The following list is offered as a general guide only. It is not intended to be a road map. Your mileage may vary. The important thing is to be creative and make it your own. Play with it. Get crazy. Do things in a slightly different order.
Much like there are five generally accepted steps in the grieving process, this list attempts to make sense of nerd rage. I think I wrote it after spending eight hours trying to get music from iTunes to sync with my iPad. You know, that thing at which Apple is rumored to excel.
Nerd Rage List
in order of escalation
- Shrug and blame it on the cloud. Optimistically try to work the problem.
- Feel irritated.
- Feel more irritation.
- Say out loud (or tweet): “WTH”
- Say out loud (or tweet): “WTF”
- Yell, “G*ddammit!”
- Symbolically pound something causing no real damage.
- Throw something breakable and smash it to bits.
- Drive angry.
- Repeatedly shoot a gun in the air.
- Head asplode. (Bonus step.)
I’ll close with an ancient guru curse: May you always have plenty of technology.
What causes your nerd rage?
I’ve talked in the past about how negativity saved my life. And you can, too!
Come to think of it, that was the day I became the self-entitled self-titled “Guru” of Negativity and earned a Participant ribbon. That was the red letter date in Guru history.
But, if you think about it, negativity can do so much more than simply save your life. I’m talking about the really important stuff. Forget trivialities like staying alive! (Unless you are one of Bee Gees. That’s the only exception and even they don’t do it right.)
Negativity can do the little things, too. Like brightening your day.
I’ll try to think of an example.
Over on yonder shelf sits a massive jar of some life-giving substance that you desperately crave. For the sake of argument, let’s say that it contains granulated sugar. Yeah, that’ll do.
The top of the jar has a screw top lid. So what do you do?
Naturally you reach out and grab that jar, using your krav maga death grip with your overly tiny little hand, and, this is the important part, leech a hold on nothing but the lid.
This is a natural instinct among humans. (Or so I’ve heard. I’m not actually one of you.) It’s an act of faith and trust. It’s a little voice inside you shouting for all to hear, “See? I trust the person before me put the lid back on and secured it tight. I have faith.” This is silly, but especially so when you live alone and are talking about yourself. (That’s the last person you should trust.)
Then what do you do? You hold that sucker out at arm’s length. The jar weighs .01 metric tons and the physics of holding it out that far exponentially increases the amount of force required to keep it aloft.
If that lid comes off what happens next is a certainty. The jar will impact the floor, glass will fly outward in a shrapnel pattern, both eyeballs will be cut out of your face, and the sugar will reach critical mass causing a mini-nuclear explosion that, albeit sweet and delicious, will make one permanently sticky.
This is where negativity comes in. It says, “If you pick that up, you will fail.” It then invites you to picture in your mind what was just described in the previous paragraph.
To negativity you should listen. Get off your ass, walk all the way across the room, grab that sucker, and screw the lid back on tight before attempting anything foolhardy and foolish, fool!
Demo is in the house, yo!
Every morning the guru of negativity loads up his Facebook which pushily insists, “What’s on your mind?”
Oh no. I’m not about to fall for that one.
The people you’ve connected with on Facebook are called “friends.” Laws, yes. Friends. Good one!
Of the various types of content on Facebook, my favorite goes a little something like this:
- The opening: You want something. State what it is. Ex: “I’m curious how people feel about my sexual organs.”
- The insult: Get things rolling with a jab at your so-called “friends.” Ex: “I know only approx. 4-1/2 of you ever read my posts.”
- The hook: Describe the payoff in terms of pleasure centers of the brain that will glow upon compliance. “I’m going to give you a chance to prove your friendship.”
- The plea: This is the objective, the thing you hope to see accomplished. Ex: “Reply to this with a graphic description of your favorite sexual organ on my body. Sexual organs only, please!”
- The demanding social element: This is self-explanatory. Ex: “You must then copy this to your own timeline so my ego can grow. Please don’t comment and not copy to your own timeline.”
Out of respect, I’m not going to comment because I have absolutely no intention of following your rules. Thanks for trying to control me, though.
For the record:
- Yes, I actually read your shit. And I loathe myself for it.
- You can’t handle the truth. I won’t comment on our alleged “friendship.”
- It’s news to me that you have sexual organs so I’m unable to comment further.
- I will decide what pieces of evil hate go on my timeline. Not you. Nice effort, though.
- A real friend wouldn’t have done this. Thanks for reinforcing my theories.
Has Facebook invented a squelch feature yet or must I continue to be subjected to this crap with a little help from my friends?
A recap of Day 5 action including tribe ZeitGuru’s first reward challenge.
Only one person in the tribe? At last a team I can get down with.
After five days of living on absolutely nothing but water, plain beans, rice, coconut, banana, pineapple and kiwi, I was really looking forward to my first reward challenge.
What would be the reward? Perhaps salt? Oh yeah, that would rock my world. Coffee or tea? Even without sugar that would turn my entire existence upside down.
It’s only been five days.
Whatever the reward, I knew getting it wouldn’t be easy. My wife as Survivor Host, the Probst with the Most, would surely be out to get me. She doesn’t mess around.
On that score, at least, I would not be disappointed.