The Cake Is Not a Lie.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am aware that many of you may be under the impression that the cake is a lie. But I am here to tell you with near certainty that the cake is, in fact, the truth.

Well, there's this computer game. In it, there are lies. There are empty promises of cake. There are calculated intentions of murder. That's not really what I'm talking about.

But perhaps it is not a bad way to represent more weighty things, things that pertain to life. The kind of life that happens outside of computer games. Anyhow, most games are a commentary on if not an outright metaphor for (if not a blatant simulation of) life. The game is one wherein the player is supposedly taking an aptitude test for some manner of scientific research company. At least that was the impression I got. You see, I haven't actually played the game. I have merely spent some time watching someone else play it while making (senseless, thoughtless) applications to actual human interaction.

In the game, you are told that there will be cake. In real life, you are told something similar (for now, we will disregard the fact that in real life you are often told so many things at once that they might in fact seem to cancel each other out), but of course in both simulation and reality there is disappointment. But never mind all that. I want to get on to the good part.

However, I feel I can't get to the good part without at least mentioning that eventually, expectations can shift toward the disappointed end of the disappointment spectrum, and they often do. We expect the cake to be a lie most of the time. Maybe this is wise, but I am not wise so I have no way of knowing if it is or it isn't.

In high school, I used to work at a stable. It was owned by an older couple who were the kindest people I would ever expect to meet (in the spirit of this post, they were kinder than any person I would expect to meet,) and I don't doubt that I will be much older indeed by the time I will have liked a job half as much as I liked that one. Since they are so sweet, I usually visit them when I am home from school and listen to them talk about things. (An aside: listening to people talk who have lived longer than I have is one of my favorite things. If you haven't tried it, you should.) The last two or three times I came home, though, I was unable to visit them, and hadn't seen them for some time.

On Christmas eve, I got a phone call from Gail. She said, "Hi! I just wanted to call and wish you a merry Christmas!" Needless to say, I was happy to receive the call. Also, I had not been expecting it. I expressed these sentiments as well as returning her greeting. And then she said, "And I baked you a cake!"

I really didn't know what to do with this information, but on the most explicable level of discourse, I'd say it pretty much made my life.

That's really all I wanted to say. There are times when you don't even expect a phone call and you get a cake. The cake is not a lie.

On Christmas Shopping.

Yesterday, three things occurred to me.

First, there is nothing quite like the ambiguity of a honking car horn.

I was doing my Christmas shopping (yes, all of it.) and the streets surrounding the mall entrances were, as could be expected, packed with people who, like me, had procrastinated a great deal about buying gifts for their loved ones. As an aside, my general philosophy is that if you subscribe to this method of gift-buying, you should be prepared to be very patient and preferably even cheerful on the day you chose to cross off your friends and family members like so many items on a to-do list. Nevertheless, most other seasonal procrastinators do not share my view on the matter, and it became apparent as I made the man in the car behind me very, very angry.

I was waiting to turn left. We all were, actually. Together. We, the people of the left turn lanes, were waiting communally. To turn left. And as everyone knows, a group of people in relatively close proximity who share a common goal will almost always do everything they can to be angry at each other. So there was a green arrow, and some cars ahead of me, as is their wont, turned left. The light turned yellow and the intersection was completely choked with cars. I stopped, as is my wont. The man in the truck behind me gesticulated wildly out his window and shouted and honked. Someone else honked. The two of them honked back and forth for the entire duration of the red light in what I would if ignorant of the circumstances assume to be a jocular exercise in musical improvisation using such limited means as they had. Since I had already resolved, given my philosophy, to be patient and possibly even cheerful, I pretended this was the case.

Second, if your luck is bad enough, intelligence actually works to your disadvantage. I worked that one out myself.

Third, never buy anything from a Yankee candle shop. I left "candle" uncapitalized on purpose as a play on words, because there seems to be some kind of cultural consensus that makes me think people dislike Yankees and things associated with Yankees, and furthermore that Yankees are known for doing dishonest things with your money. So that statement includes not just candle shops operated by the Yankee Candle Company, but any candle shop run by a Yankee.

I was in the mall, after having arrived there in a manner previously discussed, looking for my last gift, which I resolved should be something that smelled good, for my dad and stepmom. I was hoping to find a tea shop, or even a chocolatier, but the first place I stumbled upon was the afforementioned Yankee candle shop. I went in and was warmly greeted by a cheerful, if not patient, salesman. Our banter went like this:

"Hello, how are you doing today?"

"I'm doing reasonably well, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm doing pretty well. Are you finding everything all right?"

"Well, I suppose so. Actually I just walked in, and don't exactly know what I'm looking for."

"Oh, so you'll have two of everything?"

"Yes. Wonderful."

"It'll last your whole life!"

"Which is how long I will spend paying off the student loan I'll need to take out!"

"Hahaha."

I probably wouldn't have made this joke had I known how close to true it was, and I didn't know because the prices, in true Yankee fashion, were nowhere to be found. Nonetheless, I looked around briefly and selected a modestly sized scented candle. I carried it to the register, where a considerably less jovial employee waited to take my money. He asked me if anyone had helped me, and I told him yes, the jovial chap in the front, and he mentioned that for only three dollars more I could have the bigger candle. That's all right, I said. The small one will do. But the bigger one has twice the burn time, he informed me. It didn't make sense to me that he was giving me this information since I had very plainly just told him that the small candle was the one I wanted to buy. Nevertheless, I humored him and reiterated that I was in fact going to purchase the candle that I had selected and brought to the counter. It seemed really obvious to me, though. He then asked for my phone number so that "they" (who?) could send me coupons. "There is no part of me that wants coupons," is the first thing that came to mind. Secondly, "How does knowing my phone number allow you to send me things that are traditionally made of paper?" As all this was swirling about my suspicious but still patient brain, I told him that's all right, I have no need of or desire for coupons. He respnded by informing me that they would not call or sell my information. Once again, his comments were not high ranking on the relevance scale. I had not expressed any kind of concern about being called or having my information sold, and in fact had not expected either of those things to happen. So, looking more quizzical than before, I declined for the second time. For the second time. And then he said, "okay, that'll be $23.80."

By far the worst thing that happened yesterday was my purchase of that exorbitant candle. Their sales technique worked. (I think it should be illegal.) Leaving the mall, I would have ridiculed myself harshly, but since I was steadfastly patient and cheerful, I could only laugh at myself, which was in itself a little humiliating.

The moral of the story, if you were paying attention, was actually very clearly stated at the very beginning, so there is no use repeating it.

I Thought I Would Do This to Keep from Being Bored

It's not so much that I have anything to say, or a point to make, or a set of opinions that I wish to solidify, share, or force down anyone's throat. I don't really ponder, and I am mostly disinterested in just about everything, regardless of whether I claim the opposite. I am not a thinking person, though perhaps I have the appearance of one for reasons that skirt the line between valid and unreasonable. And, upon further thoughtless reflection, I fancy I may skirt the line between valid and unreasonable. But it's not really relevant. If it's true, there's nothing that can be done about it.

So why am I choosing to nonchalantly bastardize the medium that is the written word, polluting it with so many nonsenses, acting on one level as though I have a right to be heard though I don't actually even having a message to proclaim?

Because I am bored.

It is not because forcing myself to find things to discuss will stimulate analytical, creative, or critical thought, or because I think (I don't, remember?) such thought would benefit me, or anyone for that matter. In fact my commitment to this form of passing the time is so tragically limited that a certain part of me doubts this discourse will be followed by another one, or at least that once my present boredom is again suffocated by academic stressors there will be any more of them.

Of course, I have no way of knowing that other than to decide, which is simply not my style.