It’s human nature, I suppose. Many of us hold this burning desire in our souls to dive into the pool of personal nostalgia and revisit moments in our past through either fond or particularly hurtful memories. We do it by retelling old stories, flipping through yellowed photographs in a musty shoebox or simply closing our eyes and mentally taking a stroll down memory lane.
In fact, we are so infatuated with the very premise of nostalgia, we often attempt to learn more about people’s pasts by judging what memories they hold near and dear. We’ve all been asked these questions: What’s your first memory? What were you like in high school? What’s your favorite Christmas present you ever received?
See, every Christmas in my youth brought me wonder, awe and a healthy stash of really cool gifts. Each year’s edition of the holiday provided me unique joy, and there really was never that red bicycle or BB gun under the tree that I hold more dearly than any other. One could say I had a void in my life because I was missing that “special” Christmas present, but I would argue that they were all special.
Well, until this year.
It happened. My world flipped upside down and I received that gift that was so obviously created with me in mind that I instantly knew I was holding something very special in my quivering fingers. My pulse raced and my eyes stung from the steady flow of sweat cascading down from my forehead that I wasn’t sure I could stave off the excited dizziness long enough to enjoy my new-found love. Like Joanie found Chachi, I knew I had found my soul mate.
Flipping the object over and over again in my hands I realized I had indeed become in possession of a very important, and useful, creation of the best technology has to offer. It is not a new idea, mind you, just the simplification and improvement of a classic inspiration.
Yes, I got the new battery-operated, remote-controlled flatulence machine.
Move over, whoopi cushion. Though your contribution to society is indeed significant, there is a new sherrif in town. My new present, which we’ll simply refer to as “The Blaster,” has amplified speakers and 15 sounds, bringing the experience of baking air biscuits to life with the simple push of a button.
I know what you’re thinking — this is the most juvenile, repugnant device you have ever heard of, and to glorify this blight on proper society is to contribute to the downfall of our civilization.
To that, I push the button on my remote.
This thing is a joy-giver. Sure, I might have irritated my mother a bit during Christmas dinner when I planted it under my father’s chair, and I’m quite certain I gave my little nephew a shock when I slid it behind him while he was lying on the floor playing with his presents, but both instances provided me immediate glee. Isn’t that what the holidays are all about?
The device is a victimless crime if there ever was one. Fine, I’ll alow that the recipient of the gag might get a little embarrassed when The Blaster announces its presence at a surprising time, and, yes, I might be making myself to be a bit of a nimrod as I consistently break into tears of laughter upon each trumpeting of success The Blaster bellows, but that’s the point.
Silliness is sometimes needed in life.
We have an office full of people doing very serious things at a very hectic pace. The reporters attempt to maintain integrity in the editorial department of The Point by being fair and accurate, the design team agonizes over every ad to make sure that our customers get the maximum use of their space, the ad reps scurry about trying to keep their clients satisfied and promoting the right things and the front office people attempt to keep all the mayhem under control while being the face of our paper to the people who walk through our doors. Add to that the headaches Susan Lyons endures each day with running the asylum and the mental beatdowns I consistently receive because something couldn’t get in the paper or by simply being in Susan’s path at the right time. There was one time I had the audacity to say hello to her at the wrong time and she grabbed me by the collar and ...
But I digress.
My point is that we all get along and get out a pretty decent product every week despite the tensions — and I’d hazard a guess that many of you go through similar tensions every week in your own jobs and lives.
Sometimes you need that guilty little pleasure every so often to escape the realities of reality, be it chocolate or a certain song or a long weekend away from home. It’s something to break the routine, and to carry us away from the mundane — kind of like that deep, blasting sound coming from Sam Harvey’s desk drawer.