The Use of Utility

The Use of Utility

I find my life is a lot about utility – possibly because I have a problem with commitment. It took seven years to marry my wife, I have accepted paychecks from at least fifteen different “employers,” intentionally chose a generic college major (only after realizing it was more work to make up your own), and drive a hatchback. I guess it is also related to being lazy but it’s a combination of the two, being lazy and finding utility, that explains many of the decisions I make in life.

I’ve found versatility is a way to combat my fear of commitment. You don’t real have to commit to one thing when it is useful for something else. In gift giving, they call it “repurposing.” In writing, revision (but there again, it takes too much work to revise so that’s not a good example.) This may have a lot to do with my love of eBay.

The oddest piece of furniture we have in our house is a lava lamp lamp. That actually isn’t a typo, it is both a lamp and a lava lamp. After two months of fighting otherwise, my wife is right – it is ugly. But here again, it is purposeful, dually so. Give it five minutes to heat up and it is must-see living room fodder without the monthly bill. With a mere 720 degree rotation, it illuminates what would literally be obscure. Even if its one purpose (decorative styling) is lacking, it still has two more to fall back on.

Versatility means being able to change on the go and not being bogged down. Take Superman for instance. He already has his superhero attire on and never worries about where his regular clothes end up because they were disposable. It might have been slightly more versatile if he wore Velcro or the snap-off buttons benched basketball players wear, but that might have been too obvious and have blown his cover. Spiderman is not as versatile because he always takes the time to change but at least he can scrunch up his getup and stuff it into a backpack. (For this reason, I’m also a big fan of being inflatable.)

This could have been a lesson that began with Transformer robots I fawned over when I was younger. The jet fighter that turned into a bazooka-wielding robot and back again. Of course, even back then it never ended there. I kind of liked it half way in-between: the plane fuselage for a head and two giant robot legs that could fly with bazooka pointing from its waist – ready for anything. (Maybe I had some inadequacy issues, too.)

My quest for maximum utility has found its ultimate manifestation in my keychain. In my thinking, what else do I consistently have with me every single day? Maybe my wallet, which let me tell you, is chalk-full of every discount, credit, receipt, identity card, and coupon denomination that will still close in my pocket. I don’t wear a watch when I don’t want to care about time. I don’t wear pants all the time, not when I can have on shorts. Shoes switch between dress, sports, and the murky “casual” that you can get away with on Fridays. Even shirts come and go because no self-respecting man can wear one all the time, even at home on his couch, too hot or dirty to leave on but too tired or lazy to shower. When it comes being with me every single day, the list begins and ends with my keychain.

So when the world of versatility meets the keychain, it first, comes to a question of weight. After three or six months of daily key indentations in my right thigh and accompanying stain etchings on pant leg, there is such a thing as too much and too big, even for a man. The Boy Scout motto is “be prepared,” but what good is being prepared if you’re too bulky or tired from lugging once you get there.

On the other hand, I need it to be heavy enough to know that its there —in my pocket— and not sitting on my desk or forgotten in a keyhole. This has happened more times than I care to remember, usually because I’m carrying too much all at once, you know, like groceries.

Now I toyed with having a light and a mini-tape measure on my keychain and various forms of entertainment. But they turned out to be more of a gimmick than to be any use. The light lasted the longest. It made sense to be able to see dark keyholes but I never master the delicate science of pointing the light, holding down the button, and sticking in the key at the same time--too much dexterity. The tape measure did come in handy once but the mini-tape also tended to bend and make itself inaccurate and useless, not enough bang for the bulk. Game stores make mini-Scrabble boards and Etch-A-Sketch pads with keychain connectors and I’ve had both. To be honest, I never opened the Scrabble board but loved having it just in case. In the end, they were just hood ornaments waiting for someone to steal, so I removed them myself.

Which brings us to the essentials.

Of course, the keys. Keys are really the tentacles into the different spheres that we simultaneously exist in; our mode of both accessing and locking out that which we keep separate. Picking up my keychain is actually my signal to start functioning in the world, because what can I do without my keys? We segregate and group with keys and locks. Keys, even without mace or impalement devices on their ring, give us a sense of protection and security. If the glass is half-empty, we are closing off; if the glass is half-full, we are opening up. We are lost without our keys, which is ironic because we usually, but not always, know exactly where they go. Their importance is found in this simple question: What else in life do we keep a spare of? We are able to keep our different worlds apart but it is reassuring to know we go back and get something if we really need it. Keychains keep our lives together on a symmetrical ring where we cannot prioritize one life sphere for another, and it is a lot of work to take them off. They may be the anchor to our existence.

Aside from the keys, comes my pocketknife. The Swiss-style pocket knife is the very definition of utilitarian. It’s a gadget of gadgets. Clearly, Mr. Pocket Knife inventor and I were on the same page. I bet you he wasn’t a carpenter, but some guy who had to do the occasional spot job. He has all these tools that he only needs some of the time, but he was too busy to go back to the truck or shed or tool drawer every time. I bet at some point he experiments with a tool belt and the hammer just keeps banging against his thigh and a few times, his thigh gets jabbed by his screwdriver. At this point, he’s had it. He needs everything to fit in his pocket. He does some work with a welding torch and voila, Swiss Army Knife. (Of course, he must have done really light duty labor to only need 2-inch long tools.)

But the knife I keep on my keychain is even better, it’s a Leatherman, invented by an engineer (that’s its tagline.) Instead of having one extention, it has two legs to fill up with more useful gadgets, like tweezers, and the legs become the handle to scissors that extend from the top when the knife is opened. In a world in which everything is packaged in plastic, having scissors whenever you need them: Think about it.

The remaining items on my keychain consist exclusively of barcoded credit cards that are a fourth of the size of a regular credit card. Quite a sizable return on the size per utility investment index. Grocery stores are pioneers in this with their discount “member” cards that track every buying move you’ve made in history to market and package more stuff that you don’t really but will probably buy toward you. For a quarter of a credit card sized investment, I’ll take it. So far my gym membership and library card have gone this route. I’d hope all my credit cards will. Then I could lose the wallet.

I’d be down to my key chain and a PDA/cell phone/MP3 player/camera.