the unbearable lightness of boredom (..irony of fish crackers and regina spektor)

As far as I or anyone can tell, they're made from nothing more than starch, with minute hints of salt and pepper depending on the brand you pick. Of course the cheap plastic bag it comes in, lists a stew of other ingredients (well, chemicals really), purporting to add a semblance of taste to the popular snack. But the claim may prove an understated hyperbole. Fish crackers, if anything are infused with the unmistakable flavor of the cardboard.

Eating fish crackers is like munching solid air. You get a "sensation of sorts" at first: lips discern texture, nostrils detect a shy odor, teeth cuts through what is perceived as solid matter. And yet -and here's the conundrum- both the brain and the stomach are aware, with a conspirational smugness between them, that there's nothing there. The buds transmit no taste; the innards have no calories to absorb. A bag of fish crackers is an edible mirage.

Though an addictive one at that. Fish crackers compliment beer. Fish crackers go side-by-side with a bowl of assorted peanuts. Fish crackers go well with most types of juices and soft drinks. Second only to potato chips, fish crackers are the snack of choice to a clear majority - to be idly dipped in vinegar and munched until the bag is empty and our disquieting desire steps in and asks for more.

Why? Why is this so, you ponder? You rattle your brain and exhaust your imagination, forcing both to yield answers doomed to be dissatisfying. Then comes the point where curiousity, exhausted and frustrated, must yield to categorize the allure of Fish Crackers as an enigma, one of human civilization's grand mysteries, like the exact recipe for Coke.

Still, if the working dynamics of the fish cracker eludes, the impulse behind the need to understand is discernible.

Considering the myriad of concerns a normal human being is made to confront, WHY SHOULD WE CARE? Why should we care about the supposed lack of taste of fish crackers and their (Oh, ironies of ironies!) addictive appeal. Why go through the trouble of even stating a non-consequential problem? Why write and rant about and waste other people's time?

Well, we shouldn't care, really. Or more specifically, i shouldn't. Its just that, I'M BORED!

When you're bored, the mundane exudes an element of mystery that generates an authentic sense of wonder. A "wonder-ment" that either leads you to madness or to wallow, habitually, in self-pity.

When you're bored, you begin to notice things that were previously dismissed as commonplace or beneath the dignity of full-scale attention. The smell of naval lint, the odd shape of a toe, Kris Aquino's various facial ticks when she badly pretends to be excited in her game show and yes, fish cracker mysteries.

When you're bored, you tend to find things which have long surpassed the urgency of their need. Once favorite pens turn at the oddest of places, old high school pictures, and that collared pink shirt (now undersize) with flattering appeal.

When you're bored, you begin to exercise that dormant ability to philosophize. ("Would it make a difference if i were born a day earlier?" Yes, i would have asked this yesterday.)

And sooner you think, when you're bored, you conjure up means to amuse yourself or while away the time. For one thing, you know you're bored when you start sending out inconsequential surveys to friends, and people you just want to annoy.

And other thing besides. The other week, i watched all Regina Spektor videos available. At some point, probably after the fourth or fifth instance I've notice the cleverly placed Spektor's cameos, Regina's songs becomes eclectic enough to elevate her status, at least in my view, from sheer lucky to a bona fide artist. Why? Because on a day when boredom has reduced me to putrid level of a fan, she has demonstrated the healing power of art.

Art quells boredom by substituting idleness with the comforts of senselessness.