Unpacked: A Walker Returns Home

Condolences to the Kranzler family, whose Ipod died on their way to work this morning.

The Kranzlers will be sitting Shiva, the seven customary days of mourning, in their Jerusalem apartment this week. All are welcome to hear stories of music and downloads, harmonies and instrumentals. 

May we pray together for resurrection of the dead, when man and his deceased machines will rejoice together in Zion.

So what does it say about our culture that we relate to stuff’s expiration, in the same language as we do our own?

“My pen died.” “My phone died.” My stuff, died. Yesterday, I told the mechanic that our car died. Died?

It makes me think. When our car dies, who mourns its loss? Us? Yet-to-perish Renaults? Do all cars begin to think about taking functionality for granted, and start saying to each other, “You know, it really makes you think…”?

How will our car be judged in heavenly court? As the vehicle that takes us dependably to work, that hosts us comfortably in its breast, and provides us with air conditioning and pretty music? Would it be damned for fuel inefficiency, as the Hybrids gallop by on their way to heaven? When confronted by God about climate change, will our car be able to say “I was just following orders?”

Another question: When rechargeable batteries die, what spiritual force reenters them through the socket in the wall, bringing them back to us again? Should we not call them Reincarnate-able Batteries instead?

I’m not sure what we’re implying when we speak of things dying. Is it that they are as important to us as living things? Do we not appreciate actual death?

It’s ironic, really, to use a human-defining ability like language to humanize things not human.

I’d like to think that speaking of things dying is just a coincidence. That it neither reflects nor influences our perception of objects, or our understanding of life.

But I worry that I’m wrong.

Is the chopping down of the trees that make my paper, as disturbing to me as the temporary death of my cellphone?

Am I that bothered when billions of creatures and their ecosystems are destroyed to provide space and fuel to give life to the objects I call my own?

And when I speak of things dying all the time, every day- when I can make them come back to life so easily by plugging them into the wall or getting them fixed- will I understand or feel pain, when real people suffer or are killed all over the world?

In any case, the Kranzlers are okay, despite their Ipod running out of battery on their way to work. In fact, they welcome you to come and listen to music on their newly reincarnated Ipod, who they now believe to be a Gilgul (reincarnation) of a Walkman.

Come come all, as together we’ll celebrate the genius of real, live humans, and enjoy their ability to create really, really great things.

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A city can be defined as a big mush of human development. I spend a good deal of time grumbling about things unfortunate in that mush. But the truth is that humans are super cool and super smart and super fascinating and big mushes of human development produce some great things.

Take Free Range Studios, for example.

Free Range makes movies, art, and other productions dealing with social consciousness and making the world better. They package content that is novel and thought-provoking in a friendly, digestible fashion. “Creativity with a conscience,” they call themselves.

I chanced upon Free Range by watching their most popular short movie of last year, Story of Stuff. They’ve made movies critiquing the meat industry, artistic campaigns for freeing Tibet, and scores of other good-for-the-world projects.

My favorite thing about Free Range is that despite doing good, they are not a non-profit. (more…)

To my dear Kitchen Knife, and to your colleagues in the stuff community that makes up my material possessions:

I apologize for not finding value in you, and for not utilizing all of your potential before going out to buy new and “improved” versions of you. I am sorry that I always feel like I need more stuff, when so much of the stuff that I already have is really good enough.

Kitchen Knife, while I will continue to use my grippy vegetable knife more than you, I very much appreciate your sharing your story, and will remember it when dealing with stuff in the future. I believe you to be a courageous ambassador for stuff worldwide, and bless you with a restful future in your drawer, where you can lie peacefully and proudly till the end of your days.
I thank you,

Yannai

(To read the Kitchen Knife’s Story, click here)

To all of my readers: In honor of my kitchen knife, and in the name of all the wasted stuff out there, I’d like you to do something. I think this can be very powerful:

Please think of something- some stuff that you own, but don’t really use, and issue it an apology, in the form of a comment on this page, similar to the above apology to my kitchen knife. You can apologize to a shirt, a pair of shoes, a pot, a shelf, a CD, a humidifier, an old baseball glove or whatever else.

Imagine a page full of apologies from humans to stuff, committing to a more efficient and responsible usage of stuff in the future. The kitchen knife and all his friends will be so proud!

I am a kitchen knife. Not a butter knife, a chopping knife, or any special sort of knife. I’m just a knife. My only defining characteristic is my neon green handle. I am a kitchen knife, and this is my story.

I was born in China, manufactured together with thousands of other knives identical to myself. Five years ago, I made the trip from China to Israel, together with scores of cutlery and other kitchenware colleagues. The journey was bumpy and dark- I spent it locked in a wooden crate- but I passed the time by dreaming of a new future in a foreign land cutting foreign foods.

My serrated blade is of the finest stainless steal. My handle, like I said, is plastic- not rubber or some ergonomic material like fancier knives. But to date, I’ve never slipped or been dropped, and I have never cut the person holding me and cutting with me. I cut well, and serve those who request my assistance.

After just a few months on a shelf in a Jerusalem market, I was purchased by Yannai and Chana. (more…)