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BLACK LINES, WHITE CROSSING

22 September 2010

Don’t look at me as if you’ve never had a lactoidical rummaged. Who are you fooling?

There are certain things in this world you can only understand through experience. The joy of a specific hobby, the feeling you get when playing Grim Fandango for the first time and though I haven’t myself experienced it, I would assume the birth of your child is one also. OCD is another. Obsessive compulsive disorder comes in many forms and shapes and it’s easy to misunderstand entirely if you yourself are not, so to say, disordered.

Case in point. I was in the cinema the other day for a viewing of Chris Morris’ Four Lions (a surprisingly gripping movie about four hilariously incompetent suicide terrorists in London). Before the movie came the obligatory juxtaposition of commercials. One of them entered that ‘we are in touch with your generation’ bullshit realm and came with a few examples of what kind of things crazy, wild young people should do to celebrate their freedom and drink a brand of beer. One of them was flinging your shoes over a signpost. Another (and this is the one where it all went downhill) was ‘step on the black lines of a zebra crossing’. You saw an actress merrily skipping on the aforementioned ‘black lines’ on the road.

Cue rolling eyes.

This is where the makers of that commercial failed to understand the fundamental world view of the OCD’er who might compulsively step on lines. There are no black lines. There is a black stream or road (where typically crocodiles might swim) and WHITE LINES that provide a safe, hopefully also numerically sound haven.

They just don’t get it. This is what happens when people desperately try to tap into something they don’t get at all. Black lines... pfshh!

Roderick