Showing posts with label ander monson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ander monson. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 27, 2025

Untastables by Ander Monson

 Untastables (Fictional Chips) by Ander Monson









*

Bags of chips in chronological order:

Let’s Potato Chips, Community (and so many other television shows), 2009

Potato Crisps, Fallout 4, 2015

Potato Chips, Control, 2019

Zalgitos, Omega Mart (Meow Wolf Las Vegas), 2021

Judy’s Potato Chips, Sea Monster Spice, Open Roads, 2024

MAI** (MAINE? MAIZE?) Potato Chips, Lost Records: Bloom & Rage, 2025


WTF:

Since 2021 I have collected bags of new-to-me chips. I have hundreds of empty bags now, flattened in binders, each of which I have tasted. I only keep the first bag of each chip I try. But I’ve started seeing untastable (because fictional) chips in television shows I watch, in the video games I play, and in the Meow Wolf Las Vegas Omega Mart. Only occasionally (in the Fallout games) can they be eaten in-game. They cannot be eaten offscreen. I’ve gone to significant efforts to procure bags of two of these inedible, untastable chips, including the Let’s Chips that have appeared in at least dozens of television shows, most notably (because they made a bit of it) Community. Is a chip that cannot be eaten a chip at all? Is an object on a screen an object? Am I a sad person for wanting to taste these untastables? What does collecting these things accomplish? Do I win or have I already lost?


Thursday, November 21, 2024

What We Fear (a collaborative essay)


I forgot to post up the really quite a bit of Clippy content that has been going up in the Tiny Cabinet in Fall 2024 until this week's installation, "What We Fear," a collaborative essay. 

That's because it's been a bit of a bear, since the first post made the administration at my work pretty mad, and I've since been fighting for this cabinet to continue to hold space for art and language and free expression. This appears to have been successful, so I feel good enough to post the new essay that the 90 students in my Intro to CNF (English 201) class collaboratively wrote for Clippy.

There's also a standalone website, clippy.agency, that documents all the manifestations of the Clippy Agency project. I won't post them all up here to avoid too much duplication of content, but let it be said that Clippy Persists. Here is the full essay, one of a series of (I think) four, meaning that three more will be coming in the following weeks. You can find them on the site (or maybe on here if I document them here also):

WHAT WE FEAR




 



Monday, July 15, 2024

Collection of Chips, June-July 2024, Ander Monson

For the last several years I have been collecting bags of chips that I eat that are new to me. I think I may have taken the wrong message from William Davies King’s Collections of Nothing, a half memoir, half investigation of his real weird and seemingly pointless collections (he collects every single breakfast cereal box he has ever eaten, for instance, or, more interestingly, the interior patterns of security envelopes), and I thought to myself, King was onto something, though it did pretty much choke out his life, so what if I just kept the flattened bags? I’ve tried over 500 new-to-me bags of chips over the past several years. I consider crisps (like a Pringle) a chip, but don’t extend this collection to popcorn, Cheetos, Funyuns, pretzels, or other snacks, though I will occasionally review them with the other chips on my Instagram @angermonsoon. The bags have rapidly started taking up more space than expected: I bought five binders that are now chock full of them, and the piles of bags, both unopened (in the queue for tasting) and opened now litter my office at school and at home. The collection here is a subset of the recent bags I’ve tasted, including some huge winners (Old Dutch Ripples Ketchup) and some losers (Old Dutch Bacon). My doctor suggested I try cutting back on the amount of salt and chips I eat, which I have a hard time doing, because I do this for ART or possibly for other reasons obscure even to myself, but I no longer finish most of the bags I open, as a gesture to not dying. The Great Lakes Salt, Pepper, and Onion were an exception, perhaps because the bag was small and the chips are excellent.