Try Toy

This is going to be a haphazard attempt at bringing random thoughts into a single meaning. I already know it's not going to work. 

Instead, I'll lazily string together randomness and try to pluck a common string at the end. First, welcome Maria (Mary's Mom) and Michelle (Mary's sister) to Minneapolis. Great to have you. Thanks for bringing the sun. A few new readers stopped by this week and asked politely if this blog is about things I think about. Yes, it is. I just read a snappy little article on Writer's Digest (dotcom) about TMIS (Too Many Ideas Syndrome). I have it. A plethora of, myriad (will someone please create a universal rule for this word) ideas float through my head and so few of them make it out. The ones that end up here are a smattering short enough to keep the average [now] reader's attention span of 1:56. A friend recently told me that a question we need to ask ourselves every single day of our lives (I'm sorry, I know I completely omitted an entire context of conversation leading up to and following that poignant nugget of a question) is Who Am I? We answer the question by what we believe and far more importantly, how we act on those beliefs; what we do with our time, what we think about, what we fear, what we find great joy in. And of course, how we sign off on e-mails. I sign mine with Peace. Have for many years now. And when I'm getting out of an e-mail and do so too fast, I end up typing my name as Try or Toy. I think I've alway caught it (yes, I re-read every single e-mail I ever write before sending and have even been known to send a follow-up e-mail to clarify a word or misspelling-and yes, I am aware that this is somewhat neurotic behavior.) So I catch myself assuring e-mail recipients that it is I, Troy, sending this message-not a toy, not willing you to try Troy or try anything for that matter. And while I'm redefining who I am with each sent message, asking myself what peace really means, I'm all the while asking a question for the ages-If I try a Troy toy, will Troy toy with my try? 

See, failed attempt. Thankfully, it was free to post. 

For Joan and Joe

The heat was blazing, especially for what is known to Minnesotans as "early fall." As we waited in the forever-long line of anxious autos, the orange-vested parking attendant was visibly amused. Laughing. It was rumored he was heard whispering stanzas from Dante's Inferno. At least that was the word from the binocular-toting passenger in the backseat. We inched our way forward, toward the Mecca of tradition.

When at long last we turned the corner, the orange vest now directly in front of us, hope faded as he shooed his powerful flag to his right. 'Unforeseen circumstances' and 'unearthly peril' didn't cross our minds. We were simply another pawn in his diabolical game. As we four-wheeled it through the overgrown brush, nearly plucking off costumed sojourners en route to our parking spot amidst the sea of dusty SUV's and Ford Fiestas, the anticipation grew. 

Thoughts of overgrown turkey legs (and legless turkey institutions scattered in their wake across the Heartland) and high entertainment filled our imaginations. Until we started trekking toward aforementioned city on the hill. 

We traversed with others along dusty roads, down gorges, over the river and through the woods, down long dusty roads, through marshes, down long dusty roads and alas! the sight was finally heavy upon us...a small speck of castle in the distance...or was it mere illusion? Another 45 minutes, past hundreds, nay, thousands of empty parking spaces, dirty booger encrusted kleenex overflowing our pockets, eyes burning from the floating dirt...and we had reached the grand entrance. 

Welcome to the annual Minnesota Renaissance Festival.

And it was only then we started getting haggled.  

A click and a smile.

Counting clicks. It's the web 2.0 method of voting. None of this ancient calling in for American Idol or actually having to go somewhere and cast a ballot. No, you can vote anything into popularity by the simple click of a mouse. 

I learned this firsthand. Today. Sort of. 

If you have checked your e-mail in the last month or so, you've gotten a few messages that I've been posting things-the internet equivalent of using one of those ancient thumb tacks-to a website. I'm adding content in the true vein of the 'User Generated Content' that so aptly describes much of what is online. People all over the world post things-videos, comments, music, podcasts-to websites available to anyone with an internet connection. 

In the past months I/we have posted a Christmas video, a little video we/I affectionately called Tabbersacci and then a cool little spot that Nick and I entered into an online ad contest for Nestle's 100 Grand candy bar. 

Anyway, as these items are posted from all over the world, people also from all over the world can view or read or listen to them. Most websites have counters that tabulate how many clicks or views (I'm speaking in YouTube lingo here) a particular post has received. For example, if you and I click on Tabbersacci, a little label under the title shows that the video has been watched twice. Pretty simple.

 

I've noticed lately that some of the lesser-known posts (videos especially) that really are not well produced or 'made' have a ton of hits. Now, call me a skeptic, but I know for a fact that 7,000 people have not watched a three year old from Hackensack ride their trike down the driveway. Ah, but the users are not dumb (they did have to get their video to the site, now didn't they?) They know the power of the click. A click here, a click there. Everywhere and everyone a click click. Before you know it, this little kid is a YouTube rockstar with thousands of hits. 

Now there is a phenomenon called 'viral' out there. It means that when a video is interesting or captivates the masses, it gets passed around. Kind of like the flu-that I avoided this year because of my flu shot. As videos are passed along-most of the really good ones are usually funny-it becomes like the flu, lots of people get it. 

And so I decided to experiment-with Tabbersacci. If you go to my YouTube homepage (here), it shows that Tabbersacci has been viewed 284 times. Not really so. Because I took 5 minutes earlier in the day and then another 4 minutes just a bit ago, I was able to boost the number of views by 42. And it takes YouTube a few hours to update the counting. I'm just one person. I know there are others like me. And there are far more out there who want to be just a little bit of a rock star. They're the ones who send out e-mails desperate for views. And then sit at the computer for hours just clicking away becoming more and more popular with each push on the mouse. 

Crazy isn't it? Now if you send Tabbersacci to ten of your friends and ask politely for them to send it to ten of their friends...

Powers that Be

I believe in a higher power. I believe that this same higher power creatively cast the stars into being and uniquely made each one of us. I believe this same power came as a man and paradoxically lived as both human and God on one of these very floating planets he spun into space. I believe there's a really big picture that we only slightly comprehend and that there are forces we can't see waging war all around us every moment of every day. I know-one of them lives in our washing machine. And for that matter, in my car's radio, my iPod when I'm on an airplane and most computers. 

When we got married, Mary and I painstakingly went through the process of dividing up the chores around the house. Some of them just made sense-like me taking out the garbage, and Mary doing the cooking (because she's really good at it and enjoys it)-and others we had to test the waters on to see what worked. As for the laundry, that decision was made from day one. Mary has very particular ways of washing clothes (bless her heart) that should prolong the life of each article by at least 40 years, so we're in good shape there. I, naturally, have been delegated the task of folding. 

Most folding times are accompanied by the TV to distract from the monotony of socks and t-shirts that seem to multiply like loaves and fish. With the distraction, I'm not always watching for details, rather just trying to get the job done. It so happened a few months back, must have been during a commercial, that I noticed a strange phenomenon with some of my shirts. I know for a fact that when I added them to the dirty clothes pile, they were properly outside-in (the way they should look when worn). I also know for a fact that when it came to folding, I found them inside-out. Hmm. I started mapping the patterns (flowcharts, spreadsheets, pie charts) and found that in random fashion, my shirts were turning themselves inside-out between the time they left my body and the time I folded them as clean items. I've watched it for months now and can't find any logical pattern for what is going on between the invisible forces and our laundry. 

No, it's not the end of the world-and as I've talked to other folders, I have heard similar experiences-and they have survived. 

Even so, as the man who experienced life as both human and deity, perhaps the greatest paradox-we are a collection who live at once amidst the mystery of possessed washing machines and the vast questions of life and eternity. We (I) tend to make really big deals out of situations that in the big picture really don't mean much. And therein lies the other side of the creator's coin: he has the capacity to engage us both in the menial mundanes of daily life and the eternal question of what really happens when we die. Sometimes I think those washing machine demons only hope to distract us from reaching further, digging deeper-while we look silly wearing our shirts inside-out. 

Life is full of paradox-statements or propositions that seem self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth. Often we can't wrap our minds around the seeming polar opposites of paradox. Like that God could be a man, too. That omniscient forces could also inhabit our appliances. That we are capable of so much love and so much hate. These are the questions that lead to more questions...like what is the deal with deer crossing signs?