This Thursday brings with it the heady excitement of Cinco de Mayo. That means it's time for another warm, fermented bath in America's melting pot. As the Mexican population in America has risen, so has the prominence of Cinco de Mayo and though the celebration has moved into non-Mexican communities, the history and relevance has not. That 143 years ago the French used Mexican debt as an excuse to expand their empire, that Lincoln could not offer a masculine defense of the Monroe Doctrine because of the Civil War, that Ignacio Zaragoza and his men had to defeat the French on their own, that the French promptly retaliated and seized Mexico, all that is usually glossed into "Cinco de Mayo is Mexican Independence Day." It's not. That's Dieciséis de Septiembre. But, who really knows all that much about St. Patrick, either? Something about snakes, right? Symbolic snakes or real snakes? A century? Can we get a century on Patty? It's the fifth, but is that more important than the green beer?

In both cases, Americans have shown a delightful willingness to incorporate as well as assimilate—provided they can get hammered while they're broadening their cultural horizons. Because tequila is condoned as a means of paying homage to Zaragoza, he is a fun guy to toast. And toast and toast. Ramadan, for example, with its month of fasting, has not been embraced by non-Muslims looking to partake just for the hell of it.

Of course, there are corporate barkeeps fueling this phenomenon. Guinness is not so fool that they would miss the marketing blitz that is St. Patty's and Corona has now happily followed suit. A few weeks ago, as it has the previous few years, the Mexican beer maker launched its "Are you ready?" ads. Readiness in this case means being stocked up on Corona, not, say, studying the writings of the 1960s Chicano-American students who pushed Cinco de Mayo as a day to celebrate Mexican heritage.

Secular American holidays often mean drinking. Beer on Thanksgiving. Champagne on New Year's. More beer on the Fourth. St. Patrick's Day and, increasingly, Cinco de Mayo, are welcomed into this group of secular celebrations, irregardless of their original significance, because they offer a new chance to drink. Perhaps Purim, the Jewish holiday on which drunkenness is condoned, may be the next to be stripped down and added to the national calendar. Some Hebrew distiller out there best circle March 14, 2006 on its marketing calendar.

If I asked to see your iPod, would you let me? Would you relinquish, if only for a moment, your audio diary and allow me to click my way through its contents, measuring your worth by the merit of your music? Unlike a portable compact disc player or the now exotically retro Walkman, the iPod is a mobile catalogue of your tunes collection and a testament to your aural taste. So make no mistake, when you lend this little gadget to a friend or acquaintance, you will be judged. What's more, you may even find yourself the victim of a musical mugging and thus the subject of the contemptible crook's assaying eyes. And while some of us may be blessed with the confidence to permit full disclosure, there are many of us who, next to cataloguing its contents in code, struggle to keep our tunes to ourselves.

As an example of the former type, note the oh-so-newsworthy item by presidential press pal Elisabeth Bumiller of the NY Times, dedicated to listing top picks on Pres. Bush's iPod. Alas, curiosity killed this cat, and I took a look. As I suspected, an array of country and classic rock was laid before me, though I secretly harbored a desire to see Olivia Newton John's aerobitastic "Physical" make it on to his work-out playlist. Of course, such suggestive sounds would never make the cut, as, have no doubt, some PR monkey was hired to provide just the right tracks to reflect on the wholesomely mannish character of our nation's leader. A dash of Van Morrison here, a sprinkle of Alan Jackson there, some Fogerty to endear him to the elite northeastern liberals -- you get the idea. It was a labored effort, to be sure, one intended to speak volumes of the president's character.

But beyond the press clippings, the average civilian's iPod is not a handy public relations device, but rather a personal gadget that keeps us company in public. A recent article detailing the new wave of iPod thefts relates the deep attachment we've developed to our auditory companions, and the amputational sense of loss we feel when they've been pried from our palms or picked from our unguarded pockets. And rightly so. As a victim of an iPod pilfering I'd feel violated, as if a stranger had taken a periscope to my ear and peered inside my brain. How is the mp3 mugger supposed to know that a healthy dose of irony comes with many of my selections? How can she know that I had my tongue planted firmly in cheek when I put the Pinky and the Brain theme song at the top and "I Want It Now" from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at the bottom of my World Domination playlist? It seems there's really no way getting around the critical eyes of bandits and rogues scrutinizing my songs and the soundtracks to my life. But I can at least put a halt to the drive-by judging committed by newly-met associates and contacts: when they ask to see my iPod, I just say No!

Everybody was very excited about E3. The Electronic Entertainment Expo, held every year at the Los Angeles Convention Center, is the video game industry's annual coming out party. I attended this year for the first time. Coworkers told me it would be loud and friends told me it would be a blast, even for a "non-gamer." I love to play the baseball games when I can, because I love baseball. I've also spent numerous hours at friends' apartments playing James Bond games. Fun stuff. The last system I owned, though, was an SNES that I shared custody of with my older brother. I don't play weekly or even monthly. I do not fit the profile of the average attendee of E3.

As someone who's given to neurotic fits, the idea of spending hours with people who were obsessed with a subject of little interest to me seemed a bit frightening. But then, after all, I was headed to a trade show. Might I be more among my own than I had imagined? This was not an event that any ordinary fan could walk into, as both my invitation and signs outside of the Convention Center reminded. Attendees either worked for game companies, movie companies with an interest in garnering attention from the video game industry, entertainment-advertising firms (such as mine), or were journalists. How many super-fans could there be? Also, no one under 18 was to be admitted. No matter on that note, though. Nearly every marketing brief I read about a new game release emphasizes the importance of the 17-34 year-old. They are the current electronic gamers. The day of the 12-17 year-old video game consumer as king is over.

So, there were as many logical reasons to believe that E3 would be a very professional and business-driven conference as there were to believe that it would be a 72-hour geek-fest. Either way, I was headed there, at a boss' request, to get my finger on the pulse of what's going on in the gaming world.

Despite the noise and the lights, the dogs and the ponies, the pulse of the gaming world, no matter how saturated with profit, struck me as faint. There were booths and gigantic Mountain Dew trucks outside; there were trailers for upcoming summer blockbuster movies. The Batmobile (the SUV-ish version) was there. That was neat, I guess. Everybody else was thrilled to be there, but it was all a bit over- and under-whelming to me. By-and-large, people weren't there to pool resources. They were there to show-off and celebrate video games as a way of life. New questions were rising. Questions like, "How do I kill the hours until I can reasonably go back to my office and be bored there instead of here?" "How much time is enough?"

If I was to make it through the day surrounded by slightly-overweight guys in their twenties with black-rimmed glasses--in short, people who looked like me but had different interests--I understood that I'd need to curb the 'tude. I rolled up my sleeves and dove in. I played an upcoming samurai game on Playstation 2. That was a ball, until I accidentally entered some weird slow-motion targeting mode and couldn't make anything work. I stopped playing and looked around. There was a group gathered around waiting to give it a try. I suspect they knew how to get out of slow-mo target mode, but were too eager to get their hands back on the game to offer suggestions. I abandoned that station and found a baseball game. After an inning, there were more people with impatient body language. I was down 3-0 already, so I surrendered my controller.

Onward. More games. Spy games and army games, sports games and racing games, super-hero games and punk-thug games, fighting games and fantasy games, cops games and robbers games. Outside of booths, scantily clad women smiling and taking photographs with nervous boys.(Despite all the beautiful, space-age technology, some ugly, outdated ideas about humanity lingered about). More games. Games for your console, games for your computer, games for your cell phone.

I was bored and it wasn't my fault. In perhaps the world's most innovative entertainment market, there is a serious lack of innovation. Sure, I can assassinate foreign dignitaries by incredible means, but I've been firing nutty rifles since Contra. Certainly today's game is more visually stunning, more interactive, and arguably more engaging, but it's still the same damn thing. And there's nothing wrong with that (shooting enemies can be very fun), but can't there be more? What about innovation in terms of game content? Well, not content, exactly, because you can sleep with hookers before murdering them for their purse in today's bestsellers, but...subject? Where are the games that are so clever and so different that you and I, people who don't make video games for a living, can't imagine them?

There are books out there for every type of interest. No matter your age, gender, personality-type, or level of education, there are plenty of books that were written specifically for your enjoyment. Gaming, as a hobby, could appeal to a much wider percentage of the population than they already do, if only the people making them branched out. Why is there such a limited definition of "gamer?"

The answer presents itself with a look around the Convention Center. The people who are showing off their products are among the biggest fans of their work. They are a sample of their key sales demographic. The games are the same, save technological innovation, because the people making them love them the way they are (which is not necessarily true of, say, textiles). Good for them. We should all be so lucky to love our jobs like they must. But don't be fooled by the flash. Video games, no matter how much they are changing, are not growing.

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