Things I Protest

The Use of Utility

2006-07-27T13:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Zidane and the Inevitable Question

2006-07-26T09:14:00.000-07:00

What does it mean that
Perhaps the world’s second most
famous Muslim, (the one not
famous for inciting bloodshed)
on the brink of leading his team
to victory in the most
impassioned sporting event in the world
(an improbable World Cup), instead
Head butts his way to a red card
And his team’s demise?

Nothing.

What lesson can we derive from watching
When the most talent and respected at what he does,
At the moment of Christening
Of his eternal greatness
Lashes out violently and is removed
From his stage, tearing the heart
From his team when they needed
Him most?

None.

What do we say to
the children who adored Zizou,
who fawned over his artistry
and grace with ball?

Do we point to his rough background?
The taunts, the threats, the insults
Of immigrant ghettoes in
Marseilles. To being Algerian.
To being Muslim.

Do we instead go with passion,
the crazed insatiability
that helps great people to conquer what
ordinary people cannot? The world’s
greatest footballer’s inferno could
not be contained?

Maybe the weight of his nation
Of his religion, of his team,
Of a world hoping for happy
Endings was too much
Even for his immense talents
to bear.

What will it mean to his legacy?
With millions watching
Waiting to canonize him
With Maradona and Pele. If
the last public sight of him is
His bowed head walking
Off the pitch through a
dark tunnel
and alone with
his thoughts.

Past his teammates,
Past the sidelines, past the dumbstruck
Fans not knowing whether to
Cheer or boo, to be angry
Or sympathize,
Coming to grips with all he’s done
In decades of being the most
Gorgeous in the beautiful game,
With the ugliness of what just happened.

Maybe it was his ability, like
All the greats, to see the end before
Everyone else. The perfectly scripted
Hollywood ending where the
Retired great comes back for
Once last hurrah to save his
Country. To bring together
The rag-tag squad of misfits.
The ending that was being
subverted by
Rough tactics and
a strategy from a beaten
side to take their
chances with probability
instead of possibility.

What does the world hope for when
The script of racial and religious
Divisiveness does not end happily
Without rainbows and
hand holding. With
no easy answers,
and occasionally,
rage.

Nothing.

Commentary and analysis
Will follow. The cycle of
Condemnation and mind
Numbing regurgitation of
The modern media bent on
Shaping simple history into
the one of the conventional
narratives of
the times.

They will all ask. We will wonder.
What did he say?
What could have the Italian
clown have murmured,
what profane reference would
have been enough to set off the
world’s best player in football’s
most important game.

They will beg. They will
Rewind tape, read lips
Interpret body language.
Hoping for an excuse
To make their narrative
Make sense. End with
a conclusion instead of
a question mark.

What should you
say to them?

Nothing. Nothing easy.
Nothing scripted.

Let the search continue.

Zidane’s Second Coming

2006-07-26T09:10:00.000-07:00

France needs a rebirth
In this year. Zizou, your
nation turns its lonely
eyes toward you.

Zidane make le
balle flutter
Like a butterfly
Floating on your golden cheats.
Brush off the scrapes and bruises of time
Shave away and boldly show your glow
One last time give hope.

Eight years past
The black and white round ball
Joined a divided nation together
African descendents of Senegal and Zaire
Paired with the pride of Paris
Celebrating history in the homeland
Raising the Cup hand in hand
On a cabaret of multi-colored legs
Fit for the Moulin Rouge
Dancing the Champs-Elysees
A model for the world to embrace.

But nearly a decade
No longer riots of joy
But the stewing indignation
of mostly Muslim youth
facing discrimination and
without job. Letting hate tear
from the fragile fabric of
société civile.
9000 cars ablaze,
Nearly 3000 arrests:
Paris needs to stop burning.

The country that gave
America’s Statue of hope.
Make peace with les immigré
Bear the weight of colonialism
The fire of lungs envelope
a call to return to one country,
one identity, a team.
It is up to you Zidane.
Jihad calls, violence and war.
The Muslim world needs hope
The Non-Muslim world needs
a muslim hero to embrace.
The Algerian born in Marseilles.
He who has risen above
The housing projects of
La Castellane.
The French James Bond
The furrowed dome of sophistication
The cerebral air of collectedness
Calculatingly efficient
Never out of sorts on the field
The gentleman and good teammate.

With the poetry of your feet,
Utilize each individual’s strength
Celebrate each member’s talent.
Brace the aging warriors:
Makelele and Viera
Tutor young Ribery and Sagnol
Assuage the temperamental
brilliance of Henry who
cannot strike without your pass
Oh Captain, Les Bleus captain
Don the armband once again.

Prove the best do not lack conviction
Make it the beautiful game again.
Lead with the skill to hold the middle.
In football, the game
the whole world watches.
Show us to cheer each other,
play together,
and how to love again.