Possessed

To begin, answer these two questions:

1. Of the movies you own, which one is your favorite?

2. When was the last time you watched it?

Chances are you haven’t sat down and soaked in this classic in quite some time. You adore this film and you have access to it at all times, yet you never watch it. Why is this?

The graph above shows how likely we are to watch the movies that we love during the various phases of release. We can see how excitement and anticipation cause increased viewing likelihood during theatrical and DVD release, as well as small swells upon television premier and DVD purchase. Now let’s see what availability looks like throughout the release period:

If we compare these two graphs, we can see that there is a correlation between the film’s availability and the likelihood of watching it. When the movie is in stages of high availability, the likelihood of watching is increased. This is generally true up to the DVD purchase, when likelihood and availability diverge. What is especially fascinating, and the subject of our focus, is how the likelihood of watching is at its lowest point when availability is at its highest. To clarify: when you own something, you no longer desire it.

Think about all that you desire in life. These are things that you do not currently have. At first it seems obvious and appropriate that we do not yearn for something which we possess, but this behavior is, in fact, strangely self-defeating and masochistic.

Besides possession, or ownership, and desire, choice also contributes to the behavior. In order to desire something, there must be an option for us to desire (choice).

As we can see above, when there is no choice, there is no desire, for we are forced to accept out situation. When we have choice, desire flourishes, for we can then desire all the things that we do not have. When there is an oversaturation of choice, we have no desire; this is sometimes called choice fatigue. For example, let’s say that you just bought a brand new television, but it’s 1960 and you only have 7 channels. Because there are so few channels, and no option of acquiring more, you are forced to enjoy those 7 channels thoroughly. As a contrasting example, imagine you recently subscribed to satellite television, inviting a massive migration of media messages into your home. Despite the gargantuan quantity and diversity of entertainment at your fingertips, you are not satisfied by any of the options. This is due to both an increase in choice, which causes an increase in expectation and, thus, disappointment, as well as decrease in desire, since that which you once craved is now in your ownership. Some would complain that an increase in channels means there are fewer quality choices, but it is precisely because there are more quality choices that our desire decreases. A choice that would have been acceptable before is now rejected in search of something greater.

As for ownership, it is a poison to desire, causing it to wither like a severed vine. There are some situations where we can enjoy, with renewed passion, the things that we own. There is hope. Spain has a plan.

When we unsuspectingly encounter something we own, outside of our control, we are released from the bondage of ownership, free to enjoy it once again. When we find that our favorite movie is being shown on television, or our favorite song is playing on the radio, the shackles are shattered. Even though we could choose to enjoy the thing at any moment, it is only when we do not choose it that we can enjoy it. The exact cause for this exception is obscure, for now let’s just accept it as a gift.

So now that we know how to destroy desire, we also know how to cultivate it. We must preserve our desire; do not own the things you love. Borrow them, share them, rent them, but do not own them. Do not cage the beast of desire.

Menu Mayhem: Part I

It’s a clear, warm Saturday night in August, around 7:00 PM, when you decide to go out for a nice dinner with your darling.

You arrive at your destination: a mildly extravagant downtown eatery. After being led to your seats, you and your lover open the menus and begin scanning them while discussing the day’s events.

A few moments pass and you are gently interrupted by a well-spoken man in his late twenties with a clean but edgy haircut and a light beard.  With a confident and friendly tone, he introduces himself and adds that he will be your server for the evening. You order a couple of drinks to sip while you scour the selection of appetizers and entrées.

You take turns pointing out potential choices, but each one doesn’t quite fit your appetite tonight. The peppercorn steak looks appetizing, but you don’t really feel like eating that much meat. The southwest chicken salad sounds delicious, but it’s a salad. Several unproductive minutes go by and the server returns to take your order.

You request a few additional moments to finalize your selection, but you’re actually less sure about what you’re going to order than when you walked in. After frantically turning the pages back and forth, you surrender – there just isn’t anything good on the menu.

This is not an uncommon experience for restaurant patrons, usually ending with the defeated selection of something mediocre. There is a way, however, to avoid this tragedy.

Read the entire menu.

This solution is obvious, of course, but no one does it. Menus are one of few literary sources which are seldom read from start to finish. Newspapers and magazines are explored in a nonlinear fashion, but they are much larger than restaurant menus and are still read categorically.

We will often open menus to a random page and begin reading at an arbitrary location on that page. We’ll read one or two items in the nearby vicinity of the first, then skip to another page. We explore appetizers, desserts, drinks and entrées without actually reading any of the sections in full. By the time we begin to lose hope we have actually explored only a small number of the choices on the menu.

Even if you aren’t going to read all of the items, at least read the entrée section before dismissing the entire menu. Claiming that your options are exhausted before examining the entire selection is obviously quite foolish.

Read your menu like a book: start to finish.

In part II we will see how a systematic exploration of a typical restaurant menu exposes terrible inconsistencies.