David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published Oct. 4, 2005

Spider-Man and microwaves are wading in my stream

I had a high school English teacher who liked to assign what she called "stream of consciousness writing." The basic idea is to just start writing -- write whatever comes to mind, no matter how nonsensical or disjointed. Just write. She said it teaches you how to verbalize thoughts. Everyone has little random notions flowing through their heads, but learning to jot them down coherently is the essence of writing.

I've been writing this column for years, but it's been quite a while since I've done a "stream of consciousness" column. I used to do them once a year or so, but I've gotten away from them for whatever reason. Perhaps my stream doesn't flow as freely since parenthood set in.
Well no more. In case you haven't figured it out by now, I'm doing one now.

If having a big head, big feet and big hands means you're not very threatening, I must be one of the least intimidating men in America. I don't know if it's true or not, but who can argue with pajama makers? A few minutes ago I was in my son's bedroom and took note of his Spider-Man jammies wadded up on the floor a few feet away from the clothes hamper. They show Spider-Man with a fantastically huge head, giant hands and big goofy feet. It's obviously not the same Spider-Man Kirsten Dunst fawned over in the movies.

If it were, maybe Kirsten has a thing for me, too. I have a big head. My head's so big that I can't wear baseball caps. One size fits all? Not for me it doesn't. I suppose I could special order a fitted cap in my size, but I have no idea what size hat I wear. Who keeps track of hat size? I don't know how I'd even measure something like that. I've come close to pursuing it a few times, but I never followed through. I guess I'll just spend my life squinting on sunny days.

Anyway, let's get back to Spider-Man's disproportionally large appendages. (I got a little off track there. Such are the pitfalls when one streams his consciousness.) Phil's going through a rather intense Spider-Man phase. A 2-year-old's pajamas are obviously intended for, well, 2-year-olds, but Phil has other Spider-Man goodies like toys, dolls, stickers and other stuff. Some of his toys are geared toward older kids, and those toys feature the kind of Spider-Man with whom Kirsten does inverted lip-locks -- muscular, athletic, kinetic and, most importantly, normal-sized head, hands and feet.

The conclusion I draw is this: Someone has decided that if Spider-Man's head, hands and feet are comically large he's more appealing, maybe not quite so scary, to 2- and 3-year-olds, but older kids want a Spidey who looks a little more realistic. I'm not sure anyone can look realistic wearing a skin-tight blue and red costume swinging from a web he shoots out of his wrist, but you get the point.

Who would have thought of that? Not I. I'd never bring that up in a meeting. I suppose that's why I do what I do, and the Spider-Man people do what they do.

Did I harp too much on Spider-Man? Maybe. It's time to talk about something else.

Recently I took my kids to their twice-a-week preschool. On the way there, gas was $2.999. Don't forget that crucial one-thousandth of a dollar decimal place. You can bet the oil company weasels don't. Five hours later as I was driving to pick them up (my kids, not the weasels), gas at the very same station was $3.299. If someone can give me a reasonable, logical explanation why the price of gas shoots up 10 percent in five hours, I'd love to hear it.

Why did George Jetson just flash into my head? That's not good. Should I call a doctor about something like that? If a random picture of George Jetson suddenly appeared on my computer, I'd know something was wrong. Is my brain any different? Maybe someone planted spyware in my cerebral cortex.

Microwave ovens should be standardized. If I'm reheating some kung pao chicken in my microwave, I know precisely how long to set the timer. If I were using your microwave, I'd have no idea. Maybe yours is three times as powerful. Maybe it's woefully underpowered -- heat for 40 seconds, test, still cold, heat for another 40 seconds, test, warmer but still cool, heat for maybe 25 seconds (20 seconds seems too short, 30 seconds seems too long, split the difference), ouch!, now it's way too hot. If conventional ovens can be standardized, why not microwaves?

How does arm hair know when to stop growing? If you shave your arm, it will grow back but then stop growing when it reaches a certain length, but hair on your head keeps growing and growing until your wife pesters you to "get a haircut already." Hair is hair, isn't it? Apparently not. Maybe it's for the best. I'd hate to shave my arms every morning.

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@tds.net