A Bottled Devil

I am sleeping deeply in all the blessed oblivion I have earned by long, late hours of watching movies. My dreams are as captivating as they are surreal; they even have butterflies in them. My blankets are warm, my mattress is soft, and my pillow is just cushy enough. In a word, I am in paradise.

Suddenly, every ounce of serenity is gone. In a magnificent jolt, my toes go taut, my hair raises, and my eyes spring wide open. On the table, not a foot from my bed, is a shrieking ghoul that I am powerless to stop. Shriek! Brinnnnngggg! It’s the kind of high-pitched cross between a wildcat’s scream and the cranking of broken machinery that every diabolical two-year-old longs for. It sounds exactly like (forgive me, gentle readers) a bottled devil.

Perhaps you have heard such phones. Sometimes, on more peaceful occasions, I like to daydream about maniac geniuses who sit around in antiseptic, sound-proof labs and concoct rings. I am sure there are some humane, intelligent, sensitive creatures among them. They are the ones who make sissy rings like “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” (Try saying that three times fast. Heck, try saying it one time slow!) or “Für Elise.” But there are other brawny giants who grin evil smiles through broken teeth, pull their ear-muffs tighter, and apply themselves gustily to creating instruments of torture.

“Well Todd, what do you think of this one?”

“I don’t know Bill. The little white rat in the box can still walk. Why don’t you add a few more jolts of that really dissonant tone?”

“Great idea. The fella can’t even open its eyes anymore!” Todd's evil laugh sits dead in the air like an insensitive remark.

You would think, in a day when cell phones are ubiquitous and new ring tones rarely cost more than seventy dollars or so apiece, that there would be no need to endure such aural agonies. After all, there's always a sissy tone available. But that, dear reader, would be an underestimation of human innovation. There are raving lunatics in the world who find every misery they deserve and heap it upon not only themselves, but their friends as well. They connive in back rooms and plot methods to torture the human ear. Yes, these misanthropes are a wretched lot, and you should do your best to avoid us. Yes, us.

Take, for example, me and a recent conference: I attend a conference with my parents and friends. The friends decide to do uncool things. The parents leave to watch boring workshops. I go to look at exciting vendor displays. The friends wouldn’t notice if I got eaten by a vendor monster, but the parents like to keep in touch. They call to check on me. I, having carefully set the phone’s mode to “normal,” ought to hear the ringer, but I don’t. They call again, I miss the call, and they conclude that I have been eaten by a vendor monster. Pretty soon I hear my name on the loudspeakers, on the list of casualties. Apparently, I am dead to the public address announcer.

So I do what any moron would do. I scroll through my ringtones and choose the loudest, most obnoxious ring I can find, one of those metallic nightmares that sound like a phone from the thirties. (People in the thirties must have been rather deaf, both as a cause and an effect of such ringtones.) Now when my phone rings, I feel like the frazzled executive in Spiderman 3 whose wife had a secretary vibrate his desk with a buzzer every time he got excited. A call comes in and—Brinnggg!—there is a bottled devil in my own pocket. I smile nonchalantly and check the caller ID. My friends gape wide-eyed and smooth their hair back down from its newly acquired upright posture. At this point, my friends would notice if I got eaten by a vendor monster. In fact, they would probably hold a party of celebration—provided the phone got eaten as well.

FCN Classic: Todd's Paper

Todd has a five hundred word assignment due in his online History class at 11:00 on Wednesday morning. He rises at 8:00 and completes his shower, shave and shine routine in just under 15 minutes (Todd is very much a guy in this regard). He swallows a quick five minute breakfast and presses the power button on his computer to begin work on the paper.

8:22: The computer takes several minutes to load the Vista operating system because of the stock ticker, weather information and quote of the day docked on the desktop. Todd never uses these, but he thinks they're cool.

8:26: The computer has loaded, but the Internet connection is a little choppy because Todd's file sharing application is competing with his browser for access. Todd sighs and disables Limewire; that new Kelly Clarkson song will have to wait.

8:30: Todd's hompage, ESPN news loads quickly on Mozilla Firefox and Todd inhales sharply when he reads the bold headline. Alex Rodriguez, the Yankee's superstar slugger and Todd's favorite player, is considering negotiating a contract extension mid-season. The Yankees never do that; they didn't even talk with Babe Ruth until after the playoffs. Todd reads the Sports Guy's analysis and then navigates to the basketball tab.

8:48: Todd checks the clock on his computer and is satisfied he has plenty of time to finish his paper. He loads his Facebook and smiles when he sees the list of people who have poked him. Todd pokes back.

8:51: Todd adjusts his profile picture to the goofy one he took last weekend at the carnival, removes Rascal Flatts from his list of favorite musicians, accepts four friend invitations, writes a note about how pathetic and clichéd Rascal Flatts have become, writes on three friends' walls, gives a cyber gift, comments on a friend's photo, asks a public question and adjusts his status.

8:58: Todd is "smothered in work."

8:59: Todd glances again at the computer clock and decides to get to work on his paper. He opens his email to retrieve his earlier draft.

9:00: Todd is shocked when he sees a message in his inbox from an old friend. He and LaTasha haven't talked since, well it's been at least four weeks. The message is long, detailing a summer of fun, relaxation and little work. It includes a couple of current photos and a vague invitation to come visit.

9:12: Todd writes his reply.

9:31: His curiosity about LaTasha aroused, Todd navigates to her Xanga and reads the latest entries. She has some real wit and Todd finds himself poring through several pages of old archives.

9:45: A Firefox email notification informs Todd that he has new mail. LaTasha has responded already and her sharp conversational repartee demands an immediate answer. Todd begins crafting a reply when his buddy Craig instant messages.

9:49: Craig wants to know about Todd's plans for next weekend and has a bucketload of teasing for him about Donna, the girl Todd took with his family to the carnival last week. The new Facebook picture has aroused Craig's suspicion and he is convinced that Todd and Donna are more than just friends. Todd tries hard to defend himself, but even he doubts the real nature of his feelings.

10:05: Todd puts the email to LaTasha aside and tells Craig he needs to run. He downloads the draft and opens it in Microsoft Word, letting the three paragraphs of already written text poor over his monitor.

10:06: The phone rings. The ring tone is Rascal Flatts' Me and My Gang and Todd makes a mental note to change that ASAP. The caller is a chatty Donna who is making plans for next weekend and wants to include Todd.

10:10: Donna tells Todd about a new YouTube video and Todd loads the hilarious clip and watches while Donna provides running commentary.

10:14: Todd follows the YouTube related links to watch several more videos.

10:33: Todd hangs up with Donna but feels bad that he had to end the conversation so abruptly. He turns his attention to his computer screen, only to discover that his terminal has gone into standby. Todd pushes the power key.

10:34: A Fox News urgent news alert pops up on Todd's Firefox browser. Todd reads the headline carefully. Barack Obama has fallen to number two in several key states and the Hillary Clinton campaign is celebrating the advance. Todd reads the article.

10:38: Todd turns his attention to his word processor and rereads the content of the earlier draft.

10:40: Todd opens his browser again and conducts a Google search for articles on the British slave trade, the topic of his assignment. A couple of early hits catch Todd's attention and he opens those pages in new tabs. One of the articles is hosted on a blog.

10:43: Todd is intrigued by blog author's writing style and, after browsing a few other articles, decides to send the author an email praising him for his work.

10:57: Todd glances at his computer's clock and closes his eyes in disappointment. He was just too busy to finish the project. He sighs and remembers something his teacher said about late work being downgraded by 10%. Todd feels he is doing well in the class; he doesn't have to get an A on this paper.

11:00: Overwhelmed by the morning's workload, Todd exits his word processor and goes into the kitchen to find something to eat.

Todd’s...Bush’s Problems

Todd gets up earlier than normal. His Palm Pilot promises a busy day ahead and he wants to make doubly sure his hair is combed and that he scrubs all the grime out of the hard to reach places before tackling the challenges de jour. Todd doesn’t think about the filth or the process of removing it, he just knows that uncleanliness is a Bush-sized problem and that it needs resolving with an old fashioned washing.

While Todd is brushing his teeth, he flips on his television. A riot in the capital city has erupted over low wages and President Bush is to blame. On the screen, hundreds of angry union representatives chant pro-worker slogans and Todd finds himself joining in with the professional protesters, lifting his free hand in a fist while moving the toothpaste around in his mouth with his Sonicare bristles.

Those poor souls, why did President Bush have to hang them out to dry like that? Isn’t there enough wealth in this country for us all to prosper without depressing the blue collar laborers of our country? Todd can’t comprehend the logic that would motivate Bush to treat the backbone of the American economy so unfairly.

Todd walks into the kitchen and pours himself a bowl of Cheerios. He goes to the fridge and reaches in for the milk, only to be greeted by an empty cold shelf. Todd is out of milk. Todd is confused at first, but then he understands: Bush miscalculated with the dairy product allotment. Todd can’t understand how the President has control over his own milk supply, but he doesn’t need too. He knows that Bush is at fault and leaves the figuring to others. President Bush wasted a perfectly good bowl of Cheerios.

On the way to work, Todd passes a nasty car accident. He joins the other drivers on the road in rubbernecking the incident and rolls down his window for a better view. A woman is sitting on an overturned 5-gallon bucket with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She is shaken badly by the accident and cries loudly, so that even Todd can distinguish her words as he drives by. “If Bush hadn’t started his radio address just as I was merging, the accident never would have happened. What an idiot we elected!”

The radio has good news. The stock market rallied yesterday and appears to be doing well today in early trading. A commentator notes that some caution should be maintained in analyzing the data as long as Bush’s economic policies are in place. “Short-lived growth will invariably be followed by periods of contraction as long as Bush is in the White House,” the voice on the radio said to conclude his analysis.

Todd shakes his head in agreement. All the talk of recession makes so much sense now.

Todd gets to work a few minutes late. His boss is waiting at his desk with a stack of files and looks upset to see his employee arrive tardily. Todd explains that he was held up by road construction and would have told the story about the traffic accident had his employer not interrupted. “That construction on Fourth and Vine?” The boss’ face softened as Todd nodded his assent. “If Bush had only vetoed that transportation bill, we would not be wasting money on this kind of project.”

Todd’s job keeps him hopping until lunch when he leaves the office with Janet to grab a bite. On the way to the local sandwich depot, he notices the price of gas. Janet sighs and makes a disparaging comment about Bush’s foreign policy. Todd knows Janet is right and dreams of change...and hope.

At lunch Todd flips idly through the newspaper while Janet tells him about her financial difficulties. A violent crime was committed the night before and the gruesome details are revealed in stark black and white. The police chief blames the President for not giving his force adequate funding. The article is sympathetic to the suspect and critical of Bush.

Todd zones back into his conversation with Janet. Her car payment is coming due and her alimony check is late. Todd grimaces with each new detail Janet adds and finally offers some encouragement. “If Bush had passed his tort reforms, maybe you would have that resolved now. He sure did mess up family law.”

While Janet agrees with his remark, Todd thinks about what he said. He had never given the court systems much thought, but knew exactly who to blame when confronted with a problem. And why not? Everyone else finds reasons to blame the President; who’s to say he didn’t cause all these problems?

Heart of Gold

You've heard the phrase. When someone is "without malice" with a "loving and caring" nature, they are said to have a heart so pure, it is made of gold. The line is delivered regularly in conversation in a seemingly complimentary way, but is it really a positive statement?

The most common application for "heart of gold," or HOG, is after a critical or deriding remark. The speaker feels that her comments will be perceived as "too harsh" or unnecessarily cutting and amends them with the addendum that "oh, but he has a heart of gold." For example, "Todd is a real Jerk. He lies all the time, never looks me in the eye and always wears that ratty cap with the sweat stains. But he has a heart of gold."

Translation: The subject's faults are not his own, but environmentally induced. He comes off as much worse than he actually is because of exogenous factors that are beyond his control. My dislike for him has nothing to do with the "real" person, but instead targets the things that make him unbearable. If only his golden coronary muscle would shine through the fog of the world, he wouldn't be such a jerk. But he is a jerk. He is an idiotic, poorly raised, fatherless animal with zero class and less style. If his face reflected his attitude it would be covered in warts and he would scratch at the itch with a piece of clay like Job. He deserves to rot in the darkest corner of a third-world country and never eat chocolate. But he has a HOG, for what it's worth.

Psychologically, we don't want to push someone down too far or risk raising the defensive ire of our conversation mates, so we moderate the phrase with an insult so camouflaged it is often embraced as a compliment. We are reticent to pound our nemeses into the ground, so we coat the tip of our barb with glitter that we hope will be strong enough to veil our malevolence.

This post serves to remove the glitter and expose the barb for all it is.

I've presented this theory to a few friends and family members to mixed reviews. A number of respondents have raised plausibility issues with their own use and contested that "I really like xyz [who I said had a HOG]; your theory can't be true."

When HOG is used, the speaker is not necessarily cognizant of his or her feelings toward the subject. In fact, the speaker may insist that her feelings are warm and fuzzy toward the individual and that HOG has "different meanings for different people." Don't be fooled.

HOG can reflect both a deep seated and surface disregard for a person. The feelings of malice that accompany its deployment may be buried deeply and motivate the thoughts behind the words with a dull ache of past pain. Or they may be symptomatic of a passing anger, a transient feeling that passes as quickly as glassless glasses.

Further, HOG is sometimes used when the personal dislike is found only at a subconscious level, where it is too deep to recognize. The speaker may not even be aware of her feelings toward the HOG recipient, but the use of the phrase lets others know what she is feeling.

As we've discussed earlier this week, females tend to put a lot more care into the words they choose than their male counterparts. We guys pick words the same way we choose shirts in the morning: if it's clean we'll use it. Guys will use lines they hear environmentally without regard to the nuances of the phrase or any implied meanings. We don't care if you think you've been insulted as long as you still feed us.

Girls, on the other foot (because hands get so old), put an inordinate amount of thought into the words they choose. In fact, picking a word for a girl is also very similar to picking a shirt.

Ultimately, HOG is a negative remark thinly veiled as a compliment. Guys may use it inadvertently (just as they will insult their girlfriends without knowing or intending to), but the phrase's proper place in the dictionary of popular vernacular is under the "insults" tab.

The next time someone "compliments" you on your HOG, mentally add four words to their sentence: "You have a heart of gold. Cold, hard and yellow." That will give you a more accurate picture of their meaning.

Todd's Economics

Todd is studying for a big examination in his tough economics course. He doesn't particularly enjoy studying, but he still finds his book or notes open in the oddest of places. This morning, he takes Gregory Mankew's Macroeconomics with him to the bathroom as he puts in his contact lenses. With one eye focused on the Cobb-Douglas Production Function, he places a thin film of soft plastic over the other. The process is painful, awkward, dangerous and inconvenient, but it is efficient and brings more utiles (units of utility) than waiting to read the book until the vision of both eyes is corrected.

Todd begins his day with a number of basic assumptions. His zero assumption is that everything will be recounted in the present tense. This assumption is self contradictory, but Todd doesn't let that minor difficulty discourage his believing. Todd sometimes wonders why this fundamental presupposition isn't given the number 1, but he doesn't let this undirected curiosity distract him from his list of assumptions.

Assumption one is that darkness follows periods of light. While this has been observed, it cannot be proven predictively. Therefore, Todd assumes it.

Todd's third assumption, and one that always makes his father laugh, is that people are rational. Todd doesn't understand why this assumption is so funny.

Assumption four is that all assumptions are exogenous, meaning they don't make any sense.

Assumption five is that more assumptions can be made at any time, with little or no warning and that these assumptions can augment or weaken preexisting assumptions. That is, no assumption goes assumed.

At breakfast, Todd pulls out his notes from a lecture about population. The lecture focused on an English demographer (someone who studies demons), but Todd forget the name and thumbs through his notebook to refresh his memory. With his free hand, Todd shovels cereal into his Malthus.

Todd groans at the pun and then checks his watch. Language class is in forty-five minutes and Todd debates the marginal advantage of attendance. Todd has already skipped class twice this semester, a behavior that puts him squarely in the "poor student" bracket. Todd takes out a piece of paper and quickly graphs a model of the Marginal Product of Attendance (MPA). Todd enters arbitrary values for each of his graph's four inputs and looks at the result with a frown. Todd erases his inputs and enters new arbitrary values. With a satisfied grin, Todd leans back and finishes his cereal.

Todd puts a third tick mark on the blackboard above his fridge.

Todd goes alone (Solow) to his computer to check his email. A classmate sends him a competitive study challenge. Apparently studying alone brings all the dangers of monopoly: High prices, less output and, worst of all, incessant loneliness. Todd objects that the addition of a second student would actually be an oligopoly since perfect competition requires a large number of students.

A third classmate joins the discussion and a triangle is formed. The Harberger Triangle.

Todd groans again and navigates to the online study notes. Demand for the site exceeds the supply of bandwidth and the page takes a while to load. Todd guesses that too many students are trying to access the page because of the demand created by the examination but considers other options. Perhaps the site is undergoing renovations and no longer has the supply to handle the same number of accessing students. Or, alternatively, the university has imposed a quota on simultaneous website to reward those who don't wait for the last minute to study and thus kept the market from clearing. Or...

The doorbell rings, waking Todd from his causation reverie. It's Janet. She wants to go to the library to work on the exam. Todd doesn't like the library. The busyness creates a confusion that reduces his overall study output and his tastes and preferences are better satisfied by a quiet room, alone with his Macintosh.

The mental mention of busyness draws Todd's mind to the professor's lecture on business cycles and Todd absently shuts the door without an explanation for Janet. Even though no words are exchanged, Janet understands that Todd is in the valley of his cycle and does not take offense. She also knows Todd can be a very nice person at his peak. After all, Janet is an economics major.

Todd is beginning to feel dismal. All economies will end up stagnant according to David Ricardo and it won't matter anyway because we will all be dead in five generations (prediction made circa 1798).

With a sigh, Todd puts aside his study materials and grabs his coat. Language class is in ten minutes and he doesn't want to be late.

Todd's Double Entendre #1

Todd wakes up and performs the bread and butter functions of his morning routine (shower, shave and shine). Todd gets dressed in a nice suit, knowing he has a meeting with the big cheese at work. Todd's knows his boss likes to keep his finger in the pie and he doesn't want to risk upsetting the applecart. Meetings are not Todd's cup of tea and he was never very good at polishing the apple with his boss.

Downstairs, Todd grabs a fruitbar from a stash he has salted away and hurries to his car. The drive to work is slow and a traffic reporter on the radio spills the beans on an accident up the road. Some nut in a souped up truck lost control while doing something stupid. Fruitcake. Bad egg.

Todd is barely at the office ten minutes before his boss's secretary invites him into the main office. Todd sits down in one of the office's plush chairs and thinks again that his job is a gravy train. Very cushy.

His boss hasn't arrived yet, so Todd gets up to look at the family pictures on the office bookcase. One photo, positioned prominently among the rest, shows a smiling young girl with pony tails.

"Pretty, isn't she?" Todd's boss leans against the wall and smiles, adding: "She's the apple of my eye."

Todd returns to his plush chair and asks his boss how he can be of service.

"You're sure full of beans this morning," the boss says by way of humor. Seeing Todd's less than amused reaction, he adds: "Not to egg you on, or anything. I just think our approach to this new project should be as cool as a cucumber."

Inside, Todd is ecstatic. He got picked to head up the new project! And after Jack, a coworker, said he was getting the position, too. Todd knew he would make Jack eat crow. That couch potato! Jack was probably hitting the sauce right now instead of doing his job. Time for some humble pie, you conniving deceiver.

Todd makes a mental note to take a grain of salt with everything Jack says in the future.

"Our product is selling like hotcakes right now and we're getting our profits handed to us on a silver platter. Unfortunately, the market looks to be changing and unless we respond we'll have egg in our face. I know you're worth your salt, Todd, but this project is going to be a tough nut to crack. We are going to need you to put everything you have, the whole enchilada, on this and really bring home the bacon for the firm. You're the cream of the crop, but if you don't cut the cake, we'll drop you like a hot potato." The boss's short speech is delivered in an authoritative voice and Todd gets the meaning loud and clear.

"Piece of cake," Todd answer is delivered with a confident smile.

"Please don't make me make you eat those words." The boss stands up. The meeting is over.

After the meeting, Todd avoids the temptation to egg Jack on about his lie and instead lets his coworker stew in his own juices. Todd isn't happy with how he's handled Jack so far, but with the new project to worry about, he is in no position to cry over spilt milk.

Todd's Eye

Todd gets up at his normal heure de reveil ("oh, way too early"), grabs his razor (the comfort of five blades, the precision of one) and heads to his bathroom. Along the way, he notices in his full length bedroom mirror that sleep has tussled his hair and puffed his face (like Jon Heder not Nick Diaz). Todd makes a mental note to spend more time in the shower with the various cremes in his possession remedying these conditions.

Razor in hand, Todd walks into his bathroom and looks at his reflection in the mirror. You know, he thinks, sleepiness aside, I look pretty dang good. Todd turns his head slowly while maintaining eye contact with his reflection, and looks at his hair and jaw lines, admiring the solid strength and feeling more confident in his appearance. He moves his hair to the side, combing it slightly with his hands while continuing to stare at the mirror. Dang good.

Out comes shaving cream and on goes razor. Sharp blades make contact with hair just above the surface of the skin, easily cutting off twenty-four hours of keratinized growth. Todd uses short quick motions and manipulates his facial features to give the razor uninhibited access. And while he shaves, Todd looks in the mirror.

Mentally Todd compares his visage with that of famous contemporary and historical figures. He imagines what his chin would look like covered with a scruffy black Abraham Lincoln goatee or a nose like Frances I's. Maybe I would look better with Ben Stiller eyebrows. Todd visualizes the effect of a facelift and tries to pinpoint the impact his eyes have on his overall appearance.

Todd notices some hairline acne and mentally kicks himself for not being more liberal with the face wash. Fortunately the effect minimal and doesn't detract from my overall good looks.

The shower awaits, so Todd sets down his shaving system, pulls off his sleeping attire and hops beneath a flow of steaming hot water. Apply the shampoo, lather it in...

Todd is struck by an idea. What if I had a jaw more like Brad Pitt's? Todd tries hard to imagine what the overall impact such a change would have on his appearance. He can't. Todd is unable to visualize his face, much less his face with Brad Pitt's jawline.

More curious than ever, Todd exits the still running shower and walks in front of the bathroom mirror. To his surprise and disappointment, Todd discovers the bathroom mirror has been fogged over from the shower steam such that the surface is no longer reflective.

Todd leaves the bathroom and goes into his room to use the full length mirror. There Todd stands for several seconds, looking at his dripping wet features and heavily lathered hair. Todd suddenly realizes how ridiculous he looks and returns to the shower to continue washing. A moist circle remains on the carpet of his room.

On his way to work, Todd checks his car mirrors often, more to look at himself than to check traffic.

Todd goes out to lunch with an old friend. He notices his reflection in his glass and looks forward to see how the hours have treated his visage. Todd's friend pretends not to notice the show of vanity, but inwardly she is hurt by Todd's implicit message that his face is more interesting than her conversation.

If Todd were to think about his actions, he would probably feel some remorse. He doesn't want to hurt his friend's feelings. He is just really interested in his own face. I am the kind of man who can appreciate beauty and what's so wrong with admiring what God gave?

In fact, why is the girl in front of him not more engrossed in her own features? They certainly aren't comely; she should be checking herself out all the time. What gives her the right to criticize me when she probably does the same thing when she is alone? Is she insecure in her beauty?

Todd sits alone at his dinner table and feels the uncomfortable weight of solitude as a suffocating force. He needs company. A small mirror propped up by a stack of books allows Todd to look at himself while he eats. He no longer feels alone.

"When with rebukes You correct man for iniquity, You make his beauty melt away like a moth; Surely every man is vapor. Selah"
~Psalms 39:11

Todd's Paper

Todd has a five hundred word assignment due in his online History class at 11:00 on Wednesday morning. He rises at 8:00 and completes his shower, shave and shine routine in just under 15 minutes (Todd is very much a guy in this regard). He swallows a quick five minute breakfast and presses the power button on his computer to begin work on the paper.

8:22: The computer takes several minutes to load the Vista operating system because of the stock ticker, weather information and quote of the day docked on the desktop. Todd never uses these, but he thinks they're cool.

8:26: The computer has loaded, but the Internet connection is a little choppy because Todd's file sharing application is competing with his browser for access. Todd sighs and disables Limewire; that new Kelly Clarkson song will have to wait.

8:30: Todd's hompage, ESPN news loads quickly on Mozilla Firefox and Todd inhales sharply when he reads the bold headline. Alex Rodriguez, the Yankee's superstar slugger and Todd's favorite player, is considering negotiating a contract extension mid-season. The Yankees never do that; they didn't even talk with Babe Ruth until after the playoffs. Todd reads the Sports Guy's analysis and then navigates to the basketball tab.

8:48: Todd checks the clock on his computer and is satisfied he has plenty of time to finish his paper. He loads his Facebook and smiles when he sees the list of people who have poked him. Todd pokes back.

8:51: Todd adjusts his profile picture to the goofy one he took last weekend at the carnival, removes Rascal Flatts from his list of favorite musicians, accepts four friend invitations, writes a note about how pathetic and clichéd Rascal Flatts have become, writes on three friends' walls, gives a cyber gift, comments on a friend's photo, asks a public question and adjusts his status.

8:58: Todd is "smothered in work."

8:59: Todd glances again at the computer clock and decides to get to work on his paper. He opens his email to retrieve his earlier draft.

9:00: Todd is shocked when he sees a message in his inbox from an old friend. He and LaTasha haven't talked since, well it's been at least four weeks. The message is long, detailing a summer of fun, relaxation and little work. It includes a couple of current photos and a vague invitation to come visit.

9:12: Todd writes his reply.

9:31: His curiosity about LaTasha aroused, Todd navigates to her Xanga and reads the latest entries. She has some real wit and Todd finds himself poring through several pages of old archives.

9:45: A Firefox email notification informs Todd that he has new mail. LaTasha has responded already and her sharp conversational repartee demands an immediate answer. Todd begins crafting a reply when his buddy Craig instant messages.

9:49: Craig wants to know about Todd's plans for next weekend and has a bucketload of teasing for him about Donna, the girl Todd took with his family to the carnival last week. The new Facebook picture has aroused Craig's suspicion and he is convinced that Todd and Donna are more than just friends. Todd tries hard to defend himself, but even he doubts the real nature of his feelings.

10:05: Todd puts the email to LaTasha aside and tells Craig he needs to run. He downloads the draft and opens it in Microsoft Word, letting the three paragraphs of already written text poor over his monitor.

10:06: The phone rings. The ring tone is Rascal Flatts' Me and My Gang and Todd makes a mental note to change that ASAP. The caller is a chatty Donna who is making plans for next weekend and wants to include Todd.

10:10: Donna tells Todd about a new YouTube video and Todd loads the hilarious clip and watches while Donna provides running commentary.

10:14: Todd follows the YouTube related links to watch several more videos.

10:33: Todd hangs up with Donna but feels bad that he had to end the conversation so abruptly. He turns his attention to his computer screen, only to discover that his terminal has gone into standby. Todd pushes the power key.

10:34: A Fox News urgent news alert pops up on Todd's Firefox browser. Todd reads the headline carefully. Barack Obama has fallen to number two in several key states and the Hillary Clinton campaign is celebrating the advance. Todd reads the article.

10:38: Todd turns his attention to his word processor and rereads the content of the earlier draft.

10:40: Todd opens his browser again and conducts a Google search for articles on the British slave trade, the topic of his assignment. A couple of early hits catch Todd's attention and he opens those pages in new tabs. One of the articles is hosted on a blog.

10:43: Todd is intrigued by blog author's writing style and, after browsing a few other articles, decides to send the author an email praising him for his work.

10:57: Todd glances at his computer's clock and closes his eyes in disappointment. He was just too busy to finish the project. He sighs and remembers something his teacher said about late work being downgraded by 10%. Todd feels he is doing well in the class; he doesn't have to get an A on this paper.

11:00: Overwhelmed by the morning's workload, Todd exits his word processor and goes into the kitchen to find something to eat.

Redundant.

Note: This is a sad story. It isn’t happy and may induce feelings of sympathy and bereavement. Please read only if you don’t mind some cheerless, lugubrious, and slightly morbid fare. Yes, morbid. This is morbid, mournful and morose. It isn’t funny. In fact it’s woebegone; more likely to induce feelings of despair and despondence than delight and ecstasy. Read at your own risk.

Meet Todd. Todd is a boy, who is a male young man. He owns a house, a small, undersized abode with four walls and a ceiling. His home has a floor and a roof. Outside the house is a yard, covered in landscape and small plants for decoration. The yard has a sod lawn with grass planted in it. Todd owns it.

On the side of the house opposite the street is a large, concrete-lined pond filled with chlorinated water. Behind the house is a pool. The pool is full to capacity with cool colorless liquid, treated with chemicals to keep the algae from growing. It is a swimming pool. It is full of water. It is in Todd's backyard.

Around the pool are two chairs for sunbathing. People who want to soak in some rays and collect some ambient Vitamin D may lean back in the plastic furniture and relax. The area around the water is perfect for getting a tan and there are a couple of shays set up for that very purpose. In fact, there are two pool chairs on the deck.

Todd exits his house, ready to swim. He is wearing nothing but a swimsuit, but doesn’t feel self conscious because he knows he is alone. Todd is the only one around and he is wearing appropriate clothes for swimming.

As the owner of the house is about to step into the pull, he slips on the wet tile and knocks his head against the deck. The tile is soaked, aqueous and covered in water. Todd loses his footing and his foot slides against the drenched surface. Just as he is about to get into the pool, he loses his power over gravity and smashes his cranial cavity against the surface he used to be touching with his feet.

Inconclusively, without much evidence and with little data, we can conclude that Todd is knocked out. It’s ambiguous and the information is deficient, but even in the face of such unsatisfactory confirmation, we can infer that the owner of the house is unconscious. Lacking a definitive testimonial, it would be inappropriate to say for certain, but Todd really looks out of it.

A wave brushes up against Todd’s half-submerged body and pulls him toward the water. The wind blows some water up onto the owner of the house and its rebounding movement drags Todd away from the deck. A larger wave pulls Todd all the way into the water. The colorless liquid covers Todd’s face. He falls into the pool.

A large cephalopod enters the water and moves toward Todd. Unnoticed by any, a giant squid squirrels it's way out of the brush by the side of the pool and propels itself toward the unsuspecting human. The animal is a squid and it is moving into the water. Before, the squid was in the water it was next to the pool in a small plant. Now, it is in the water. Nobody asks why a squid would hide by the side of a pool.

The squid strangles Todd. Using every one of its ten arms, the cephalopod asphyxiates his prey until he stops moving. Todd's neck is being covered by ten different suction powered appendages and he can't breathe. Todd loses his breath and ceases his struggles. Todd dies. He kicks the bucket, is bumped off, buys it, cashes it in, chalks out, conks, expires, succumbs, pushes up the daisies, harfs it, folds, mucks, goes KIA, keeps the headstone company, captains the dirt submarine, visits the in-laws, communes with nature, renders unto Caesar, goes back for seconds, calls home in the horizontal phone booth, catches some shut-eye, gets off the train, hunts for buried treasure, meets the gophers, tucks in for the night, holes up, cools off, gets front row seating at the funeral, goes all in, tests the dirt with both feet, gets busted cheating death, wumps, sproinks, dingalings, taps out, busts, finishes last, gets in a time capsule, hides from Chuck Norris, gets his last change of address, and, yes, drowns.

Posthumously, after his death and when he is no longer alive, Todd’s friends cry for him. They shed tears about the life he led and the tragic nature of his demise. His passing was sad and they mourn his loss. Todd’s friends are bereaved.

At Todd’s funeral, a man in a suit talks about the importance of never swimming alone. While they put his body into the ground, an expert in pool maintenance and safety advises others to learn from Todd’s mistake. Todd gave his life to tell a lesson and we should all pay attention to that lesson. Everyone is wearing black and, while tears are shed and memories shared, a water virtuoso warns others of the danger of pools and squids. They are not safe, so always bring someone along to help you if you have a problem. Always, always, always!

Moral: Never swim alone without other people around to accompany you unless you have supervision.

Todd’s Problem

Todd gets up this morning, as he does every morning to the sound of his Quartz alarm ringing on his Stanley dresser. He showers under a direct stream from his Price Pfister nozzle and enjoys the clean feeling of the Suave Essentials in his hair. He soaps with Dove, scrubs with Avon and conditions with more Suave Essentials.

On exiting the shower, Todd enjoys the soft feeling of the Strawbridge’s blue cotton chenille bath rug beneath his toes. He dries himself with Martha Stewart Everyday Living linen.

Feeling clean all over, Todd applies Tag (chest), Old Spice (armpits) and Nivea (under the eyes). He Colgates his teeth with a Gum brush and rinses with Listerine. Satisfied with the general cleanliness of his oral depression, Todd swabs his face with Brut cream and begins shaving with his Gillette Fusion. Todd never understood why a product made exclusively for men would have an “-ette” suffix, but he prefers his current tool to his old Braun Activator. When all the cream has been wiped away, Todd dabs on the Afta and uses a special anti-bacterial wipe from Equate.

Todd opens his RepleniSH contact lens container and removes a FreshLook lens. He squirts a quick stream of Opti-Free solution on the lens and sanitates with a quick movement of his fingers. With a deft and practiced motion, Todd inserts the contact lens into his eye and blinks thrice to clear some irritation. Not satisfied with the mechanical solution, Todd looks upward and drips three droplets of Visine into his eye. The irritation clears. He repeats the same process - minus the Visine - with his opposite eye.

Smelling like the latest issue of Vogue, Todd steps through his Panorama walkway and into his bedroom where he applies 273 Indigo, his favorite scent. There, sitting on his Simmons mattress across from his full length Eagan mirror, Todd pulls off his Plow and Hearth Woodland pajamas and slides into his Bresciani dress socks. He dons Fruit of the Loom boxers and matching undershirt, then pulls on a pair of Hanes dress socks before entering his spacious John Louis walk-in closet to select a shirt.

Shirt and tie selection is always painful for Todd because as many options as he has, only one ever seems to be viable. Todd likes his burgundy Hilfiger but it seems a little too flashy for a Monday. He selects a Hawes and Curtis with French Cuffs and a Ludlow tie. He completes his dressing with a Giorgio Cerruti pinstripe suit, a Fossil belt and a pair of Oxford Wingtips.

Todd accessorizes with a Luminox analog and a Borsalino fedora.

Fully dressed and ready for work, Todd walks past a Lay-Z chair, a Pottery Barn coffee table, and a Manchester couch and into his kitchenette. He puts a couple scoops of Folgers into his Krups coffee machine and flips the on switch. Todd feels hungry this morning, so he fries three Sunnyside Farms eggs in a Dupont Teflon pan. He puts a handful of Hillshire Farms ‘Lil Smokies into his Sharp microwave and plops two pieces of Bohemian Hearth into a Sunbeam toaster.

Todd removes Tobasco and Smart Balance Light from his Frigidaire refrigerator and sets the table with Cutco silverware and a Corelle plate. He eats quietly, listening to the New York Philharmonic play on his Bose speaker system.

Fueled and ready to meet the day, Todd puts his used dishware into his Triton dishwasher, inserts a cube of dissolvable Cascade detergent and pushes the start button. Todd sets his Bay Alarm system and locks the door. He hops into his Honda and pulls out of his suburban driveway.

On his way to work, Todd turns on the radio to listen to the news. Before he learns anything, however, he listens to six advertisements; four national and two local. The national advertisements are for Proctor and Gamble, Nissan, Kraft and Safeway; the local ads are for Enterprise Rent-a-Car and Cheeser’s Pizza. Todd passes eight billboards on his way to work; Motel 6, Chevron, Shell, McDonald’s, H&R Block, 300, Windows Vista and John Deer are all promoted on roadside signs.

Todd stops his CR-V in a designated spot in the Washington Mutual (affectionately nicknamed WaMu) parking lot. His work is mundane but it puts Healthy Choice on the table, so he doesn’t mind it so much.

At lunch Todd eats a Jiffy and Smucker’s sandwich on more Bohemian Hearth whole grain. He follows the PPJ with a Dole banana and a glass of Lucerne 1%.

Todd is happy that he only has to work a half day and reapplies Indigo 273 in preparation for a date he has set in the late afternoon. He and his friend meet at the Stadium 12 Cinemas to watch the new Will Ferrell movie, Blades of Glory. But Todd’s mind isn’t on the movie, or its excessive product placement; rather he is thinking about his financial situation.

Todd makes less money than 60% of WaMu’s employees; he lives in a house that could have used a remodeling four years ago and his “wish list” is longer than his “have list.” Todd struggles with feelings of wealth inferiority and seems to just barely scrape by every month. By the time the names finish scrolling across the movie screen, Todd still hasn’t resolved his state of mind. He exits the theater with a somber expression and drives his date home with sparse conversation.

Todd slides quietly between his Westpoint Stevens sheets and lays his head on the matching pillowcase. He leans into his Cequal Bedlounge and sets his Quartz. He turns his head and falls asleep. Another day.