Botched Serendipity

I wanted to be an artist. Well, forget be, I thought I was an artist back in Middle School. I figured I'd be one of those new-age-conceptual-art buffs that would make a very nothing notion into something mind boggling. Soon, I realized that "art" was indeed being able to paint or draw something that looked like... well, something! I'm no artist.

This morning, I was greeted with a barrage of the most random news ever. So, Oprah is quitting day-time television and coming out with her own channel. Fair enough, considering she's launched fools like Dr. Phil that, in stead of solving issues, are creating more. Then there's Dr. Oz. With a name like that, I find myself constantly knocking my patent-red mary-jane's together, in hopes of being transported on to his show. Then there's Rachel Ray. I don't think I disdain her like I do the other two. She makes cooking look easy. Maybe I'm sexist.

But the best news article has got to be the piece on "Optimism" in the subway. And I'm not talking food. Now, if you sprinkled a dash of optimism on my sandwich, I'd understand; get some of that in my system for sure. But printing it on my MetroCard which, lets face it, is exactly where I look to for some "serendipitous discovery," is pure genius!

What I want to know is what kind of drugs this artist is on. Wait, scratch that. What kind of drugs are those sad souls on that pay him $15 for 18 (wow) stickers that say "Optimism," which the website suggests you stick to leaves on your trees. They have feelings too. Because I'm sure that $15 couldn't be put to better use. Those chums that say a dollar-a-day could give some soul a college education are clearly mistaken as to the impact of a sticker. It will inspire your leaves to grow greener, despite the shade and the scorching heat. It'll make them want to defy photosynthesis and all that other scientific garb. Who needs that.

Officially, all the MTA is looking for is to "make a couple of customers smile a day, that’s nice." They know that all we look for in life is meaningless phrases, attached to even more meaningless articles that we stash away in the bottom of our purses, where we incidentally store that lint that we might need to knit ourselves something warm on a rainy day. Both essentially vital.

Reed Seifer, the brains behind this brilliance, was hoping that "maybe one day you just look and say, ‘Oh.’" That's really what Archimedes should have said. "Oh". But then again, discovering "optimism" means so much more than density. What is density anyway? I think I'm going to call Mr. Seifer and ask him to draw it out on a MetroCard for me.

The writer of the article that spurred my rant understands that "The word on the card can be read as an encouragement, a command, a taunt, an aspiration." Yes, because often I let my MetroCard talk smack to me. But the worst of all is that darned Credit Card. Just because it puts the whole world in my hands [I tried looking for the youtube link to the "you've got the whole world in your hands" Mastercard ad. I failed], it thinks it can say what it wants. Sometimes, I don't pay my bill to show him who the real Master is.

I was truly inspired when I heard how Mr. Seifer came up with this sheer genius. "Mr. Seifer was inspired by a maxim he found printed on a Domino’s sugar packet: “An optimist is someone who tells you to cheer up when things are going his way.”" Right, so when things are going my way, I'll tell you to suck it up. Deal with it. In yo' face foo'. But when they go your way, I say what? I'm a little confused. I think I need to look at my MetroCard one more time for inspirational clarity.

Its not just a word scribbled on a card. A lot of time and concentrated thought went into, for instance, deciding what font to use (yes, he settled for the most plane mundane one). But one thing he forgot about, silly Mr. Seifer, whilst designing his masterpiece, were the actual dimensions and physical characteristics of the card. "As he designed the card, Mr. Seifer said, he did not take into account the small hole punched along the left edge of every MetroCard. In a happy accident, the hole lined up perfectly with the word, becoming a kind of period." I love when my bothcery serendipitously culminates into a divine plan. Makes me feel, almost, prophetic.