Derail's Blog (so shut up)
Music
I like music. I would go crazy without it. Music for me is a way for me to get away from everyone else, pull myself back into one piece, and collect my thoughts. I am the kind of person who will admit to rocking out in my room when no one else is around. In fact, that was one reason why I decided to grow my hair out again. I feel that you really can't rock out on a high level with short hair. I've done both, and longer hair really is the way to go. I play two instruments, and would like to learn at least two more in my lifetime. In high school, I would never be caught without a song in my head; my friends used to tease me because I would nod my head to the song playing on my brain's stereo. Even now, more often than not I've got a song stuck in my head - and that's usually on purpose. I like music, and I'm pretty sure there's a few other people that like it too. However, a few weeks ago, my sister Deby clued me in to something that I hadn't thought of before: Apparently, I listen to music in sections.
Let me explain what I mean by that: When I hear a song, the song itself is the background. What I'm really listening to is the drummer, or the bass line, or the solo that the lead guitarist is throwing down, or (to a lesser extent) the lyrics. Now, I didn't think this was a very weird thing, except that she said that she listens to the whole song. A song to me is like one of those visual puzzles - a picture that, when viewed as a whole, has a lot of randomness, but when you look at each part individually you see a pattern. Like this:
Find 60 band names. Not to put words in her mouth, but I would assume that Deby would liken a song to a jigsaw puzzle: A bunch of nonsense that creates something beautiful when all the parts are put together correctly.
As a hinted at earlier, I tend to listen to music more than I do lyrics. However, when I do listen to the lyrics, they tend to be spotty and don't flow together as they should. I think I have a knack for learning lyrics in a hurry, but when I do I'm really just learning what word goes on what particular beat. I can sing a song perfectly and have no idea of what I just said. It took me about a year of listening to the song "Dirt" by Alice in Chains to understand that it was about suicide. It's not that I'm that stupid or the song is that cryptic, it's just that I hadn't thought about it enough to put the string of words I had memorized into the sentence that they form.
When I'm listening to the music of a song, I'll focus in on one instrument until something else catches my attention. For example, in Metallica's "One", I'll usually listen to the bass line until it starts to get heavy. The guitars take over for a few measures until Lars' drums overwhelm me on the "Darkness inprisoning me..." part. The song finishes out with Kirk throwing down an amazing solo with James pitching in for a bit. When I listen to Parliament, Bootsie's bass is pretty much all I hear; the same is with Flea when Red Hot Chili Peppers are playing. I think I become a lyric person when the music is not interesting enough to me to enjoy on its own. Johnny Cash is this way. I like his songs, but the music isn't enough to hold my attention on its own. Fortunately, Johnny wrote and sang some great lyrics, and that's what I listen to when he's playing. There are a few bands that I find interesting enough to enjoy the music and lyrics equally enough. Jarflys is the big one that comes to mind. The music that they play is very skillful and interesting, and Jimi has a way of writing lyrics that I can really connect to. G. Love is that way too, although to a lesser extent.
The big reason for this post is because I'm wondering why Deby and I listen to music so differently. Is it a gender thing? Are females more prone to see the entire picture while males pick apart the individual pieces? Is it a personality thing? Does she just naturally have a better musical ear, or do I listen to the drums because I play the drums? That seems logical, but I also tend to listen to other instruments that I don't play, such as guitar and saxophone. Interesting... Also, am I the odd one here? I don't mind being odd, mind you, I'd just like to know.
Chemical Dependency
A couple days ago, I acknowledged to myself that I have a chemical addiction. Now, fortunately for me my addiction is not to anything illegal. I have driven while under the influence of this drug and have even administered the drug while driving. I have used this drug in front of school children, and even joked with them about my need for it and the effects it has on me. I have used this drug with my parents, and I've even found another bond with my father when we use together. I am addicted to caffine - especially coffee.
Now please, the above paragraph was very sensationalized and I am in no way attempting to minimize the seriousness of "real" addictions such as opium or cocaine (in their various forms), methamphetamines or alcohol. Addictions to the substances mentioned above (and that is not an exhaustive list) ruin people's lives and are very hard to kick. Never would I want to minimize the tragic and harmful effects that these substances have had on society as a whole and specific lives. However caffine is considered a drug, and, for better or worse, I'm hooked. This realization in me has given me a small insight into what could possibly be the mind of a user of one of the "worse" drugs.
The first thing I'd like to point out is the last two words in the above sentence. My immediate reaction was to lessen the severity of my addiction by comparing it to something else. I wonder how many cocaine users have said "At least I'm not addicted to crack" or "I'd never touch heroin, that stuff will kill you." I wonder how many alcoholics have said "Meth will ruin your life, I'd never use that", or how many smokers have said "yeah, smoking is bad for you, but at least it's legal." In the same vein, I wonder how many notorious coffee drinkers think that there's no harm in having 3, 4, or 5 cups of coffee in the morning "just to get me going" before having two or three sodas later on in the day.
If I don't have coffee before noon or so, I get a huge headache that lasts the entire day, and after it's there, no amount of advil or napping will take it away. It's not a migraine or anything - it's tolorable for the most part - but it's just a huge nagging headache that won't go away until I wake up the next morning. I've become very aware that it is caffine withdrawl that is causing these headaches, so my morning 3 cups has changed from enjoying a tasty beverage and getting a small pick-me-up to self-medication. I still enjoy the coffee, no doubt, but even if I don't want any, I still drink at least three cups in the morning to avoid the headache. Coffee is the cause 0f my discomfort, and it is also the negative reinforcement.
Even now as I write to you, my faithful readers (those of you who have not left me after my extended silence that was student teaching), I am enjoying a brownie that my parents got for me from a restaraunt. It is round, about the diameter of a softball, and maybe an inch and a half thick. This is one monster brownie. It came with an extra cup of chocolate sauce to drizzle over the top. I drizzled about half, and left the other half in the cup for dipping. I know, I'm a very unhealthy eater, but aside from the caloric content of the brownie, I wonder how much caffine is in the chocolate. Definately not as much as a cup of coffee or two, but probably a substantial amount. As I write this and take intermittant bites, I am very aware that I am both bemoaning my addiction and feeding it. And the interesting part is, I don't care. I am not upset in the least that I have a chemical dependence on caffine. "At least it's not _______."
The kicker to me is, I wonder if this is how people on any of the harder drugs feel. I wonder if people like Layne Staley or Kurt Cobain (those who died from their addictions) ever took a look at themselves and said "I'm addicted to heroin - what the bloody hell am I doing??" Layne (the lead singer and partial songwriter for Alice in Chains who just died a few years ago) once wrote: "God's name is 'smack' for some." Smack is a well-known slang term for heroin. To me, it sounds like he's saying exactly the opposite what I wondered above: "I accept the fact that I'm addicted to heroin, and I don't care." I can't recall one lyric that he wrote that bemoans his addiction - in fact, all that are coming to my mind at this time celebrate that fact. "Stick your arm for some real fun." "If you'd let yourself go and open your mind, I'll bet you'd be using like me - and it ain't so bad." I'm not as familiar with Cobain's lyrics, and I understand that he did try to kick the habit at least once, but I wonder if this is a phase that all drug users go through: "This will kill me - I realize that - now give me another hit." It's very certain that at least tobacco smokers go through that. Every box they buy has a warning on it letting them know that they will die from their habit.
This is very interesting to me. I've often wondered how someone who is addicted to drugs can just not care that they are addicted. Now I understand - at least partially. I'm off to finish my brownie.
Cutesy Christian Catchphrases
Alrighty, well I'm back from camp and now have time to blog again. I'm sorry for the long hiatus, but I never really had time to actually sit down for an hour or so and blog. But, fortunately for everyone involved, I now have some time before I start student teaching and, lo and behold, a topic.
As you've already read, this blog is about Cutesy Christian Catchphrases. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, walk into any Christian bookstore and you'll find them plastered anywhere one could imagine; from bumper stickers, to T-shirts, to those weird things that sit on your desk and collect dust. You know what I mean. I don't like them, and this blog will outline why.
Now, for clarification, I'm not talking about scripture references. That's something entirely different and is not included in the heading "Cutesy Christian Catchphrases." Also for clarification, the title of this blog would fall into that heading (as something overly and disgustingly cute in-and-of itself, since it's three words that all begin with the letter "C") and originally that was just an accident. However, the more I thought about it, the more ironic it seemed and I liked the irony. To me, it serves as just another underline to my actual point, and that's always a plus. And now, without further ado: My actual point. :D
To me, this whole Cutesy Christian Catchphrase thing started around 1997 - 1998 with the WWJD? craze. Since I consider WWJD the beginning (and if I'm wrong, let me know), I don' t hate it as much as the others I'll mention. It was a good idea. Someone thought that this little acronym would be good on a bracelet or a T-shirt and decided to market it. Horray capitalism. It did get a little out of hand after that, but that's what seems to happen with a fad; someone markets something well and everyone else feels that they need to market the same thing (just tweaked a bit to avoid a lawsuit) to death. After WWJD?, the floodgates opened up. The next one I saw was "F.R.O.G", which stands for Fully Rely On God. Now, I'm not against the concept of fully relying on God. In fact, I think it's a pretty daggone good idea. But it came out so quickly after WWJD?, that I can' t help but wonder if this "inventor" just saw that some guy had made some money off of a catchphrase and decided that he was going to be next to hit it big in the Christian market. Maybe I'm just overly pessimistic or too skeptical. I'm sure he did want people to rely on God more. But it's such a small change to a fad in such a short period of time (I think I might have been a Freshman in college when I saw this) that I really don' t think that reminding people to trust in God was all or even most of his motive. Besides, What Would Jesus Do? He would probably Fully Rely On God. There you go. Problem solved. F.R.O.G is now no longer needed.
A new one that I just saw is "Remember to B.A.R.F (Be A Real Friend)." Now come on, this is pushing it. The chaplain at camp the last week I was there hung posters like this up all over camp for everyone to see. This particular one was inside one of the kitchen doors, and it made me want to tear my hair out. Incidentally, that poster was the inspiration for this rant. Where should I begin? First of all, shock value: Played to death (and then beaten some more) in the secular media. Please, Christian media, don't follow this tired old route. Second of all, "Be A Real Friend"? If I was the kind of person to buy a dust collector that said "Remember to B.A.R.F" on it, chances are I don't actually need to be reminded to be a good friend. This is how you can tell that a fad is pretty close to being over. Crap like this is pumped into the fad, and smart people say, "Alright, you know what? Enough is enough." At least I hope this is the end of that fad.
The last example I will give actually may even predate WWJD?. Remember that old bumper sticker that says, "God is my co-pilot"? We've all seen it. It's cute; maybe even good for a chuckle. It might make someone think a bit about their life. Well, this bumper sticker actually has a refuting bumper sticker. "If God is your co-pilot, switch seats." This kind of thing, my dear readers, makes me want to punch something. If Christianity needs anything today, it's this kind of self-righteous one-upmanship. What kind of pompous PHARISEE thought of this thing? This, apparently, is THE tool to separate the sheep from the goats; to separate us REAL Christians from those that don't even know that God should be the pilot instead of the Co-pilot. Personally, I think it'd be more realistic to have God be the navigator. I mean, I've got free will; God isn't flying my life, I am. He knows the best direction to take and He can tell me said direction. If I were wise, I'd follow it all the time. However, sometimes I go off course. It's not good that I do, but I have the ability to. See? God should actually be the navigator. However, you will never see me creating a bumper sticker that says, "If God is your pilot, exercise your gift of free will and tell him to get back to the Navigator's chair."
These three examples, F.R.O.G, B.A.R.F, and "If God is your co-pilot...", are all in the category that I call Cutesy Christian Catchphrases. These are all things that I believe that Christianity would be better off without. We don't need cheesy knock-offs of overplayed fads; we don't need pompous one-upmanship; we don't even need to be shocked into buying something. I am not against new, good ideas. I am against bad replications of good ideas.
Lessons from the dead
So yesterday I had the pleasure of returning once again to Reading Pennsylvania to attend the church of my underclassman undergraduacy, Berkshire Baptist. It was absolutely a great time, and I can't wait until I get the chance to go back. However, this post is about what happened after church. See, there's this graveyard across the street from the church, and since I had some time to...use up...I decided to take a walk through it and (figuratively) listen to the stories of the people buried there. Now, before I get too far into this, let me clarify that walking through graveyards is not a hobby of mine - although it might become one now - but I also don't consider it to be a weird or morbid thing to do. During my half-hour or so stroll amongst the final resting places of many people, I challenged my mind and left with two primary feelings: A deep respect for generations past, and a sort of confirmation about the future I've chosen for myself.
There were three gravesites that stuck out in my memory. The first was of a woman who lived between the early 1880's and the mid-to-late 1920's. She died at the ripe old age of 40ish. However, hers was not the centerpiece of my thoughts, but the six little gravestones lined up next to hers; those of her six children - none of whom lived to celebrate a first birthday. Each of these children was born around the turn of the century, within about 10 or 12 years of each other. The first child (of those buried there; there were no gravestones next to hers that indicated grown children) was the one that lived the longest; she stuck it out for 8 whole months. This young daughter's gravestone was also the only one of the six that had a name on it. Every other one said either "infant son" or "infant daughter" and a birthdate. I don't know if they just didn't put the child's name on, or if the parents waited a few days before naming the child to make sure he/she was going to make it. It seems to me that not naming a child right away could be a sort of barrier to keep this woman from becoming too attached to it. Was the lack of a name some sort of defense mechanism on her part? There was one other child - a son - that had more writing on his stone that said "aged one day." I wonder how she felt when she woke up the next morning to find that her newborn son had made it through the night. Did she immediately think everything was going to be alright with this child? I believe he was child number three or four; how high did she allow her hopes to jump when she heard him cry that morning? I wonder, is it as hard to watch the fifth or sixth child die in infancy as it was to watch the first or second? Do you get a little calloused to it? I wonder how she was able to stand it - how she was able to try a fourth, fifth, or sixth time only to have each bring immediate and compouding heartache and sorrow. I wonder what drug her out of bed every morning, and yet I have no doubts that she did drag herself out of bed each morning and do the things that needed to be done - whatever they may have been. I believe I would consider this woman to be the strongest person - forget about man or woman, I'm talking overall - I've ever heard of. And yet, now she lays there, with her six children lined up beside her looking like ducklings. Absolutely amazing.
The second person I would like to mention was a veteran of the Korean war. I don't really have much to say about him; I just wanted to tell him "thanks."
The last person I want to mention is a man who was born in 1868 and died in 1964 - this man lived 96 years. Just think about what he saw - technological advances, economic crises and booms, wars, politics, etc. - during his lifetime. He was in his 50's when the stock market soared during the 1920's and was thinking about retiring by the time the market crashed in 1929. I wonder how he fared. I wonder if he had a son who was in World War 1 - he was about 49 when the US got involved in 1917, so he very easily could have had a 20 year old son. I wonder if he had any grandsons in World War 2. He was 73 when Pearl Harbor was bombed in 1941. I wonder where he was. I wonder how he heard about it. I wonder what he thought of FDR's New Deal? I'll bet he was a fan of Social Security. I wonder when he bought his first automobile, and what he paid for it. I wonder where he was when he heard his first radio program or saw his first television show. I wonder when he got his first picture taken, or what the first thing was that he read at night by the light of a lightbulb.
One thing that this whole experience made me think about is not so much my own death, but what I want to happen to me after I die. Lately I've just been assuming that I'll be cremated - why should I take up a perfectly good spot of land for the next hundred years or so when I'll just be rotting away in it? I might as well speed up the process, skip the waste of a 4' x 8' plot of land, and be thrown off a cliff or something. After all, I won't really know the difference. However, my experience in the graveyard has given me a lot to think about and may have even changed my mind - at least in the short term. This is probably just another manifestation of my narcissistic tendencies, but I want someone to look at my gravestone a hundred years from when I die and wonder to themself where I was on Sept. 11th, 2001 or how I voted in the oh-so-close Presidential election of 2000. I want someone to wonder what my first computer was. I want someone to wonder how I suffered through the trials of my life, or to thank me for some seemingly small contribution that I might have made. I fear that my reasons for these desires may be shameless self-love, but I desire this nonetheless. I don't even know why I want someone to wonder about me after I'm dead; it's not like I'll know or be able to answer his/her questions.
Finally, this experience has given me confidence in my future. As you may have read two posts ago, I have chosen to go into education as my career choice, at least for the next few years. While I was wandering around the cemetary, I thought of a lesson idea. I don't know if it's feasable to perform this lesson or not, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm starting to think like a teacher, and it's exciting to me. I can't wait to try this lesson out to see if it'll work. I feel very good about this career decision and can't wait to get started.
Do you realize how absurd you look?
Alright, first off, let me apologize for the length of time that has passed since my last post. I can only say I'm sorry and blame a lack of time and inspiration. There; now that I feel better, I can write this post.
Absurdity - I see it all the time at Staples. The first of my examples comes from there, and I've seen it far too often. I really hate it when people walk into the store talking on a cell phone, or if they take a personal call (e.g. not business-related) while I'm trying to help them. If you do that kind of thing, let me tell you that you look rediculous. One time a couple weeks ago, a guy came in talking on his cell phone - but he was using his handsfree unit. Now, talking on your cell phone is one thing, but using a handsfree unit for no reason is another. Here is this guy walking around the store, and if you look at him from the wrong side it looks like he's talking - no, make that yelling - to himself. He is not even making a rudimentary attempt at not being rude and/or pompus by speaking quietly into his phone. I really really wanted to walk up to him and smash his phone, but of course Staples would frown upon that. Ahh, even as I type another example has arisen. I'm sitting in one of the computer labs at Susquehanna and a girl the room just answered a phone call. Her phone rang - loudly - and she picked it up and took the call without walking out of the room. Now, to her credit it wasn't a long call and she did speak quietly, but I watched her hang up and place her phone on the table without silencing it. I really do hate people.
Another example of absurdity - not so much looking, but acting this time - comes from a co-worker of mine, Joe. He's from Kenya. He's a pretty cool guy; he's pretty interesting to talk to. A couple of weeks ago, I got pulled into the machines side of Staples (computers, fax machines, printers, etc.) where Joe works. I was unable to answer a question fully for a customer, so I grabbed Joe as he walked by and asked him. He gave an answer and spoke to the gentleman for a few minutes in his Kenyan accent. He speaks fluent English, but he does have a somewhat thick accent. It's gotten easier to understand him with practice, but it is by no means hard to understand what he's saying if you've never met him. Anyone can carry on a conversation with him, but it might take a little more concentration. Anyway, at one point this customer asks Joe if he's from Jamaica. "I love the way you people talk", he says with a laugh. Much to my shock and disbelief, Joe affirms that he is from Jamaica and allows the man to tell him his story about the one time he was in Jamaica for an hour or two on a cruise. When the man leaves, I look back over at Joe and asked him why he said he was from Jamaica. "It's my way of turning a long story into a short one" he says. Apparently (and I totally believe him, knowing the central PA area), if he tells someone he's from Kenya, the very first question out of their mouth will be "Where's Kenya?" Now, until a couple months ago I wouldn't have been able to point it out on a map right away, but I could have at least told you that it's in Africa. I thought that it was entirely funny that he has resorted to lying in order to avert having to deal with narrow-mindedness.
My last example will be something that I know many people will agree with: guys wearing pink polo shirts with the collar popped. This has been analyzed from every point before, so I will not go too deep into it, but really, you look rediculous. Collar popped - alright fine, I can deal with it. It's not my thing, it looks kinda silly on most people, but there are a few people who can pull it off. But pink? No. It looks dumb. I can't wait for this fad to go the way of the mesh belly shirts that you saw sometimes in the mid to late 80's. I can't wait for these guys to look at pictures of themselves and cringe. The world will laugh at you until that day. We won't stop at that point, mind you - we'll still be laughing - but we'll be forced to laugh with you instead of at you.
So, in conclusion, silence your phone when you're indoors in a public place. If someone calls, go outside or call them back. Don't be ignorant - have at least a general sense of geography. There is a world outside the U.S. and western Europe. And last, if I'm ever in a vegitative coma and kept alive on life support, please please please, for the love of God, don't show me on national television in that condition.
Update on me
So one of the goals of this blog is to be a place to post major events that are happening in my life. A lot of significant stuff has happened almost all at once, so now seems like as good a time as any to update all of you on what's going on with me.
First off, school. After this semester, I will need one more class and student teaching to complete my certificate. The class will probably be taken over the internet (it needs to be a non-western history class, so I'll be taking Asian history pre 1500), and student teaching has just been confirmed for next semester. I will be doing my student teaching in the history (unfortunately not social science, but oh well) department at the Midd-West High School. For those of you not in the know (which included me until about 2-3 weeks ago), Midd-West used to be Middleburg High School. It merged with some other school (I forget which) and is now Midd-West. I'm not entirely thrilled that I'll be at the former Middleburg High School - let's just say it's not exactly (sub)urban - but the teacher I'll be under sounds like a pretty cool guy. I forget his name, but when I know it I'll post it here as a comment. So student teaching will be done in December. Following that is a pretty big question mark, but the plan right now is to move to Maryland with Mike and find a place (and a job, ideally) down there. If that doesn't work out, Reading PA is my next option. We'll see how that goes.
Second, I got the job at camp for this summer. Beginning in early June, I will be the Support Staff Director at Camp Susque in Trout Run PA. This is a management position that I've wanted for a few years, and I'm very much looking forward to serving in this capacity. A broad description of my duties is oversight of the entire support staff - Work Crew and Staff In Training (SITs). More specifically, I will be the one to make chore schedules, assign projects, instruct new Support Staff (especially the SITs) in their duties, and lead the SIT Bible study (I believe). I'm really really excited to have this opportunity.
Last, my hair. It's still growing. I've only had one haircut since maybe July or August, and I'm thinking it might be time for another (Janelle, are you reading this?). The back is getting too long and curly for my taste - almost mullet-y (but not quite; I've got it long on the sides and top too, but it doesn't look as long as the back). The jury is still out as to whether I'll let it grow or if I'll cut it off for the summer. That all depends on the weather, camp, and/or my own unpredictable whims. I like the long hair - I'd like it more if it was all a uniform length - but it's definately gone the route of annoyance. The short cut was boring, but so much easier to maintain. This long style is fun, some people seem to like it more (although that could be because I complained that no one liked it the first time), and I do think it fits my personality more (the short style was too straight-laced for me, I believe), but daggone is it annoying. Shaving in the morning sucks, because if I put my hair behind my ears it'll curl that way and stay with ear-shaped curls for a few hours. the other option is to shave with my head tilted back slightly to keep the hair straight but out of my face. It's also annoying because I can't look down without poking myself in the eye with my hair. Oh cruel fate why do you mock me?
So yeah, that's the big stuff in my life right now. Things seem to be going pretty well, despite some current computer problems, but that story is best left for a rant AFTER everything is fixed.
More advertising stuff
I realized today at work that advertising still holds a very high point of interest for me (although my last post should have tipped me off). I got some Burger King today at lunch, and the following was on the bag:
Official Baggler Procedure:
French fries that have attempted to escape from their container only ot strand themselves in the bottom of the bag are called "bagglers." Bagglers are fair game. The first to open the bag and retrieve the baggler gets to eat the baggler. Therefore, it is in one's best interest to be the keeper of the bag.
This, to me, is just a genius piece of marketing. First, they get your attention with the creation of a strange (but ultimately clever) new word: Baggler (bag straggler, for those of you who may have missed it - it took me a few minutes). Next, upon describing the word and it's use, they implant the assumption that Burger King french fries are tasty (which, I would say they are) and desireable. Next will often come the desire of someone to go to Burger King WITH SOME FRIENDS so that they can become the "keeper of the bag" and impress their out-of-the-loop friends with their extended vocabulary. Of course, fries will need to be bought during this visit, and if fries are bought it is pretty safe to assume that a drink will be purchased as well. After all, their fries are salty as poop.
Quick tangent. In my regular speech, "poop" refers to the logical extreme for everything. One thing can be hot as poop while another thing can be cold as poop and no foul has been committed. However, after I typed the line "their fries are salty as poop", I definately grossed myself out. Please let me clarify that I have no personal knowledge that actual poop is salty. I have never tasted poop, nor have I felt it to check it's temperature - although I think it's very safe to assume that new poop is roughly around 98.6 degrees Farenheit, since it has been in the body for a few days (ideally). Wow, this was a long and rather troubleing tangent. Now back to the advertisement.
And SOMEone in a group is bound to be hungry for a full meal, so it can be assumed that one or two people in a group of 4 or 5 will purchase a value meal. Total bill for a trip to Burger King to assert your superiority over your friends: Maybe 15 bucks.
And even if none of the above happens; if you have no desire to make yourself appear to tower over your friends academically, at least you may crack a smile at the word "baggler" and leave the restaraunt having had a positive experience. A slightly more positive worst-case-scenario would be that "baggler" becomes a part of your vocabulary and you have to explain to your friends where you heard such a word. Boom - instant word-of-mouth advertising.
Well done to you who thought of the idea to put this on your company's bag. Now if you could just get the food to not make people fat everything would be great.
