The Idea

December 15, 2009


The Idea. The Idea. It’s all about The Idea. It’s all about The New Idea. The Great Idea. It’s all about an Idea that’s never been dreamed of, an Idea that’s been marinated in thought, a result of an outlier’s uniqueness, standing on its own, ready to take the reigns of the buzz train and gallop into the world’s collective awe.

With my hands over my face, my mind a complete wasteland, I continue to search for The Idea.

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Addicted

December 13, 2009


Blogging has become a habit. Not writing, or thinking, or creating - but blogging. The actual act of putting something on the Internet to be judged, to create the black marks on someone’s computer screen.

It’s become so much of a habit that I know when I’ve gone a few days without. Like a junkie. Like an addict, suffering DTs and shaking while the rest of the world goes on living, never knowing the difference between a post on Monday and a post on Tuesday.

Of course, it’s common in a million other things. We’re tied to updating Twitter, or buying cookbooks, or catching a few minutes of the Sunday night football game, despite how much we hate both teams. We keep coming back to MTV reality shows and tabloid magazines and over-critical partisan politics even though we know we’ll safely exist without them.

We do the things we like because we like them, sure. But we also do them because our minds are so used to doing them. We create our own habits based on the things we enjoy. Some of them are harmful. Others are completely harmless.

I blog because I’m addicted. But also because I like to write for people. Which, in turn, forced me into addiction.

Tags: On..., Vilhauer, Writing |

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To the woman beep-beeping at the grocery store.

December 7, 2009


To the woman at the grocery store. The one who, along with her two-year old daughter, walked along the aisles, happily and loudly beep-beeping her way through the cereal aisle despite the looks from other customers, as if there was nothing in the world that could stop her from enjoying a moment of spontaneity with a child. One 30-year-old and one toddler, one pushing and one riding in a car-shaped cart, one turning corners and one spinning the steering wheel, absolutely shielded from life’s conventions.

To that woman: Thank you. For reminding me that I’m not overstepping the limits of polite society when I decide to stoop to my daughter’s level and begin making fart noises at the gas station. And especially for giving me a little hope that most parents - despite their public seriousness - are all made more human by the weirdness of a two-year-old’s mind.

Tags: Isaac, On..., Sierra |

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On replacement

November 28, 2009


When I used to work at the mall, we were always assured that, no matter what, great coffee could be found just down the wing at Great Plains Coffee. This was a decade ago, and though I didn’t drink coffee at the time, I still appreciated it being there - right between Orange Julius and DEB, out in the seemingly abandoned Sears wing, where high rents didn’t quite live up to their promised traffic flow.

It was an oasis of local business amid a great sea of chains; a respite for the weary shopper, almost like a mirage. Even when a Caribou Coffee showed up, Great Plains Coffee continued strong.

But, it couldn’t last forever. Whether it was because rents reached a tipping point, or traffic slowed to a crawl, or the owners simply stopped feeling at home inside the expanses of The Empire Mall, Great Plains Coffee moved to a location further down the road. It’s since been replaced with a DirectTV retailer, the stall’s once warm interior swapped for the cold comfort of pegboard and molded plastic.

Frankly, I can’t think of anything else that better sums up the state of what malls have become.

Tags: On..., Sioux Falls |

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Traditions

November 27, 2009


Every year we take a dead tree and place it in our living room.

It doesn’t stop there, though. We drag five large Tupperware crates upstairs, despite the fact that we’ll only use the contents of two. We rearrange furniture. We lose extension cords. We make a list for the hardware store.

We trim our house in lights, alternating red and white bulbs. Kerrie and our friend Mel make a late night Black Friday Target run. We hang the stockings (with care, obviously). We plan our group Christmas party.

We shop for gifts. We make a list. We check it twice, then again, and again about a million times. We watch Christmas episodes of The Office, and we comment on how we’re excited about watching A Christmas Story.

We prepare for guests. We fight over what day to open presents.

The month from Thanksgiving to Christmas serves to remind us of the power of tradition. And, more so, the power of repetition, habit and commonality. Because each repeated act is more than a nod to past celebrations. It’s an aid to help us remember, to speed up nostalgia. To remind us we’re part of something bigger than ourselves.

Tags: On..., Vilhauer |

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From cliques to computers

November 12, 2009


When we’re in high school, the differences between cliques and social classes are evident. Striking, even, in that, once they are set, there is nothing short of a miracle that could release you from one to another.

After all, barring relocation or other life-altering change, we’re in the same group as everyone our age – in fact, we’ve probably been with some of them since grade school, moving from situation to situation together, a tightly packed puzzle, all pieces ultimately fitting together for society’s sake despite their defined borders.

And then, graduation. Everyone scatters.

Some stick around. Others go to college. Even more wander. And suddenly, because the constraints of grade and social circle and cliques have been broken, we’re forced to reinvent our identity. No longer tied to each other, we search for a new group. The unlikable join with the prom queens, the nerds team up with jocks.

The petty differences of public school are erased in the name of industry. And, just like that, the industry itself becomes independent of the groups that defined them in public school.

Example: in high school, you knew who the “spends too much time on the Internet” people were. But in college, EVERYONE is part of the “spends too much time on the Internet” group. It’s at this time everyone realizes that the world of the Web isn’t based on geekery and nerdiness, but on the same standards the rest of the world embraces.

Because for the Web to be as encompassing as it is, it needs people from every discipline, every social circle, every clique. It needs artists and geeks and gregarious marketers. It needs hyper-competitive sports nuts and moody goth filmmakers and word nerds. It needs everyone.

It’s this inclusion – and the surprisingly accepting nature of those in the computer industry, whether it be in technical support or design creation – that blurs the line between who was cool and who wasn’t.

Because the Internet is cool, now. Working for the Internet is even cooler.

And it took a little bit of everyone to make it that way.

[Prompt: Is the perception of IT workers/programmers changing in America? Or are we still the nerds in the dark? Why or why not? – Chris Uthe, who likes cars a lot and has a blog under the same name.]

Tags: BMOWP: By Request, On..., Technology |

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On savoring the quiet times

November 9, 2009


It’s days like this, where dinner is made over lunchtime and the dishes wait until after the kids go to bed and the things we’d like to do are pushed off as we both spend all of our free time post-bedtime getting ready for the next day, that I wonder about the availability of time.

As in, why isn’t there enough? Should we be living simpler lives? Should we just let things pile up and allow them to fester in the name of kicking back and doing something recreational?

No. We’re doing the right thing. Because even after it’s all done, we still have time to think. And after it’s all done, we have the completion to look back on, to take pride over, to hold us over until the next day, when our life is made easier by the work we put in today.

And no matter what - even if there was nothing to take care of, even if we were absolutely absolved of responsibility, we’d still fritter away our time doing things we might not want to do. Because it’s necessary.

Without it, we’d never long for the quiet times. We’d take them for granted. And we’d live without understanding the peace that comes along with them.

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