Ah, ignorance. The word is typically associated with the term "ignorance is bliss", or in other words, being completely unaware of one's surroundings makes one happiest. It seems to apply well in this day and age, considering the amount of violence and disgusting human behavior that takes place in our world. Something about the word "ignorant" (or other forms of the word) disgusts me, because people just don't know how the hell to use it.

Here's how it's presented in the dictionary:

ig·no·rant (gnr-nt)adj.
1. Lacking education or knowledge.
2. Showing or arising from a lack of education or knowledge: an ignorant mistake.
3. Unaware or uninformed.

OK, simple enough. It obviously fits well into the timeless cliche, and seems like a word that can't be abused.

Makes you seem more sophisticated?

Just do it.

You've all seen it by now. The nifty looking Michael Jordan shoes, the brand already up to "XIX" (nineteen), and the price tag with three digits dangling off the side of the shoe. I'm not singling out Nike though. There's Reebok who promotes Allen Iverson's I3's, and Adidas with Tracy McGrady/Kevin Garnett/Tim Duncan. And most of these companies, in one way or another, are showcasing shoes that cost very little to produce and rake in a tremendous amount of profit. But I'm not about to write about the pros and/or cons of globalization and the labor market overseas, I'm trying to point out something about the consumers. Why in the hell do kids with little to no skill purchase $140 shoes?
I bought my Nike Airs quite awhile ago, it's been maybe two and a half years. I knew that my feet would stay a size 9 or 9 1/2, so I spent lavishly on my current pair. The total was somewhere in the neighborhood of $40-50. Much to my dismay, however, my shoes are literally falling apart. As such, I walked into Foot Locker last week, scoping out possible replacements. Tying my shoes doesn't just tighten the the area around my ankle anymore, it secures the shoe to prevent walking on a flat pile of leather. So when I entered the store, I noticed that I wasn't looking at 6'2" small forwards picking up a new pair of the LeBron James brand, but looking at a couple 14 year olds purchasing shiny new Nikes. There's nothing wrong with dropping money on shoes, but I start to wonder what the point of acquiring these shoes is. I asked these kids how often they buy new shoes, and they answered three or four times a year. After pooling answers from other kids of the same age, I got about the same estimate -- which I have some reservations about, but I guess some people need to look down and have shiny feet. Nevertheless, I still left Foot Locker sorely disappointed that they weren't having a sale of cross-trainers that could last me until 2007.
Coincidentally, I saw one of the kids I talked to in the Foot Locker again on a local basketball court during a pick-up game. I also guarded him and watched his game quite closely. All I know is that if you're putting $100-$140 on a nice looking pair of shoes, they better give you an extra two feet of vertical leap. Let me just say that during the course of the game or two we played together, I finally understood why those kids bought new shoes "three to four times a year". The ball bounced off his foot so many times that the nice yellow shine turned into something out of schoolbus hell. The shoe would have stayed cleaner had he just tossed it into a septic tank. But by far, the best part was when the kid had the audacity to say "I should have gotten the Iversons." Yeah kid -- want to trade?

"The Question"

I almost went 20 months without being asked the question. I knew it was only a matter of time, and I was probably naive to believe that I could actually get away with it. Yes, it crept up on me like a Monday hangover after a long Sunday night.
"Do you think she's cute?"
I was suckered into it hook, line, and sinker. I had been casually talking about a mutual acquaintance of ours, mentioning how she was vacationing in Italy this summer. All that was irrelevant, because obviously my girlfriend was intimidated just having mentioned another girl that I knew. I suppose I was a tad flattered that she was so overprotective, but at the same time I knew the question had no "correct answer". The moment I was asked, I immediately generated possible responses in my head:
1) "No."
2) "Oh, I don't know. I don't really look at other girls."
3) "Yes, want a threesome?"
Obviously I'd never dream of picking number three, seeing as I'd risk castration, but I tried to be sly and create a combinatinon of option one and two. As smoothly as possible, I responded with something along these lines:
"It doesn't matter. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes upon, and I'd never measure you up to anyone because I know there is no one else for me."
I let out a big sigh of relief, firmly believing that I had dodged a bases loaded no-out jam. I thought that I had safely jumped out of a four-story building on fire, but little did I know that I had landed in a K-9 training facility. Point blank, she follows up with "so you DO think she's cute?" I had just assured the woman that I was crazy for her and that I would never look at anyone else in the same way I look at her. Amidst my confusion, I thought back to what I had originally said to her, and immediately noticed what she had caught: I never said "no, she's not." It's incredible what women want sometimes -- if it's not in specific language, woman will chew you out like a company executive after a mailboy threw out his precious Forbes magazine. But seriously, women like my girlfriend on a mission should be paralegals for defense attorneys; they will make sure the wording is perfect or else they'll find a loophole and exploit it. Say hello to my girlfriend Anne, the newest member on Kobe Bryant's legal team.
And yet, I don't understand why girls are so sensitive. "He's got such a cute butt," she'll say at a sporting event or while I'm lounging on the couch on a weekend afternoon. It's the perfect attention-grabber, but I stew over it for only three or four seconds before the pitcher comes set or the quarterback starts hollering audibles. She thinks she's getting me back, as we both know that my ass is flatter than a two-by-four, but I've got the last laugh. An apathetic "what was that?" elicits a deep sigh from her and that ends that. See, there's the difference between guys and girls -- about a three day attention span.
I must have made a mistake by not saying "no" outright, because 24 hours later she's still a little snappy -- but I'm willing to bet she'll forget it by the end of the week. That's the way these things go anyway.