There are plenty of things that I don't understand. Super delegates, for example. Are these committed voters for a particular candidate who are only vulnerable to Kryptonite? I could try to comprehend the appeal of zombies, but they seem to be safe enough as metaphor and as long as they remain the moaning, shambling type, I won't lose too much sleep worrying about their eventual rise from the graves where they were once buried. Justin Beiber, and his continued presence on the pop music scene remains a mystery to me as well. At each point he seems to have passed into irrelevancy he returns, not unlike the previously dismisses walking dead, to haunt the charts.
I could go on and on, but there remains a pair of things at the top of this list of perplexity: Coffee and Cigarettes. I can grasp the appeal of each at some level, since both are drug-induction devices, and I can't say that I never found myself eating, drinking, snorting or even smoking something that made me feel "better." It is that kind of potential hypocrisy that keeps me from making public scenes when I see someone waiting in line for their extra tall steaming cup of java. I get the appeal from an olfactory sense: a freshly brewed pot of coffee is a welcoming scent that carries all the warmth and goodness that a three egg omelette with a side of bacon might be.
I have never had a cup of coffee. Once, a very long time ago, I tried a coffee-flavored hard candy and it did not agree with me. Or rather, I did not agree with it. I chose then and there not to seek out any further coffee-related experiences. Sure, over the years I have had a few brushes with "mocha" this and "java" that, but not a cup of coffee. Mostly because I never cared for the flavor. Nor did I care for the way it smelled after that initial glorious rush. Old coffee smells worse to me than it tastes. I chose another path to my caffeine enrichment: Coca-Cola. There was even a time back in college where I went to the harder stuff: Jolt. But I made it through my undergraduate studies without having to chug a cup of mud to keep the lights on for an all-nighter, nor to infuse the following morning with the pretend energy that some others might choose.
Cigarettes? Probably because I spent my formative years trying to get my mother and father to stop smoking, and because the idea of inhaling clouds of poisonous gas never really appealed to me, I never took it up. I don't have that urge to light one up before, during, or after any of the day's activities. I am always quietly stunned by the sights and sounds of those hard-core addicts who are puffing away moments after their eyes have opened, hacking and wheezing their way into another glorious sunrise.
The fact that I don't get it doesn't seem to have much effect on those who do. And I guess that should be the part for which I am grateful.