Math 235.
After high school Clara swore she'd never take another math class again. Now here she was. This time she actually snuck in to this class. In! The ideals she was now compromising now needed to be counted on more than one hand.
Clara picked Math 235 because it was Dustin's last class for the day and if she was able to make contact with him she could work something out with him over the course of several hours. Of course she could have just planned on the ten minute break between economics and Math 235. Getting a scandalous polaroid with him at that time would have been public, difficult and stressful, but at least it would be over with. Now, with all the time on her hands she's guaranteed a few hours of excruciation.
She shouldn't have picked Math 235.
The class contained 15 people and she was the only girl. Surely in the 21st century girls were learning math by now? Apparently not. College math classes must be like our present-day Elk's Club. She didn't think it would be an issue in these enlightened times, but she wasn't being very low-key. Perhaps glasses would help. At least nobody minded she was there (or all the math skills in the world can't help anyone kick someone out of a math class).
She spotted him shortly before class started. That left 50 minutes of looking down into a math book while the professor supposedly spoke about what lies therein. The only thing left to do would be to wait until he walked out and make a very distinct observation as to whether he wandered out to the right or to the left.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
father's day
I never knew my dad and it's not even sad.
Growing up, people thought it was sad, but they didn't really put themselves in my position. How could I miss something I never had in the first place? Having a father wasn't normal for me. For the first 20 years or so, my father was nothing.
Like the protection grid from Ghost Busters failing, Darth Vader and Hamlet's dad (hey, I'm totally Danish -- plus I have this incredibly Hamlet-like ability for inaction); eventually the ghost of my father became more powerful. Somehow, I don't know how -- maybe there's something weird happening from the grave -- but the influence of my dad is more a part of me now than when I was a kid. Maybe living a longer life gives me more of a chance to evaluate how much I've either disappointed or impressed the guy.
Today, out of nowhere, I get an email from my mom (which was actually dated a few days ago, but I hadn't checked my email in a few days) telling me how much I'm like my dad in my compassion, intelligence and sense of humor -- three things I would expect are more learned traits than hereditary. So much of me is programmed by genetics. Half of me I never knew and the other half I don't relate to very well.
I wonder if I could ever be as personally compassionate as Dad apparently was. I remember reading in two separate issues of Rolling Stone about the personal lives of Bob Marley and John Lennon. Apparently, while the two men were outwardly and publicly huge and obvious advocates of peace and love, the family members close to them found them surprisingly surly and unaffectionate. I'm usually that way. Broad ideals that I'm annoyed at others for not following, but have difficulty living them myself.
I make no secret that I spend my days watching Netflix streaming and DVDs while checking my Twitter feed. Today, on Twitter, I found a surprisingly touching comical video on CollegeHumor.com that's about how we view our fathers as we get older. Right after that I resumed my Netflix Family Ties watching and it was the episode where they stay at Steven's mom's house and Steven suffers guilt memories for not getting along with his dad when he was a kid. After that I resumed my Babylon 5 DVD watching where the station doctor tries to patch things up with his military father who was the black guy who got the ear worms in Star Trek II.
It's like Strange Brew. My dad is like Pam's dad in that movie (which is also a remake of Hamlet if you think about it). He's a ghost who controls the technology in her life (probably because he was electrocuted (but it's probably not best to overthink Strange Brew)).
I guess you're still there somewhere, Dad. For most of the past 30 years -- I'm sorry. But thank you. I don't know the specifics or the science, but what you've given me is invaluable.
Growing up, people thought it was sad, but they didn't really put themselves in my position. How could I miss something I never had in the first place? Having a father wasn't normal for me. For the first 20 years or so, my father was nothing.
Like the protection grid from Ghost Busters failing, Darth Vader and Hamlet's dad (hey, I'm totally Danish -- plus I have this incredibly Hamlet-like ability for inaction); eventually the ghost of my father became more powerful. Somehow, I don't know how -- maybe there's something weird happening from the grave -- but the influence of my dad is more a part of me now than when I was a kid. Maybe living a longer life gives me more of a chance to evaluate how much I've either disappointed or impressed the guy.
Today, out of nowhere, I get an email from my mom (which was actually dated a few days ago, but I hadn't checked my email in a few days) telling me how much I'm like my dad in my compassion, intelligence and sense of humor -- three things I would expect are more learned traits than hereditary. So much of me is programmed by genetics. Half of me I never knew and the other half I don't relate to very well.
I wonder if I could ever be as personally compassionate as Dad apparently was. I remember reading in two separate issues of Rolling Stone about the personal lives of Bob Marley and John Lennon. Apparently, while the two men were outwardly and publicly huge and obvious advocates of peace and love, the family members close to them found them surprisingly surly and unaffectionate. I'm usually that way. Broad ideals that I'm annoyed at others for not following, but have difficulty living them myself.
I make no secret that I spend my days watching Netflix streaming and DVDs while checking my Twitter feed. Today, on Twitter, I found a surprisingly touching comical video on CollegeHumor.com that's about how we view our fathers as we get older. Right after that I resumed my Netflix Family Ties watching and it was the episode where they stay at Steven's mom's house and Steven suffers guilt memories for not getting along with his dad when he was a kid. After that I resumed my Babylon 5 DVD watching where the station doctor tries to patch things up with his military father who was the black guy who got the ear worms in Star Trek II.
It's like Strange Brew. My dad is like Pam's dad in that movie (which is also a remake of Hamlet if you think about it). He's a ghost who controls the technology in her life (probably because he was electrocuted (but it's probably not best to overthink Strange Brew)).
I guess you're still there somewhere, Dad. For most of the past 30 years -- I'm sorry. But thank you. I don't know the specifics or the science, but what you've given me is invaluable.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
crimes and misdemeanors
The thought occurs to me that there are really three types of people you can relate to in Crimes and Misdemeanors.
First, there's the one I relate to -- the Woody Allen character. He's filled with weaknesses, but basically good. He has a hope that if he holds onto his ideals (no matter how worthless they actually are) the universe will reward him. The universe actually rewards him just a little.
Second, there's the Alan Alda character. He's the one who is a realist, so he has no qualms about taking advantage of life whenever possible. You only go around once, so you should do whatever it takes to be successful in others' eyes so you can achieve greatness in the world and in wealth. The universe rewards him tremendously.
I am not including Martin Landau's character as one of the relatable ones. Hopefully we don't relate to him (but the whole movie tragically illustrates that we very easily can).
The final character in this comparison is Sam Waterston's character. He is perfectly moral. he knows there is a moral code in the universe, and beyond that, he knows his happiness is directly related to how well he lives by this code. The universe punishes him horribly.
I definitely relate to the Woody Allen character. I don't work for my success like the Alan Alda character, yet I feel I deserve more than I have. I don't suffer the misfortune of the Sam Waterston character. I don't deserve to have the honor of suffering for what I believe in.
First, there's the one I relate to -- the Woody Allen character. He's filled with weaknesses, but basically good. He has a hope that if he holds onto his ideals (no matter how worthless they actually are) the universe will reward him. The universe actually rewards him just a little.
Second, there's the Alan Alda character. He's the one who is a realist, so he has no qualms about taking advantage of life whenever possible. You only go around once, so you should do whatever it takes to be successful in others' eyes so you can achieve greatness in the world and in wealth. The universe rewards him tremendously.
I am not including Martin Landau's character as one of the relatable ones. Hopefully we don't relate to him (but the whole movie tragically illustrates that we very easily can).
The final character in this comparison is Sam Waterston's character. He is perfectly moral. he knows there is a moral code in the universe, and beyond that, he knows his happiness is directly related to how well he lives by this code. The universe punishes him horribly.
I definitely relate to the Woody Allen character. I don't work for my success like the Alan Alda character, yet I feel I deserve more than I have. I don't suffer the misfortune of the Sam Waterston character. I don't deserve to have the honor of suffering for what I believe in.
Monday, August 29, 2011
fake college romance story pt. 4
Clara wanted to enjoy this and not feel too cheap.
She wasn't about to give him a sultry "come hither" face -- not without cracking up anyway. That's right out. If anything, having fun with this would be a "meet cute" as she heard they sometimes say during movie production executive meetings. Audiences liked seeing couples meet in an unusual way that leads to their getting together. Clara always wanted a meet cute of her own, even if it was the most insincere thing she's ever done.
She snickered almost sadly to herself when she realized she ought to be calling it her "meat cute." So far her only plan was objectifying herself.
Well, if she was going to meet him, she'd better find him.
First, the internet stalking. According to his student account, his connected website appeared as his blog. http://dustinwhittacre.blogspot.com/. Ha. She didn't even need student access to get that prime stalking nugget. Of course this isn't some Al Qaida spy. He's just some nerd with internet access. May as well make it as obvious as possible.
Clara typed in the URL. Bingo. A list of his class schedule. This guy actually posts his class schedule on his blog. Clara surmised he must be a screaming wallflower.
Good. Now this debacle could be solved in the less-shame-filled sunlight. Easy. She just had to meet the guy and then get his or her clothes off.
Her mind sighed. Why was she doing this again?
She wasn't about to give him a sultry "come hither" face -- not without cracking up anyway. That's right out. If anything, having fun with this would be a "meet cute" as she heard they sometimes say during movie production executive meetings. Audiences liked seeing couples meet in an unusual way that leads to their getting together. Clara always wanted a meet cute of her own, even if it was the most insincere thing she's ever done.
She snickered almost sadly to herself when she realized she ought to be calling it her "meat cute." So far her only plan was objectifying herself.
Well, if she was going to meet him, she'd better find him.
First, the internet stalking. According to his student account, his connected website appeared as his blog. http://dustinwhittacre.blogspot.com/. Ha. She didn't even need student access to get that prime stalking nugget. Of course this isn't some Al Qaida spy. He's just some nerd with internet access. May as well make it as obvious as possible.
Clara typed in the URL. Bingo. A list of his class schedule. This guy actually posts his class schedule on his blog. Clara surmised he must be a screaming wallflower.
Good. Now this debacle could be solved in the less-shame-filled sunlight. Easy. She just had to meet the guy and then get his or her clothes off.
Her mind sighed. Why was she doing this again?
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The Internet is acting real screwy.
Sigh. I suppose I'll us that as an excuse to save my anger for the moment. Things are usually angry or sideways and often both at once, but let's just say there's none of that and nothing to say.
I'm still upholding so many days in a row of writing in this. Yay me.
Sigh. I suppose I'll us that as an excuse to save my anger for the moment. Things are usually angry or sideways and often both at once, but let's just say there's none of that and nothing to say.
I'm still upholding so many days in a row of writing in this. Yay me.
fake college romance story pt. 3
Actually, never mind. Her mother wouldn't be happy. Clara was going to seduce Dustin Whittacre -- or rather just prove she did.
It wasn't about him though. She just couldn't walk away and give the sorority queens a safe assumption that she just didn't have what it takes. The rules certainly weren't fair. This whole production was base and demeaning. If she didn't participate, that was certainly the reason and Clara knew it; but Sabrina, Sandra and Lisa didn't. If, during the next four years Clara ever passed one of them on campus, their eyes would meet and Clara would see the slight smirk on the other girl's face that would vividly say "you were defeated."
Now, Clara was going to win. None of them would be able to smirk at her. Dustin would be in the way, but Clara knew that when this was over, he certainly wouldn't mind getting caught in the middle. She was going to show him good, show up these bitches and then... become best friends forever with them. Girling doesn't always make sense.
Dustin. The guy looked like he subscribed to Asthma Quarterly. Under normal circumstances, an ounce of attention from her would make Dustin's year. These circumstances were abnormal. Even though the guy's a pariah, he'd be getting lots of attempted play whether he wanted to or not.
Clara has never considered herself vain. Her appearance, while appealing, has never been a major priority in her day to day life. She hated doing it now, but Clara actually went superficial for a few minutes and actually took stock in her appearance. Guilty endorphins went through her system as she looked in the mirror. Not bad. The freshman fifteen hadn't begun to hit yet and the summer before college started was filled with activity. Clara actually giggled and posed seductively before composing herself back into her normal self. She'd be mortified if someone walked in on her acting like that -- and not just because she was in her underwear at the time. Sheesh. If she walked in on herself in that state she'd probably punch herself in the face. On the bright side though, Dustin would be helpless.
It wasn't about him though. She just couldn't walk away and give the sorority queens a safe assumption that she just didn't have what it takes. The rules certainly weren't fair. This whole production was base and demeaning. If she didn't participate, that was certainly the reason and Clara knew it; but Sabrina, Sandra and Lisa didn't. If, during the next four years Clara ever passed one of them on campus, their eyes would meet and Clara would see the slight smirk on the other girl's face that would vividly say "you were defeated."
Now, Clara was going to win. None of them would be able to smirk at her. Dustin would be in the way, but Clara knew that when this was over, he certainly wouldn't mind getting caught in the middle. She was going to show him good, show up these bitches and then... become best friends forever with them. Girling doesn't always make sense.
Dustin. The guy looked like he subscribed to Asthma Quarterly. Under normal circumstances, an ounce of attention from her would make Dustin's year. These circumstances were abnormal. Even though the guy's a pariah, he'd be getting lots of attempted play whether he wanted to or not.
Clara has never considered herself vain. Her appearance, while appealing, has never been a major priority in her day to day life. She hated doing it now, but Clara actually went superficial for a few minutes and actually took stock in her appearance. Guilty endorphins went through her system as she looked in the mirror. Not bad. The freshman fifteen hadn't begun to hit yet and the summer before college started was filled with activity. Clara actually giggled and posed seductively before composing herself back into her normal self. She'd be mortified if someone walked in on her acting like that -- and not just because she was in her underwear at the time. Sheesh. If she walked in on herself in that state she'd probably punch herself in the face. On the bright side though, Dustin would be helpless.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
traxspotting relapse
I just finished eating a meal at Carl's Jr. again.
I don't feel well.
Last time I mentioned eating there, I neglected to say something on my mind. I have recently been told by two very separate beautiful women that our bodies actually tell us what we want. Every once in a while, our bodies crave a burger or something because that's exactly what's needed at the time. It makes sense of course, but they've never told me the difference between our bodies telling us the difference between want and need.
Sometimes we need a burger. Sometimes we need a candy bar. I think our bodies tell us that in the same way it says it needs alcohol or heroin. Ladies please, tell me how you know the difference.
As usual, let's take this further. What's the difference between a human relationship you need and a human relationship you want? What's the difference in feeling? Just like eating at Carl's Jr., mistakes can be made.
I don't know if it's the body or soul that decides. I'd love to hack that code. I should be your mistake.
***
Part 3 of the fake college romance is on its way.
I don't feel well.
Last time I mentioned eating there, I neglected to say something on my mind. I have recently been told by two very separate beautiful women that our bodies actually tell us what we want. Every once in a while, our bodies crave a burger or something because that's exactly what's needed at the time. It makes sense of course, but they've never told me the difference between our bodies telling us the difference between want and need.
Sometimes we need a burger. Sometimes we need a candy bar. I think our bodies tell us that in the same way it says it needs alcohol or heroin. Ladies please, tell me how you know the difference.
As usual, let's take this further. What's the difference between a human relationship you need and a human relationship you want? What's the difference in feeling? Just like eating at Carl's Jr., mistakes can be made.
I don't know if it's the body or soul that decides. I'd love to hack that code. I should be your mistake.
***
Part 3 of the fake college romance is on its way.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
fake college romance story pt. 2
She was right.
Clara entered Alpha Gamma Zeta house and was met, not with exuberance, but rather... normalcy. The girls there were welcoming, but not over the top.
A dark haired girl walked up to her. "Like, welcome. I'm Sabrina." Sabrina deadpanned this delivery. It worked. Sabrina acknowledged a sorority stereotype and then basked in it with restrained fun. Clara was disarmed.
After the introductions and the chats which seemed legitimately sincere, Clara thought she could actually enjoy this little sisterhood. There was nothing bad about it. Here were people who actually seemed to enjoy inclusion rather than unnaturally force themselves into it. Nothing snobby at all. No reason to not share these girls' company.
She was right. But only a little.
There were 10 other pledges. All of the initiates were each given a Polaroid camera. Polaroid? Clara thought. They still make these things?
"They don't make these things anymore..." Said Sandra, one of the normal tour guides of the house. Clara realized that Sandra didn't need to read her mind to answer the question all the new girls were thinking. "...so I don't recommend taking any pictures until you know what to do with them. Each of these Polaroid cameras only has 10 shots. That's all you get -- but you'll only need one."
Lisa, the girl Clara actually felt was most sincere, held up a glossy 8 x 11 photo of some guy. Some guy who looked like he smelled like Grandma's house. "This guy's name is Dustin Whittacre," Lisa said. "He's a sophomore. He's a bit shy and honestly, a lot weird. The first of you to seduce him will become a sister in Alpha Gamma Zeta."
At this point Clara was amazed at how much of a physical sensation she had regarding this bombshell. Everything boiled on the inside. She actually had to think about breathing for a few seconds.
"Relax," Lisa continued. "You can just say you did. But you sorta have to prove it. We'll need a picture of you with Dustin. Only ONE of you needs to be in underwear. It can be you or him. Doesn't make a difference, but it has to be a Polaroid picture."
Clara knew Polaroid was a smart idea. The black back with the white strip on the bottom for holding the picture without the image getting all fingerprinty... and very Photoshop proof.
Well, it was fun while it lasted. Her mother would be happy Clara didn't start college all slutty. It's probably better to finish college that way.
Clara entered Alpha Gamma Zeta house and was met, not with exuberance, but rather... normalcy. The girls there were welcoming, but not over the top.
A dark haired girl walked up to her. "Like, welcome. I'm Sabrina." Sabrina deadpanned this delivery. It worked. Sabrina acknowledged a sorority stereotype and then basked in it with restrained fun. Clara was disarmed.
After the introductions and the chats which seemed legitimately sincere, Clara thought she could actually enjoy this little sisterhood. There was nothing bad about it. Here were people who actually seemed to enjoy inclusion rather than unnaturally force themselves into it. Nothing snobby at all. No reason to not share these girls' company.
She was right. But only a little.
There were 10 other pledges. All of the initiates were each given a Polaroid camera. Polaroid? Clara thought. They still make these things?
"They don't make these things anymore..." Said Sandra, one of the normal tour guides of the house. Clara realized that Sandra didn't need to read her mind to answer the question all the new girls were thinking. "...so I don't recommend taking any pictures until you know what to do with them. Each of these Polaroid cameras only has 10 shots. That's all you get -- but you'll only need one."
Lisa, the girl Clara actually felt was most sincere, held up a glossy 8 x 11 photo of some guy. Some guy who looked like he smelled like Grandma's house. "This guy's name is Dustin Whittacre," Lisa said. "He's a sophomore. He's a bit shy and honestly, a lot weird. The first of you to seduce him will become a sister in Alpha Gamma Zeta."
At this point Clara was amazed at how much of a physical sensation she had regarding this bombshell. Everything boiled on the inside. She actually had to think about breathing for a few seconds.
"Relax," Lisa continued. "You can just say you did. But you sorta have to prove it. We'll need a picture of you with Dustin. Only ONE of you needs to be in underwear. It can be you or him. Doesn't make a difference, but it has to be a Polaroid picture."
Clara knew Polaroid was a smart idea. The black back with the white strip on the bottom for holding the picture without the image getting all fingerprinty... and very Photoshop proof.
Well, it was fun while it lasted. Her mother would be happy Clara didn't start college all slutty. It's probably better to finish college that way.
fake college romance story pt. 1
I've been very negative lately. How about a slight change of pace?
***
Clara was just starting college. She knew she had plenty to worry about. She knew that her time would be more than filled with studying and making plans for her future. That's why when she realized she may have a shot at getting into Alpha Gamma Zeta, she felt guilty for even considering it.
Strangely, the more she considered it, the more sense it made. Stress, studying and restlessness were guaranteed during these next four years. Perhaps becoming a part of the freshest sorority on campus would guarantee an escape from that (if needed). Clara knew she wouldn't be able to depend on herself to unwind. If there had been one thing she'd been a failure at in her life thus far it would be her failure to have decent plans when the opportunity arose to actually have decent plans. Usually her extra-curricular efforts were actually studies in stir-craziness.
A sorority. Surely there are plenty of reasons girls would actually want to attend one, right? Surely the girls who do attend aren't as stupid as the stereotype, right? Regardless, even though she's not the type of girl who would consider it, the silly adventure of it all was selling itself.
(ctn'd tomorrow)
***
Clara was just starting college. She knew she had plenty to worry about. She knew that her time would be more than filled with studying and making plans for her future. That's why when she realized she may have a shot at getting into Alpha Gamma Zeta, she felt guilty for even considering it.
Strangely, the more she considered it, the more sense it made. Stress, studying and restlessness were guaranteed during these next four years. Perhaps becoming a part of the freshest sorority on campus would guarantee an escape from that (if needed). Clara knew she wouldn't be able to depend on herself to unwind. If there had been one thing she'd been a failure at in her life thus far it would be her failure to have decent plans when the opportunity arose to actually have decent plans. Usually her extra-curricular efforts were actually studies in stir-craziness.
A sorority. Surely there are plenty of reasons girls would actually want to attend one, right? Surely the girls who do attend aren't as stupid as the stereotype, right? Regardless, even though she's not the type of girl who would consider it, the silly adventure of it all was selling itself.
(ctn'd tomorrow)
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
default
There are limits.
Angry, sad, incompetent, ignorant, humiliated, bald, poor, old, cheated, insecure, pathetic. It all defaults to just plain tired.
Angry, sad, incompetent, ignorant, humiliated, bald, poor, old, cheated, insecure, pathetic. It all defaults to just plain tired.
Monday, August 22, 2011
if they don't look good, we look good
A few days ago I watched an episode of Family Ties where the plot was Alex hires Geena Davis as a housekeeper because she's "obviously" so attractive.
That's weird right?
It's more than weird. It's absolutely absurd. It's also sad that it's absurd. Obviously, back in the '80s, we thought nothing of it. Back then, someone like Geena Davis was attractive. Maybe we're just more beautiful now than we were back then. More likely we simply have way higher standards now. It's better now, but easier then.
Of course, Justine Bateman totally had it goin' on back in the day. Perhaps you disagree. Maybe you disagree about the babe-status of Geena Davis too.
We are fatter now. Maybe that's how it evens out. Actually, I don't get... Ah, I'll cover that later.
That's weird right?
It's more than weird. It's absolutely absurd. It's also sad that it's absurd. Obviously, back in the '80s, we thought nothing of it. Back then, someone like Geena Davis was attractive. Maybe we're just more beautiful now than we were back then. More likely we simply have way higher standards now. It's better now, but easier then.
Of course, Justine Bateman totally had it goin' on back in the day. Perhaps you disagree. Maybe you disagree about the babe-status of Geena Davis too.
We are fatter now. Maybe that's how it evens out. Actually, I don't get... Ah, I'll cover that later.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
guarantee
The internet is freaking slow joke right now and my hand hurts.
My hand hurt at about this time last year. I remember at this time last year I was aggravated beyond belief. I thought my right hand would never have feeling again. I thought any chance I had to be creative was completely gone (not to mention any chance I had to do just about ANYTHING useful). That didn't happen though. I got better. Life went on, more or less just fine.
68 days ago, while at work, I spoke to a customer on the phone who ruined my day. Apparently things didn't quite go as planned with her. She had been GUARANTEED something and that something hadn't been delivered. She was right to be upset. What she didn't understand is that despite broken promises made by someone else, it didn't give me the power to move time and space. No, the fact that something was GUARANTEED somehow meant that I would be arriving at her place in New York City within the next 20 minutes to appease her.
Since this particular problem could not be resolved in our known universe, it ran a bit long. So long, in fact that it cut into my real life plans. I'm still bugged by this person I had to associate with. Obviously, it wasn't just a day she ruined. I actually think there's a chance that things would be better now without being sidelined so bad by this one person.
Who knows how much that one event affected things. Probably not much. I want to blame it all on something like that. It feels like such a thing was against my destiny. Perhaps it was in my fate to be there -- but destiny or fate don't matter.
There's a line in Can't Hardly Wait (so many people hate that movie btw (probably because so many people are girls and girls hate Jennifer Love Hewitt)) where Jenna Elfman says "fate can only take you so far, but then it's actually up to you." As lowbrow and as unfavorable that movie is with the critics and the masses, that line has always resonated with me.
I never liked the use of fate as a literary (and by extension, real-life) tool. If everything's fated, our personal victories and tragedies are meaningless. At the same time, I can't argue that I've been blessed with opportunity. As fate would have it, opportunity presents itself 95% of the way -- as if fate opened the door, but the rest was up to me.
I don't do 5%. However my hand feels, whoever I come across, whatever happens good or bad -- I'm still the same funny, anxious, petty, absolutely terrible person. That's a GUARANTEE.
My hand hurts.
My hand hurt at about this time last year. I remember at this time last year I was aggravated beyond belief. I thought my right hand would never have feeling again. I thought any chance I had to be creative was completely gone (not to mention any chance I had to do just about ANYTHING useful). That didn't happen though. I got better. Life went on, more or less just fine.
68 days ago, while at work, I spoke to a customer on the phone who ruined my day. Apparently things didn't quite go as planned with her. She had been GUARANTEED something and that something hadn't been delivered. She was right to be upset. What she didn't understand is that despite broken promises made by someone else, it didn't give me the power to move time and space. No, the fact that something was GUARANTEED somehow meant that I would be arriving at her place in New York City within the next 20 minutes to appease her.
Since this particular problem could not be resolved in our known universe, it ran a bit long. So long, in fact that it cut into my real life plans. I'm still bugged by this person I had to associate with. Obviously, it wasn't just a day she ruined. I actually think there's a chance that things would be better now without being sidelined so bad by this one person.
Who knows how much that one event affected things. Probably not much. I want to blame it all on something like that. It feels like such a thing was against my destiny. Perhaps it was in my fate to be there -- but destiny or fate don't matter.
There's a line in Can't Hardly Wait (so many people hate that movie btw (probably because so many people are girls and girls hate Jennifer Love Hewitt)) where Jenna Elfman says "fate can only take you so far, but then it's actually up to you." As lowbrow and as unfavorable that movie is with the critics and the masses, that line has always resonated with me.
I never liked the use of fate as a literary (and by extension, real-life) tool. If everything's fated, our personal victories and tragedies are meaningless. At the same time, I can't argue that I've been blessed with opportunity. As fate would have it, opportunity presents itself 95% of the way -- as if fate opened the door, but the rest was up to me.
I don't do 5%. However my hand feels, whoever I come across, whatever happens good or bad -- I'm still the same funny, anxious, petty, absolutely terrible person. That's a GUARANTEE.
My hand hurts.
I'm fine.
That's one of the things I loathe most about myself. I shouldn't be fine all the time. I should be upset enough to make things happen for the better (or at least upset enough to break things or people).
I don't break things. I don't yell. I don't make demands... at least not anymore. I stopped doing these things when I found out I can live without passion. Of course in the technical sense, very very little is needed for actually living.
****
There were Native Americans in Peter Pan. How did they get to Never Never Land? Is Never Never Land actually in America? I just saw a version of the play where the Native Americans actually reference George Custer. Either Never Never Land is in America or an entire Native American community has somehow been transported to Never Never Land.
That's one of the things I loathe most about myself. I shouldn't be fine all the time. I should be upset enough to make things happen for the better (or at least upset enough to break things or people).
I don't break things. I don't yell. I don't make demands... at least not anymore. I stopped doing these things when I found out I can live without passion. Of course in the technical sense, very very little is needed for actually living.
****
There were Native Americans in Peter Pan. How did they get to Never Never Land? Is Never Never Land actually in America? I just saw a version of the play where the Native Americans actually reference George Custer. Either Never Never Land is in America or an entire Native American community has somehow been transported to Never Never Land.
Friday, August 19, 2011
traxspotting
You were right about me. Maybe.
People tell me that if I wasn't a good Mormon boy, my vice would be drugs. People think I would be a very obvious pothead. I tend to think that I don't need marijuana to be as laid back as I already am (I certainly don't need it to contribute to my paranoia).
Actually, the biggest reason I don't think I'd be too into the drug scene is because I got gassed at the dentist once and it had the opposite effect. I felt my body relaxing and the feeling of losing my anxiety (or what I would consider my normalcy) caused me to overcompensate in panic mode. You know after typing that, I suppose if I got used to the feeling of a different state of consciousness, it would become the new normal. Suddenly the life of an addict would all fit into place.
Anyway, this normalcy is best exemplified for real by the fact that I just finished eating a Carl's Junior meal. Every single time I eat something at Carl's Junior I regret it. Every time I actually consider getting something from there I actually remember regretting it 100% of the time. This does not divert me. I still get a minor fix -- but after that my body, mind and soul are in serious need of repair.
Of course it's 11 pm and I have no food at home. Is it really that unusual?
People tell me that if I wasn't a good Mormon boy, my vice would be drugs. People think I would be a very obvious pothead. I tend to think that I don't need marijuana to be as laid back as I already am (I certainly don't need it to contribute to my paranoia).
Actually, the biggest reason I don't think I'd be too into the drug scene is because I got gassed at the dentist once and it had the opposite effect. I felt my body relaxing and the feeling of losing my anxiety (or what I would consider my normalcy) caused me to overcompensate in panic mode. You know after typing that, I suppose if I got used to the feeling of a different state of consciousness, it would become the new normal. Suddenly the life of an addict would all fit into place.
Anyway, this normalcy is best exemplified for real by the fact that I just finished eating a Carl's Junior meal. Every single time I eat something at Carl's Junior I regret it. Every time I actually consider getting something from there I actually remember regretting it 100% of the time. This does not divert me. I still get a minor fix -- but after that my body, mind and soul are in serious need of repair.
Of course it's 11 pm and I have no food at home. Is it really that unusual?
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
retro reconstruction, future forwardation
I am an optimist.
I wasn't always one. I actually used to be the most pessimistic person I knew. Eventually so many other people became cynical that I became an optimist in order to spite them.
This is one reason I have a lot of respect for Quentin Tarantino.
If you do a little studying up on his movies, you discover that he's an acknowledged plagiarizer. Pretty much every scene of every movie is lifted from another movie he's seen. The interesting thing is that his movies are pretty good, but the movies he rips off... are almost always quite terrible.
I just watched Switchblade Sisters (which is also known as The Jezebels), a '70s exploitation flick about a girl's descent into (and eventual ascent to the top of) a vicious all-girl gang. It's hilariously terrible, yet eventually quite charming (especially through the performance of the bratty-voiced Lace, the gangleader). Personally, I could find some obvious parallels regarding my theory about how feminism has actually lowered modern women to the mere level of men.
Anyway, the point today is that Tarantino apparently lifted elements of this movie. Apparently the most famous rip-off is Daryl Hannah's character in the Kill Bill movies is based on the gang member "Patch" in this movie. Yes, the girl did wear an eye patch, but beyond that, the depth of Elle Driver is far from derivative of her inspiration.
Some people would say Tarantino's a rip-off con man. I, however, consider him an opportune optimist. Rather than dismissing garbage, he finds worth in it and reconstructs it into value.
I read a recent post by someone where they quoted famous film directors' trash talk to each other. Here's a link:
http://flavorwire.com/200745/the-30-harshest-filmmaker-on-filmmaker-insults-in-history
There's a lot of hate on Tarantino, but you'll notice in this article that Tarantino isn't spewing the hate on anyone else. The guy may be a lot of things, but obviously his biggest talent is looking for positive elements rather than negative ones.
Now it's time to go back to feeling sad.
Today I realized that one reason I've been bumming out lately and not worked on anything interesting or been social -- is because presently and lamely I'm not looking forward to anything specific. Once upon a time I've been in a position where I've had at least one future appointment (social, romantical, workal) that I knew could potentially endorphinize me. Somehow, my hope pool has evaporated into broad terms rather than specifics.
Okay, now I really have to think of what I'm going to be for Halloween.
I wasn't always one. I actually used to be the most pessimistic person I knew. Eventually so many other people became cynical that I became an optimist in order to spite them.
This is one reason I have a lot of respect for Quentin Tarantino.
If you do a little studying up on his movies, you discover that he's an acknowledged plagiarizer. Pretty much every scene of every movie is lifted from another movie he's seen. The interesting thing is that his movies are pretty good, but the movies he rips off... are almost always quite terrible.
I just watched Switchblade Sisters (which is also known as The Jezebels), a '70s exploitation flick about a girl's descent into (and eventual ascent to the top of) a vicious all-girl gang. It's hilariously terrible, yet eventually quite charming (especially through the performance of the bratty-voiced Lace, the gangleader). Personally, I could find some obvious parallels regarding my theory about how feminism has actually lowered modern women to the mere level of men.
Anyway, the point today is that Tarantino apparently lifted elements of this movie. Apparently the most famous rip-off is Daryl Hannah's character in the Kill Bill movies is based on the gang member "Patch" in this movie. Yes, the girl did wear an eye patch, but beyond that, the depth of Elle Driver is far from derivative of her inspiration.
Some people would say Tarantino's a rip-off con man. I, however, consider him an opportune optimist. Rather than dismissing garbage, he finds worth in it and reconstructs it into value.
I read a recent post by someone where they quoted famous film directors' trash talk to each other. Here's a link:
http://flavorwire.com/200745/the-30-harshest-filmmaker-on-filmmaker-insults-in-history
There's a lot of hate on Tarantino, but you'll notice in this article that Tarantino isn't spewing the hate on anyone else. The guy may be a lot of things, but obviously his biggest talent is looking for positive elements rather than negative ones.
Now it's time to go back to feeling sad.
Today I realized that one reason I've been bumming out lately and not worked on anything interesting or been social -- is because presently and lamely I'm not looking forward to anything specific. Once upon a time I've been in a position where I've had at least one future appointment (social, romantical, workal) that I knew could potentially endorphinize me. Somehow, my hope pool has evaporated into broad terms rather than specifics.
Okay, now I really have to think of what I'm going to be for Halloween.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
i/o
If you read this blog, I commend you. If you don't... you're a paradox for one thing. How could you know what you'd be without actually reading it?
I didn't mean for that first paragraph's existential nightmare to happen.
What I've meant to say from the beginning is that I understand if you're not reading this. I have another blog (Jon's Blog) that I expect people to read. I sort of try to make it entertaining and accessible for people. Read that one. I think it's worth your time and I expect you to read it.
This blog though... it's not entertainment. It's therapy.
I'm hoping that a side effect of writing here all the time will exercise my writing muscles. It's a very strange feeling to know something so well internally, but have no power to transcribe it into actual English. Often in the attempt to do so, there's a sad realization that you don't have anything smart to say after all.
The media age is a wonderful thing. For the past 30 years I've been consuming constantly. Steady input. All the time. People who are actually more aware of things may find that sad. It very well might be. I only think it's sad if I'm not able to output a fraction as much as I input.
That's the plan anyway. Or perhaps the theory. Who am I kidding? Pipe dream.
I didn't mean for that first paragraph's existential nightmare to happen.
What I've meant to say from the beginning is that I understand if you're not reading this. I have another blog (Jon's Blog) that I expect people to read. I sort of try to make it entertaining and accessible for people. Read that one. I think it's worth your time and I expect you to read it.
This blog though... it's not entertainment. It's therapy.
I'm hoping that a side effect of writing here all the time will exercise my writing muscles. It's a very strange feeling to know something so well internally, but have no power to transcribe it into actual English. Often in the attempt to do so, there's a sad realization that you don't have anything smart to say after all.
The media age is a wonderful thing. For the past 30 years I've been consuming constantly. Steady input. All the time. People who are actually more aware of things may find that sad. It very well might be. I only think it's sad if I'm not able to output a fraction as much as I input.
That's the plan anyway. Or perhaps the theory. Who am I kidding? Pipe dream.
Monday, August 15, 2011
intelligence designed
The back of the... I don't even know what to call it... is it a book, a card game or just a curiosity on paper? I'm talking about Hypertheticals -- a bunch of "would you rather" type questions supposedly written by Chuck Klosterman.
Anyway, on the back of the package for it, one of the sample questions is something like "Say there's a drug that increases your intelligence by 10%, but a side effect is that you will seem 20% less intelligent to everyone else. Would you take the drug?"
These types of questions are probably based on Klosterman's interlude in Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs wherein he opens with "The twenty-three questions I ask everybody I meet to decide if I can really love them:" The interlude must be a very popular aspect of the book. Originally it was only three questions. Apparently he upped the amount in the next edition and then created a whole new medium with further questions later. Anyway, the reason I say all that is because by his wording in the original introduction to such questions, there is an implication that there are correct answers to these questions.
Back to the intelligence question. I think there's a right answer and that's to not take the pill. I have three reasons why.
1. Intelligence is actually not used by us as much as we like to think. We don't actually need to survive by our intelligence (or even basic wits). Nowadays our survival is based on our capacity for drudgery. Now, obviously some people do things in their daily lives that require more intelligence than others. I'll get to that in reason #2.
Intelligence has little use in survival and labor, but what about in pleasure? I suppose someone could say that certain things are more enjoyable if you're smart enough to "get it." Maybe, but the pleasure aspect is negligible and certainly not worth the side effects of the drug. You can fight me on this, but I maintain that dumb people are just as capable of pleasure, happiness and joy just as much as any smart person. In fact, doesn't it seem like intelligent people are more moody? I don't know why, but I certainly can't say they're happier.
Lots of people consider intelligence as one of the highest virtues. For some reason being conceited for physical reasons is abhorrent, but being conceited for mental reasons is justifiable. I don't see either as justifiable, they're both just blessings. Some people have one or the other naturally and some don't. Some people work for one or the other and achieve desired results, but it still doesn't justify conceit in either case. This is one reason why, for me, intelligence takes a backseat to compassion. You could be the smartest person in the world, but if you're not nice, you have less worth to me than the dumbest person who's just smart enough to realize that treating people right is simply a logical way to make things better than they actually are.
2. When we actually do use intelligence, 95% of its use is devoted to actually convincing people that we are intelligent. If people actually perceive us as less intelligent, the greatest by-product of intelligence, persuasiveness, would be nullified. Also, the taking of the pill would be actually be acknowledging that your current intelligence level is already below what is needed.
I've got it pretty good. I think most people think I'm more intelligent than I actually am. That's the way I would like to keep things.
3. 20% is more than 10%. I didn't even need to take the pill to figure that one out.
Anyway, on the back of the package for it, one of the sample questions is something like "Say there's a drug that increases your intelligence by 10%, but a side effect is that you will seem 20% less intelligent to everyone else. Would you take the drug?"
These types of questions are probably based on Klosterman's interlude in Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs wherein he opens with "The twenty-three questions I ask everybody I meet to decide if I can really love them:" The interlude must be a very popular aspect of the book. Originally it was only three questions. Apparently he upped the amount in the next edition and then created a whole new medium with further questions later. Anyway, the reason I say all that is because by his wording in the original introduction to such questions, there is an implication that there are correct answers to these questions.
Back to the intelligence question. I think there's a right answer and that's to not take the pill. I have three reasons why.
1. Intelligence is actually not used by us as much as we like to think. We don't actually need to survive by our intelligence (or even basic wits). Nowadays our survival is based on our capacity for drudgery. Now, obviously some people do things in their daily lives that require more intelligence than others. I'll get to that in reason #2.
Intelligence has little use in survival and labor, but what about in pleasure? I suppose someone could say that certain things are more enjoyable if you're smart enough to "get it." Maybe, but the pleasure aspect is negligible and certainly not worth the side effects of the drug. You can fight me on this, but I maintain that dumb people are just as capable of pleasure, happiness and joy just as much as any smart person. In fact, doesn't it seem like intelligent people are more moody? I don't know why, but I certainly can't say they're happier.
Lots of people consider intelligence as one of the highest virtues. For some reason being conceited for physical reasons is abhorrent, but being conceited for mental reasons is justifiable. I don't see either as justifiable, they're both just blessings. Some people have one or the other naturally and some don't. Some people work for one or the other and achieve desired results, but it still doesn't justify conceit in either case. This is one reason why, for me, intelligence takes a backseat to compassion. You could be the smartest person in the world, but if you're not nice, you have less worth to me than the dumbest person who's just smart enough to realize that treating people right is simply a logical way to make things better than they actually are.
2. When we actually do use intelligence, 95% of its use is devoted to actually convincing people that we are intelligent. If people actually perceive us as less intelligent, the greatest by-product of intelligence, persuasiveness, would be nullified. Also, the taking of the pill would be actually be acknowledging that your current intelligence level is already below what is needed.
I've got it pretty good. I think most people think I'm more intelligent than I actually am. That's the way I would like to keep things.
3. 20% is more than 10%. I didn't even need to take the pill to figure that one out.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
on my own gospel
Scott Hanna was just telling me about how he made gospel connections to Les Miserables in the talk he gave today. Valjean showed his penitence through restraint and compassion in everything he did (in stark contrast to the way he behaved before he was saved by the priest). Javert insists that people don't change and that they're merely numbers (a bit of a Satanic line of reasoning).
For some reason for me, I just connect with the girl characters' sad love lives in the story.
It's not even like I'm in love with them or I think we have things in common or anything, I just feel sorry for them. The other night my eyes watered listening to "I Dreamed a Dream." The song can be listened to again now that the Susan Boyle thing is getting pretty old. My favorite verses are when she sings about the unknown man in her life (presumably Cosette's father). Somehow the words are very innocent and hopeful at that point, which makes her character's tragedy more real.
Of course one of my favorite songs of all time is Eponine's soliloquy, "On My Own." Do you think it's weird that in every single movie version of Les Miserables, they cut the character of Eponine completely? The movies are far more in-depth than the musical is as well. The writers of the musical must have known and were very inspired to include her because the emotion of her character can be expressed so well through song.
The point is, it's silly of me to connect with the girly stuff. I should connect to the gospel stuff (or at least the guy stuff (I do though -- the student rioters I think have a lot of Hemmingwayish themes)). Perhaps my gospel is connecting to worlds that have as little to do with my world as possible. I've seen it before. Sometimes we have plenty of knowledge about what we're supposed to be passionate about -- but when all the cards are on the table, our true gospel comes out.
For some reason for me, I just connect with the girl characters' sad love lives in the story.
It's not even like I'm in love with them or I think we have things in common or anything, I just feel sorry for them. The other night my eyes watered listening to "I Dreamed a Dream." The song can be listened to again now that the Susan Boyle thing is getting pretty old. My favorite verses are when she sings about the unknown man in her life (presumably Cosette's father). Somehow the words are very innocent and hopeful at that point, which makes her character's tragedy more real.
Of course one of my favorite songs of all time is Eponine's soliloquy, "On My Own." Do you think it's weird that in every single movie version of Les Miserables, they cut the character of Eponine completely? The movies are far more in-depth than the musical is as well. The writers of the musical must have known and were very inspired to include her because the emotion of her character can be expressed so well through song.
The point is, it's silly of me to connect with the girly stuff. I should connect to the gospel stuff (or at least the guy stuff (I do though -- the student rioters I think have a lot of Hemmingwayish themes)). Perhaps my gospel is connecting to worlds that have as little to do with my world as possible. I've seen it before. Sometimes we have plenty of knowledge about what we're supposed to be passionate about -- but when all the cards are on the table, our true gospel comes out.
let me down
There are a lot of songs about drugs.
I used to think (10 minutes ago) that it was because musicians actually have a philosophy of liberal hedonism -- that illicit drug use is sort of a way to artistically fight the establishment.
The more I think of it though, they probably just write songs about drugs because that's what's in the room while they're trying to think of something interesting to write about. It's not something they may be passionate about -- it may just be a subject by default. Remember when we normal people used to cram for tests? We guzzled Dr. Pepper or something in preparation. Now imagine using similar stimulants to cram for your profession and then either try to think of something profound or make it easy on yourself and just write about what you happen to be doing at the time.
With this in mind, drugs seem way less romantic.
In case you're wondering, "Never Let Me Down" by Depeche Mode was going through my head just now. I'm pretty sure it's about drugs. And it's a great song. The lyrics are now far more sobering (wordplay intended) to me: "We're flying high/ We're watching the world pass us by."
I used to think (10 minutes ago) that it was because musicians actually have a philosophy of liberal hedonism -- that illicit drug use is sort of a way to artistically fight the establishment.
The more I think of it though, they probably just write songs about drugs because that's what's in the room while they're trying to think of something interesting to write about. It's not something they may be passionate about -- it may just be a subject by default. Remember when we normal people used to cram for tests? We guzzled Dr. Pepper or something in preparation. Now imagine using similar stimulants to cram for your profession and then either try to think of something profound or make it easy on yourself and just write about what you happen to be doing at the time.
With this in mind, drugs seem way less romantic.
In case you're wondering, "Never Let Me Down" by Depeche Mode was going through my head just now. I'm pretty sure it's about drugs. And it's a great song. The lyrics are now far more sobering (wordplay intended) to me: "We're flying high/ We're watching the world pass us by."
Friday, August 12, 2011
old
I'm no different than anybody else.
This time I mean it as a compliment.
Tonight my friend J.R. was in town. Rather than getting together with me to record a Star Trek podcast, he decided to send word out to all our friends from high school to meet up. It was pretty much exactly like a mini high school reunion (which is fitting because nobody invited me to the 15-year reunion).
I kind of didn't want to go. I didn't want to feel ashamed for letting myself get out of touch with everyone and I didn't want to be embarrassed about acting like a high school student ever since high school. Amazingly, I found catching up with people exhilarating. I may not be as anti-social as I keep telling myself I am. Strangely, I'm the worst with family members and old friends than I am with anybody else.
One of my friends has a daughter in middle school. The daughter was there too, as her mother spoke to us about running into her high school boyfriend after high school. She asked us (in front of her daughter): "Should I let my daughter have a steady boyfriend when she's a teenager? I don't want to say she can't. I did, but I obviously know it wasn't a good idea NOW."
For some reason I'm at a loss for words with this story. I've typed and deleted several things now. I keep making it sound like my friend is a bad mother, but I know she's not. I think it's wonderful that she's honest with her daughter like that. I think it's most interesting that she doesn't enforce her rule not because she's a pushover and not because she doesn't believe what she says about the right decision at such a time. I think she just relates to her daughter too well to enforce anything.
At some point, we stop getting older. We certainly age, but part of the misery of aging is getting older bodies without the maturity that comes with them. Sending a kid to college will probably be the oldest I ever feel in my life, if that ever happens. I never thought I was ever old enough to go to college myself.
I only think it's fascinating because I find it far stranger seeing my friends try to relate to their kids than I find my siblings relate to their kids. When my friends say they're winging it, I believe them. When we're all together like that, we're not parents (definitely not me, of course). We're high schoolers. None of us have it together. And nothing cheers me up more than that.
This time I mean it as a compliment.
Tonight my friend J.R. was in town. Rather than getting together with me to record a Star Trek podcast, he decided to send word out to all our friends from high school to meet up. It was pretty much exactly like a mini high school reunion (which is fitting because nobody invited me to the 15-year reunion).
I kind of didn't want to go. I didn't want to feel ashamed for letting myself get out of touch with everyone and I didn't want to be embarrassed about acting like a high school student ever since high school. Amazingly, I found catching up with people exhilarating. I may not be as anti-social as I keep telling myself I am. Strangely, I'm the worst with family members and old friends than I am with anybody else.
One of my friends has a daughter in middle school. The daughter was there too, as her mother spoke to us about running into her high school boyfriend after high school. She asked us (in front of her daughter): "Should I let my daughter have a steady boyfriend when she's a teenager? I don't want to say she can't. I did, but I obviously know it wasn't a good idea NOW."
For some reason I'm at a loss for words with this story. I've typed and deleted several things now. I keep making it sound like my friend is a bad mother, but I know she's not. I think it's wonderful that she's honest with her daughter like that. I think it's most interesting that she doesn't enforce her rule not because she's a pushover and not because she doesn't believe what she says about the right decision at such a time. I think she just relates to her daughter too well to enforce anything.
At some point, we stop getting older. We certainly age, but part of the misery of aging is getting older bodies without the maturity that comes with them. Sending a kid to college will probably be the oldest I ever feel in my life, if that ever happens. I never thought I was ever old enough to go to college myself.
I only think it's fascinating because I find it far stranger seeing my friends try to relate to their kids than I find my siblings relate to their kids. When my friends say they're winging it, I believe them. When we're all together like that, we're not parents (definitely not me, of course). We're high schoolers. None of us have it together. And nothing cheers me up more than that.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
blood, connection, enemies, altamont
Four things tonight. Probably.
1. One of my teeth started bleeding at the gum line for no reason today. Sure, I don't mind the taste of blood. It's like metally salt. I just don't know why. Is there an absence in my mouth. I hate it, but I'd at least love the taste of diet coke in my mouth instead of blood.
2. I just got back from Crazy, Stupid, Love. The punctuation for that movie's title is atrocious. It's bad enough that I have to bother to Italicize it. Of course the worst part of it is going to a movie like that by myself. If I was fitting into my expected role in society I should have seen the new planet of the apes movie instead of a love story. Truth though, I felt like seeing an ensemble love story, so I did. It just happened to be late Thursday night and it was spur of the moment, so I went alone.
Why am I still justifying myself to you?
Anyway the point I wanted to make is I loved when Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone got together. The scene pointed out something that very few people know about the nature of guys. I promise, most guys don't even know this. A real conversation with a woman -- I mean a real conversation, not a forced one -- that's going all the way for a guy. That actually means something. It's the girl equivalent of having sex (or whatever her moral intimacy limit is at the time). A girl gives it up in bed. A guy gives it up in conversation. A girl will express her feelings to anybody who will hear her, but will only be intimate with a certain few. A guy will mack on anybody who will let them (and many don't just stop there), but will only express themselves to a very select few.
That's revelation #1. Revelation #2 is that just about everybody (guys and girls included) has no idea that it's after the real conversation -- the real connection -- that a guy can be really hurt. Often guys will connect with girls and not even realize it. They'll go to bed smiling and then wake up in the middle of the night and realize they're in love. The girl was just talking like she always does because expressing herself isn't something she saves for someone special. It's rude for a guy to ignore a girl after he's gotten what he's after physically. I would say it's rude for a girl to ignore a guy after they've (in his mind) made a connection... but how would she even know?
Let's feel a little sorry for guys. But just a little sorry. We all know guys still have it way better than girls.
3. I'm sick of making friends. They only go away. I'm even more sick of confirming friends, because often they aren't my friends anyway.
I probably need more enemies. What if there was a social networking site not of friends, but of enemies? Wouldn't that be great? Think of how much more you'd learn from somebody's profile. "These are all the people I hate, and here's why..." I very often think I need more enemies. I have none. I suppose that's an accomplishment, but I'm not so sure. If nobody opposes me, maybe I don't stand for anything at all. Maybe I'm not a life-changer, but just a yes-man to the rest of the world.
We don't believe in soul mates. We're not supposed to anyway, but I like to think of it in the following way. There may not be one person we have to end up with, but there are probably like 1000 that we're compatible enough with that it would work out fine. Now, of those 1000, ONE of those is actually BETTER than the other 999. Sure, no soul mates, but there is whatever you'd call that one.
With this in mind, let's flip it around. There is also one person living right now who is the exact opposite of you. There's the ONE and then there's the one. This person is pure evil. Maybe not to everyone else, but most assuredly to you. This person's favorite music is your least favorite. This person makes fun of what you do for a living. This person has the opposite views you have about abortion and capital punishment. This person feels that your ideals and virtues are actually detrimental to society.
Don't you want to meet this person? Don't you want to have it out with them? Maybe you can somehow meet them on the social networking site I invented three paragraphs above this one.
Of course usually we don't make enemies for ideological reasons, I suppose. The enemies we're used to are just like us -- except they might have one more thing than we do.
4. I've always wanted to change the world, but I absolutely cannot. I have a message, but I'm just not the right personality to get it out. I'm not strong or brash enough to get people to listen to me. It's only those Type A personalities -- natural leaders -- who can really affect change. These are the guys who speak their minds constantly. People respect their results and they respect their opinions because these people have learned what it takes to constantly be on top of everyone else.
You might think I'm being defeatist. What's to stop me from becoming that loud presence that nobody can ignore? Other people have fought their way to the top, why can't I? It may be a hard road, but with determination and swagger, I'll get there. I'll have the personality that people will respect and latch onto. Then my message will be heard.
The only problem is here's my message:
Maybe we should stop listening to all these asshole Type A personalities. Maybe the swagger that comes with the cult of personality has actually done the world a disservice. Maybe we're respecting the wrong attitudes.
Now how easy is it to meekly get that message out? There are people trying to get that message out, sure. We just don't hear the message. I think they're hoping we'll learn by example. The example of the quiet is seldom heard, however. Even the most well-meaning organization is eventually represented by a big fat loudmouth.
I know how the hippies felt after Altamont.
1. One of my teeth started bleeding at the gum line for no reason today. Sure, I don't mind the taste of blood. It's like metally salt. I just don't know why. Is there an absence in my mouth. I hate it, but I'd at least love the taste of diet coke in my mouth instead of blood.
2. I just got back from Crazy, Stupid, Love. The punctuation for that movie's title is atrocious. It's bad enough that I have to bother to Italicize it. Of course the worst part of it is going to a movie like that by myself. If I was fitting into my expected role in society I should have seen the new planet of the apes movie instead of a love story. Truth though, I felt like seeing an ensemble love story, so I did. It just happened to be late Thursday night and it was spur of the moment, so I went alone.
Why am I still justifying myself to you?
Anyway the point I wanted to make is I loved when Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone got together. The scene pointed out something that very few people know about the nature of guys. I promise, most guys don't even know this. A real conversation with a woman -- I mean a real conversation, not a forced one -- that's going all the way for a guy. That actually means something. It's the girl equivalent of having sex (or whatever her moral intimacy limit is at the time). A girl gives it up in bed. A guy gives it up in conversation. A girl will express her feelings to anybody who will hear her, but will only be intimate with a certain few. A guy will mack on anybody who will let them (and many don't just stop there), but will only express themselves to a very select few.
That's revelation #1. Revelation #2 is that just about everybody (guys and girls included) has no idea that it's after the real conversation -- the real connection -- that a guy can be really hurt. Often guys will connect with girls and not even realize it. They'll go to bed smiling and then wake up in the middle of the night and realize they're in love. The girl was just talking like she always does because expressing herself isn't something she saves for someone special. It's rude for a guy to ignore a girl after he's gotten what he's after physically. I would say it's rude for a girl to ignore a guy after they've (in his mind) made a connection... but how would she even know?
Let's feel a little sorry for guys. But just a little sorry. We all know guys still have it way better than girls.
3. I'm sick of making friends. They only go away. I'm even more sick of confirming friends, because often they aren't my friends anyway.
I probably need more enemies. What if there was a social networking site not of friends, but of enemies? Wouldn't that be great? Think of how much more you'd learn from somebody's profile. "These are all the people I hate, and here's why..." I very often think I need more enemies. I have none. I suppose that's an accomplishment, but I'm not so sure. If nobody opposes me, maybe I don't stand for anything at all. Maybe I'm not a life-changer, but just a yes-man to the rest of the world.
We don't believe in soul mates. We're not supposed to anyway, but I like to think of it in the following way. There may not be one person we have to end up with, but there are probably like 1000 that we're compatible enough with that it would work out fine. Now, of those 1000, ONE of those is actually BETTER than the other 999. Sure, no soul mates, but there is whatever you'd call that one.
With this in mind, let's flip it around. There is also one person living right now who is the exact opposite of you. There's the ONE and then there's the one. This person is pure evil. Maybe not to everyone else, but most assuredly to you. This person's favorite music is your least favorite. This person makes fun of what you do for a living. This person has the opposite views you have about abortion and capital punishment. This person feels that your ideals and virtues are actually detrimental to society.
Don't you want to meet this person? Don't you want to have it out with them? Maybe you can somehow meet them on the social networking site I invented three paragraphs above this one.
Of course usually we don't make enemies for ideological reasons, I suppose. The enemies we're used to are just like us -- except they might have one more thing than we do.
4. I've always wanted to change the world, but I absolutely cannot. I have a message, but I'm just not the right personality to get it out. I'm not strong or brash enough to get people to listen to me. It's only those Type A personalities -- natural leaders -- who can really affect change. These are the guys who speak their minds constantly. People respect their results and they respect their opinions because these people have learned what it takes to constantly be on top of everyone else.
You might think I'm being defeatist. What's to stop me from becoming that loud presence that nobody can ignore? Other people have fought their way to the top, why can't I? It may be a hard road, but with determination and swagger, I'll get there. I'll have the personality that people will respect and latch onto. Then my message will be heard.
The only problem is here's my message:
Maybe we should stop listening to all these asshole Type A personalities. Maybe the swagger that comes with the cult of personality has actually done the world a disservice. Maybe we're respecting the wrong attitudes.
Now how easy is it to meekly get that message out? There are people trying to get that message out, sure. We just don't hear the message. I think they're hoping we'll learn by example. The example of the quiet is seldom heard, however. Even the most well-meaning organization is eventually represented by a big fat loudmouth.
I know how the hippies felt after Altamont.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
estrogen
It's either insomnia or my time of the month.
This happens about monthly though, so I'm actually inclined to think that I really do get hormonal on a monthly basis.
The symptom is watching something and then getting teary-eyed at the absolute most meaningless thing. I did it just now with an episode of Family Ties where Mallory loves working at a clothing store, but her parents want her to quit because her grades are so bad and she's a moron anyway.
That's bad enough. I also was watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and the Dominion were threatening the quadrant so lots of people were taking their families off the station. Okay, now here's the really crazy part. As a result of people leaving, Keiko was forced to close her crappy-ass school -- and I felt bad for her! KEIKO!
Actually, even stranger still, a customer asked for her money back because the expedited shipping wasn't as fast as she wanted. I wasn't allowed to give it to her. THAT made me sad -- and any customer of mine is far less important than Mallory or Keiko.
Could not sleep last night. Hormones? Or is sleep deprivation just turning me into a girl?
This happens about monthly though, so I'm actually inclined to think that I really do get hormonal on a monthly basis.
The symptom is watching something and then getting teary-eyed at the absolute most meaningless thing. I did it just now with an episode of Family Ties where Mallory loves working at a clothing store, but her parents want her to quit because her grades are so bad and she's a moron anyway.
That's bad enough. I also was watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and the Dominion were threatening the quadrant so lots of people were taking their families off the station. Okay, now here's the really crazy part. As a result of people leaving, Keiko was forced to close her crappy-ass school -- and I felt bad for her! KEIKO!
Actually, even stranger still, a customer asked for her money back because the expedited shipping wasn't as fast as she wanted. I wasn't allowed to give it to her. THAT made me sad -- and any customer of mine is far less important than Mallory or Keiko.
Could not sleep last night. Hormones? Or is sleep deprivation just turning me into a girl?
beyonce, jay-z, mom, dad
Are Beyonce and Jay-Z still together?
I think I heard like a month ago that they were splitting up. Lots of people are sad, I'm sure. I'm not. I get a schadenfreude-istic bit of satisfaction when couples split up. I don't want to be a part of a couple so much as I want everybody else to be alone with me.
Beyonce and Jay-Z is another story altogether though. Their romance never seemed too romantic to me. It actually seemed too obvious and predictable to have any sort of meaningful love story attached to it. It's like they were hip-hop royalty -- prom king and queen of the pop charts. Of course they would get together. It's almost like an arranged marriage. Jay-Z is the mastermind of the entire hip-hop world while Beyonce is the most talented, most beautiful asset to that world. It's a match already made in heaven. Boring.
Matches made in heaven aren't good love stories -- at least not the love stories I'm familiar with. I find it very strange that we still have these ideal versions of romance that involve riches and luxury built-in. Girls may dream of a rich, good-looking prince to sweep her away immediately. Guys hope for a supermodel who is inexplicably devoted to them. We still think this way even after romantic movies have taught us otherwise. All romantic movies actually move away from the match made in heaven. They really teach us that romance isn't in the riches, but in the character (well, they TRY to teach us that anyway -- most are pretty lame at it). It's often not the rich businessman or the established model that the protagonist usually falls for. Usually it's the nerdy best friend.
Apparently Jay-Z and Beyonce got together before any sort of nerdy best friend could win one of them over. It's easy to understand why nobody stepped up. Who in real life could get in the way of such a romance? Apparently it was never meant to be (but then again neither were Beyonce and Jay-Z).
So they really did break up right? I'm not just making stuff up?
Mom said she felt depressed again today. She got pretty clinical a couple of years ago and it was just about the scariest thing ever. I'm especially lousy at cheering her up. I try to be logical about it because I know her (she's a lot like me). It's not just that she feels bad. It's that she feels sad about feeling bad because she doesn't deserve to feel sad. After that she feels bad that she feels sad about the bad feeling of being sad -- and so on. People who have the blessings we have don't deserve to feel sad. That's ungrateful. At least I feel that's the reasoning. So my advice to her is just that sometimes we're sad -- and that's okay. We both agreed it must be in our genes. Feeling bad is inevitable -- so we may as well not bring guilt into it as well. It's easier said than done to stop it there.
Mom was fine a couple of hours later. Hopefully it's one of those things (and not one of those things that happened a couple of years ago).
Too bad for my kids. I'll be handing off my dad's cancer genes that killed him and my mom's depression genes that make living less fun.
Actually, that sounded really really bad. It's a pretty good combination for me actually. Both my mom and dad gave me a very sweet goodness. Besides that, I think my dad gave me a wonderful sense of sideways moral logic and Mom gave me an exciting compassionate sideways mentality. No matter what happens -- I think my mind is way funner than everyone else's. I whine all the time about how I feel, but I admit -- my mind is an awesome playground.
Thanks folks.
I think I heard like a month ago that they were splitting up. Lots of people are sad, I'm sure. I'm not. I get a schadenfreude-istic bit of satisfaction when couples split up. I don't want to be a part of a couple so much as I want everybody else to be alone with me.
Beyonce and Jay-Z is another story altogether though. Their romance never seemed too romantic to me. It actually seemed too obvious and predictable to have any sort of meaningful love story attached to it. It's like they were hip-hop royalty -- prom king and queen of the pop charts. Of course they would get together. It's almost like an arranged marriage. Jay-Z is the mastermind of the entire hip-hop world while Beyonce is the most talented, most beautiful asset to that world. It's a match already made in heaven. Boring.
Matches made in heaven aren't good love stories -- at least not the love stories I'm familiar with. I find it very strange that we still have these ideal versions of romance that involve riches and luxury built-in. Girls may dream of a rich, good-looking prince to sweep her away immediately. Guys hope for a supermodel who is inexplicably devoted to them. We still think this way even after romantic movies have taught us otherwise. All romantic movies actually move away from the match made in heaven. They really teach us that romance isn't in the riches, but in the character (well, they TRY to teach us that anyway -- most are pretty lame at it). It's often not the rich businessman or the established model that the protagonist usually falls for. Usually it's the nerdy best friend.
Apparently Jay-Z and Beyonce got together before any sort of nerdy best friend could win one of them over. It's easy to understand why nobody stepped up. Who in real life could get in the way of such a romance? Apparently it was never meant to be (but then again neither were Beyonce and Jay-Z).
So they really did break up right? I'm not just making stuff up?
Mom said she felt depressed again today. She got pretty clinical a couple of years ago and it was just about the scariest thing ever. I'm especially lousy at cheering her up. I try to be logical about it because I know her (she's a lot like me). It's not just that she feels bad. It's that she feels sad about feeling bad because she doesn't deserve to feel sad. After that she feels bad that she feels sad about the bad feeling of being sad -- and so on. People who have the blessings we have don't deserve to feel sad. That's ungrateful. At least I feel that's the reasoning. So my advice to her is just that sometimes we're sad -- and that's okay. We both agreed it must be in our genes. Feeling bad is inevitable -- so we may as well not bring guilt into it as well. It's easier said than done to stop it there.
Mom was fine a couple of hours later. Hopefully it's one of those things (and not one of those things that happened a couple of years ago).
Too bad for my kids. I'll be handing off my dad's cancer genes that killed him and my mom's depression genes that make living less fun.
Actually, that sounded really really bad. It's a pretty good combination for me actually. Both my mom and dad gave me a very sweet goodness. Besides that, I think my dad gave me a wonderful sense of sideways moral logic and Mom gave me an exciting compassionate sideways mentality. No matter what happens -- I think my mind is way funner than everyone else's. I whine all the time about how I feel, but I admit -- my mind is an awesome playground.
Thanks folks.
Monday, August 8, 2011
sunache
I've mentioned before that I've been getting headaches this summer.
I've mentioned before that I prefer the rain to the sun.
I'm not sure if my headaches are because of aggravation, something physical or just random.
Lots of people prefer cloudy weather to sunny weather.
I may just be noticing my headaches more because I'm looking for them.
What I really don't understand is why everyone doesn't hate the sun like I do.
I know what's causing my headache right now and it's the blasted sun. If there was a single cloud in the sky today then my walk from Charlie Chow's to Temple Square (and back) and my tennis match with the lovely Kayla (I lost) may not have resulted in this screaming headache that is presently making me wonder what the point of living is.
The sun is quite literally our universe's largest carcinogen. I can't see properly when it's out. But when it's overcast, the world is wrapped in a blanket that filters the world into beautiful.
The sun makes me sick. If it doesn't make you sick, you're not as normal as I am.
I've mentioned before that I prefer the rain to the sun.
I'm not sure if my headaches are because of aggravation, something physical or just random.
Lots of people prefer cloudy weather to sunny weather.
I may just be noticing my headaches more because I'm looking for them.
What I really don't understand is why everyone doesn't hate the sun like I do.
I know what's causing my headache right now and it's the blasted sun. If there was a single cloud in the sky today then my walk from Charlie Chow's to Temple Square (and back) and my tennis match with the lovely Kayla (I lost) may not have resulted in this screaming headache that is presently making me wonder what the point of living is.
The sun is quite literally our universe's largest carcinogen. I can't see properly when it's out. But when it's overcast, the world is wrapped in a blanket that filters the world into beautiful.
The sun makes me sick. If it doesn't make you sick, you're not as normal as I am.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
sing this one aloud
Not sure what to say.
I almost said this last night. I re-watched Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. It was probably more enjoyable a second time.
What I really appreciated was the misdirection of it all. It presented a villain that we instantly recognize as the hero. The fact that (watch it before you finish reading this sentence -- it's on Netflix) everything actually winds up as it should according to the protagonist's goals is actually the biggest pull of the rug ever.
It's actually too bad that misdirection has become such a need in today's storytelling. I wonder if we can go back. There used to be good stories full of character and heroism. Now stories are either predictable or not.
There is a unique beauty that comes out of the tragedy of Dr. Horrible that's rarely seen and it must be exceptionally hard to pull off. I probably shouldn't talk about it any more. All I'll say is (and people may disagree) the last frame of the film is very effective especially when the preceding 40 minutes is so filled with whimsy.
Craaaap. I was gonna say something else. Crap. Well at least I'm running out of stuff to say. I've been sick of hearing myself type lately.
Oh wait! Maybe it was something about villainy. I like understanding it. There is a very small percentage of people who consider themselves evil, but rest assured, there is plenty of evil in the world. I may be evil. I'm not, but no doubt somebody perceives me to be. No question, Dr. Horrible is an evil person or at least thinks he is, or at least isn't but becomes so. It's not right, but understandable. You'll have to just see it, I guess.
I almost said this last night. I re-watched Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. It was probably more enjoyable a second time.
What I really appreciated was the misdirection of it all. It presented a villain that we instantly recognize as the hero. The fact that (watch it before you finish reading this sentence -- it's on Netflix) everything actually winds up as it should according to the protagonist's goals is actually the biggest pull of the rug ever.
It's actually too bad that misdirection has become such a need in today's storytelling. I wonder if we can go back. There used to be good stories full of character and heroism. Now stories are either predictable or not.
There is a unique beauty that comes out of the tragedy of Dr. Horrible that's rarely seen and it must be exceptionally hard to pull off. I probably shouldn't talk about it any more. All I'll say is (and people may disagree) the last frame of the film is very effective especially when the preceding 40 minutes is so filled with whimsy.
Craaaap. I was gonna say something else. Crap. Well at least I'm running out of stuff to say. I've been sick of hearing myself type lately.
Oh wait! Maybe it was something about villainy. I like understanding it. There is a very small percentage of people who consider themselves evil, but rest assured, there is plenty of evil in the world. I may be evil. I'm not, but no doubt somebody perceives me to be. No question, Dr. Horrible is an evil person or at least thinks he is, or at least isn't but becomes so. It's not right, but understandable. You'll have to just see it, I guess.
premo peanuts
I'll probably always equate love with pain. Maybe that's why I'm so unsuccessful at love. Sometimes I seriously can't even visualize successful love. I can either perceive the pain that comes with it or passivity. An actual equal relationship is unfathomable. Either she's driving me crazy or I'm driving her crazy. There's nothing good about crazy in this case. We're not young anymore.
I've found more romance in the pain of it all. I hate hate hate to admit it, but I'm pretty original emo. I've always been that way too (so let's just say pre-emo (premo)).
Of course I hesitate to say I'm depressed or sad or anything because I don't want to give the wrong impression. I don't say it to mope. And a bigger worry of mine is that someone may think I'm fishing, which I'm not. And let's not forget my biggest fear of suggesting that I'm less than joyous is the inevitable response of "Get happy, stupid!" Everybody has periods of happiness and sadness. I would say on the whole I'm usually unhappy, but that's nothing to worry about because that's the way I've always been. I don't necessarily categorize myself as an unhappy person, because I just feel "normal" the way I always have. I may be unhappy lots of the time, but I'm not sulking all the time because I'm used to how I feel.
This is all very subjective, of course. Most people very well may be less happy than I am. There's really no way to judge. I have no idea what kind of agony you go through with everyday. Kudos for being positive about it, whatever it is.
People make fun of me, but I'm a big fan of the comic strip Peanuts. I've always been a fan. People don't get it. They don't understand how it's funny or see anything artistic in the way it's drawn. I've always found beauty in it because it extends humor from misery. It presents bleakness and attempts to make some semblance of sense out of it. Its whole concept is using humor as a defense mechanism -- which I'm pretty sure I do quite a bit. The true nature of Peanuts is actually pointed out quite well in the experimental web comic strip called 3eanuts.com. It's simply original Peanuts strips with the fourth panel -- the punchline -- omitted. In the words of the site's tagline: "With the last panel omitted, despair pervades all."
That's why, even though I've never seen it, I think You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown may be the worst musical ever made. I just heard a song from it a few hours ago on Showtunes Saturday Night on KOSY 106.5. The musical's message seems to be about blind hope rather than the quiet comfort that comes with absurdity. Charles Schulz of course was a different type of cartoonist than the ones today. He's no Watterson. No doubt, growing up in the shadow of the Great Depression, he was taught to milk his craft for everything (hence cheesy Peanuts sno-cone machines and cheerleader-like Broadway musicals). Some of us see past all that though, and laugh. It's nervous laughter, but it's still laughter -- and far more legit.
I've found more romance in the pain of it all. I hate hate hate to admit it, but I'm pretty original emo. I've always been that way too (so let's just say pre-emo (premo)).
Of course I hesitate to say I'm depressed or sad or anything because I don't want to give the wrong impression. I don't say it to mope. And a bigger worry of mine is that someone may think I'm fishing, which I'm not. And let's not forget my biggest fear of suggesting that I'm less than joyous is the inevitable response of "Get happy, stupid!" Everybody has periods of happiness and sadness. I would say on the whole I'm usually unhappy, but that's nothing to worry about because that's the way I've always been. I don't necessarily categorize myself as an unhappy person, because I just feel "normal" the way I always have. I may be unhappy lots of the time, but I'm not sulking all the time because I'm used to how I feel.
This is all very subjective, of course. Most people very well may be less happy than I am. There's really no way to judge. I have no idea what kind of agony you go through with everyday. Kudos for being positive about it, whatever it is.
People make fun of me, but I'm a big fan of the comic strip Peanuts. I've always been a fan. People don't get it. They don't understand how it's funny or see anything artistic in the way it's drawn. I've always found beauty in it because it extends humor from misery. It presents bleakness and attempts to make some semblance of sense out of it. Its whole concept is using humor as a defense mechanism -- which I'm pretty sure I do quite a bit. The true nature of Peanuts is actually pointed out quite well in the experimental web comic strip called 3eanuts.com. It's simply original Peanuts strips with the fourth panel -- the punchline -- omitted. In the words of the site's tagline: "With the last panel omitted, despair pervades all."
That's why, even though I've never seen it, I think You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown may be the worst musical ever made. I just heard a song from it a few hours ago on Showtunes Saturday Night on KOSY 106.5. The musical's message seems to be about blind hope rather than the quiet comfort that comes with absurdity. Charles Schulz of course was a different type of cartoonist than the ones today. He's no Watterson. No doubt, growing up in the shadow of the Great Depression, he was taught to milk his craft for everything (hence cheesy Peanuts sno-cone machines and cheerleader-like Broadway musicals). Some of us see past all that though, and laugh. It's nervous laughter, but it's still laughter -- and far more legit.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
fallen summer
I've watched a lot of horror movies, but something really horrifying crossed my mind today: I'll probably have no plans for Halloween this year. Is that ironic?
The problem with stubbornly anchoring yourself to childhood fun is that eventually you're expected to grow out of it. When is latching onto something outdated? It has nothing to do with time, it only has to do with people. It's not pathetic if peers are doing it as well. Fortunately, over the years, I've kept an enthusiasm for Halloween that I'm happy to say is quite contagious. The past couple of summers have been cruel, however, and that may throw a wrench in the works.
Summers where lots of my friends get married are known as cruel summers. I use the term because the one summer three of my closest friends got married and the derivative Ace of Base remake of Bananarama's "Cruel Summer" was popular on the radio at the time (and yes, it was half a lifetime ago).
I know there will be scary movies. I know there will be scary music. There may even be another Halloween movie made (although I'm still putting together the outtakes from last year, so there's a good chance there won't be), but I'm not sure who I'm going to be hanging out with at Dee's at 3 a.m. Halloween night in ridiculous costumes. I don't know what party I can possibly feel comfortable at (or more comfortable than usual, anyway).
I'm trying to worry early, because I realized today that it's August. I was scorching hot in the afternoon, but after coming out of Barnes and Noble at 9:30, I felt a twinge of autumn air. My seasons are off. I need to mind the near future if I'm to have a fulfilling present. I've mentioned before that by now we've got clockwork programmed into us. Tapping into the universal clockwork is a great way to experience fulfillment (or at least pleasure).
For example, springtime really is for romance. That's when they're more open to the idea. After the solstice, it may be scorching, but they're cold as ice. They aren't aware of this either.
The problem with stubbornly anchoring yourself to childhood fun is that eventually you're expected to grow out of it. When is latching onto something outdated? It has nothing to do with time, it only has to do with people. It's not pathetic if peers are doing it as well. Fortunately, over the years, I've kept an enthusiasm for Halloween that I'm happy to say is quite contagious. The past couple of summers have been cruel, however, and that may throw a wrench in the works.
Summers where lots of my friends get married are known as cruel summers. I use the term because the one summer three of my closest friends got married and the derivative Ace of Base remake of Bananarama's "Cruel Summer" was popular on the radio at the time (and yes, it was half a lifetime ago).
I know there will be scary movies. I know there will be scary music. There may even be another Halloween movie made (although I'm still putting together the outtakes from last year, so there's a good chance there won't be), but I'm not sure who I'm going to be hanging out with at Dee's at 3 a.m. Halloween night in ridiculous costumes. I don't know what party I can possibly feel comfortable at (or more comfortable than usual, anyway).
I'm trying to worry early, because I realized today that it's August. I was scorching hot in the afternoon, but after coming out of Barnes and Noble at 9:30, I felt a twinge of autumn air. My seasons are off. I need to mind the near future if I'm to have a fulfilling present. I've mentioned before that by now we've got clockwork programmed into us. Tapping into the universal clockwork is a great way to experience fulfillment (or at least pleasure).
For example, springtime really is for romance. That's when they're more open to the idea. After the solstice, it may be scorching, but they're cold as ice. They aren't aware of this either.
Friday, August 5, 2011
dirty parenthood
I forgot about the conversation I had last night about dirt and germs on kids. It was mentioned that the kids who are so often shielded from unclean things don't build up proper antibodies and therefore wind up having more allergic reactions to things when they get older. It was specifically mentioned that kids who grow up with pets may be surrounded by filth when they're younger, but aren't as affected by it later -- in essence are far healthier by being exposed to vermin.
You can see that right? The kid who gets down and dirty is tougher in the long run than the kid who looks like Edgar Winter in the blue boy costume.
Can this be applied not only to physical dirt, but moral dirt as well? I hesitate to say this because it may seem really really absurd, but I think there's something there. Eventually everyone's exposed to things that were verboten as children. If the shielding was absolutely complete, the eventual exposure has a far greater effect. You often hear about kids raised in a very strict and moral household who go off the deep end when they enter the world. I don't have stats or anything, and it's not like it's only "good" kids who falter, but I can totally see that making sense.
I think the idea is to not forcefully expose a kid to harmful media, but to acknowledge it, but play up or down its significance in a respectful manner. So many parents only show their kids the safest stuff imaginable. Remember what we used to watch when we were kids? I would say it's far less tame than kids tend to watch today and we totally turned out pretty cool. I think of all my favorite movies now. Some are slightly objectionable, but I would hate to forgo the joy of watching them with my kids. No doubt I'll change my mind once I see just how suggestible the kids turn out to be.
Our kids will be cool. They'll be watching John Hughes movies all growing up. When they go to college they'll expose other kids to the great stuff we enjoyed in college rather than being negatively overwhelmed by new influences.
If I ever have kids I hope I'll be able to talk to them. I have this idealized relationship brewing with them. We'll be fun and jokey and philosophical with each other. I'll be sad when it doesn't work out that way. One of the saddest lines in cinema is (lemme look this up real quick) in Parenthood when Steve Martin says: ... (okay far out, I went to look it up, but couldn't find the quote -- I guess I'll paraphrase) ... when your kids are born, you want the best for them. You do what you can to give them you think they'll need to be happy. You have all the hope in the world for them. But when all your efforts are finished, they turn out just like you.
I think this is sad. I suppose someone else -- someone self-actualized and confident -- would find this quote the opposite of sad.
You can see that right? The kid who gets down and dirty is tougher in the long run than the kid who looks like Edgar Winter in the blue boy costume.
Can this be applied not only to physical dirt, but moral dirt as well? I hesitate to say this because it may seem really really absurd, but I think there's something there. Eventually everyone's exposed to things that were verboten as children. If the shielding was absolutely complete, the eventual exposure has a far greater effect. You often hear about kids raised in a very strict and moral household who go off the deep end when they enter the world. I don't have stats or anything, and it's not like it's only "good" kids who falter, but I can totally see that making sense.
I think the idea is to not forcefully expose a kid to harmful media, but to acknowledge it, but play up or down its significance in a respectful manner. So many parents only show their kids the safest stuff imaginable. Remember what we used to watch when we were kids? I would say it's far less tame than kids tend to watch today and we totally turned out pretty cool. I think of all my favorite movies now. Some are slightly objectionable, but I would hate to forgo the joy of watching them with my kids. No doubt I'll change my mind once I see just how suggestible the kids turn out to be.
Our kids will be cool. They'll be watching John Hughes movies all growing up. When they go to college they'll expose other kids to the great stuff we enjoyed in college rather than being negatively overwhelmed by new influences.
If I ever have kids I hope I'll be able to talk to them. I have this idealized relationship brewing with them. We'll be fun and jokey and philosophical with each other. I'll be sad when it doesn't work out that way. One of the saddest lines in cinema is (lemme look this up real quick) in Parenthood when Steve Martin says: ... (okay far out, I went to look it up, but couldn't find the quote -- I guess I'll paraphrase) ... when your kids are born, you want the best for them. You do what you can to give them you think they'll need to be happy. You have all the hope in the world for them. But when all your efforts are finished, they turn out just like you.
I think this is sad. I suppose someone else -- someone self-actualized and confident -- would find this quote the opposite of sad.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
wings (the tv show. mccartney is later)
Just watched my nightly Wings episode.
The show really isn't funny. I think it is because I'm such a crazy nostalgist. It's not nostalgia for Wings itself (I never once watched it while it was on). It's nostalgia for the era. I suppose everyone gets a little like this when they come across something that reminds them of 20 years earlier. There's something about the past, no matter when the past was, that's simpler and more comfortable than the present. No doubt some thirtysomething watched Wings in the '90s and was aching for the comfort of Happy Days.
Comedies are funnier now, but who knows how dated this 21st century awkward humor will be 20 years from now. Will our kids think The Office is lame? They probably will. They'll be like "Why is that guy's unawareness supposed to make me laugh? All it is is misinformation. There's actually nothing inherently funny about that."
Maybe that's why I'm on a nostalgia kick. Today's comedy sure is funnier, but more heartless. Wings is just about the last old school sitcom before society got entrenched in the mire of '90s numbness and irony.
Have a heart people. Let's bring it back.
The show really isn't funny. I think it is because I'm such a crazy nostalgist. It's not nostalgia for Wings itself (I never once watched it while it was on). It's nostalgia for the era. I suppose everyone gets a little like this when they come across something that reminds them of 20 years earlier. There's something about the past, no matter when the past was, that's simpler and more comfortable than the present. No doubt some thirtysomething watched Wings in the '90s and was aching for the comfort of Happy Days.
Comedies are funnier now, but who knows how dated this 21st century awkward humor will be 20 years from now. Will our kids think The Office is lame? They probably will. They'll be like "Why is that guy's unawareness supposed to make me laugh? All it is is misinformation. There's actually nothing inherently funny about that."
Maybe that's why I'm on a nostalgia kick. Today's comedy sure is funnier, but more heartless. Wings is just about the last old school sitcom before society got entrenched in the mire of '90s numbness and irony.
Have a heart people. Let's bring it back.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
workdream, rain and headaches.
I couldn't sleep last night. Well, mostly this morning. I had one of those things where you know you're dreaming and then you wake up and then when you go back to sleep your dream continues. This particular dream was about trying to bring up a customer's information at work. So I had that dream throughout my designated sleep schedule and then I went to work. It's never a fun time going to work, but it's the worst when you feel you just barely put a shift in in your sleep.
My head has been hurting a lot lately. I don't know if it's a symptom of something else. I was wondering today if maybe we have symptoms to actually distract us from the problem rather than direct us toward it. I've mentioned before that when I get anxiety, I get the actual physical symptoms and I can't remember why. Often, something will happen that will set my whole day off. And then as I'm working, shaking my leg restlessly or trying to catch my breath for no reason, I'd wonder what set it off. Then I'd think for a minute. Then I'd remember. And then I'd once again have the physical symptoms AND the original problem.
Reminds me of one of my all time favorite Futurama exchanges:
Guy 1: "This is the worst part -- the calm before the battle."
Guy 2: "But then the battle's not so bad?"
Guy 1: "Oh right. I forgot about the battle." *shudder*
At first I thought my headaches are a result of the summer heat, but two blessings are preventing that. First, it's been raining all summer long (apparently in sharp contrast to the rest of the country). Second, I'm blessed to work indoors in a very air-conditioned building during the peak sun hours.
The rainfall has been more of a blessing than just a heat suppressant. The sun can depress me so much. I don't know if it's just because I'm a wannabe goth, or if it's because the sun tends to shine so much here that any change is welcome. Like many people freely admit these days, cloudy weather brightens my spirits far more than sunshine. It's just so much easier to take in and enjoy.
Anyway, I have a headache now. Maybe it's a blessing. I brought it upon myself to distract me from whatever caused it. It's working so well, that I don't know what it is.
My head has been hurting a lot lately. I don't know if it's a symptom of something else. I was wondering today if maybe we have symptoms to actually distract us from the problem rather than direct us toward it. I've mentioned before that when I get anxiety, I get the actual physical symptoms and I can't remember why. Often, something will happen that will set my whole day off. And then as I'm working, shaking my leg restlessly or trying to catch my breath for no reason, I'd wonder what set it off. Then I'd think for a minute. Then I'd remember. And then I'd once again have the physical symptoms AND the original problem.
Reminds me of one of my all time favorite Futurama exchanges:
Guy 1: "This is the worst part -- the calm before the battle."
Guy 2: "But then the battle's not so bad?"
Guy 1: "Oh right. I forgot about the battle." *shudder*
At first I thought my headaches are a result of the summer heat, but two blessings are preventing that. First, it's been raining all summer long (apparently in sharp contrast to the rest of the country). Second, I'm blessed to work indoors in a very air-conditioned building during the peak sun hours.
The rainfall has been more of a blessing than just a heat suppressant. The sun can depress me so much. I don't know if it's just because I'm a wannabe goth, or if it's because the sun tends to shine so much here that any change is welcome. Like many people freely admit these days, cloudy weather brightens my spirits far more than sunshine. It's just so much easier to take in and enjoy.
Anyway, I have a headache now. Maybe it's a blessing. I brought it upon myself to distract me from whatever caused it. It's working so well, that I don't know what it is.
Monday, August 1, 2011
gypped
I promised myself I'd write everyday.
I don't feel like talking though. So this is a complete waste. Now if anyone accidentally reads this, they'll feel gypped. Is that how you spell that? I'm not sorry if you feel gypped. Would what you have read instead been any more fulfilling?
Is it possible for everyone on Earth to be happy at the same time? The only way I see that happening is a 24-7 free love-in. In the meantime, I'd love to take someone's happiness away from them. I say that. I can say some rotten things, but if there's one thing I'm good at, it's feeling guilty -- so don't think I'm gonna do anything less than remarkably polite.
I don't feel like talking though. So this is a complete waste. Now if anyone accidentally reads this, they'll feel gypped. Is that how you spell that? I'm not sorry if you feel gypped. Would what you have read instead been any more fulfilling?
Is it possible for everyone on Earth to be happy at the same time? The only way I see that happening is a 24-7 free love-in. In the meantime, I'd love to take someone's happiness away from them. I say that. I can say some rotten things, but if there's one thing I'm good at, it's feeling guilty -- so don't think I'm gonna do anything less than remarkably polite.
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