Life as video game

I don't like video games. Never have, really. It could have something to do with the fact that I have no aptitude for them, so any exposure, however brief, leaves me feeling slightly incompetent or worse. Jumping on moving mushrooms (is that what they are?) or dropkicking someone by simultaneously pressing A and B simply isn't my forte. I don't even strive for mediocre. I simply breathe a sigh of relief when the screen pronounces, "Game over."

On rare occasions (and it's been years since I've played a video game), friends have taken over the controls to "get me to the next level." It's silly really, since it's not really me playing the game anymore, but there's something strangely comforting about having someone else deal with the stuff that's too tough to resolve yourself.

What if life were like a video game and we traded off the tough stuff to a friend who could clearly see where our strategy was lacking? "I'll get you through this relationship bump. I know exactly what to do. Then I'll give you back the controls. And you're better than I am at dealing with children. Can you navigate my kids' teen years and let me know how it goes? I'll take over again when they've graduated from University."

Alas, life is not so easily passed off as Super Mario (this is the extent of my video game knowledge, perhaps once again revealing my lack of savvy in the video arena). It's play your own game, make your own mistakes and see where it takes you. And sometimes, just when you least expect it, you take a leap...and land on a mushroom.

You can't make this stuff up...

I am thankful for many things this Thanksgiving Day, not the least of which is commercialism, which provides endless entertainment and comedic material. I offer you three examples from my recent experience:

I was at a friend's house the other day and she offered me the choice of a cup of tea or another hot drink: "Inca" (just add hot water to brown powder, advises the jar). I read the label: "Instant coffee substitute." I try to imagine the conversation that led to this invention. "It's brilliant! A substitute substitute coffee! Our slogan could be: 'It's just two degrees away from the real thing!'"Perhaps the makers of Inca should consider making a substitute for coffee whitener too.

I was passing by Wendy's (ok, I was in the drive-thru) when I saw a sign boasting of their "hand-torn lettuce." Well, that's a relief. There's nothing less personal than lettuce that's been cut with a knife, or, God forbid, a machine! Why, hand-torn lettuce takes me back to my childhood, when mom tore lettuce with her bare hands for our sandwiches. If Wendy's is tearing my lettuce by hand, they must really care about me - just like my mom. Wait a minute... mom always washed her hands before making anything to eat. This lettuce-tearer is a stranger, and I have no idea of his or her hygiene practices. Suddenly I'm not so hungry, and wish more than anything for lettuce neatly chopped with the clean, albeit impersonal, blade of a knife.

I was browsing in the Dollar Store and saw a battery-operated rotating nail file for dogs. I was intrigued and a little afraid at the same time. I picked it up to look more closely, when I saw a little red square with white text inside in the upper right hand corner of the box. I'd seen this symbol before - the one that says, "As seen on TV." Only this one was slightly different. It read, "Similar to TV." It might as well have added in fine print, "You're paying a dollar. What do you expect?"

Buckle up

I consistently pile items on the passenger seat of my car. On those occasions when I have a passenger, I try to beat him or her to the car and transfer the pile to the backseat or the trunk. While mildly inconvenient, it is not enough for me to change my ways.

What is problematic is that my car has a safety feature that causes it to beep incessantly when it believes someone in the car does not have a seatbelt on. I've come to understand that when I pile my work and other items on the passenger seat, it believes I have placed a small child on the seat with no restraint. It panics (as I would too if I thought someone were travelling with a small child with no seatbelt): "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" it chirps frantically.

At first I ignore it, but it continues. "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!." As much as I try to tune it out, it's simply not possible. "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" In a predictable fit of frustration, I throw whatever is on the passenger seat to the floor. The beeping stops.

Every time, this causes me to ponder the inner workings of the car brain: "BEEP! BEEP! She's got a child on the seat! BEEP! It's not safe! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Someone's going to get hurt! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" "Everybody relax. It's ok. She's thrown the child on the floor."