Miabi Films » observation

CPR

Greg — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 04:22:58 +0000

Why does someone always try to stop someone else from performing CPR? You’ve seen this scenario a hundred times at the movies or on a TV show. At some climactic point, a main character drowns or gets electrocuted and is rendered unconscious. Another main character, usually the love interest, is left trying to breathe life into the fallen star. Trying vigorously to rescue him or her from certain doom. At which point, a third character, usually part of some love triangle says, “Give up. He’s dead. He’s dead! It’s over! Give up! Stop!” There is usually a long dramatic pause as the two of them are left with the realization that this person might in fact be dead. But every time, the love interest or doctor or whomever refuses to accept this and feverishly goes back to work, against the urging of the other person. “Live! Live damn it! You’ve got to live!!” And every time, our fallen star coughs to life.

Why are we always trying to stop someone from performing CPR? Just let them perform the damn CPR. It’s gonna work!

Box on a String

Greg — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 05:41:36 +0000

It’s really unfortunate when you get in an elevator that stinks from the person who was just in it. Really stinks badly. There’s nowhere to hide. You’re in a little box on a string. You just have to endure until you reach your floor. When you arrive at your destination, someone else is waiting to get on. You do your best to get off without making eye contact. Your gut is telling you to turn around and say, “That wasn’t me!” But you stop yourself because you’d be breaking some cultural convention by discussing farts with a complete stranger. Instead you run for it. That woman thinks you just farted in the elevator and there’s nothing you can really do about it. Guilty of a crime you didn’t commit because you happen to make a living on the 19th floor.

Luckily for you, the cycle continues until the smell dissipates. So in the end, everyone’s judging everyone. It all works out.

Then you go home and blog about farts.

Bazooka Joe

Greg — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 05:19:40 +0000

Today in the mail I got some unsolicited literature from the New York City Chapter of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Presumably they were asking for a donation toward cancer research. In a little window was a shiny nickel with a caption that read, “How can 5¢ save a child’s life?” Oh that’s a nice touch.

Now, scale of 1 to 10, how horrible of a person am I for tearing open that envelope, pocketing the nickel, and throwing out the spam? I mean, I didn’t read any of it. Right in the garbage. It felt strange to thow out a nickel though. A penny maybe. I could buy some Bazooka Joe with a nickel.

I’m not sure they thought this one through. I wonder why they didn’t just keep that nickel and put it towards saving a child’s life? Seems a bit counter-productive. How many children had to die for this mailing campaign? I knew without having to read anything on the inside of that envelope that that caption was probably not true and I’ll spend my nickels on bubblegum.

Please donate to your local Leukemia & Lymphoma Society today.

No related posts.

Subway Observations

Greg — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 05:45:18 +0000

A couple things I’ve observed recently while riding mass transit:

Hey! MTA, put the public address speakers INSIDE your subway cars. So your passengers can hear them? You can do both guys- inside and outside. When we’re stopped at First Ave and 90% of the passengers have their white ear buds in, listening to Grizzly Bear, it becomes a necessity. I’m usually the one squinting like a maniac to hear the announcement. As if squinting is going to make me hear better. 90% of the time I can’t make out what they’re announcing. I could squint better…

Asking another passenger “what is going on” is not an option. If you miss that announcement, you’re winging it the rest of the way.

Standing in the yellow line as the train is coming is exhilirating. What a treat. That bubble of wind hits you in the face. A face, mere inches from a locomotive. Breathtaking. Equally exciting is when you are on the platform, trying to pass someone on the outside of the yellow line. And their back is turned to you. You have no idea if they’ll abruptly shift and knock you onto the tracks. Frenzy!

Not sure if this applies to others- I’ve noticed it particularly on the L train… Anyone else detect a distinct smell that precedes an oncoming train? It’s the smell of air freshener. It smells like flowers. Its as if giant, pink urinal cakes are strapped to the front of the trains.

Commuters who are rocking a Kindle or other ebook reader are still looked at as “weird early-adopters”.

Lastly, people who wrap themselves around the pole in the middle of the car, while others are clamoring for a little piece of pole real estate, should be tarred and feather. They need to be made examples of. Put them on a Judas Cradle in the middle of Union Square. Their indifference to the needs of fellow commuters should not go unpunished.

Foster’s, Austrailian for Self-Loathing

Greg — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 06:36:53 +0000

How do these blatantly contemptuous Fosters Beer commercials continue to air? These things have flown under the radar for years now without a peep of opposition. You know them. Each commercial essentially painting Australians as imbeciles- by showing increasingly silly Aussie (re)interpretations of common behaviors. They are cleverly done and usually pretty funny. But no one seems to take issue with the sentiment. Apparently Australians are just that laid back. I suppose the spots are reclaiming stupidity. Simplicity. Maybe even a show of solidarity? I’m not offended by these commercials. Humor… goes a long way. So does good marketing. Just merely bringing attention to it. If I went and made a commercial lampooning all Polish people as stupid, people would be pissed.

The thing is, since Foster’s is an Australian lager, they’re doing it to themselves. What is with the self-loathing, Foster’s?

Direct Mail

Greg — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 11:58:47 +0000

For some reason, I received a catalog for outdoor event tenting in the mail. Fabric structures and greenhouses. Collapsable canopies. The occasional extra garage or shed. I have no idea how this has happened. How did I get on this list- And who do I thank?! There’s a deal this month. 25% off. I had no idea I wanted one. I mean, yeah I did- But it’s way down the list.

I’m curious to know what course of events caused me to receive this catalog. I wonder if some computer somewhere cross-referenced my name from a bunch of lists somewhere else and decided that I might be interested in outdoor tenting. Or perhaps I fell under the umbrella of some blanket marketing campaign. Though, it is hard to believe someone could be so off the mark as to offer giant fabric structures to the area of Brooklyn I live in. In that… I have no place to put one. But who knows, maybe my neighbors are into them?

Either way, the team is giving it a hell of a shot and kudos for going the old-fashioned route. I don’t want to poo poo all of their efforts. If you’re in the market for livestock housing or other large outdoor coverings, you should check out Clear Span. They look pretty good. Payments as low as $99 *per month. Let me know if you want to borrow the catalog.

Glue Traps

Greg — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 04:27:45 +0000

I was at my local bodega today and saw something peculiar. They were selling glue traps for mice. On the cover of the box was a picture of a mouse and a snake, both apparently stuck to the glue. Even though most of it was in Spanish, I don’t see what explanation they could give for the snake being on there. If you have a snake problem, it’s time to bring it to the next level. Strategically placing strips of glue around your house isn’t going to cut it. These things are responsible for Original Sin. Up your game.

That being said, I’ve had to use glue traps for a rodent problem before and hated it. These traps are cruel, cheap, and unfortunately effective. Here’s how it usually goes down:

The mouse is running around being a deviant. Doing what it is that mice do. (Which I always perceived as mischief.) Keeping you up at night. Providing constant reminders that you are part of a demographic you’d rather not be associated with.

While searching for food and a good time, the mouse is abruptly stopped in it’s tracks by the glue. It panics and tries to free itself; most often by tearing it’s own legs off. A slow, limbless death stuck face first to a piece of plastic.

This horrific scene can be avoided. Be sure to have vegetable oil around so you can bring the trap outside quickly and set your mouse free. The oil counteracts the glue and allows the thing to get loose. If you get to it in time. Just pour it on there.

Better yet, if you’re going to capture your mice instead of cutting off their food supply, at least spend the extra 50¢ for a spring loaded device that will put Mickey out of his misery quickly.

You serious?

Going up

Greg — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 04:15:58 +0000

How I operate in the morning.
Sleepwalk to work. Get to the elevator doors. Eight available to me. There is no one else waiting. Perfect. Come on come on come on. Open mother fucker. Shit, here comes someone else. She doesn’t work on 19. That’s where I need to go. 19. Damn it. One extra stop. Here comes someone else. I don’t recognize him either. I’m going to have to wait for the next elevator. Can’t chance it. I’m not taking the local. I want to go straight up to the 19th floor. No stops.

Ding-a-ling! Doors finally open. 4 people get in. I wait in the lobby. I’m the only one left. Where I want to be. The next elevator can’t be long now. Straight shot to 19. Here comes someone. Yes! They work on my floor. Ding-a-ling! Christ it’s here! We both get in. Rapid fire button pushing. Door Close. Door Close. Door Close. Door Close. Door Close. Door Close. Door Close. Door Close. Door Close. Door Close.

Turn to my co-worker in a relaxed voice, “Didn’t want to take the local.”

“Yeah, me neither.” she says.

Phew. Smooth sailing. We pass 15. What a great day. Pass 16. Three more floors. Did you know laughter helps relieve the effects of depression? That’s what the video screen in the elevator tells me. Ding-a-ling!

What the?

The door opens on 17. Guy walks in and pushes the button for 18.

It’s gonna be a long day.

“Jocks only think about sports…

Greg — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 16:13:09 +0000

…nerds only think about sex.” – Louis Skolnick

For years, I have been trying to whittle down the definition and differences between a Nerd and a Geek. It’s taken countless hours of submersion in both cultures; including brief stints of both social abandonment and societal mastery to finally arrive at this hypothesis.

My findings:

Geeks are people who do dorky things (read: math, science, computers, comics, sci-fi) and don’t care what other people say. Geeks have reclaimed their dorkiness and are OK with it.

Nerds are people who do dorky things (read: math, science, computers, comics, sci-fi) but don’t know that other people are looking down on them. Nerds will talk to you about their hobbies assuming that you know what they’re talking about.

This is why I feel the characters of Revenge of the Nerds, were closer to geeks than nerds. They may have started out as nerds, but through their independent character arcs, became geeks. Admittedly, the term was very loosely defined in the early 80’s. The character of Booger, by almost all accounts, would not be considered a nerd today. “Nerd” in that movie was meant more to mean “outcast”. “Geek” was not in widespread use at the time, only being coined a few years earlier.

My interest in this distinction stems from my own grapples with self-identity. I’ve always had a decent handle on the nuances of group dynamics, even if I can be awkward more often than I’m comfortable with. But my interest in dorky things at home (read: math, science, computers, comics, sci-fi) lead to a “dork” gap in my mind. Could I possibly be the nerd that I had so feared? Is that so bad? Nerds are just a little… impassioned right?

Today, it is far more accepted to be a geek than a nerd. And that’s where I feel I fit in. I’m a geek. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a nerd. To quote RotN again, “No-one’s gonna really be free until nerd persecution ends.”

Two weeks ago I found the Venn Diagram below that helps support my hypothesis. It even goes so far as to throw “dweeb” and “dork” in there. Dweeb is a rather antiquated term in my opinion, but the author of this diagram felt it was different enough to include.

Packing a subway car

Greg — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 16:44:25 +0000

The morning commute often leaves me amazed. Somehow, when it seems like there is absolutely no room left for just one additional person in that subway car, we manage to stop and pick up 15 more. Each stop means a slight adjustment for all riders. And somehow we manage. Most of the time this is done peacefully and subconsciously and you end up not having to touch a single stranger. Occasionally my backpack will rub up against someone’s purse or my arm will glance by another person’s arm. But for the most part, you are confined to your own personal space and it works.

This behavior exists with cars too. If you ever stop to think about it, traffic jams are an interesting study in human engineering. Thousands of large, unwieldy jalopies, mere inches away from each other, and only a small percentage of them ever come in contact. Somehow it just works. We follow the rules which say, “Don’t bump into other cars” and it just happens.

Sometimes however, people just can’t figure it out. My commute home last night was one of these times. The car wasn’t even packed. But the way we were all aligned, meant I was bumping into every single person adjacent to me. Of course, I forgive myself of all blame because I know how to act in a subway car. In fact, it could have been just one person throwing a giant human-sized wrench in the works that threw everything into disarray. All I know is that the slightest tilt to one side of the track meant I was bumping into someone. I tried and tried to find my pocket. To find a little personal space that I could call my own. I even brought my backpack around and carried it like a newborn, just to help everyone out. This didn’t do much. I couldn’t get out of this predicament. I can’t tell you how happy I was when those doors opened at Grand st. The relief is brings…

Sometimes folks, the mob simply can’t work it out.