Chips and Salsa

Feeling wiped out today, and my angel of a new boss is letting me out of my shackles a little early so I can go home and germinate by my lonesome. "I'm not sick," I keep telling them. "It's just the aftermath of my allergies." But it's hard to sound convincing when you have the tone of Leonard Cohen after a bender.

Driving home last night, I caught a snippet of "Democracy Now," with host Amy Goodman talking about RFID chips, and how they'll be used to track where we go, what we buy, and just about everything about us. While the government use of such devices is certainly terrifying, I couldn't help being fascinated by the consumer aspect. Products can now be tagged at "birth" and followed from shipment to purchase to disposal. Even if we pick up a product and put it down again on the store shelf, that could be tracked. Every micromovement plotted on some database. Time used, time thrown away, shelf life duration. Everything metered and charted to garner even more fragments on who we are and how or why we buy things. More market research gathered, more analysis done. I can't help but think why all the obsession. It's as if marketers are some off-world sentience who are amazed by human behavior and need to chart it all down, all the way to the tiniest quirk, so they can safely put a tube of toothpaste the shelf.

Such devotion to studying humanity covertly reminds me of the underappreciated Alex Proyas film, "Dark City," where a bunch of menacing Nosferatu-like aliens have kidnapped thousands of humans, the latter of which are toyed with by the former, given memories, given new lives, in order to see what the humans would do. Such actions would reveal what made us us, and would give a dying alien race a chance to survive, through observational osmosis leading to injecting our memories (made up of a viscous fluid) straight into their brains. The aliens, of course, fail because one human figures out he's a lab rat, and begins to use the aliens' power against them (with some help from a pre-Bauerian Kiefer Sutherland, who channels Peter Lorre something fierce).

I'm not a marketer. I don't understand the pressure of having the public buy your razor or your shampoo or your car, but I'm shocked by the way companies lurk in the shadows to gather so much about what's in the end just disposable crap. Really, it is because we aren't filling out consumer surveys that you are spying on us? Just like products that say "fair trade" or "recyclable" or "dolphin safe," I'm guessing there's going to be a techno-organic market in the future where products will sold saying "Chip Free" or "RFIDon't!" Next to the farmer's market salsa. Yum.

Spring

For current and former Catholics (I'm so much in the latter I own real estate), today is the first day of Lent, that time of sacrifice for 40 days and nights, simulating what Jesus went through in the desert. These days, it's less about ash on the forehead and Friday fish and more about the coming of spring. More t-shirts, more sunlight, more green. A time to do some seasonal purging...clothes, winter flab, junk that's found its way into the house. Looking forward to turning the heat down and having my home office not be so bitterly cold when the sun goes down.

Spring, also the time where I remember that I have allergies that pass in a few days, but makes me miserable in the duration. It's a sign that the seasons are changing when I'm sneezing all the time, my nose is raw, and my face feels as if its hanging off my eyesockets. Let my trail of tissues lead you out of winter. Huzzah.

And I don't mean to taunt, but guess who got tickets to an advance screening of "V for Vendetta"?

Almost Makes Aquaman Look Cool

From Tom Tomorrow, it's Pepsiman. Making sure all good Japanese people have a Pepsi. That's it. That's his superpower. People out of Pepsi = Pepsiman saving the day.

I've been staring at the box for a good 10 minutes, and I can't figure why he as a crutch? Maybe due to cola-related diabetes? Yeah, and he has a snowboard.

Also, he has face to speak of but he has a big hole where is mouth should be, obviously to drink plenty of Pepsi. Simply, he is a walking mouth with no eyes, ears, or nose. Thanks for the symbolism and nightmare fuel, Pepsi.

Pepsiman (he must be a DC Comics figure; in the Marvel universe, he'd be Pepsi-Man) also smells like Pepsi. The front of the box goes out of the way to say (in a Japanglish that's so adorable for trying) "All Parts Made of Smelling Material." Frankly, I applaud this move. Too many kids are huffing the wrong things.

But the back of the box is also precious. "He is very confident of his physical ability." Well, good for him. PepsiMom and PepsiDad must be proud.

A quick romp through Google says Pepsiman starred in a game for the Playstation One. Only available in Japan. Busy fellow.

To be fair, this Pepsiman, in his hybrid Power Ranger/Munch's "The Scream"/smellable wearables, looks a far sight better than this version, who shall forever be "the walking yellow nipple."

A quick romp through Wikipedia. An entry on our Mr. Pepsiman (Pepsiman-san?)

Best part: "After delivering the crisp, refreshing beverage, some cruel and painful fate would always occur to him. Whether it's trying to leap through the window of a house, only to hit his head on the frame, or run toward the entrance of a fast food restaurant when the cashier told customers they "ran out of Pepsi", only to start his pshaa and smack into the clear Plexiglas doors, an odd ending never fails to manifest for Pepsiman. There have been more serious finishes, like a crippling fall off the side of a snow-covered mountain, as he yells falling over the ledge. There is no blood or gore, so it's more slapstick than anything."

Well, yeah, because it would suck to have blood and gore all over your target product. Or your mascot. Hyperviolent raping tentacles and apocalyptic motorcycle gangs are fine, same with Lolita comics and Hentai schoolgirls who are part cats (ahem), but don't get them near your product.

I just don't get the Japanese.

Three and out

A few little odds and ends after a long day thinking about Octavia Butler.

I was going to write up a few words about her, but I don't feel like I'm well-versed enough to sum up a titaness' life. I'd be too clumsy, too reaching. While I was staring off into space, trying to grasp the hole in the world she's leaving science fiction, I realized that the best epitath would be...herself. Her works will be the best way to celebrate her and remember her, and when you get to her most recent (and last) novel, "Fledgling," pause and in that stillness mourn a life that ended too soon.

Imagining Douglas Adams meeting her at the Great Beyond, giving her a tour of the place as he shows off this great celestial writing nook where he's been churning out pages. And in the days and years to come, they'll be great writing partners.

Back here in the mortal realm, a trio of things I wanted to hit before I forget.

1) My wife, who was on a tour of the "Veronica Mars" set as part of a blogger event, flies home tonight from her day of rockstar-ism.

2) James Wolcott, that literary scoundrel, got to see "V for Vendetta" early. Lucky bastard.

3) Fantasy author (and all-around good egg, according to my reliable wife) Tamora Pierce, who as been a staple of young female fantasy readers, has signed a deal with Marvel comics to helm a new superhero project titled "White Tiger." Keeping on eye on this one, seeing if Pierce can attract young female readers to this far-too-male genre.

Post-post P.S.

MM, what's going on in Manila?

Loss

Octavia Butler is dead at 58.

I can't seem to find the words right now.