The Science Behind the "Cross the Street" Button.

How many times is it necessary to push the “I want to cross the street” button at an intersection?

A) Just once.

B) One hundred and seventy-four times.

C) Don’t touch that fuckin dirty germ covered knob.

D) Just press it as fast as possible until you see the little white “walk” guy.

The correct answer will vary depending on who you ask. However, I wanted to know the true answer so I decided to do a little survey. The participants in my survey will remain anonymous, mainly because I just spied on them creepily while driving my car. The rules to my study were simple, I only counted people if I saw them get to the button and could clearly see their button pushing abilities. I also watched some random people but forgot to count.

My results are as follows:

Ok I’ll level with you, my survey was not very thorough. I only counted 7 people but I’m sure I’ve seen hundreds of button pushers in my day. Five out of the seven pressed the button between 15 and 29 times. Usually in rapid succession. The normal approach for these five people was to quickly approach the “can I cross the street” button, then press the shit out of the button, then stare directly at the little flashing red hand until it transformed into the walking symbol. One person who unknowingly participated in my survey, was an older woman who pressed the button only once. She approached slowly yet confident and her button push was more of a mush with the palm of her wrinkled hand. My analysis of this one push approach was that this lady really didn’t give a shit, she was in no hurry; and even if she was, she wasn’t physically able to walk very fast anyway. The reason she mushed the button instead of pressing it can probably be attributed to some type of arthritis. After her mush she just kinda hung out and looked around.

The final participant in my study was a tall, elder gentleman with a leather bag clenched firmly under his arm. He was attire was half golfer, half old man, and a sprinkle of I’ve been goofy my whole life. He was by far the most reckless of button pushers I have ever witnessed. His long index finger was strong and I could tell he’s pressed millions of buttons; elevators, water fountains, the button in public restrooms that turns on the hand dryer thing, if it was a button this guys was gonna push the fuck out of it. His approach was casual, but there was nothing casual about his “cross the street button” pushing. From the moment he got to the intersection he began jabbing at the button. Easily the fastest button pusher in my study, no contest. He pushed the living shit out of this button. I could tell right away, he was no rookie, his button pushing was sharp, almost too rapid to count even from only feet away. From the time he go to the the button until the light turned green this elder man tapped away at the button. 174 times to be exact. From the looks of it, he could have easily surpassed this number if the light didn’t change. The 174 reps took him right around thirty seconds which is lightning fast even for the most talented button pushers. I guarantee if this guy was on Jeopardy, no one would answer until this guy got his shot and Alex Trebek would probably be pissed. I would have recorded this guy if I would have known the button pushing skills he possessed but I was too busy counting to get to my phone.

After closely analyzing these 7 people it is apparent that multiple presses (over 15) is the most common technique. My study did not included any tests on the cleanliness of the “I want to cross the street” button but I can assure you that that thing is filthy. The amount of homeless man sneezes, palm sweat, coughs, Mormon bike chain grease, Jahova’s witness boogers, and general gross shit on those buttons has to be at an all time high. This is something that you must take into consideration the next time you want to cross a street with a stop light.

I have thought this through time and time again and I believe I have found the perfect technique for intersection button pushing. First of all you must not press the button with your finger tips or palm. As I stated before, that button is a disgusting cesspool of diseases. The best technique is the fist push. I understand you are still putting your skin directly in contact with the germ covered surface but it’s much better than using any other part of your body. Your fist doesn’t really touch anything else on your body so you won’t end up spreading the germs to your face or mouth like you would if you used your finger tips or palm. You also never touch your weenier with your fists, this is the most important place to avoid spreading the repulsive button germs in my opinion. Pressing with a napkin requires too much preparation and you have to find a trash can which is way too inconvenient. The elbow push is effective but makes you look foolish in front of everyone at the intersection; I’d suggest doing this only at empty intersections. So trust me on this one and go with the fist.

Now to answer the main question, how many time do I press the button? The perfect amount of times to press this button is 2.5. The reasons for two instead of one is obvious, if the button doesn’t work the first time the second should do the trick. Now, the 1/2 push is to ensure that the signal is sent in any scenario. Sometimes these buttons get jammed or have weak connection due to overuse or weather or plain shitty engineering. The half push should be done first to un-stick jammed buttons and warm up the connection. This should be followed by the first and second pushes. Worst case scenario, button is jammed and has old shitty wiring. Your initial half push will surely dislodge the stuck button. The first full push will not be received because of the faulty wiring, but the second push will be successful. That’s it, 2.5 no more no less. If the button works at all, 2.5 is all you need. Not only is your button pushing much more effective, it is efficient and you don’t look like that crazy elder man pushing 174 times. To top it all off, you’re not going to get a homeless man’s ball sweat on your fingers.

grant.

Fighting, Stare-downs, and Cholos.

Fighting seems to be a natural thing. Humans across the globe and even animals participate in fighting of some sort during their lifetime. I'm not going to get into the difference of fighting and "martial arts" because I don't think you care that much. I am however reading "The Book Of Five Rings" by Miyamoto Musashi a Japanese samurai who spent his days stabbing people in the face, a good read for martial arts people. Anyway fighting, plain and simple punch kick bite scratch type shit. Why is it so terrifying yet so appealing? Recently I chose to participate in an amateur mixed martial arts fight in a cage against some dude I didn't even know or care to know. Why? I don't really know. I enjoy the challenge that fighting offers I guess. Yes I'm sure there are many reasons behind my choice to fight which I probably won't get to but I seemed to make some realizations while getting ready for this particular fight.

First of all I realized how much I liked food. I had to cut about 15 pounds over the course of about a month. I assure you this is a very small amount compared to many real fighters, not to mention normal fucking people dieting. I didn't starve myself, I simply ate more small meals with healthier food throughout the day. It worked and I dropped from 170 to 153.5 lbs on the day of the fight. But during the last two to three weeks I was the angriest version of myself that I have ever been. It sucked. It didn't matter if people were nice or mean I disliked them equally. I didn't want to talk to people, the sound of a text message made my teeth clench. I felt like I was on steroids and my period at the same time. Thankfully I've never had to deal with either of these but I assume they wouldn't be a great combination. I am sure a lot of it had to do with the psychological side of "dieting" because I was never really hungry but it didn't matter. The diet wasn't the only thing making me a grumpy douchebag, some of this was definitely caused by the stress of the fight that I chose to do. I was busy training which inevitably required me to lift heavy shit, do shit that makes me breath hard, and constantly punch people and inanimate objects. All stuff that if done hard, makes you hungry. Then I'd go home and angrily eat a salad and try to convince myself that it was "actually pretty good today."

Training to fight, in my opinion, is usually fun. It's a good workout and challenges the fuck out of your mind and body. Unless of course you actually have a fight coming up, then is sucks and is way too stressful. So for weeks I was grumpy and tired and sore and knew that it would all end with me locked in a cage with some dude who is going to try to punch and kick me in the eyes. Oh yeah if you're not familiar with mixed martial arts they like to make it scarier by putting you in a cage like a fucking zoo animal. Yes again I choose this, but I can still complain if I want to. So all the while of being grumpy, my mind is making a billion and two different variations for the outcome of the fight. All negative of course. My mind thought about every possible bad scenario from me getting knocked out with the first punch to me actually being killed in the fight. Why the hell would I day dream about myself being brutally beaten and or killed on regular basis? This seems like something you'd want your mind to steer clear of right? Not my fucked up brain.

The closer I got to the fight, the worse of an ass whooping I imagined myself getting. I thought of how my parents would react, what people would say when they saw my face and what my reply would be. I even though of ways to get out of the fight. If I get hit by a bus I'm pretty sure I can't fight. Easier option, eat all of these cookies and I won't make weight and will have to forfeit. But I couldn't pull the trigger on either. Why? I'm grumpy and scared of being destroyed by a strange dude with too much testosterone, but it's too much of a pussy move not to fight after I've already agreed to it. I wasn't worried about people being disappointed about me backing out of the fight, I just didn't want to have to tell them. So I kept eating salads and broccoli and all of that rabbit type food, kept training, and kept being angry.

With about four or five days until the fight I begin to realize how douchey I was acting toward everyone and tried to shift to a more positive frame of mind. I knew what was making me like this and I'm a somewhat rational person so I try to adjust my attitude. Now as the fight gets closer I look forward to eating something delicious. Something unhealthy and fried and possibly wrapped in bacon. I begin to think of the very little significance the fight actually has in the big scheme of my life. "So what, if I lose, I lose." My mom will still love me. And after all, it's just a fight. Something that for most people happens without warning after school, or at a bar, or at a matinee viewing of that Michael Jackson movie because someone cut in line. Either way, it is just a fight. That's what I told myself to get through the last few day, false rationalization or honesty? Did it matter?

Day of the fight. The guy I'm fighting is by all physical standards a "cholo." From my upbringing and understanding, a cholo is a Hispanic thug type character that wears flannel shirts, dark shades (often on the back of the head), Nike Cortez shoes, and either baggy shorts with long socks, or uncomfortably large khaki pants and the mandatory freshly shaved head. Tattoos are often required. Depending on who you ask, these cholos are either scary trouble makers, or pussies that dress like this to try to fit in with their misled equally uneducated friends. I say their are probably some tough cholos and some pussies with the rationbeing about 95:5 pussies to tough ones. When I say pussies I mean men who are all bark and no bite and would only push for physical altercations when they greatly out number their opponent. But pussies is much more insulting. There was really no reason for me to describe cholos but if you want a visual I'll include a picture. Just think the Joker brothers in Next Friday.



Back to fight day. I'm by myself and watching the demeanor of about 24 people who will be fighting that night. Some people are quiet and mellow, others seem to have only brought their angry eyes. That was a Mr. Potato Head joke. Something that takes place quite often at these events are stare-downs. Stare-downs are the most hilarious art form of all time in my book. This is where two grown ass men who are having some type of altercation or will soon be fighting choose their most ridiculous mean face and lock eyes with their opponent. Sometimes the stare-down can be referred to as "mad-dogging" or "mean-mugging" depending on your geographic and economic location. The funny party of this stare-down business is that there is never a real winner. In a blinking contest first person to blink is deemed the sissy who's eyes require more moisture.
Not the stare-down, blinking is allowed although many choose not to, the name of the game is intimidation. This is the human version of the gorilla at the zoo who bangs his chest and slams his fists into the dirt; the only difference is the gorilla will actually fuck you up if accept his challenge and are for some reason inside of the enclosed area. These stare-downs are also self judged, only the two people in the stare-down are really aware of who's winning and in most cases might both think they've come out victorious. Anyway I think stare-downs are the most douchey, left over monkey DNA, acts ever but I always get a chuckle out of two guys in kissing range making angry faces. No stare-down for me, lots of looking at the floor and kind head nods.


Intimidation is definitely a factor when fighting don't get me wrong. Watch an old Mike Tyson fight video and tell me intimidation doesn't work. But a stare-down alone won't always protect you from an inevitable ass whooping. A few hours later I warm up, finally calm down and get in the cage against my cholo to fight. The fight goes well, I avoid his stare-down tactics by looking at my toes, we fight, I win and my stress and fear of being killed seem to wash away. If I ever get a video I may post it.

Moral of the long ass story is that fighting is the weirdest, natural, scary thing every. You can realize a lot about yourself by having to sacrifice something, whether it's time, energy, food, peace of mind, or whatever to do achieve a goal. For me it was that I was kind of a douchebag when I got stressed and hungry. But I learned from it....and I got to punch a cholo in the face.
=)
(For the record my cholo turned out to be a pretty nice guy after the fight).

Grant