A summer or two ago, in an attempt to hunt down a particularly annoying mosquito, I devised a plan that called for a bit of sacrifice. The insect in question had infiltrated my place and had been feasting for a few days, and I wanted the kind of relief that soothing aloe could never offer. I donned long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, socks, a cap, a pair of gloves, even a scarf. Then, I sat and waited for the telltale, high-pitched buzzing.
The little fella didn’t disappoint. I proceeded to roll up my left sleeve and expose a small piece of arm. Sure enough, it landed there within moments, like a moth to the flame. Is that a racist thing to say about insects? In any case, BAM! The punchline concluded with mosquito viscera smeared on my arm. At the time, I felt victorious. Clever, even. Now, I’m not so sure if the juice was worth the squeeze.
That’s because, faced with another mosquito tonight, I rolled out the vacuum cleaner–and caught the bastard mid-air with the wand. Forget “clever.” This felt bad-ass. Pragmatically speaking, I accomplished the same outcome with significantly less effort. Plus, I didn’t have to wear a fuckin’ scarf in August. There’s a party this weekend, and I’m going to take the same approach and wing it. There was a time when I would’ve planned and agonized, but no more. I’m just going to go, as is the custom of normal people.
For a few harrowing days, panic set in as the specter of running loomed nigh, nearly compelling me to honest exercise. For some reason, I thought the 5K was scheduled for mid-September, and as soon as the second week of August hit, I lurched into planning mode: where to practice, how far, when.
Indeed, a poor man’s montage had already begun constructing itself in my mind, complete with a final slow-mo shot of the finish line. I know the endgame. Intuitively, I regard a mile as one unit of ugh, which means 5K will be roughly three units of ugh, plus a little extra that will likely set in around mile two. You can imagine my temporary relief, then, when someone reminded me the run will actually happen in November.
I haven’t completely succumbed to procrastination, though. In fact, I’ve explored a few “couch-to-5K” regimens online, and the timeframe seems to be approximately eight weeks to get in shape. But I’m under no delusions. On paper, this entire experience would shunt me into a healthier lifestyle. I can tell you with full confidence that, upon conclusion of this ordeal, I will regress immediately to my sedentary, LCD-fueled existence. Perhaps I will need a “5K-to-couch” guide in November. Then again, you could say I wrote the book on the matter–or, rather, I’ve almost started writing the book.
In a major coup for self-control, I resisted plunking down $170 on Kickstarter’s darling of the moment last night, though it was touch-and-go for a while. To be perfectly honest, this was technically my third time resisting, because I had actually backed it twice before. Backed it, and then promptly backed out after having second thoughts.
But with the funding period in its final hours, coupled with a limited brown edition of the hardware, I considered recommitting. In fact, I found myself on the payment confirmation screen, cursor hovering over the pledge button, before I talked some sense into myself. Indeed, I was on the razor’s edge, due in no small part to the limited edition offer.
I’m a sucker for those. For whatever reason, mixing scarcity and exclusivity hits all the right receptors in my noggin, liquefying my guards against marketing and rendering me extremely pliant. It’s not just game consoles, either. A limited run Beefy Nacho Burrito at Taco Bell? Yes, please, and quickly. A burrito would set me back only a buck or two, as opposed to the 170 clams I would’ve sunk into a brown Ouya. Then I realized someone was basically spray-painting it with an arbitrary color–and lacquering it, potentially, with a rich coat of my gullibility.