Specifically, the ones in my brain that set me to make pointless decisions quickly and thoroughly. I have set them up based on my experiences to result in the maximum outcome with the minimum effort, and they serve me well most of the time. I had a girlfriend once whose most annoying quality (other than the cheating, naturally) was her inability to make simple decisions. She thought they were unimportant, and therefore didn't care to decide at all. You would ask her if she wanted a mug or a glass, and without looking, she'd say "that one." Cute.
Once.
A thousand times? Not so much. This characteristic also led her to take the same attitude to important decisions as to simple ones. Show no preference. A helluva a way to live. In essence I had, by default, all the responsibility of the relationship, because I was the one making all the decisions, even though I let her make any single one of them herself. Hrm.
Even before that little episode, I had ways of making the pointless decisions that would lead me well. That simply solidified my desire to keep them and make more of them so I could leave the important brain operations open for doing other things. More important things. Like pointless worrying, for instance.

Sometimes, though, the defaults get out of whack. Or I apply the wrong default to the wrong situation.

Today, for instance, I have had something close to an unhealthy dose (say, 1/10th of a lethal level) of caffeine. Even on days when I feel terrible enough to brew a second decanter of coffee and drink all of it down, I don't come close to this level. So how have I come by here? Default behavior, like so many radio buttons arrayed to give you the option of one among several choices at the same time.

I awoke around eleven to the sound of gunfire and explosions, and an iconic warning noise of shield-outage. Steve had arisen, and was once again playing Halo 3 downstairs. By the time I had become either awake or frustrated enough to arise, don my bathrobe over my clothes (it had been a little chilly this morning), and sojurn downstairs, Juan, Bonnie, and Josh had all joined Steve and they were playing some pairing of teams or another on a level that reminded me of DM17 from Quake 3 (though, to be fair, this has a lot more to do with the man launchers than with anything else, as Q3 had those all over the goddam place, and they're supposed to be some kind of revolutionary new feature of Halo 3. Hrm). More explosions. Life was blurry and I remembered the remaining half of the six cups (by what measure they are "cups" I do not know, the indicator on the side says 8 and will fill my mug three times, last night I prepared six) of coffee there waiting for me on the counter, and really one shouldn't leave that out more than two days. Even though it had been a night in some six or seven hours, I was in the mood to heat up my coffee and have it, and not in the mood to eat anything, and certainly not in the mood to say anything.
In general, anyone who wants a response from me in the morning is asking for too much, especially since most of it is stuff that need not ever be said. Things like "good morning," fr'instance, belong between relative strangers. Take it as a sign of friendship that I say nothing to you when seeing you in the morning, and kindly don't bait me. I am unfailingly cranky. More and more I find no reason to keep from being cranky. There was a time this past February when I would awaken in a decidedly giddy state...but that's a story for another time, I savvy.
Life. Coffee. Halo 3 from the night previous. As if my tour in bed had been the intermission of the party, and not at all the end of it. Last night, many of you were here, and many of you were not. For those not here, I either did not pressure you enough, or you didn't want to have grilled food and play Halo 3, which is fine. I thought it would be universal enough to give it a shot, and indeed, some who came did so for being sick for company, which is also fine. What may grate against some of your sensibilities is the part where I used what was left of the money in the goose (which you all placed there as you extracted your cans of fizzies) to fund the purchase of the meat and other ingredients for the grill. So on the whole, I probably shafted half of you. That's interpersonal communism for you. And my apologies. There was simply no other way to more evenly use all of your monies for all of your benefits.

And the party wasn't over. Just moved temporally and size-wise; into the future and off to Springfield Mall. Dan arose, stated in some way or another that he and Alex would be going shopping there later. Bonnie averred that Juan and Steve should eat something for breakfast sooner or later, and that the Springfield food court was adequate, and we should all go along and eat something. Juan suggested that I come too, though I hadn't said a word or made a motion indicating I would rather do anything whatsoever. I was ready in one trip to my room to drop the bathrobe and grab the travel items, and a step to the closet to fetch my fetching orange pullover. We left for the mall, which is close enough that I can bother myself to walk there from time to time, but far enough away that my friends generally think I'm crazy for walking so far. We came, and parked near the food court, and entered. There were many people there on a Sunday morning-into-afternoon. It was loud. I was still sleepy. Had I been left alone, I probably would have still been asleep for many hours at that point. But there I stood, awake and walking abeam a thousand fellow americans with their little children all over the place, stale yellow lighting overhead highlighting tawdry stores full of useless wares. And the food!
All the lines formed well into the seating area, making navigation without almost stepping on someone-or-other's fifth-born impossible. At least three of the stores had little toothpicks they would use to skewer a bit of chicken and let you have a taste. One shop even had a vanguard giving this service to those further back in the queue, just to make sure they wouldn't stray from the line for want of the delicious treats in store. He was dressed in the traditional Japanese chef's garb befitting his store's style: red men's cotton button shirt, simple white apron, white floppy chef's hat, khaki pants and black shoes. Also he had gloves on (perhaps the last line of cultural defense against the barbarism all around the place).
I minded the noise and I still wasn't that hungry, and the glamour of the whole place was getting to me. None of the other five seemed to prefer one place over others, and Dan in particular was courteously stating his likely decision out loud while the rest of them tried not to be the one who decided what everybody was going to eat.
I left without a word, intending to stop at a coffee shop or ideolocator to find a coffee shop, and ignoring all else. In fact I couldn't ignore all else if I wanted to find something with a certain quality (the quality of being a coffee shop or directions to one), and so I spent the next minute or so taking in everything I could. Faces, number of children, average groupings, likelihood of my winning a fight if I went first, likelihood of my stealing something worthwhile, bags indicating previous positions, food or trays, hats, stores, shoes, and necks. Nothing interesting, really, but a lot of detail work to be done, I'm sure.
In fact I spied a kiosk nearby the entrance to one of the mall's larger hives, and be damned if it wasn't a private coffee vendor. Large coffee. Serve yourself from one of these, please and thank you. They had three flavours available (decaf not counting as a flavour, natch) and I chose the one that sounded the most like coffee, which actually had a name that I didn't recognize and was more complicated than either the french vanilla or the hazelnut blend. It was arabica and medium dark, royal something-or-other. I pumped a dram into the cup and shoved my nose into it and breathed deep. It had no frills, low acidity and low bitterness. It may have not been a blend, but rather beans from one field. There were no obvious defects or impurities (ammonia in the water, fr'instance), and seeing it was the only sans-flavour coffee available, I commited and filled the cup. It was hot enough to earn the sleeve, and I was pleased to note this kiosk used the style of plastic lid that grips both sides of the lip of the cup. This is entirely a traveler's coffee. It was my second of the day, and although nowhere near as dark as my brew at home (which is as dark as the law of man allows) it was large and hot and delightful. I took it back to the food court, expecting to find the others at a seat or in a line somewhere. In fact Juan found me about a second before I found him. He noted my coffee and insisted that I eat something, and he would even buy it for me if I would tell him what. I hesitated not a moment (even a sip of this stuff would do wonders for your appetite, and I was doubly pleased to have found the kiosk as readily as if I had known where the hell I was going), and found the gyros sellers unoccupied at all, ordered a gyros and it was ready in five seconds. And would I like a drink? Default said that if you get a meal that includes a drink, you should not turn it down, and having no preference for any flavour of fizz, I picked coke. Turns out it was the darkest soda he had. Hrm.
I sat down to join Steve and Bonnie with Juan at a pair of tables they had arranged to form a single larger table. I felt a little odd with both coffee and coke in hand, large and full. I ate the gyros, which was adequate. I have had such good ones from places around here (Spartan's, Angie's) that I couldn't call it excellent. It was merely very delicious. There was a gyro I had at a PTQ tournament in Richmond once...but again, story for another time. The coffee went well with the gyros, and I once again lamented the fact that I simply cannot buy pita bread like that at the grocery stores near where I live. I'll have to investigate the next time I'm in a Wegman's or Trader Joe's. Do remind me.
They talked WoW and I had nothing to say. I finished up and still had a half-a-coffee and a full coke. I carried them around for a bit. Dan and Alex departed to shop for clothes (courage, Dan), and we went in a direction of my specification to look for a blister pack of Magic that I had heard rumored to be in KayBee. Nada. Possibly it was in Gamestop? Nothing doing. Target also has this kind of packaging...but this Target only had Pokemon and Duel Monsters. Finally done with the coffee, I thought better of wasting more of the others' time with my insane quest, and suggested we go back home.
And I drank the coke, not wanting it to go to waste by default.
Steve played some single player Halo 3 this time, and Juan and Bonnie watched for a bit. Juan took a little nap or maybe just rested his eyes. I eventually retired to my room to play more of a redesigned version of Metroid 3; which I had been playing the night previous. Sitting there, playing, still with the taste of spicy lamb and coffee and coke, I wanted something in a mint, and sure enough, there were some mints of a sort on my table at the ready. Their container has unsubtle embossing on the outside suggestive of marble nude reliefs or IKEA furniture, and they are called "Oralfixation." They taste of chai and mint and have caffeine in, and are supposed to be trendy and sexy and suggestive I guess. Coming from Gitta to me as they did, this is a suggestion of nothing in particular, aside from get-these-goddam-things-out-of-my-purse-before-I-OD-on-them-at-work. Courage, Kaz. They also have a slick clasp feature to the case, and I may one day use it for business cards. Spring loaded feature...yeah. File it. Oh, as a final detail for the mints, one side has "FIX" etched on it, and the other reads "ON," but since they used a sans-serif font for it, the on is radially symmetric with "NO," and so reading the open clasp of mints makes "NO FIX" stand out in my head.
NOFIXNOFIXNOFIXNOFIX.
And I got another dose or two of caffeine.
Hours later, after I was done with Redesign for awhile, I wanted to eat a snack and prepared some of the tortillas and cheese dip leftover from the night before. The Game Fuel was still on the table, and I had some...it doesn't taste like it has all that much in it...all bubbly and gummi-worm-like, but it is Mountain Dew, and so there I was again.

I could go on about how all this is default behavior and how in essence I didn't wake up today, but skip it. You don't want to be reading that for the next twenty minutes anyway, and besides, I've much more to say about Metroid 3 as redesigned by sadists and psychopaths, and...
Well that's a better story for another time.

Back to Old News