The Little Things

Today I learned what a 'cootie-catcher' is. Mind you, I'd known what it was since a young age (ah, the memories of public school...) but had never known the actual name for it. For the unenlightened, a 'cootie-catcher' is a piece of paper, folded up into a shape that resembles a very blocky flower. It has a bunch of things written on various parts of it, such as your favourite colour, who you're going to marry.... and to be honest, I've forgotten the rest.

Cootie-catcher.
Quite a suggestive (in a pre-school kind of way) name for such an innocent contraption. Learning the name of the little thing changed my perception of it quite remarkably. When I was a child, I thought of it as just some thing that a lot of yucky girls on the playground were trying to get me to do.

Now, it's a ritual for pre-adolescent bonding (not to be confused with pre-adolescent bondage. I'm fairly certain that's illegal in most jurisdictions- although, Kentucky might be an exception).

This brings me to today's point: the little things matter. There's a catchphrase that some associates of mine are rather fond of- 'the devil is in the details.' In other words, if you don't pay attention to the minute details of something, they will come back and sink their pointy little teeth into your exposed, bare buttocks.

While driving up to campus today for my second class (some much-needed sleep prevented me from attending the preceding one), I became stuck behind a slow-moving Porsche Boxster (I know, I just love to pick on the Boxster...). Running a little late, as I tend to do, I was slightly anxious and increasingly angry with the man who had chosen to drive his expensive sportscar at a velocity of 40 km/h. Being mere feet away from his rear bumper, I had the time to take in the supple lines of the vehicle's body styling (I think there was a redesign this year- the back end wasn't nearly as ugly as it used to be. Insert cliché ex-wife joke here).

Then I noticed the license plate.

It was a regular old, seven-digit Ontario license plate. Like millions of other ones in circulation. That's not what caught my attention. What caught my attention was what was surrounding the license plate.

'PFAFF Porsche 101 Auto Park Circle Woodbridge ON L4L 8R1 905-851-0852'

Dear reader, if you have the means to purchase an automobile that costs more than the average person's yearly income, now or in the future... do me a favour and spend five dollars on a license plate frame that doesn't have the dealer's branding stamped all over it. You can get them at Canadian Tire. It's a little tacky for someone's personal possesions to advertise another's products or business in a blatant fashion.

It's VERY tacky when you've paid $70,000 to be able to do it.

Four Wheels, Some Doors, and a Trunk

Today, dear reader, we're going to play Jeopardy.

It has four wheels, some doors, and a trunk....
... Comes in a variety of colours...
... Plays a big role in communicating your means, image, and personality...
If you said 'What is the automobile?' then you win the $2000 Daily Double.

(Your cheque's in the mail)

Yes, your ride is a part of your image. Maybe that's shallow and materialistic.. but it's also a reality. Get used to it. Image has been important to humans since the dawn of recorded time; ever since the first caveman painted his under-eye area with green dye instead of red, and had all the little hottie neanderthal groupie-women flock to his side. Since that day, humans have worked to improve the perception of themselves in the eyes of others.

One question that burns in my mind is this- is it really as shallow and materialistic as those elements that run counter to mass culture would have us believe? Humans are in essence biological beings (yes, even Stephen Harper; cutesy blue sweater-vest or not). There are countless examples in nature of animals using bright, shiny things to increase social standing and attract mates (think peacock's tailfeathers, the bright pinky hue of the flamingo, and the vibrant colours of the toucan).

Perhaps the Porsche 9-11 is our equivalent of tailfeathers (pronounced 'pour-shuh', I'm told) Or the Maseratti Spyder. Or the Maybach Phantom. Or the Lamborghini Diablo. Or the BMW 3-Series (a little closer to affordability for me, anyway).

So what does your car say about you?

Sophistication? (Mid-priced European import, dark colour)
Fun? (Bright yellow or orange convertible sports car)
Adventuruous? (4x4 with a removable hardtop, complete with mud spatter)
Mid-life crisis? (Entry-level Porsche Boxster, cherry-red)
Soccer mom? (Massive, fuel wasting SUV with a single passenger)
Hardworking, salt-of-the earth contractor? (Heavy-duty pickup with a tool box, complete with rust patches)
Broke? (2002 Chevrolet Cavalier with scratches on the bumper and a massive dent in the hood)

Yes, dear reader, these are stereotypes. Yes, dear reader I judge people whom I see based on their image before I know them. So does 99% percent of the human population on planet earth. Again, if you don't like it, you will have to get used to it. Or perhaps accept it. Or at the very least acknowledge it.

What I don't do is continually apply these stereotypes to people after I get to know them (unless they're deserved). Hopefully most people are of the same mindset; there is a big difference between judging and being judgmental.

I'll leave you with this one thought: sometimes stereotypes exist for a reason. But, be open-minded anyway.

(Maybe the guy driving the penis-on-wheels midlife crisis cherry red Porsche Boxster is just free-spirited. Or perhaps colour blind)