There is a measure of happiness in this city. It is quantified by success. Everyone leads big lives, but I don’t see a lust for life. The first thing everyone asks, “So what do you do?” And like a robot, I speak my programmed response of ” I work at this and that, doing blah blah.”
So here is what I do. I stay up late looking at things on the internet, reading pieces of people’s lives and learning about historical figures. I knit about about four lines of a scarf before I stop and forget about it. I make a great chicken liver pate, but my cheddar souffle is just alright. I try and draw, and dread taking a shower, because it isn’t actually a shower, it’s a bucket bath, an hour long affair of switching on the hot water heater, waiting 20 minutes, filling a bucket and then waiting another 20 minutes for another bucket to heat. I go for drives at night and smoke too many cigarettes, specially right before bed. I collect books and shoes, and mechanical toys, and contemplate learning programming and circuit design.
I go to beaches with clear water and black and white striped sand, and wander around the tide pools looking at the fish and crabs, trying to spot the most colorful and occasionally catching one only to let it go. I go to a dive bar and play pool and drink beers. I’ve always dreamed of designing my own car and calling it the OMG, which is finally beginning to possibly happen.
That is what I do. I don’t do blah blah at xyz. That’s just my job.
There is something magical about teaching yourself something new. It feels like an obsession, almost akin to being a teenager with a crush. I have a crush on circuits, and microcontrollers and robots.
One evening I came home and opened up my paper and it started talking to me. Not figuratively, literally. This wasn’t someones overtly powerful op-ed column stirring my soul and rattling in my head. There was an actual voice. A real and proper person talking. I jumped, slammed it shut, chucked it on the coffee table and then opened it again.
A curious little black box it was. An advertisement for a new car. “Best in class…” it started. I put my thumb over a small white spot, and it stopped. I took it off, “Best in class…” popped up this strange German sounding voice.
[By the way, I am writing with my brand new fountain pen and must admit I have a side crush on it. Shh]
I ripped the little black box off the paper, tore off the back and stared at it, careful to keep my finger on the tiny white spot. It was magical, a diminutive green printed circuit board with a photo receptor. When the light hits it, the strange man starts talking. I had figured it out, and it was positively thrilling. I was quite self congratulatory that night.
I wonder if the guy who came up with this whole shindig, stood up, dramatically raised his hands up above his head, and proclaimed. “Let there be light.” Pobably not, but I am going to pretend like he did.
This little environmentally detrimental piece of genius marketing has me tossing and turning at night. I can’t sleep right now, because I can’t wait to figure it out. It really is like that feeling I used to get waiting by my phone for that call for a special someone. I’m stalking it online, writing about in my journal, and talking about it non-stop with my friends, who don’t really care.
This is just too much fun. I am going to scour the internet for resources.
In the mean time, here are some evolutionary reasons why this feels so damned good
Brain = Rebooted.