Adventures in Empty Spaces

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The more that I think about it, the more that there seem to be a lot of behaviours that may be related to this phenomenon. Climbing mountains comes to mind. Running marathons. We do these things because we derive satisfaction from them - but what is the source of this satisfaction? It may not all be about adrenaline and achievement. It may be that the sense of satisfaction that comes from the completion of a gruelling ordeal is really just the temporary numbing of a different sort of discomfort, one worse than sore legs or raw, bleeding hands.

... I'm willing to bet that a day at Disneyland beats the hell out of a day of watching B movies and breast-enhancement pill commercials in a hotel room while waiting for a layer of burnt skin to fall off.

Myriad different socially anomalous activities might well be explained in this way. There are people who go about their daily business dressed as Star Trek characters, filling up on fictional belief systems and imaginary accomplishments and status. There are some people who fill their internal canyons with wild-drunken consumerism, stocking their personal vacuums with a steady flow of shiny new products. What else could explain the existence of the shopping network, lava lamps, and sharperimage.com? Hey, there are even some lunatics who write crank mail to unsuspecting corporations. Crank mail, yeah, let's linger on that one for a minute.

Well, let's see, there was the time I sent that angry letter to the manufacturers of Coppertone suntan lotion. Writing to express your displeasure about a product's performance isn't exactly the purest form of crank mail, but I was going off on something of a tangent when I recounted for them exactly how the failure of Coppertone SPF15 suntan lotion to perform it's ascribed duties, caused me to miss a trip to Disneyland. My first trip to Disneyland. Thus far, what would have been my only trip to Disneyland. Never having been I can't say for sure, but I'm willing to bet that a day at Disneyland beats the hell out of a day of watching B movies and breast-enhancement pill commercials in a hotel room while waiting for a layer of burnt skin to fall off.

Now, that wasn't a complete crank letter, but it had some of the elements. Incidentally, in response to my heartfelt anguish, Coppertone offered me a refund on the purchase price of my sunscreen if I would send in a proof of purchase. I never bothered to take them up on it though - $5.69 doesn't fill in much of an existential void.

Then there was the toboggan company. That one was pure crank mail, no denying that. It was a cold, snowy, winter's night and I was lingering around the house getting laundry done in preparation for a business trip I was leaving on in the morning. Business trips always seem to make me suddenly think of all the personal affairs that I've been remiss in dealing with, the people I haven't called recently, who I've neglected to make time to see. It was weighing on me. So what did I do to address this conscience-eroding problem? Did I call some people up, make plans to see them when I got back, give my Dad a long overdue phone call? No, I did not.