The Car Wash

Imagine your car being conveyed through the various cycles of the car wash, as you gaze through faded and weathered glass wondering, why am I finding this interesting?

Pseudo psychologist Hugo C. Shpritz* said it best: Hidden within our unconscious, we all are nagged by the realization that even the best shower can’t get us as clean as we’d like to be. So, as we watch our cars being washed, we project the experience upon ourselves: being coated in triple foam polish and swept by giant grape leaves, finished in hot carnauba wax, rinsed in pure municipal water, and blown dry in a way no hairstylist could ever match. The result of which leaves us thoroughly reborn and revitalized.

Shpritz goes on to to say, “The car wash embodies our insatiable appetite for renewal at every level. Who doesn't crave an under-body wash and interior detailing – even if we know intuitively that we’re getting hosed when we buy “the works” vs. “full service” or a “bonze” package? Throw in a bit of idol worship as you gaze upon the shiny object that triumphantly emerges at the other end of the tunnel, and you can see why this seemingly routine American experience can be so deeply profound.”

Or, put another way, how getting Shpritzed is yet another way to contemplate the meaning of life.

* Name changed to protect the identity of somebody who actually doesn’t exist.

IMAGE SOURCE: SHUTTERSTOCK

Microwave Timers

Ever done this: you set your microwave timer for three minutes and patiently stand by as it ticks down. Then, as it gets to, let's say, six seconds, you say to yourself: ah, that's enough and hit cancel.

I certainly have. Which, leads to the question: what is it that compels us to stop but a few, inconsequential seconds shy?

The answers lies in the meaning of life.

We all know that an end is eventually in sight. So we look to slow it down, every chance we can.

Or, in the fast-paced world in which we live, impatience runs rampant. If the timer gets to "End" it means patience has prevailed. In the words of Scoopy Doo, rut roh.

Or, it's just a another attempt to gain back something that feels like we're continuously losing: control. Even if it's just three or four seconds at a time.

Maybe it's a bit of all of those. So next time you reach to set that timer on your microwave, perhaps try this instead: One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi ...

Gravy

And the rest is gravy.

According to the Christian Science Monitor (a source I don't reference too often), the phrase "originated from an Old English saying, which implies that life is meat and potatoes, and the luxuries are gravy.

Whether or not that reference is true is not something I'm inclined to devote time to. Though I will say this: gravy is a brilliant metaphor for the meaning of life, capturing the conflict between survival and enjoyment ... crude protein and indulgent flavor ... scraping the pan vs. washing the pan ... triple 0 flour vs. all purpose flour. You get the idea. Or, maybe you don't.

Charles Dickens wrote: "You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!" Taking Mr. Dickens advice, I'll aim to channel my inner gravy every day ... and ride the gravy train.

Even so, the essential question remains: how much gravy is required for one to be happy?   A taste every now and then? A portion every day? A perpetual smothering? To determine that, we'll have to whisk it further. That, at least for now, is what I'll muse upon. (What's the connection to photography, you may ask? Absolutely none. I have a "blog" tab on the site so I figured I might as well use it.)