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When it comes to things that are cyclical in nature, the ones most easily-predicted are, without a doubt, ones that are directly related to the whims of people. There are all sorts of  trends that come and go each year, like senioritis, making resolutions, patterns of shopping… the list goes on (although not very far for me since I only had a 1×2 inch scrap of paper to scrawl my notes upon). One invaluable tool for tracking the Ouroboros-like beast of human interests is Google Trends, which was reintroduced to me by my brother. For those of you who haven’t checked this out yet, this toy allows you to check the frequency your particular term has been searched for with Google. The imagination runs wild…

After exploring the trends associated with juvenile queries like “buttsex”, “boobies”, and “orgies” and seeing no obvious trends, my brother and I moved onto more serious terms. Predictably enough, “turkey” showed a spike in  frequency twice a year: Thanksgiving and Christmas. “Eggs” had their 15 minutes around Easter time, “pranks” were in high demand just before and on April first, and great interest in  “shopping” took place during the holiday season.

After getting bored with the easy ones, we put a little brain work into our terms and discovered that “dieting”, “weight loss”, “quit smoking”, and “champagne” all peaked at the end of each year. I put my guess to the test with “thesis”, and sure enough, it spiked around the beginning and end of each semester (perhaps for those grad students who show initial interest in what will be due, and then again near the end to frantically figure out how to accomplish what will be due?). “Wedding” had small spikes in the spring, summer, and fall, but had a huge lull  during the winter months. “Jewelry” and “diamonds” were eagerly sought around Valentine’s Day.

I think we all get the gist of these annual happenings, right? Well how about singular and interesting spikes?

For example, never before had people been so interested in Saddam Hussein until the day he was executed (thanks a heap, YouTube). And spinach was extraordinarily intriguing when the whole E. coli deal went down. I didn’t check, but I’d bet just about anything that pigs are experiencing a lot of popularity at the moment. And then there are people who win stuff on reality TV shows, who get feverishly searched for until the next person wins it by combining the contestant’s name and the show he/she was on (“David Cook, American Idol” or “Bob Crowley, Survivor” will get big hits for a while).

And while “superbowl” itself has its predicted spikes at the beginning of February every year, and “nipple” typically has a steady– albeit slow– stream of Googlings, if you add those two terms and throw in “Janet Jackson”, you’ve just hit on a veritable trifecta. Common Spike Phenomena.

(Note: “Nipple ring” could replace “nipple” and garner similar results)

Even after another hour or so playing around with Google Trends, I was unable to beat that discovery. Oddly sexual queries like “Vaseline, cucumbers” yielded no appreciable signs of CSP, nor did “sex, candy” (Sorry, Marcy Playground!). I decided to stop before I exhausted myself, lucky to have scored just one Google grand slam, but not before haphazardly throwing a few more combinations out there (“bubble gum, rocket launcher”, “shoe bomb, horse shoe”, and “aardvark, watermelon”). Sadly, my pessimism was justified as none of these last-ditch efforts to find a preposterous example of CSP were successful.

But maybe it’s just as well. I’m not exactly sure how I would react if I found overwhelming CSP with “bondage, teapot”.

When I first arrived at the idea for this post, I pitched it to a person I knew would appreciate both its brilliance and bizarreness: my brother. After laying down my thesis, he paused, smirked, and asked me– and I’m paraphrasing what he said– how the hell did I come up with that? Well I didn’t have answer for him then, and I still don’t have one. It was just something that popped into my head in those minutes/hours while I’m trying to fall asleep and it was too good to forget. So here’s what I’m saying…

Infant baptism is like an eBayed level 80 in World of Warcraft.

I love World of Warcraft. I think it’s such an amazing game with so many things to enjoy. It has incredible detail, fascinating lore behind it, and there’s just so much to do. In WoW, like in the real world, there are people who just want the end result without putting in any of the work. This is where eBay comes in. It’s a well-known fact (among people who play) that there are people who have been able to turn quite a profit by purchasing a copy of World of Warcraft, leveling a single character up to the maximum, getting high-end gear, and then selling the account (the username and password) on eBay to the highest bidder. I have a friend who’s done this and said he’s made as much as $800 on one account.

So now we, the hard-working lovers of the game, have any number of level 80s in supurb gear who don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. They haven’t been with their character since the beginning, meaning they don’t know all the finer details of how it functions. They don’t know the lingo, they don’t know the stories, they have no experience aside from logging in and beating stuff up. They’ve missed out on the best part of the game– growing up. These folks are not people you want in your group because they’ve yet to work out the kinks in steering their character around. They’ve arrived at Point B with no idea how they got there, or even where Point A is.

Likewise, I think philosophy and religion are absolutely fascinating. I find myself to be in a state of undecidedness on many things, but if I wanted to pin myself down with labels I’d have to say I’m an agnostic deist. I also have a penchant for investigating the writings of atheists and imagining how I’d feel if I didn’t believe in God at all, which is kind of the philosophical equivalent to trying on a bathingsuit without your underwear. I did it because it was convenient and more comfortable that way, and nobody will know I did anything at all. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice to make, but I did it and that’s that. And it looked great on me.

But I digress.

Anyway, I feel that religion has the potential to be a very great thing in the lives of some people. If I spend years and years searching for something I can call the truth for myself, then nobody out there can say I did anything wrong. No matter where I end up, the journey I made was mine. In fact, I can’t imagine anything more fun than being lost and exploring different avenues of faith and reason. Every new thing I learn and every new question I ask is uniquely mine, and nobody else can share that or take it away from me. In the Christian religions, the ultimate move to make when someone says “Yes, this is my truth” is to get baptised and fully embraced by their church. It’s like parking your car in your driveway and saying “Ah, this is home, and I’m glad to have found it!” Each person who has “found faith” and been baptised as an adult has probably found with it a sense of serene satisfaction. Their journey, while maybe not at an end, is at least back on the MapQuest directions on how to get there from here.

That being said, why does anybody think that baptising their baby is a good idea? It’s effectively a denial of their birthright to a free mind and ability to find their own truth. Sure, they can still figure it out later, but some people think “Oh, well I’ve been baptised… So I guess that’s it.” The kid has arrived on the scene having achieved– nay, been given the greatest prize of all. They’ve already missed out on the best part and they don’t even know it. They’ve got the “gear” but no idea how it works.

In conclusion, my friends, I hope I have done an effective job of explaining why though baptism might be your way of reaching the mountaintop of monotheism, it really doesn’t make any sense to plop your baby down at the summit. And it also baffles me that someone could care so little about the hows, whys, and wheres that they would pay $800 (and not even WoW gold!) to get the “what”. We gotta stop being such a bunch of eager beavers and realize that the best part of life is LIVING it and the most important part of getting an answer is asking a question.

In a book I recently read, I came across a very interesting quote. It said that “every attempt to persuade people that something is good (or bad) in itself, and not merely in its effects, depends upon the art of rousing feelings, not upon an appeal to evidence.”

Because I understand that mentioning a moment of fear I experienced when I was sure I was wearing nothing flame retardant to inhibit the fiery mess I’d make if I happened to explode from rage when I witnessed four men bouncing and lip syncing to “Hot and Cold” will do little to bring about sympathy, I will attempt to persuade you all that Katy Perry is bad by employing a strategy that will both rouse emotions and appeal to evidence.

Point 1: Katy Perry offers nothing unique to the musical world.

A relatively rational individual who has listened to Ms. Perry’s music for any length of time will come upon two conclusions: the songs are catchy as genital herpes and the lyrics bring to mind a dump truck full of stale mixed metaphors covered in smelly cliches. Her big hit songs include such lyrical gems as “I kissed a girl, and I liked it”, “you’re so gay and you don’t even like boys”, and the entirety of the chorus for “Hot and Cold”. Hooray, Katy! You kissed a girl like so many drunk chicks before you in an attempt to explore your sexuality and test the limits of your relationship! How we laud you and your open-mindedness! News flash: I don’t fucking care, and that’s mostly because that song was done 13 years ago way more impressively by someone more talented than you times infinity. And how can a guy be gay if he doesn’t like boys? I know you’re not aware of the more old-fashioned usage of the word, so are you using “gay” as an insult? How urbane. And could you please be more creative than “hot and cold”, “yes and no”, “up and down”? I know your manager probably informed you that your core audience would be 15 year-old girls and boys of varying levels of intelligence, but I doubt he said “your songs can only be as smart as your dumbest fan.”

Point 2: There is nothing extraordinary about her music.

I think it would be safe to say that her two biggest draws are her infectiously catchy melodies and the shock value of “going there”. Her songs are frequently stuck in my head, I’ll give her that. I’d also give her a kick to the tits if I had the chance for believing for even a New York minute that she’s unique and groundbreaking in any way. Oh, my! She’s not even bothering to mask her messages with symbolism or allusions! What will we do with this bare-bones barrage? Um, we could always take the lack of extra effort to conceal for what it is: an inability to craft thoughtful phrases due to a weak literary imagination. It’s so tired to be bold these days. We’ve had blatant and wild since the ’60′s back when it really was shocking, so if you want to be someone today you’ve really gotta bring it. Does she bring it? No. I’d rather have to research the meanings of lyrics to get the full understanding than begin the process of wading out into the wordy waters only to realize I’m standing in a puddle. I’ve been sensing a downward spiral in popular music in the past few years, and in the same way I doubt humans today are the pinnacle of evolution, I also doubt Katy Perry will mark the end of pop’s devolution. That frightens me deeply.

Point 3: I have too much in common with Katy Perry to not hate her.

Katy Perry is female. I am female. Instant connection. I have no desire to transition in order to escape this gender commonality with her, but nor would I three-move check-mate the males of this world into death by shame by coercing her to have a gender identity epiphany and transition herself. I also wouldn’t dare to slide her over into the androgynous category as mentioned by Aristophanes since I consider the modern application of androgyny to be quite attractive. Unfortunately, the only solution might be to make Katy Perry a former member of the human race. She’s a blight on humanity and we must act swiftly and without mercy. Immediate excommunication.

I have more points, but I grow weary of reining in my fury in order to present hard-hitting facts to further discredit this musical scam artist. If there is anybody brave enough to rebut me, please bring it on. I do so love a debate, and I feel confident that I could verbally decapitate an opponent in this battle. In the same way that we cannot help with whom we fall in love, we likewise cannot help what we find to be an auditory pleasure. So long as the affection for Ms. Perry and her stupid-ass songs is only skin-deep, I am confident I can remain friends with anyone who does not 100% agree with me on this.

I’m taking this creative writing class at the moment. It’s a pretty neat class, especially given my interest in writing and all that. So far, it’s been a great springboard to help me with techniques that would have otherwise stayed un-honed and I’m enjoying the experience overall.

For next Tuesday, I have due a five to seven page fiction piece on pretty much anything I choose. I’ve got my topic, and after much metamorphosis, things are pretty well-cemented down. It’s going to be filled with regret and a feeling of hopelessness, but in the end –SPOILER ALERT!– the protagonist will ultimately be thinking “Hey, I can turn my life around tomorrow. It’s never too late.”

You know, that sappy shit.

But more than a touching tale of new beginnings, this break-out short story is about riding the bus. I’m happy to report that my misfortune is now doubling as a new way to get around and my muse these days. I’m also excited that this blog is now safe from becoming one of those sitcoms where every episode is complete on its own and is never referred to in later seasons (How do those writers think we’re just going to ignore the fact that there is a totally new actor playing that character or that last week that person was on his/her deathbed only to be back in action this week with no explanation as to how the situation was resolved?)

So, faithful readers, I’m bringing back the topic of my car having shit the bed on me. I’m still carless, and I’m not even really searching that hard right now. I’m kind of resignedly dependent on the family VW and the bus for the time being. The bus isn’t that bad, though. There’s so much weird stuff going on if you just look for it. Great details to be written down for future use in a story or something.

For example, the VERY FIRST DAY I took the bus I had one of those conversations where I learned all about one person by only asking the “…and you?” questions and giving curt answers to ones directed at me. Her name is Amy. She doesn’t go to school because she can’t afford it, but she would love to go back to school. She thinks that it would be great to go back to school because on top of learning lots of stuff, she would have access to the school cafeteria and she could eat there every day. Do they serve pizza? she asked. I could eat pizza every day if I had the chance. And do they have vending machines? What do they have in them? Snacks and stuff, cool. Do they have soda machines? Do they have Mountain Dew? Man, I love Mountain Dew. I drink Mountain Dew every day (She was, at the time, holding a bottle of Mountain Dew, so I wasn’t about to doubt her).

What spurred this intimate conversation, you are wondering? I moved my backpack and asked if she wanted to sit down. I know– that will be the last time I do that.

And I saw winos! They were huddled together in the bus stop booth thing and passing around a bottle in a paper bag! Their conversation was mumbled and rambling at best (and downright incoherent and loud at worst) and they were chain-smoking Swisher Sweets. Cherry, I think.

And there was this old lady with her grey hair pulled back tight in a bun, with this black coat that covered her like some deflated parachute. She was rocking back and forth and muttering to herself. I think she was just moving her lips, because I tried very hard to hear what she was saying. Her arthritic hands looked like claws protruding from the cuffs of her oversized jacket.

And most recently, this very loud woman was talking at this man and she was telling him how she stood by her boyfriend while he was in prison and how now he’s got a new girlfriend but she’s not mad. She likes her. And she doesn’t want the new girlfriend to be afraid of her because she doesn’t want to hurt her ex, so she’d never try to get her to run. In fact, if anything ever happens to Current Girlfriend, Ex Girlfriend will call her cousins to lay the smack down on the offender because her cousins were crazy fighters and were brought up on charges for assault at one point. But they got off. But if anything happens to Current Girlfriend…

This is spun gold, people! You’re never as exciting as those unusual folks you’ll meet on the bus! Two bucks a day, two or three times a week, and I can fill up a notebook with all the awesome stuff I see and hear. And since you never really find out who these people are (except the Amys you meet), you can use and twist their stories to fit your purposes freely!

Bus stops are the Parisian cafes of the twenty-first century.

I have always prided myself on being a musically open person. I’ve got a pretty wide variety of artists on my MP3 player, spanning multiple genres with classic Ella Fitzgerald, guilty pleasure Christina Aguilera, thrashing and screaming System of a Down, the mandolin-driven Ditty Bops, the afrocentric Tribe Called Quest, jazz flutist Dave Valentin, rambling Phish, and so on. I’ll try anything and will probably find at least one thing I like in every sub-sub category there is except Spanish death-metal. I couldn’t get into Brujeria.

That being said, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to like post-rock.

For those of you unfamiliar with this genre, post-rock can sometimes be described as ambient, droning, emotional, aimless, and/or deeply stirring. I have long since found the concept of post-rock to be quite interesting. However, my many experiences in sampling this category have left me feeling extremely bored. I once tried to listen to post-rock to help lull me to sleep and instead found– much to my surprise– that I was boring myself awake. I wanted so bad for post-rock to occupy some small niche in my life, yet I couldn’t possibly do it. I think the idea of it is awesome and hip, yet for all my respect I have not one bit of interest in it.

–To digress for a moment, I would like to set the scene to introduce someone–

The web affords each of us as much or little anonymity as we want. In the spirit of keeping identities private, I hereby declare that my good friend– who shall be making future appearances, I’m sure– will be known as Pudding from this day forward. This decision was made partly because of my desire to hold back on personal details, and also because the idea of giving my friend a Bill Cosby-endorsed product as a moniker amused me greatly. I reserve the right to mention Pudding’s family either by real name, by using a derivation of Pudding (for instance Br’er Pudding, Mrs. Br’er Pudding, Mama and Papa Pudding, etc), or by another desert name. Names are subject to change with little notice. Pseudonyms will be issued as needed or for humor’s sake.

–End digression–

To speak on behalf of post-rock, I have asked Pudding what he likes about the genre. Even though I razz him a good bit for being pro-something that I am emphatically con, I definitely respect his opinion and even envy it a little. For him, post-rock has the ability to “convey feelings so powerfully and intensely”, but it’s subtle enough that each listen can get you to notice something completely different. He likes how the typical lack of lyrics forces the artist to show you rather than just tell you what he or she is feeling using musical elements alone. I totally get what he’s saying, and I only wish I could find a song that could show you how out of the loop I feel on this matter.

There was one time, though. One time where post-rock was it for me, where I was so into it I could hardly stand it. The song was building, and the tension was increasing, and everything was crescendoing… It was insane. I wanted the song to just resolve, climax, end, ANYTHING! Every beat in every measure was every emotion for me. For one afternoon I loved post-rock and everything it did for and to me. And then I realized I couldn’t spend the rest of my life high. Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.

But for those of you who yearn for more depth in your music and take musical exploration seriously, I recommend giving post-rock a shot. I don’t know anything about it, but Pudding’s got a decent arsenal of artists and albums from what he tells me. I wish I liked it, I really do. I think it’s sooooooophisticated (I can never remember what song that’s from, but I always think of it when I’m about to say “sophisticated”). And cool.

But I don’t like it and that’s kind of a bummer.