So… Roughly ten minutes after I finished my first post, I found inspiration for this one. And by “found inspiration” I mean I cut the tip of my finger off while cooking breakfast. This is the tool of my demise:
The point of this post is not the story of what happened, don’t worry you’ll still get to find out… but to start a discussion about why it is so hard to just listen to the advice of other people. Sometimes it seems that the only way to learn is from human experience. I will share two stories from the past week that have proven this point to me.
For the first story, we have to start back at last Halloween. I went to a party in a good friend’s apartment at a small school in Pennsylvania. The party was awesome; I met some great and gorgeous people, and my costume killed. I went dressed as “The Most Interesting Man in the World”.
Two of the important pieces of the costume, and the story, are the full suit and a bottle of Dos Equis. After spending a few hours in a packed apartment wearing that full suit, I needed to go for a walk to cool down. I left the apartment and walked to the corner, then immediately came upon a cop car. Here is where that second element comes in, the beer bottle. The cops stepped out of the car and wrote me a ticket for an open container. Now there is a longer and more hilarious story here, and we can argue all day about the legitimacy of this ticket, but that’s not the point. The story really starts the next day when I attempted to pay said ticket.
I awoke wondering if it had all been a dream, only to come crashing back to reality when I found the citation in my pocket. I found out how to pay it and resolved to conquer my hangover and handle my business. I hit an ATM and drove to the magistrate’s office to pay my $110 fine. I was informed that I would not be able to pay my ticket because they couldn’t accept my guilty plea. The city was in the process of updating their computer system and hadn’t uploaded the code for an open container ticket.
Unwilling to leave my money there in the hopes that someone on the crack staff at the magistrate’s office would remember it was from me, and not wanting to check every day to see if Pennsylvania had joined the information age, I was frustrated. The woman working the desk wiped my worries away by taking down my contact information and assuring me that I would be called as soon as the new system was up and running. Naively, I walked out of the office and happily drove home, wondering how long it would be before I spent this ear-marked $110.
Fast forward to June, I had never heard anything from the magistrate’s office and I believed them to be just incompetent enough to allow me to get lost in the paperwork. While at my graduation party I told the thrilling tale of how I had bested “the man” to my cousins. My brother-in-law overheard and said to me “Dude, I told you last year, you gotta pay that f-in ticket. Trust me man, the government never misses a chance to take your money.” I assured him that Pennsylvania “Got nothing on me!”
He insisted that I should at least call to find out if that were in fact the case. I finally got around to that chore last week. Imagine my surprise when the woman at the magistrate’s office informed me that they had not lost my ticket; and that due to my failure to pay the citation, there had been a bench warrant for my arrest posted since November.
Choosing to sacrifice the obvious sex appeal I had gained as a wanted man, I made all the necessary arrangements to end my time as a fugitive of the law (not that big a deal, basically my ticket ended up costing closer to $200). Once again there is a longer story here, but the point remains that I should have listened to my brother-in-law (and dad, mom, sister, etc…) and checked on the status of my ticket back in November. Instead, I hoped to get lucky and slip through the system. Is there something inherent in human DNA that makes us believe we are the exception to the rule? Or is it simply my own hubris that gets me in trouble?
Now for the sad story of how I disfigured myself over a potato. I woke up on America’s birthday at about 11 AM, why so late you ask? Because I’m unemployed and I get to stay up until three if I feel like it, that’s the sole advantage to being poor. I came downstairs, said “good morning” to my parents and logged into tumblr. After a final proof-reading of my inaugural post, I officially launched Machak’s Matrix. My dad was online shopping for a new tv so he asked me to cook breakfast. Those of you that know me the best know that breakfast is squarely in my wheelhouse. I can go as simple as a bowl of cereal, and as fancy as Eggs Benedict complete with hollandaise sauce… o yeah.
So I went to the kitchen and popped open the fridge. Based on the ingredients available I settled on the classic eggs, bacon, toast, and fried potatoes. Fried potatoes are the easiest way to make hash browns at home, plus I figured I’d get to play with my dad’s new kitchen toy: the aforementioned mandolin. My dad asked what I was making, I told him, and he gave me some sage advice. “If you’re going to use the mandolin, be very careful. It’s incredibly sharp, so be sure to use the safety guard.” I said “gotcha” or something equally smug and self-confident, and set up the mandolin.
Looking at the potato and the safety guard, I decided it was impractical to try to slice the whole potato using it. I figured I could just put the guard on when I got closer to my hand. Everything started off great, I was slicing through the potato like a ninja turtle through a foot soldier; that is to say, very quickly and spouting snappy one-liners the whole time. My witty puns quickly turned to expletives when I severed more than the potato. Alerted by my cries, my parents came into the kitchen to investigate. After a richly deserved “I told you that thing was sharp”, my dad finished cooking breakfast while my mommy wrapped my finger in gauze.
Now in fairness to me I was planning on using the guard, I just thought I had another slice before it was necessary. Obviously, I miscalculated. The point of the story is that even a lesson as simple as “take every precaution to avoid mutilating yourself when cooking” is better understood when learned through your own experience.
These two short stories don’t even get into the classics like “Don’t take a gf/bf to college” or “Strippers don’t really like you” (kidding mom). Does anyone else have a story from their life in the same vein? Or am I alone here with the ancient Greeks? Hit that comment button and make me feel like less of an idiot.
Machak’s Six Mix:
Cracked Article of the Week Harrison Ford is the lowest person on this list… you know there’s some impressive stuff coming.
Addicting game of the Week a game hard enough that you’ll feel accomplished if you win, and easy enough that you’ll be able to.
Text From Last Night of the Week an epic ego boost.
Song of the Week has been stuck in my head all week, and I like it.
Random Fact of the Week this man was dedicated to his craft.
Surprise Awesomeness of the Week submitted by birthday girl Kristen Lautenschlager.
 |
| Vicious right? |
The point of this post is not the story of what happened, don’t worry you’ll still get to find out… but to start a discussion about why it is so hard to just listen to the advice of other people. Sometimes it seems that the only way to learn is from human experience. I will share two stories from the past week that have proven this point to me.
For the first story, we have to start back at last Halloween. I went to a party in a good friend’s apartment at a small school in Pennsylvania. The party was awesome; I met some great and gorgeous people, and my costume killed. I went dressed as “The Most Interesting Man in the World”.
 |
| I know... nailed it |
Two of the important pieces of the costume, and the story, are the full suit and a bottle of Dos Equis. After spending a few hours in a packed apartment wearing that full suit, I needed to go for a walk to cool down. I left the apartment and walked to the corner, then immediately came upon a cop car. Here is where that second element comes in, the beer bottle. The cops stepped out of the car and wrote me a ticket for an open container. Now there is a longer and more hilarious story here, and we can argue all day about the legitimacy of this ticket, but that’s not the point. The story really starts the next day when I attempted to pay said ticket.
I awoke wondering if it had all been a dream, only to come crashing back to reality when I found the citation in my pocket. I found out how to pay it and resolved to conquer my hangover and handle my business. I hit an ATM and drove to the magistrate’s office to pay my $110 fine. I was informed that I would not be able to pay my ticket because they couldn’t accept my guilty plea. The city was in the process of updating their computer system and hadn’t uploaded the code for an open container ticket.
Unwilling to leave my money there in the hopes that someone on the crack staff at the magistrate’s office would remember it was from me, and not wanting to check every day to see if Pennsylvania had joined the information age, I was frustrated. The woman working the desk wiped my worries away by taking down my contact information and assuring me that I would be called as soon as the new system was up and running. Naively, I walked out of the office and happily drove home, wondering how long it would be before I spent this ear-marked $110.
Fast forward to June, I had never heard anything from the magistrate’s office and I believed them to be just incompetent enough to allow me to get lost in the paperwork. While at my graduation party I told the thrilling tale of how I had bested “the man” to my cousins. My brother-in-law overheard and said to me “Dude, I told you last year, you gotta pay that f-in ticket. Trust me man, the government never misses a chance to take your money.” I assured him that Pennsylvania “Got nothing on me!”
 |
| Pictured: Confidence |
He insisted that I should at least call to find out if that were in fact the case. I finally got around to that chore last week. Imagine my surprise when the woman at the magistrate’s office informed me that they had not lost my ticket; and that due to my failure to pay the citation, there had been a bench warrant for my arrest posted since November.
Choosing to sacrifice the obvious sex appeal I had gained as a wanted man, I made all the necessary arrangements to end my time as a fugitive of the law (not that big a deal, basically my ticket ended up costing closer to $200). Once again there is a longer story here, but the point remains that I should have listened to my brother-in-law (and dad, mom, sister, etc…) and checked on the status of my ticket back in November. Instead, I hoped to get lucky and slip through the system. Is there something inherent in human DNA that makes us believe we are the exception to the rule? Or is it simply my own hubris that gets me in trouble?
 |
| Ancient Greeks, warning us about hubris since ancient Greece |
So I went to the kitchen and popped open the fridge. Based on the ingredients available I settled on the classic eggs, bacon, toast, and fried potatoes. Fried potatoes are the easiest way to make hash browns at home, plus I figured I’d get to play with my dad’s new kitchen toy: the aforementioned mandolin. My dad asked what I was making, I told him, and he gave me some sage advice. “If you’re going to use the mandolin, be very careful. It’s incredibly sharp, so be sure to use the safety guard.” I said “gotcha” or something equally smug and self-confident, and set up the mandolin.
 |
| Above: A slow learner |
Now in fairness to me I was planning on using the guard, I just thought I had another slice before it was necessary. Obviously, I miscalculated. The point of the story is that even a lesson as simple as “take every precaution to avoid mutilating yourself when cooking” is better understood when learned through your own experience.
These two short stories don’t even get into the classics like “Don’t take a gf/bf to college” or “Strippers don’t really like you” (kidding mom). Does anyone else have a story from their life in the same vein? Or am I alone here with the ancient Greeks? Hit that comment button and make me feel like less of an idiot.
Machak’s Six Mix:
Cracked Article of the Week Harrison Ford is the lowest person on this list… you know there’s some impressive stuff coming.
Addicting game of the Week a game hard enough that you’ll feel accomplished if you win, and easy enough that you’ll be able to.
Text From Last Night of the Week an epic ego boost.
Song of the Week has been stuck in my head all week, and I like it.
Random Fact of the Week this man was dedicated to his craft.
Surprise Awesomeness of the Week submitted by birthday girl Kristen Lautenschlager.
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