "better yet". Fortunately you probably didn't read this far.

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First World Angst

Today I experienced a bout of first world angst. It only lasted five seconds. After that I ate food, resolving all previous problems. Then tonight it happened again, this time for about thirty seconds - maybe more! For half a minute the entire world was against me. Of course, self-awareness yet prevailed, and here I now sit, writing this blog, twisting the truth to make a point. Oh, I've already said too much.

It's not right.

It wasn't enough. That fridge, closing without permission as fridges are wont to do. Sometimes I end up holding it open with my foot while I pour the milk on my cereal over at the bench¹ - I'm quite coordinated like that - and then swivel round to return the milk before the door shuts, all in one fluid motion. But today wasn't just so.

Today, I had toast.

As a man having toast does, I took a plate from the cupboard, a knife from the drawer, the toast from the toaster, and the butter from the fridge. That evil, evil fridge. I'm sure it hates me, for within its lair is where I encountered the terror of the first world.

You see, a man can leave the pantry open when he's borrowing the bread, or even the cupboard above the bench housing the sugar. But the fridge? Nope. Can't do that. Can't leave cold condiments and beverages exposed to the elements. That would be counterproductive. Why, world, why? Why do you make us suffer so? You give us electricity, lots of cool stuff, and an appliance that keeps the food chilled at a constant three degree using negligible amounts of energy. But you make us KEEP THE DOOR CLOSED!? Agh!

Alas, in the five seconds it took me to butter my toast (my finesse with the butter knife is unparalleled, even when the weight of the world appears to be resting upon my shoulders), my frustration quickly tempered. A certain thought, something like, "Oh, right, I have so much more than I… FOOD!" occurred, stopping just short as I began devouring my breakfast.

You must be miserable.

It wasn't until later tonight, in the midst of my shower, that that previous thought was given the time to conclude. Of course, the thing which triggered said thought was a mysterious and perhaps uncanny bout of bipolar disorder going on in the water pipes. For a good thirty seconds, the temperature was bouncing between hot and cold; and the cold wasn't fun. To make matters worse, one of those bounces lasted just long enough for me to think it was permanent and make the water hotter. Suffice it to say that, thanks to my Samoan blood, I came out of that bathroom unscathed --- but just barely. During this second encounter, I was all up in arms at the fact that I shouldn't have to deal with indecisive showers! But in the end, I again became aware of my foolish thinking and, in introspection, thought, "Oh, right, I have so much more than I need. Why the heck am I complaining?"

I don't know the answer to that; but I think the constant pipeline of awesomeness, in the form of technology, food, great people, good weather, stable jobs, convenient healthcare, are all part of the constitution. They're great, make no mistake. But they fuel an insatiable appetite for more. and our capacity for expectation only grows with each subsequent undertaking in first world convenience.

Sort of like this: "I'm complaining about a fridge door shutting. My life must be so boring. OMG, my life is boring! Time to complain!" Like that.

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¹ Sure, I could open it all the way without the need for the whole foot-stabilising, but then the fridge door would slam against the pantry door, which was already left open for added bread-returning convenience.

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'Fun Size' chocolate, with added moral

Somewhere along the way, I seem to have overlooked something. I realise that language changes. 'Thus' and 'hence' are used interchangeably; 'whom' is pretty much a goner; and 'gotten', I'm still getting used to gotten. It makes me think of mutated cotton. But I'll get there. 

What I don't get - what I'll never get - is something far graver than any of the aforementioned tweaks to the English language. It quite frankly contradicts the very thing it aims to promote. Still wondering? Then let me ask you, at which point did 'fun' become synonymous with 'MINISCULE'?

Some things can be small and fun: Gameboys, cell phones, iPods, vegetables. In fact, vegetables so small they're invisible are the most fun. But chocolate -- chocolate is never fun when chocolate is small. Better word associations for a lack, or shortage, of chocolate, include: taunting, tormenting, torturous, dire, deprive-yourself, I'd-rather-die, and so on.

No man even closely associates any of these words with 'fun', unless they're a masochist. And even if they are, leaving one's taste buds pleading after a nibble of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate is never, ever fun.

So, why do we have this?

The bit in the yellow.

Let's hope they don't release a SUPER FUN size.

Yes, you may get twelve in a pack, but there's only ever enough for one each. Don't try to argue. And one 'fun size' Snickers is like one measly bite of pizza, after which you're forced to endure the mouth-watering aroma of pepperoni and cheese and whatnot without so much as another taste.

You see, I like to down my Snickers in one no-mess mouthful, but other people nibble away at the corners like it's secretly disgusting but they're trying to be polite. Still others save theirs for later. To that group I always think, "Why didn't I do that?"

But when I try to do that, it never works: the chocolate must be eaten. And so it always is that I'm left chocolate-less, contending with the delicate munchings of those around me whose secret motives, I'm certain, are to torment me. Fun.

It was fun while it lasted, sure. But when it's gone, all you can do is sit and watch as someone else does a better job with their Snickers (an atrocious metaphor for time and resources). Regretful, wasted, depressed - these are the only emotions you feel now, and they're never fun. Wasting what time you have today could mean it'll all be over by tomorrow.

Remember, "the consequences of today are determined by the actions of the past. To change your future, alter your decisions today." (I made that up, then added quote marks to make it official.)

In life, we're told to lower our expectations and settle. Well, you know what? It's time to take a stand. Say NO, that's not fun-sized, that's crap-sized! I deserve more!

And other meaningful things.

Now go buy loads of chocolate! And avoid the I'd-rather-die size!

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One (extra)ordinary saturday

1

Magic likes to set itself up.

Like an oasis after a day of scorching heat.

Saturday.

I got four hours of sleep, waking to the news that my plans to catch up with Brooke, followed by purchasing a Mother's Day present (for mother), were smitten by the ill-timed hand of sickness. I took Brooke to the clinic instead, where I sat in the waiting room catching up on games like Draw Something and Scramble with Friends. That is until Phoney froze.

A FEW THINGS ABOUT PHONEY

1. It freezes around once a week.

2. It's six months old.

3. When it freezes, I have to pull the battery out while it's running.

4. Is this hazardous?

By the time we left, my hollow stomach and lack of immediate food were inducing moderate to severe levels of hangriness (hangriness: the impatient and grumpy attitude exhibited when one is both famished and not eating. Hungry and angry.) Brooke's stomach was also a-grumble; and in our sprawl to find somewhere both near and nectarous, we forgot that Burger Fuel had been relocated! What were we to do?

"Hmm," I said through the fine cracks of aforementioned hangriness, "we shall go to The Station," which was five minutes away. Or an hour in starving time.

Fate beat us there. That, or Brooke jinxed it when she said, "I'd laugh if they're closed!"

I wasn't laughing.

Would you laugh if the world was against you?

Back in the car again. The petrol gauge was dwindling in sync with my energy reserves. "I feel your pain, Carrie."

A FEW THINGS ABOUT CARRIE

1. She's old.

2. Her central locking lobes are damaged.

3. About half of the time, she makes deafening screeching sounds upon ignition.

4. Is this hazardous?

She took us to another Burger Fuel thanks to my unsteady steering (hangry and dizzy now). This one wasn't shut, thank God. But by the time we'd finished eating, it was time to go. Brooke had a date and I had work.

5:30pm - work complete, and still no Mother's Day gift. I was also tired.

A FACT ABOUT CAFFEINE

Its effects are temporary.

It might be worth noting that this whole time I've been greatly exaggerating my negative attitude towards these oh-so-miniscule inconveniences which seemed to be chasing me around like a swarm of angry wasps.

Having said that, at this point in my day, now driving to Te Awa in desperate search of a gift, I'd instinctively retreated to a sense of indifference. I was neither joyful nor sad, excited nor frustrated. Naturally, I expected to find nothing.

2

You don't find magic. Magic finds you.

Make sure to keep your eyes open.

Normally I'd walk up an escalator to make the trip in half time; but something was stopping me. Good thing it did, for as the moving stair gradually elevated me from car park to mall, a sign emerged from behind the barrier. The dreariness of ascent transformed into beauty, like sunlight streaming through an opening in the clouds. Except this sun was a sign with fancy white print.

THE SWEETEST LITTLE

Chocolate Shop
(The people were sweet, too).

Five minutes and one free chocolate later, I was out, finished, descending the escalator with tangible love in hand. Ironically, my neutrality was a distant valley, a stepping stone invisible from the peak of victory upon which I stood. Life was good.

And then it got better.

3

Magic can surprise you even after you've shaken its hand.

Water isn't the only thing you'll find at an oasis.

I unlocked Carrie: a worn, dirty, dusty, petrol- and warrant-depleting, often screeching, the air-con still works though, car. Of course, none of these things was on my mind. Neither was the Coke perched comfortably in the drink holder. What's this? One-hundred and sixty-five mils of bliss! How did I ever forget about you? I vocalised. It was only half empty. Scratch that. It was half full. I chugged it like its contents were Time and I was Will Salas. 

Unlike him, though, I wasn't struggling to avoid death. I was appreciating life.

That magic in a bottle. It was perfect.

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Simplifying English

Speaking. Using words. Putting. Sentences. Together. It's all so very irksome and tedious, isn't it? We try to lighten the load ourselves - refusing to correctly align subjects and predicates; replacing ‘have’ with ‘of’ (this particular point deserves a post of its own); shortening extensively long words like 'probably' into 'prob', 'sorry' into 'soz', and 'totally' into… you get the idea. But our  noble efforts do little to ease the pain. They barely manage to make our insurmountable loads any less insurmountable. The burden of having to talk incessantly hammers on our weary souls.

The problem is this: we're social creatures; it’s in our nature to keep trying - for the future of mankind or something. But our current methods to suppress our survival requirements are hardly sufficient. Honestly, if you’re going to screw up the English language, then commit, I say. Make it count! Yes, yes, you think I’m all talk; but please, let me finish! My wisdom comes in the form of both critique and gifts: remedies and painkillers for even the most encumbered of language victims. And if you wish to see the light of day again, to experience freedom – not words – emanating from your lips, and to distinguish the beauty and magic of life from the yoke of slavery (known as language), then it is in your best interests to accept my metaphorical wares. They’re free, after all. Allow me to explain.

1. Double or Triple Contractions

In informal circumstances, we like to condense two words into one. I’m doing it right now, even. But this solution doesn’t last. Sooner or later we’re mumbling like a crazy person, or fish, wide-eyed for no other reason than because a fish has no eyelids. It’s only logical that contracted words simply aren’t contracted enough. So instead of merging two words into one, try three, four, or six!

“You shouldn’t’ve scared the cat!”

“Was it scared, or just startled?”

“Well, in any case, ’twould’nt’ve’(nt)² been either if you’dn’t been so careless!”

“Touche, father. Touche.”

2. Verb Nouns!

That’s a command, not a new type of noun - though it may as well be. Like contracting words, we also do this from time to time. Sometimes consciously: "I have not tried googling this blog," or "I really like Matt’s advice. I’ll Facebook a link to it." And other times more naturally: "I’ve been reading Matt’s blog for far too long, and my house still needs painting. Meh, I’ll text Bobette to do it." But there are so many more situations where nouns can verb – like that one there for instance.

See how much more better language can be? Experiment freely with verbs and nouns. Verb away, I say! In no time the two will be one and the same.

3. Advocate non-existent past tense verbs

This one’s easy. Unfortunately it’s also the least productive method by which to, of course, shed some of that lifelong burden we call coherent speaking. But beggars can’t be choosers, am I right? Anyway, this final solution involves taking past tense verbs that aren’t verbs but should be, and using them excessively.

“As I clumb the mountain, I stopped to eat my microwove steak pie. It was raining, but it’s not as if I mound. What I did mind were the bits of fat, which adhore to my horrendous beard. If only I’d shove this morning.”

By way of these amazing non-verbs becoming verbs, we can do away with entire letters and syllables! English is wreck—err, our lives can finally flourish!

These are trying times, my friends. We have to stick together; and to do that, communication is key. Fish can’t survive on land, yet it’s this treacherous terrain upon which we’re cursed to dwell. Language may totes be a means to an end, but your lives are priceless. So please, take my advice, and live.

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