Amusement Parks

Thanks to spare tickets given to me by some gracious friends, I got to blow the cobwebs off my adrenal glands recently by revisiting the joys and promised amusement found in an amusement park. While the roller-coasters indeed did their part, I encountered less amusement and more bemusement. Truly, the sights and smells that are most astounding at theme parks aren't the coaster corkscrews or cotton candy but rather the common carnival customer. It is the clientele that will make your head spin and want to vomit.

In my hometown of Frankfort, Kentucky, the amusement park equivalent is the annual Expo (or aptly nicknamed "Rednexpo"). Here, folks come crawling out of the woodwork, emerging like zombies, to introduce themselves to regular, old-fashioned society, while making sure there's enough time to sink their four teeth into a caramel-covered elephant ear or any battered meat on a stick and a belt buckle made with leather, sequins, and the utmost pride in the Confederate flag. Also omnipresent during this four-day festival is some serious ghetto fabulousness, which is curiously on display mostly by people who have never actually set foot within a ten-mile radius of a true ghetto. Pepper in a handful of normal people and you've got yourself quite the misrepresentation of a beautiful cultural melting pot.

Typically, I'd feel a little remorseful for that sort of unfair, unflattering characterization; however, there's nothing unfair about it. Quite true, honestly. Ask any "Frankforter" next time you run into one at the grocery. The Expo's demography is a laughingstock to an otherwise lovely capital city. In other words, it's worth at least one wasted evening of your life.

This inelegant proportion of attendance of freaks -- yeah, I said it, freaks -- appears to be the law of nature for all amusement park-like attractions/events. School festivals, county fairs, state expositions, and any other event whose rides require only an afternoon to assemble... they're all the same and thus seem to attract the same bizarre crowd. That's not to say you're bizarre if you like attending these; rather you know firsthand exactly who and what I'm talking about.

You've heard the theory that television adds 10 pounds, right? Pretty sure that same phenomenon applies to amusement parks. Either that or your clothes shrink two sizes. You might think I'm talking about obese park attendees only, but that's too limiting. While, agreed, there's an unreasonable amount of cellulite on parade all day, there are just as many fat people who feel they can and should wear skimpy clothes as there are boney people who feel they can and should wear nothing at all.

Whereas many people buy attire specifically for occasions like weddings, graduations, and vacations, I'm fairly certain some folks purchase an outfit specifically for their trip to the theme park, because I can’t think of any other lawful public sector where shredded, tattered "tops" with 85% flabby boob protrusion is acceptable. At a quick glance, any similarity between joyous park attractions and joyless, stark unattractiveness may initially be overlooked, but close scrutiny of the physics in both (for example, the defiance of gravity in both the roller-coaster loop and that chunky girl's skin-tight, faded denim shorts) will reveal the inseparable connection.

You just can't escape science.

PowerPoint Presentations

Picture this: There used to be a time when stapled papers were manually distributed in meetings and the only communal visuals attendees shared simultaneously were images shone on a white wall through a plugged-in box of lights and mirrors -- a contraption called, according to Wikipedia, an "overhead projector." No, seriously, no computers were used. I think this was in the same era as those landline phones and when the sales of alcohol were prohibited -- right after the Civil War.

And then someone came along and invented the personal computer. And then someone else came along and developed a software application called PowerPoint.

Your meetings and conferences have never been the same since.

When I show up to a meeting and the ol' projector screen is pulled down, I just want to shoot myself in the face. Nothing is more disinteresting, more cliché, more perfunctory than a PowerPoint presentation. The equally hackneyed adage "If you've seen one, you’ve seen them all" perfectly describes these trivial slideshows.

The unpleasantness about PowerPoint presentations can usually be summed up by any one (or combination) of these reasons: the font is too small; the pie charts and bar graphs are too detailed; the screaming color scheme hurts my eyes; the ClipArt graphics are cheesy; the sudden, crazed sound effects don't quite match the professionalism supposed within the delivered content; the presentation was made with PowerPoint; etc.

Why do half the design templates remind me of my last stay at a Comfort Inn? Maybe it's because their patterns so closely and inexplicably resemble cheap motel wallpaper. Apparently the artist who designed Genesis album covers didn't have a better offer after Phil Collins peaced.

Not all blame goes to the software alone; matter of fact, most of the shame should fall on the presentation creator(s). I mean, what's with this compulsory final presentation slide simply labeled, "Questions?" ...Really? Do we need an entire slide for you to click to (or left-to-right-horizontal-bar-transition to) in order to ask the audience, who by this point has probably hit the REM stage of their nap, if anyone has any questions to offer up? Is there something wrong with merely asking them without the slide? Or do you fear that they might get lost midway in your plea for participation without a one-word graphic projected on the screen?

It's not that a PowerPoint presentation itself is a bad idea -- it's just tolerable, and that's it. They don't revolutionize, they don't improve material, and they certainly don't secure to memory. As I asked a manager at my office recently, what can you recall from the last PowerPoint presentation you had to sit through?

I'm still waiting on a response from that manager.

Retail Security Systems

In every trip to the mall or mostly any retail store, I am awestruck at the lack of attention and credibility given to the security systems that were installed in order to elicit some sort of attention and credibility. An overwhelming response of nonchalance tends to be the reaction employees give to the various sirens and bleeps emitting from the tall, slender checkpoint security systems at the door whenever these go off.

These "Star Trek" gateway thresholds appear to really be nothing more than an intimidation factor. So, if you can summon up the gall to walk through with unpaid merchandise and endure some questionable looks from fellow shoppers upon the triggering of those obnoxious shrieking beeps, seems to me that you've got yourself a new sweater free of charge.

Now, please don't misinterpret this as encouragement to steal. I wouldn't dare say that. "Thou shall not steal" is how the ol' Commandment goes, I do believe, and that's what I live by. (Still trying to get that "Thou shall not kill" one down, though.) I'm just pointing out that the scot-free possibility is there. At worst, you might receive a "Hey, stop!" warning from the cashier from behind the counter, by which point you’ll be halfway to either your getaway Honda or your large cup of Dippin' Dots a couple shops down; but I'd say most sales attendants just don't view it as worth the chase's time and efforts. I think the general consensus of these folks is, "I’m just here to sell _______, not to chase criminals. F that, that's for the Blue & White." To an extent, I can sympathize with that. I mean, how's the shrink cost of that cardigan going to affect their hourly wage anyhow? Who really cares?

And what if the sales attendant is wrong in his assumption? What if he approaches someone in the vicinity of the beeping security system and falsely accuses this person of shoplifting? Whoa, big trouble. No one wants to shout a string of demands to open shopping bags, empty pockets and purses, unzip jackets, and unbutton shirts, only to wind up as wrong as leopard print fashion in front of his coworkers and surrounding bystanders -- not to mention making the wrongfully accused person momentarily look guilty and embarrassed. Unless you just enjoy being a big turd.

Wal-Mart remains one of the few exceptions to this joint retail security system disinterest, planting an employee at the front automatic sliding doors as the welcome mat. Though labeled "greeters," their ultimate purpose is served far less as a deliverer of insincere salutations but rather much more as a (typically elderly) hawk, encircling the entrance/exit area with a radio and yellow highlighter in hand, awaiting the sudden, rampant beeps that signal a possible shoplifter.

But isn't Wal-Mart always the exception to every societal norm that exists seemingly everywhere else?