To Bleep Or Not To Bleep

There's a Subaru ad running now in which they use the term "bleep-holes."  We're to assume that "bleep" stands in for "ass" in this case. I feel the need to let them know: that just sounds silly.

I understand where they're coming from. As a child, I briefly tried using the word "bleep" as a stand-in for profanity; it's a tempting way to bridge the gap between personal politeness and a society that wants you to show tokens of rebellion. But they'll learn - as I did - that it doesn't work. It's a redundancy that substitutes one symbolic sound for another, thus exposing the arbitrary nature of linguistic associations. And it just sounds stupid. You're making a mechanical sound as part of a sentence and hoping it sounds a little bit badass. Oh I'm sorry, bad-bleep.

It's worse in this ad, since they're trying to sound humanizingly cynical. But instead they come off as patronizingly artificial. So please, Subaru, even if it is suited to your adorably dorky image, please stop making a fool of yourself.

Half-Dialog

Dialog in video games is an awkward issue. One day, voice recognition and artificial intelligence will be advanced enough that you'll be able to just turn to any character and start a conversation, and they'll respond intelligently. But until then, the game designers have to do something to cover for the fact that language - one of the defining aspects of the human experience - is missing. There are a few ways to do this:

• If the game is a dumb-enough violence-fest, they can ignore it entirely.
• They can concoct a setting where the player gets all their info in one way communications, like e-mail or recordings. Say, you're the lone cop fighting your way into the criminal's compound, Die Hard style. That's a neat solution, but it may require a really contrived plot.
• Have the player character say certain fixed lines. That can make the game seem more complete, since your character talks to others like a real person, but it can be frustrating if the character acts in obviously bad ways.
• Give the player a small menu of possible things to say. That gives the player more of a feeling of participation, but it still doesn't seem like a real conversation.

But there is another way: have other characters talk to the player, but not give the player a chance to respond. If the other characters give all the info the player needs, and never call attention to the fact the player is not talking, this approach can work.

That's the system used in the popular Half-life games. Main character Gordon Freeman never says a word. Others talk to him, but never seem to notice that Freeman himself stays silent. Well, there is one quick joke early in Half-life 2, when another character notes that he doesn't say much. It's a funny, self-deprecating joke from the developers, but it would have been better at the end of the game, so that you don't spend the whole game noticing how weird it is that everyone is talking to you without expecting any response.

The lack of speech would be easier to believe if your character were some underling that gets commands from more important people, without a chance for input. But Gordon Freeman is a physicist-turned-action-hero. Surely everyone would want to talk to him wherever he goes.

I suspect a lot of players don't really worry about this problem of game realism, since many of them try to break out of the story's reality anyway. In his book, Designing Games, Tynan Sylvester describes what he calls "desk jumping." It's when a player does something out of the ordinary in a game just because they can. For instance, you could jump on your commanding officer's desk while he's giving you your next assignment, just to see if he's been programmed to notice. I generally don't do this, and instead play my part: I want to get my money's worth out of the experience. So I've done what I can to try to make Half-life's conversations seem more natural. Unfortunately, that's usually limited to nodding or shaking my head in response to what others say, since that's the only way I can feel like I'm an active participant.

But it's occurred to me that Gordon Freeman has my ideal situation. As a person who is introverted but not antisocial, my dream is to have people care about me and pay attention to me, yet not require me to talk or start any conversation. I'd love to be in his place, even if I had to single-handedly repel an alien invasion to get there.

Smoke 'Em Whether Or Not You Got 'Em

There should be some sort of non-smoking equivalent of smoking. That is, we should have an excuse to go outside too. Often, during a break in any sort of job or event, I find myself waiting for the smokers to do their thing.  I do my best to waste time until they get back, say by using the bathroom or getting a drink.  But it never quite fills the time.

You have to admit that if you look past the whole decreased-life-expectancy thing, smoking has its uses. It's an excuse to take a break; it's an excuse to go outside. But it also has less obvious benefits. I noticed when working in an office that the strongest personal connections between people in different departments were between smokers. After all, they'd spent plenty of time together.  When groups had to work together, they often communicated using those smoking-based relationships rather than the ones set out in the corporate hierarchy.

So we should create a similar vice. One that's not bad for our health of course. But it has to be something that requires going outside. Maybe burning incense? Some sort of skin treatment requiring a portable sauna?

I don't know why smokers would give all this up by using e-cigarettes. But if smokers are going to be encroaching on non-smokers' turf, it's only fair that it goes both ways.

Conspicuous Consumption

I live alone, can get to a number of grocery stores easily, and I don't like to plan. This means that I make a large number of small shopping trips, rather than a big weekly trip like most people. The point is that I often shop at irregular intervals, where I buy odd combinations of things I happen to be running out of.

I became conscious of this a few years ago when I got to the checkout and realised that I was buying pickles and ice cream. No, I wasn't pregnant, nor was anyone in my household, I just happened to need those two things.

That purchase seemed to tell an implied story about me, one so economical Ernest Hemingway would be proud of it.  Even if it wasn't really true. So now I often wonder about what people might assume about my purchases. For instance, at the bulk store, I often purchase spaghetti and semi-sweet chocolate. I feel I should reassure them that I won't be having them together.

All this came to mind recently when I made another potentially suspicious purchase.  I'd like to reassure everyone that I just happened to be running low on toilet paper the week before Halloween.  That's the only reason I was buying it.

Please Pay Me Before Reading This

Today I tried to buy gas. I lifted the nozzle, put it in the car, and then I waited for the screen on the pump to tell me to select the gasoline grade. I know that may sound submissive, but in the past when I do things out of order or before the pump expects it, it freaks out.

This time, it seemed to take forever to ask for the grade. I was starting to wonder if something was wrong, when I heard the attendant from the office saying something about Pump 4. I realized with a sort of horror that it was my pump. I pressed the button on the intercom and asked her to repeat herself, but it was useless trying to communicate over the din of the traffic on the subway-P.A.-quality speakers. So I headed to the office, in front of all the other motorists, like a kid called to the principal's office.

She explained that it's a pre-pay pump; you have to pay before getting the gas. Since I had declined to pay-at-the-pump with a credit card, I had to pay in the office first.

I'd seen some gas stations institute that rule, but it was usually only at night. I'm guessing they were doing it here because the recent spike in gas prices had lead to more people driving off without paying.

So I paid - thanks to her promoting me to guess how much I'd want - and returned to actually pump my newly-purchased gas. Of course, I want to check and see if there was some indication on the pump telling me about their new policy, a notice I had somehow missed. Sure enough, there was a sign on top of the pump explaining how little they trust us, in the friendliest way possible.

It was a bit embarrassing. But I feel a little justified in missing it for a few reasons:

• That's above most people's eye-level.
• It's nowhere near the screen, or anything else a customer is likely to look at.
• Honestly, when has anything important been placed on top of a gas pump?

But especially the last one: I'm sure I noticed the sign, but unconsciously ignored it. Usually any sign up there is just an invitation to get their points card, this month's special on antifreeze, or an explanation of why the high gas prices are really the government's fault.

So now I'm worried: what other important things have I missed because they were in some place I've learned to ignore? You know, pizza flyers, phone vendors at the mall, downtown lampposts, the Weather Network.  The secret to happiness could be right under our noses, but we miss it, because they printed it on the public washroom hand-dryer instructions.  Now I'm going to pay attention to everything, even if it takes me twice as long to do everything.

Cellevator

It just occurred to me that in the year since I've had this (mobile) phone, I don't think I've used it in the elevator yet. That may seem like an odd thing to point out, I realize.  But when I was non-mobile - on the tech outside looking in - the elevator was one of the prime places I saw people using their phones. Many people would whip the phone out before the doors had even closed, and be going through texts or tweets or something.

Elevators have always been awkward spaces for me; I'm unsure if I should start a conversation, or just watch the floors go by. Phones changed all that. I didn't have to worry about conversations when everyone else steps in and immediately buries their faces in their phones.  I assumed I'd eagerly take up this behaviour too, but it never did happen.  There never seems to be anything I can look up on the phone that can't wait the one minute until I get to my apartment.

Bladraw

Bladraw, Definition:
The stalemate that occurs between a couple of men at closely spaced urinals, when neither can urinate because of the presence of the other.

You Looking At Me Looking At You

The other day I was stopped at a red light, when a cyclist whipped around the corner on the other side of the street.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was bald (not unusual) not balding, but with no hair at all (also not unusual) and seemed to even be lacking eyebrows (more unusual.)  So I turned to look, to see if my peripheral perception had been correct.  Of course, that's the point he looked my way and saw me looking at him.

So that made me feel bad.  Whether he's fighting cancer, or has some other medical condition, he's surely used to - and sick of - people staring at him.  I swear I wasn't staring, but still, from his perspective I was yet another person making him feel like he's on display.

I'm sure I'm not alone in having experienced this before: generally I'm not going to stare at someone, that's impolite.  But if a person has some easily-seen physical anomaly, you end up unthinkingly looking their way as soon as you encounter them.  And then you force yourself not to look, and I'm sure it's equally obvious to them that you are pointedly not looking at them.  I hope that people in that position would understand that seeing people looking their way is not necessarily the result of a person consciously treating them as a spectacle, but I'm sure it's easy to lump us in with people who just don't care.

Japanese Restaurants, Mosques, Doctor's Offices?

So I walk into the doctor’s office, and there’s a big sign in the entryway asking everyone to take off their shoes upon entering.  They do this during the winter months, and I know from the past that people do generally follow this request.  But now it’s near the end of winter - there’s still some snow on the ground, but the temperature is above zero and the ground is mostly dry.  So do I follow the instructions?  It doesn’t get any better when I get inside: there are only a couple of people in the waiting area, and one pair of boots on the big mat where people usually leave their footwear.

So what do I do?  Kindly follow the directions of the handmade bristol board sign that someone obviously put a lot of work into and in the process timidly bend to imposed authority?  Or ignore the directions and stand up for common sense and in the process be one of those arrogant jerks who feels he’s above the rules? 

I went with the former, and took off my shoes.  As I waited, several others came in, and none of them took off their shoes, so I look like an idiot in my socks surrounded by people wearing shoes.  So when society collapses, don’t blame me: I’ve been a martyr for law and order.

I'm Speechless

Unlike a lot of people, I'm reluctant to spout off every opinion I have on the Internet.  Yes, I know, I'm writing this in a blog; but other than the odd opinion here in my little corner of the Web, I don't go telling everyone what I think about everything.  I've never left a comment on YouTube, for instance.  I guess it's a form of shyness: I'm just not confident that anyone else out there is going to care what I think.

However, others are different.  Take this commenter I recently found on Google+ (Not the Spanish one, the next one):

So let that be a lesson for myself, and anyone else out there.  Your opinion is worth writing about, because apparently even no opinion at all is worth writing about.

On The Buses

Walking home today, I walked past a bus stopped at a red light.  It was one of those buses with an ad completely covering the side of the bus, with even the windows covered with that perforated one-way poster material so people inside can still see out. 

Sometimes those whole-bus ads are well done - the most memorable being a bread ad where the bus was made to look like a giant loaf of bread.  More often though, it's a real estate agent with their picture blown up to humongous proportions.  I don't really get those ads: how is seeing a big picture of the agent going to make us want to use their services?  They're reasonably good-looking people, but not exactly supermodels.  It would be like a restaurant ad that doesn't show you what the food looks like, but does include a photo of the chef.

And if I was going to have my picture blown up so my face is the size of an SUV, I'd want it to be a really nice picture.  I'd find a photographer with the 20 gigapixel camera, and personally Photoshop the result to remove any blemish that would end up being an inch or more across.  But somehow real estate agents are okay with fuzzy, washed-out photos that look like they were taken with the first generation of camera-phones.

This ad, however, was a much nicer ad for a new condo development.  As a downtown resident, I have an interest in new urban development in the city, so I was interested in where this new building would be going.  The ad didn't say where it would be, so I had a good look at the artist's rendition of the structure to see if I could recognise the location.  As I'm staring at the picture, it occurs to me that it's directly over one of the bus windows, so there's probably someone inside wondering why some weirdo suddenly stopped walking down the street and started staring intently at him.

Corded Phones

I always wondered why the cell phones in stores are tethered down. It's not like they're actual phones - they're just worthless plastic mockups. And yet, someone does want to steal them, since you so often see them missing.

I figured it out today. I arrived at the elevator just as another person did. It was one of those awkward situations where I would have said hello, but the other person never did anything that could be construed as eye contact. So we're standing there waiting for the elevator in silence; I'm feeling stupid.

But not her - she pulls out her phone and begins... I don't know, doing something with it. It was right then that I would have given anything for a small flat piece of plastic to fiddle with, just as an excuse not to stand there doing nothing. Certainly the desire to avoid such social trauma in the future would easily give me the strength to snap that little spring-loaded cord.