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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Why I didn't study at the Auckland University of Technology University

It was late last year when indecision plagued my mind. The days were becoming longer, the air warmer. Summer was coming, and I had no idea what to do with my life! After much indecision and frustration, a plethora of infinite possibilities was hammered down to a much more surmountable two. The options were:

1. A Masters in Creative Writing at AUT

2. An Advanced Diploma in Applied Writing at Northtec

Both were one year courses, both full time. Thing is, I still had to make a decision, which was, like all decisions, hard. So, being the outside-the-box thinker I am, I decided to do something unspeakable. I decided to cheat Fate. I decided… to apply for BOTH!

Naturally, both institutions got back to me with promising information, playing their respective cards, talking themselves up and whatnot. Some things I noted were that AUT requested a portfolio five times longer than that of Northtec, AUT's site was more sophisticated and easier to navigate, and AUT had a far better reputation. Yet, I was swayed towards Northtec for one simple reason.

Turns out AUT wasn't (and still isn't) its full name. It's AUT University! Or, in full, Auckland University of Technology University.

Not wishing to study at a tertiary institution that can't proof-read - or, at least, explain - its own name, I wrote them an email to withdraw my application.*

I get it. They don't want their university confused with, say, an airport. But there's a reason why you don't go to the ATM machine.

So now I'm studying at Northtec, and it's going rather well. I mean, my thesis-type assignment in this course is, wait for it, the novel I'm writing! Woo!

Still, I shake my head. Surely a reputable institution such as AUT University, which offers advanced courses in Creative Writing, would have editors smart enough to note the jarring, mouthful-of-a-name University University they represent. The name hasn't changed, however, so I can only infer that they do not. I think I made the right choice.

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*This scruple - and, believe me, it was a mammoth of a scruple - was not actually what vanquished my indecision, but that doesn't mean it wasn't flippin' annoying!

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When to use (and not to use) quotation marks

The marks of quotation are perhaps the easiest marks of punctuation to use, yet so often they lead only to destruction. You know what else leads to destruction? Walking on your face.

Compare man walking on his face with man walking on his feet.

Silly, yes? That's because it's easy to walk on your feet, and impossible to walk on your face. For starters, you'd need to have two faces so that your weight can always be on one face while the other takes a step forward. As it happens, we don't possess the required amount of faces, so we'd have to sort of face-hop from place to place. I imagine the process would be rather destructive.

Fortunately it's easy to walk on your feet and not on your face. All you have to remember, when you get up in the morning, is not to walk upside-down.

But there's another reason why we walk on our feet and not on our faces. It makes us look more intelligent. Therefore, walking intelligently is easy. The criteria is as follows:

1. Don’t walk on your face.

You know what else is easy? Using quotation marks! It's like walking, provided that walking had two more rules.

*Only use quotation marks when,

1. quoting someone besides yourself

2. denoting sarcasm

3. writing dialogue

When my brother sent me this image, I was left wondering which of the three rules applied.

1. Forget the backwards quotation marks. Generally, if you're going to quote someone, the done thing is to tag the person whom you're quoting, otherwise you might as well have made it up, which defeats the purpose of having quotation marks. Fortunately no one patented the words, 'Thank you'.

2. If sarcasm was the intention, then the staff member who wrote this sign wasn't wanting to thank me, but to insult me. Yet, as Harvey Norman is a store that tries to sell me things rather than ruin my self esteem, I decided that blurting sarcastic courtesies to potential buyers was counter-productive.

3. Pretty lame dialogue.

The inevitable conclusion was, of course, that the writer either had no idea how to use quotation marks properly, or he/she had no idea how to underline text.

Do not use quotation marks when:

1. You aren't doing anything in the above list. Or, in other words, whenever you're trying to place emphasis on a given word or phrase.

Surrounding a phrase in quote marks in order to denote emphasis is just as helpful as surrounding it in commas, or @ symbols, or these things: ~ , which is to say that they do nothing. Except they don't do nothing. For people who know better, the phrase becomes sarcastic.

If you want to add emphasis to a phrase, underline it, use italics, or write it in bold. You could even try using CAPS, though that generally denotes yelling. The only punctuation mark that adds any form of emphasis is the exclamation point!

The writer of the sign didn't know that, and he/she is one of millions. Sad, isn't it? Who would put ~ thingies around the words 'thank you' to denote emphasis? I sure wouldn't. It's sort of a rule of life for me. Rule #1: Don't walk on my face. Rule #2: Don’t emphasise words with ~ thingies.

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Here they are again.

Only use quotation marks when,

1. quoting someone besides yourself

2. denoting sarcasm

3. writing dialogue

*There are some other, rare instances in which quotation marks can be used, but even then they aren't necessary.

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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.

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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.

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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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The pros and cons of wearing prescription contacts

While cooking dinner last week, I noticed I wasn't tearing up while cutting onions. Granted, 'tearing up' is a bit of an exaggeration, but, to clarify, I was completely unaffected. Then it dawned on me: I was wearing contact lenses.

Then, because I've worn them for seven years, and because cooking was relatively unexciting, I thought of a pros and cons list for wearing said lenses!

Pro:

Since you're wearing something non-human in your eyes, you become slightly less human yourself, and slightly more cyborg... and therefore more awesome.

Con:

You're 5 times more likely to get an eye infection - 15 times if you sleep in your contacts.

Pro:

You acquire a moderate resistance to tears while cutting onions. (Cut onions with confidence!)

Con:

They cost you about $250NZD/year, $350 counting the stuff you put them in when not in use, $420 counting the recommended annual check-up.

Pro:

You get to enjoy 20/20 vision without the blurry border, a la glasses.

Con:

Applying and removing them (each) requires an extra minute out of your day.

Pro:

Instantly obliterates the common fear of touching one's own eyes. (Touch slimy surfaces with confidence!)

Con:

Deciding which side is up can occasionally be a pain (literally).

There are two methods to tell whether or not you have them in the right way.

1) Sight

If they're inside-out they look less like a bowl and more like a pitcher plant.

2) Touch

The pitcher plant is carnivorous, much like the Venus fly trap, or the inside-out contact lens. If method (1) doesn't work for you (and there are days where the visual difference is so minimal you end up guessing), then the subsequent sensation that your eye is being eaten and/or stabbed by daggers will no doubt eliminate the ambiguity.

Of course, if you don't experience this feeling, then you can rejoice, because it means you guessed right! 

All in all, you can't go wrong.

Pro:
If one falls out (or you only wear one for whatever reason), you can see clearly and blurry all at once! But that's not all. If you shut one eye, everything's perfect; if you shut the other eye instead, everything's fuzzy! Not bad if you're bored on the bus ride home.

Con:
If one falls out, that's a loss of $18.

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Why you shouldn't bake "Ferri bread" (a goodbye letter)

A good friend of mine recently moved to Melbourne. Her departure was rather sad, so I wrote her an even sadder goodbye letter,

a) because writing is fun,

b) to appease the boredom she would otherwise experience in-flight, and 

c) writing a list of in-jokes is lame; they're much better when they revolve around a tragic story depicting death and Titanic-inspired shipwrecks.

Not to fear: by in-joke, I mean one recurring motif ("Ferri bread", a play on words), which emphasises the need for change, and that one mustn't hold onto the past, lest he/she remains stuck there forever... and dies. Yes indeed.

NB: the girl in question can be likened to a jaffa: coloured on the inside and orange on the outside.

Dearest Nicky,

The thought of us apart is unbearable. I fear my days aflood with tears and my nights bereft of sleep. No doubt I will be taking jaffas - two at a time, five times a day, with food - to maintain my sanity.

When I do… I will be thinking of you.

Perhaps you will be as Matt-sick as I will be Nicky-sick. If so, I can only imagine of what your supplements will comprise. Probably a loaf of bread inscribed 'Ferri', and doused in the rivulets of your sorrow. The picture grieves me so. I mean, you are a nightmare in the kitchen (remember the pot incident?), and your baking is questionable at the best of times. Still, the promise of high fibre will reassure me of your good health, and thereby reinforce my hope that you shall one day return.

Or it may be me who runs into you.

Years from now, we'll be cruising the open sea, I a simple passenger and you a world-class dancer. Should peril befall us, I will not fear; for even if the storm that seeks to tear us apart does no less to the ship on which we stand, the years of appalling, albeit sentimental bread will be our lifeline. The rafts will be full, the rescue choppers astray in the fog. But the bread you made, while dense and unbreakable what with your amateur cooking (I do not even know how you call it bread), will be no less our means of survival… or, rather, yours.

You see, this loaf of waterproof wholemeal will be too small for us both, as you will have not moments ago consumed a good few blocks of chocolate instead of evacuating like everyone else. Yet its buoyancy will be just enough to support you (just enough). 

Your eyes will be shaking, weeping, unsteady like the waves that distance us. As you drift farther away, and my strength to tread water wanes, I will ask but one question. "Where did you get that bread?"

You will force a smile, veiled beneath the rain and the night. "I baked it, silly."

"Oh, no wonder it's so… sturdy." I will observe the thing, an obsidian-crusted brick with 'Ferri' etched into one side, white against the black. "At least the insides weren't burned to a crisp."

"Hey!" You will shout, all high-pitched and full of life. How ironic. Then it will occur to you that I am about to die, and the tears will come gushing out like waterfalls. Your sorrow will no longer be streams but rivers, swiftly flooding the recesses of my name. They will soak the insides, corrupting the buoyancy of your honest bread and rendering it useless.

As you sink, I will drop my jaffas and dive after you. I will attempt to lift you back to the surface, but you will shake your head, gripping firmly to the thing you call baking, now all but a weight to pull us down. 

I will look into your eyes, and in but a moment know exactly what you intend to do. You mean to remain in the ocean, and you would want me to join you. Seconds from drowning, I will ponder the idea, only then realising that I have little choice else. My crooked smile will be affirmation enough, and you will drop the brick, taking my hand in its stead. 

Amidst the moans and groans of a ship sinking asunder, blackened white and whitened black will at once unite. A clash of colours will be as one, caught in the void between light and darkness. There in the depths of the sea they will remain… forever.

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