Posers

Just the sight of sporks agitates me. In fact, this graphic is already setting me on edge.

As the best argument against multi-tasking, these crappy utenstils pretend to do double-duty but end up falling short.

Twice.

As Ron Swanson instructs, "Never half-ass two things. Whole-ass one thing."

Recently, Jan and I enjoyed Saturday-night margaritas and tacos at a favorite sidewalk spot. For dessert, we grabbed a pint of ice cream next door. As if scooped by the hand of God Almighty, the stuff was D-I-V-I-N-E. The frozen manna, however, needed a bit of thawing to reach full glory since it was hard as a rock. What did they serve it with? Yep. You don't send a boy to do a man's work, and the damn thing broke after 3 tries. Profanity ensued. I glanced over at our dirty dinner silverware. Still sitting on the plates, mocking me. More profanity.

It turns out that the humble spork has been B-teaming it for nearly 150 years. By random crapshoot of birth, Samuel W. Francis was born into the New York elite about 30 years before the country tore itself in two. The son of a doctor, young Samuel followed in dad's footsteps and eventually treated some of the Civil War's worst casualties. Along the way, he also filed patents for piano-keyed typewriters and matches that light when pulled from their case. When he received this particular patent, the 1874 design even included a knife.

Wow, an all-in-1 tool that sucks at three jobs? Sounds like third-assing.

Long before the petroleum industry and The Graduate brought us plastics, the spork's original design was metal. Honestly, I think that might have worked: utilitarian, strong and efficient. In its modern-day form, however, the thing just comes off as goofy and useless.

I find the same to be true of most so-called gurus.

Folks pretending to be something they're not, perched high on a mountaintop claiming views unattainable to the rest of us. They're happy to share those divine insights, usually summarized in TED Talks and promoted on book tours. Mere mortals like you and me can access the complete sacred texts either next day with free shipping or by immediate download to our preferred devices.

Give me a break.

Sporks can get rock-hard ice cream into my tummy faster than today's gurus can inspire me to live better, believe harder, or breathe deeper. Maybe my fifty-something cynicsim is kicking in. Or maybe calling bullsh!t on others' so-called enlightenment is the real enlightenment.

Life's best teachers to me are the ones who are more interrogative than declarative. The ones who prefer asking to telling. They tend to want to explore more, see what's around the bend, get to the next What, Why, or How:

"What if...?"

"Why that way?"

"How about the possibility of...?"

Despite my contempt for his creation, Sam was my kind of guy:

Tinkerer.

Discoverer.

Inventor.*

A guy who wondered as he wandered.

I'll follow that kind of guy any day.

*Indeed, I have invented two things of my own. The US Patent Office assures me no one else has conceived them yet. They won't produce for me though: I'm a Tired Dad without the stamina. Or the network. Or the capital. There's no silver spork in this mouth.