I'd Sell My Soul for a Cup of Joe
We have an assorted collection of coffee mugs at work, collected and added to randomly over the years--everything from the Allstate Insurance mug and the Detroit Institute of Art mug to my personal favorite: the mug covered with Rainbow Colored Hot Air Balloons. It's truly beautiful and I'm pretty sure I'm drawn to it because it tempers the everyday absurdity that is office life.
But I digress. My real reason for bringing this up is that there's this University of Michigan MBA mug that I refuse to touch. I avoid it like the snakes in the burning pet shop in Pee Wee's Big Adventure. I'm not entirely sure why this is, and I've known some wonderful people who have MBAs. Yet I have this deep, irrational fear that just touching this mug (let alone drinking from it) will pull some secret lever and send me down a firey slide to hell. Which all begs the larger question: why would I mentally assign such power and importance to a COFFEE MUG? [refer back to absurdity and office life]
I guess I like to laugh off superstition. In fact, "No. 13 Baby" is one of my favorite Pixies songs. But it creeps into life at odd times. I remember playing baseball at 15 and having the same ritual of eating a triple-layer peanut butter & jelly before games and chewing Gatorade brand gum during the games (advertisers note: hook, line, and fucking sinker). As it was I was a terrible batter, so you'd think I'd shake up the ritual a bit, but I think I feared performing even *worse* (not sure how I could've been worse--perhaps by getting thwacked in the skull by a baseball bat?).
Hmm...how to get from coffee mugs and demonic talismans to baseball in three moves or less. Must be a Monday. Oh--and don't touch my hot air balloon mug.
But I digress. My real reason for bringing this up is that there's this University of Michigan MBA mug that I refuse to touch. I avoid it like the snakes in the burning pet shop in Pee Wee's Big Adventure. I'm not entirely sure why this is, and I've known some wonderful people who have MBAs. Yet I have this deep, irrational fear that just touching this mug (let alone drinking from it) will pull some secret lever and send me down a firey slide to hell. Which all begs the larger question: why would I mentally assign such power and importance to a COFFEE MUG? [refer back to absurdity and office life]
I guess I like to laugh off superstition. In fact, "No. 13 Baby" is one of my favorite Pixies songs. But it creeps into life at odd times. I remember playing baseball at 15 and having the same ritual of eating a triple-layer peanut butter & jelly before games and chewing Gatorade brand gum during the games (advertisers note: hook, line, and fucking sinker). As it was I was a terrible batter, so you'd think I'd shake up the ritual a bit, but I think I feared performing even *worse* (not sure how I could've been worse--perhaps by getting thwacked in the skull by a baseball bat?).
Hmm...how to get from coffee mugs and demonic talismans to baseball in three moves or less. Must be a Monday. Oh--and don't touch my hot air balloon mug.
random bits cobbled together by j-dub
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