I've Just Come Across Something Interesting

I'm Worried About This

2012-01-29T17:47:00.000-06:00

This is from the introduction to a book I just started reading called 'The Sociopath Next Door' by Martha Stout Ph.D:

"Or let us imagine the opposite extreme: You have no interest in power. To the contrary, you are the sort of person who really does not want much of anything. Your only real ambition is not to have to exert yourself to get by. You do not want to work like everyone else does. Without a conscience, you can nap or pursue your hobbies or watch television or just hang out somewhere all day long. Living a bit on the fringes, and with some handouts from relatives and friends, you can do this indefinitely. People may whisper to one another that you are an underachiever, or that you are depressed, a sad case, or, in contrast, if they get angry, they may grumble that you are lazy. When they get to know you better, and get really angry, they may scream at you and call you a loser, a bum. But it will never occur to them that you literally do not have a conscience, that in such a fundamental way, your very mind is not the same as theirs.

The panicked feeling of a guilty conscience never squeezes at your heart or wakes you in the night.

Despite your lifestyle, you never feel irresponsible, neglectful or so much as embarrassed, although for the sake of appearances, sometimes you pretend that you do. For example, if you are a decent observer of people and what they react to, you may adopt a lifeless facial expression, say how ashamed of your life you are, and talk about how rotten you feel. This you do only because it is more convenient to have people think you are depressed than it is to have them shouting at you all the time, or insisting that you get a job.

You notice that people who do have a conscience feel guilty when they harangue someone they believe to be "depressed" or "troubled." As a matter of fact, to your further advantage, they often feel obliged to take care of such a person. If, despite your relative poverty, you can manage to get yourself into a sexual relationship with someone, this person - who does not suspect what you are really like - may feel particularly obligated. And since all you want is not to have to work, your financier does not have to be especially rich, just relatively conscience-bound.

I trust that imagining yourself as any of these people feels insane to you, because such people are insane, dangerously so."

Shit I'm Going to Do This Year

2012-01-29T08:58:00.003-06:00

It's on my blog now; it has to come true.

A Cartoon for Some of You

2012-01-29T08:03:00.004-06:00

...

This one sort of petered out, but I'm posting it anyway, because I'm tired, and I don't make great decisions when I'm tired.

How do I feel this cartoon succeeds?

My alcohol analogy seems well-founded. I was going to add something about how macchiatos are like White Russians, which should make them all right to mock, but only if you (as a conservative reader) refuse to add cream and sugar to your coffee.

Where do I think this cartoon could be improved?

Probably if it was better. You'll note, as the panels continue, the drawing gets shittier. Also, the writing. For instance, cappuccinos have nothing to do with World War Two Soldiers, or maybe they do... I have no idea, but that's not what the cartoon lady seems to be saying.

Also, it doesn't end so much as stop. This is because I stopped caring about it, and by extension, your enjoyment of it. This is what happens, readers; I demand your attention and then tell you to fuck off once I've grown weary of your expectations.

Additionally, I was planning on getting into the fetishized (and false) authenticity of ordering a cheap cup of coffee (false, in the sense that flavor crystals aren't all that authentic) instead of a fancy, expensive, Italian sounding something or other... but I didn't get around to it.

...........

Also, unrelated, I'm entertaining a new idea wherein I wake up somewhere during the middle of the night, work until noon, take an hour or two to be among the common man, and then sleep when everyone else is hanging out, being gregarious, and having sex.

Society has rejected me, so I, in turn, reject its norms.

Failing the Bechdel Test, and Other Things that Happen at Starbucks

2012-01-29T03:39:00.000-06:00

I'm hoping my blog doesn't become the place where I elaborate on my most recent Facebook status, but as I've probably got a few more posts before a pattern can be said to have been established, I'm going to keep doing that — worst case scenario, we can replace the phrase "status update" with the far more buzz-worthy "blog-preview" > I thought that would sound more exciting (I apologize for this).

Today, while at Starbucks, I noticed at least two things (probably more, but that's not important): the Starbucks was full of women (awesome), and not one of their conversations could be said to have passed the Bechdel test.

For those who are unaware, the Bechdel test is a short-cut to feminist media criticism, introduced in the comic Dykes to Watch Out For, wherein a text is said to have failed if at no point is there a scene in which two women discuss something other than a man/relationship. I'm paraphrasing, because my internet isn't working, and I may not remember to check after I've fixed it. Feel free to Google it.

As I stood waiting for my fancy coffee-drink (espresso + hot water), I overheard a young woman explain to her friends that the worst thing about her boyfriend is how fast his beard grows (I've heard Anderson Cooper has this same problem — HD cameras force him to shave several times a day); after finding a seat on the other side of a display case, I was privy to another group's conversation (slightly older women), which was a sort of back-and-forth about whether someone (I'll call her Athena) should ask her boyfriend (Ronaldo) to be more something or other (tall... probably tall); and while considering the oddity of being set in this sort of misogynistic re-imagining of the local Starbucks, I noticed a pair of teenage-girls dash to some leather chairs (they dashed — it was weird), throw themselves into them (somehow balancing their fancy whipped-drinks), and debate feverishly as to which of the attractive young men in their circle of friends to invite to whatever sort of party teenage girls throw on a Saturday night (for which, I have no frame of reference).

It struck me that there is a divergence between our aspirations and our reality.

And, I don't mean to single out the ladies. I have similarly found reason to doubt any of the following claims, which I would very much prefer to accept as invariably true:

— People are kind, generous, and worthy of respect and admiration.

— It is better to have integrity than to be terrible.

— Life is enriched by knowledge.

— Existential insignificance does not diminish human worth.

— Murder is wrong.

— Looking for love is worth all the god-damned rejection.

These are the first examples that come to mind, but feel free to insert any of your own cherished beliefs that seem occasionally challenged by reality — not to say those delusional beliefs that are clearly wrong, but those that are almost certainly true, but vulnerable to cynical obfuscation.

It's also probably worth pointing out that Bechdel's test is not, presumably, about making films more realistic so much as making them less shallow/conventional in their presentation of women, and that similar tests could be constructed wherein films are said to be failures if they don't show their protagonists having emotional responses to shooting bad-guys — regardless of whether or not a real person might feel one way or another about murder, someone (particularly someone who feels film heroes are too sociopathic) might suggest a litmus test for emotional detachment (something more useful than the MPAA, I might add).

But I'm worried about this.

Television, movies, books, and to a lesser extent, my personal experiences have lead me to believe most everything I believe. Our minds construct reality based on narratives we present to ourselves, and ultimately, the narratives we're presented (in television, movies, books, and experience) determine what sort of narratives we're likely to construct about our reality. Somewhere in this is a strong argument against learning from history.

I expect a lot from people; as such, I'm constantly disappointed (not actually... I am, but not in the sense that I'm wandering around thinking everyone is useless and terrible, I mean more that I'm disappointed by my experience of people — as in the case of meeting a spectacular author only to find neither of us have anything that interesting to say to one another > this happens to me a lot).

And, I don't know how much of this is physical limitation (fiction lets us slip into people's interiority, which is probably why people in books seem to have substance while people in Starbucks seem to suck) and how much is due to my expectations being radically unrealistic — I envision a world in which no one watches the Jersey Shore, wherein no one can figure out why Ke$ha is a thing, and made up of deeply sensitive, intelligent individuals who suspect the worst of charming, wealthy people.

Does it bother me that as I drank my coffee, my thoughts were essentially, if these people were fictional, their existence would be trashy, shallow, and not worth watching, or is it that, because they're not fictional, I feel the need to redeem them (which seems, at the very least, insulting)? And how is this all that different from my walking into a grocery store and thinking these people aren't as attractive as the ones on television?

My tenuous grasp of feminism has left me feeling petty and unsatisfied.

I Want to Stop Doing the Things that Depress Me

2012-01-27T06:33:00.000-06:00

I notice though, that most of the things I enjoy are things that depress me — more correctly, the things I enjoy doing create an environment wherein I am likely to become depressed. So, more correctly still, I don't want to stop doing the things that depress me, because I enjoy them, but I think I should, because I don't want to be depressed.

Watching television, using Facebook, being awake at night, not following sports / being religious, and listening to nineties, acoustic, lady-songs (mostly the Cardigans) have, as I understand it, all been directly linked to an increase in sad-face time (maybe not the Cardigans per se).

Running is probably an exception, although it could be argued that the larger rubric of "things I do alone for extended lengths of time" supersedes any endorphin-based benefit.

Aside from that, and the somewhat-deliberately ignored list of things I'd like to do but can't (omitted due to its "will to live sapping" nature), I'm noticing that the things I enjoy don't seem to be the things other people enjoy, which would be fine, except it's not the case that following my introverted little heart will lead to my own peculiar place of satisfaction; imagine "just follow your heart" as dieting advice.

What I'm proposing, from here at least, sounds like doing things I can't stand, and refraining from doing things I don't hate, in hopes that this will make me not miserable; I believe psychologists refer to this as trusting the process.

Might help if my process wasn't just me making shit up as I go along.

Things That Occur to Me While I Watch 'Intervention'

2012-01-24T18:04:00.000-06:00

1. Skinny people are on drugs / sober people get chubby. Corollary insight: I have body image issues.

2. If anybody's still out there genuinely making documentaries on addiction, then I can't help but picture some hapless bastard anxiously showing up for his scheduled 'final interview', only to be asked a few leading questions by a guy sitting in a folding chair, handed some release papers to sign and twenty bucks for his troubles, before being told to have a nice life. This thought makes me sad.

3. I am capable of a terrible sort of delusional jealousy, wherein I can remain powerfully ignorant to the presented reality of addiction and unabashedly envious of the weird, insular relationships drugged-up people form with one another.

On one (of what could have been any) episode, a concerned loved one of a meth-addicted twenty-something noted, of the addict's boyfriend, that he's just kept around because she likes to feel wanted. This was clearly meant as a criticism, but (and I admit an obvious bias) I couldn't help but side with the addicts, in that I can't imagine a person not having (or feeding, when able) the powerful urge to feel wanted.

And, I understand that the criticism being made is more a note on the perceived character limitations of the boyfriend (ie: the best that can be said of him is that he wants to be around), but in the same way that I harbor a sort of shameful jealousy for characters on hospital dramas who may soon leave behind a devoted spouse (unless their life-threatening case of exploding organs is treated by the gruff but lovable head of diagnostics / scrappy lady-surgeon who's got enough on her plate just trying to make it in a man's world) or the truly unfortunate teen parents of MTV reality fame, I envy the easily digestible, dramatic display of "being wanted" set, as it usually is, in contrast with failure to live up to expectations (or just live, in general, what with the exploding organs).

Lonely people are envious of even terrible relationships. So, that's a thing.

4. If I'm ever intervened upon (take notes, friends and family), I will demand that all letters be as concise as is possible and lacking in idioms, euphemisms, and appeals to any sweet, beautiful little person inside of me. Also, there's every chance I'll agree to enter treatment before listening to the letters, because that's exactly the sort of spiteful thing I'd probably do.

5. My urge to mock is somewhat dependent on my assumption that the addict will enter treatment at the end of the show, and for the most part, I prefer to ridicule the show's editors than its subjects. By this, I mean that it's more satisfying (or less depressing) to chortle derisively at the juxtaposition of a narrator claiming "she is an expert manipulator" accompanied by a scene of the addict flatly demanding money so she can go buy drugs than it would be to giggle at the powerlessness and humiliation felt by the addict and their loved ones.

6. Also, despite what I wrote about mocking the story-telling rather than the subjects, there is something shamefully amusing about people who can't seem to grasp the purpose of an intervention, who think it's their chance to finally berate the addict into sobriety (in hopes they'll finally see that they're wrong to be addicted to drugs), and who can't grasp that their stubborn, narcissistic need to avoid blame and assert an absurd (and unfounded) air of control and superiority is the sort of pathetic dishonesty they claim to decry in the addict. I say this is amusing, but not in a way that makes it less heart-breaking... I suppose the trick is not to think about it all that closely.

7. I'm not sure whether having an overtly-conservative, ultra-dogmatic religious figure in one's life drives one to drugs and alcohol or if having a self-destructive, emotionally-abusive addict in one's life drives one to religious zealotry, but what I notice is that these things coincide.

I've Decided to Try This Again

2012-01-23T04:23:00.004-06:00

It's been four months (possibly five) since I've had anything worth writing on this blog — which isn't really true, but it has a sort of emotional honesty to it, and that's something I'm working on now. This is an aspiration massively hindered by my poor understanding of the terms (hence the previous sentence's assertion that "I haven't had anything to say" is an emotionally, if not factually, true statement).

I've been writing. I've been journalling. I've even been Face-booking, which can be a sort of concentrated perversion of the blogging enterprise, save for the fact that you're just as likely (if not more so) to be interpreted as clever/terse as (than) sincere/thoughtful in their little blue-and-white boxes.

This isn't meant to discount the tireless efforts of my blog's readership to undermine my attempts at sincerity (this is the internet, and Americans have an ugly/wonderful need to be clever/awful — even when they're not). If anything, I've returned to this arena (forum? podium? practice?) because I'm worried Facebook, or text-messaging (or theoretically twittering, which I haven't done, but that's not important), is making me glib.

I find myself condensing ideas, which is an urge I sort of hate.

For instance, a while ago, on my wall, I updated my status with the following missive:

I've had an epiphany.

I don't need to fabricate moral justifications to dislike people. There's nothing stopping me from despising morally upright human-beings.

This changes everything.

Obviously (painfully so), I was inviting a discussion which I suspect I knew would not be forthcoming, and rightfully so... Facebook would be a terrible place to develop ideas on the internet, second maybe to the comments section of a poorly constructed political satire video on Youtube.

Ignoring my desperate need to fabricate instances of unrequited attention-seeking behavior, I meant some part of this statement sincerely, and posting it on Facebook strikes me as dishonest ... or maybe withholding?

At the risk of alienating my readers (or maybe patronizing them), I'd like to give this thought some space in which to develop.

Disperated (made up word, don't worry) as I am, both temporally and spatially, from this thought's conception, I can't recall if it was a petty reactionary thought (eg: someone was off-putting at Starbucks, so I've decided I must hate him) or the result of a long, deliberate (tedious) process of deduction — okay, it must have been the first.

I imagine it happening like this; some fine, upstanding young-man at Starbucks (with a well-groomed beard and a cultivated easy-going attitude) stands, or rather leans, at the counter, recounting his weekend plans (which must be very exciting) as an attractive barista feigns/expresses interest by pausing between the muscle-memorized movements to smile or prod the young-man into further elaboration as to his weekend's grand design (which, as it turned out, was not very exciting). As this happens, I'm standing beside the display case of fatty foods, not wanting to put my hands on the glass or in my pockets (because someone else was doing that — not my pockets, obviously), thinking to myself I hate this man, he's awful, and I'm not sure why or something to that effect.

Sipping my coffee (that's an ugly way to start a sentence), I thought to myself (even worse) there must be some reason I can't stand this man; he must have done something to justify my disinclination towards him. After dismissing petty jealousy (perhaps too hastily), I tried to convince myself that this young-man's cock-sure attitude and need to distract the barista with his inane (but by no means vile) droning was nothing less than a moral failing of massive proportions.

This conclusion would have been idiotic.

It occurred to me (or might have, had this actually been the impetus for my line of thought, which it very-well could have) that arguing for a moral imperative against polite chatter would be, in every way, stupid. Unfortunately, despite my acceptance that this young-man had done nothing wrong (or at least nothing particularly offensive), I still disliked him immensely.

And, this wouldn't have been a novel experience, and generally, I'd have decided my irrational irritation was unwarranted, or that what I'd been annoyed by was a frustrating situation, and (because I'm a petulant child) I'm unable to move past that sort of thing without assigning blame, and given that I'm not a crazy person, the only option seemingly left to me would be to accept that, as no one could be blamed, I must not allow myself to be upset.

But, something about that wouldn't feel right, and that something was the fact that the young-man who'd done nothing morally wrong was responsible for my having to wait for my coffee and that while I didn't blame him, I did not care for him as a person.

In a sense, this notion of divorcing moral assessment from interpersonal relationships seems like a horrible idea, as it would seem to justify the worst sort of prejudice and bigotry (eg: I know gay people aren't doing anything wrong, but I still think they're creepy), but in another sense, I feel it may be a useful insight, in so far as requiring a moral justification for antipathy must, in some sense, be it's own sort of prejudice (leading the witness, as it were).

It bothers me that people are so apt to interpret/intuit an explanation for their behavior, or worse still, a smug "universal" lesson from their subjective experiences (eg: if it seems too good to be true, it probably is; beer before liquor, never been sicker; god answers prayer), partially because people are terrible at this, and being terrible at this allows them to construct moronic beliefs (eg: buy gold; different alcohol effects you differently; genital mutilation).

Accepting that there are people whom I will dislike for reasons that have nothing to do with their moral worth, I may be able to avoid conceptualizing affection as a reward for being good (take that society), learn to forgive those who've rejected my romantic intentions (ie: their rejection doesn't speak to my worth), and most importantly, allow me to experience my feelings (as I believe they're called) without feeling the need to either pervert my conception of morality (eg: it's immoral to waste a barista's time with polite nonsense) or diminish my experience (eg: my annoyance is unjustified, thus I will no longer feel annoyed).

It's possible, this will allow me to become more human. It's also possible that this will allow me to become an unmitigated sadist. Only time will tell.

Made a Hamburger

2011-08-29T01:11:00.001-05:00

I made a hamburger.

It had romaine lettuce and fried shiitake mushrooms and smoked bacon and tomato slices and crispy onions and brown mustard and mozzarella-cheese and a ciabatta-roll and salt and pepper and, also, beef.

There were jalapeño flavored potato-chips.

It was slightly overcooked but still moist.

Last week, I made crepes with honey and black-cherry jam. There was bacon and sausage on the side.

Before that, I baked a banana-bread which was textured perfectly, because I added a banana and replaced half the sugar with honey.

My point is, I'm pretty great at cooking.

Ladies, tell your friends (who are also ladies... no dudes).

PS

2011-08-26T03:04:00.001-05:00

Drunk as shit.

Let's All Go to the Mall

2011-08-26T03:03:00.000-05:00

Things I like about the mall:

— When I order coffee at Starbucks, the barista asks if I want room for cream, and I say "no thanks," there's often a smirk of admiration on their face.

Things I dislike about the mall:
— When the staff at Banana Republic tell me I'd look great in whatever I happen to have picked up.

Who's Ready to Feel Disappointed?

2011-08-24T22:44:00.000-05:00

I have no intention of posting today.

I did.

I made a post about it earlier.

Then, I wrote some stuff.

But that stuff was awful, syntactically and in a moral sense. It was a rumination on the topic "why I believe disinterested and selfish women are responsible for cold and cynical men," which turned into something about "how I believe young women who date older men are bad people, and if older women want to complain about men dating younger women, they shouldn't have ignored young men when they were younger," and then transitioned into "why hopelessness makes kindness arbitrary, which allows for bitter, alienated people to be nice, rather than cynical and cold, according to their preference."

I didn't like how it sounded.

It's been that sort of day.

There was some other stuff, about an inability to dismiss regrettable thoughts (even when you're aware of their falsehood), but I'm not sure that was warranted.

Anyway, this was the first aborted attempt in a month or so to post something. Maybe next time will be better.

I'm Going to Post Today

2011-08-24T17:24:00.002-05:00

I'm posting this, so as to force my hand... lest I be labelled a liar.

You've been warned.

New Post

2011-08-20T02:43:00.000-05:00

Nothing seems important nor interesting.

Outlook is bleak.

Pages From My Master's Thesis

2011-06-28T01:39:00.002-05:00

In case anyone was curious.

Damn Documentaries

2011-06-26T04:48:00.001-05:00

I'm watching a documentary on a video-game, in which players participate in the Columbine massacre (as either of the mass-murderers), and the ensuing controversy/outrage/discussion (which I only vaguely recall hearing about however many years ago it happened).

What I notice about the film is the interview subjects' annexation (or misuse?) of the game to argue tangential beliefs. Aside from the talk-radio caricatures ("freedom of speech, damn it!"), there's a feeling that some guy has created an artifact (a thing — in this case an art thing, so a thing that's also sort of an ambiguous statement) that dozens of more interesting people have attempted to define as more interesting than it happens (or seems) to be; I've harbored similar feelings toward certain graduate students and Jacques Lacan.

This bothers me, because (ignoring the radio-hosts who are as vocal as they are misinformed about their first amendment rights) the substantive arguments would be valid, were the work better... or rather, the arguments are, themselves, valid, but they suffer in that they're associated with the specific example that's being used.

I accept that this could be my bias, in that the game's creator struck me as not unlike Shepard Fairey... which is to say someone who displays an astonishingly superficial understanding of his art (maybe they're both just poor speakers). Though, I should note that the game's creator doesn't claim a deeper understanding nor a pointed intentionality behind his work, which became championed by others as an amalgamation of documentary film-making and video-game design that raises questions about our society's refusal to allow for artistic expression in certain interactive mediums. I should also note that these intellectuals dismiss another game, one modeled after the Virginia Tech massacre, whose creator is considered to be sort of a dip-shit.

Still, it worries me.

The trouble seems to be that the controversy surrounding bad art is being used as the catalyst for a defense of what art (even bad art) has the potential to be, which is to say vapid art is having depth applied to it by critics and its audience — which I think is great (eg: my appreciation for comic-book superheroes and Harry Potter), except it rings hollow in this particular case.

Let's say I want to defend the medium of comics, but the only source I can cite is Family Circus. While I might feel that graphic narrative engages our brain in a unique and powerful way (it does), that it allows for the instantiation of typically silenced voices in a social arena, and that comics will remain relevant until (and possibly after) humans have been swallowed by some massive cosmic event, even if I were good enough to justify these claims relying upon only this dependably milquetoast strip (and I just might be), I wouldn't be able to escape the feeling that, as there are better examples, no matter how deep my insights are, my claims are diminished by the association with a piece of work that is so blissfully vacuous.

.....

I have, since beginning this point, finished the video-game movie, skipped through a conservative response to Michael Moore, and began watching a documentary on the media's lack of coverage of the civilians mutilated and killed in Iraq.

It is, as the film seems to suggest (though, not specifically), difficult to focus on whether a particular video-game is a suitable example of a genre's artistic potential while images of young people dying march relentlessly across half of my screen.

Images of one tragedy are distracting me from discussing the validity of how certain people happen to be discussing the ethical implications of engaging in a video-game which contains images of another.

.....

I have now been made to feel sad and ineffectual. My urge is to find a chocolate cake and eat it.

I am resisting this urge.

I Don't Feel Well

2011-06-19T17:23:00.000-05:00

I'm hung-over and sleep deprived.

Additionally, I have no sense of what I had ought to be doing at the moment. This is probably because there isn't anything I had ought to be doing.

There are things I could do:

— find a job

— take a shower

— paint something pretty/enigmatic

— push-ups

— read some books

— run around the neighborhood

... and things I want to do:

— master an assortment of highly specialized skills so that after tracking down everyone who's ever rejected me, I might publicly show them up in some meaningful way by utilizing one of the previously mastered, person-specific skills, each to be determined by the reasoning which lead to the aforementioned rejection (so that, were I deemed too sensitive, too lacking in virility, or not clever enough, I would, by sheer force of will, transform myself into the sort of person who can recite Proust in Russian, lift an absurd number of pianos above my head, and is impervious to bullets).

— get over my fixation on justifying my existence to women who displayed an explicit lack of interest in me and cultivate a fixation on justifying my existence to Zooey and or Emily Deschanel

— go swimming... on a Caribbean island, where everyone speaks French (for some reason) and thinks I'm fun to be around

— build a robot assistant, what to assist me in my endeavors

... and, I suppose, there are things I'm more or less capable of doing:

— stretching.

More to come, but for now, I'm deciding not to waste the day further detailing how I intend to waste my day.

It's Friday, Bitches

2011-06-10T14:52:00.000-05:00

I have nothing to do.

So, that's annoying.

Okay, brainstorming session:

.........

Finger puppets.

Fuck.

I Have Time Again

2011-06-08T01:45:00.000-05:00

So... awesome.




........

I guess I don't have anything to say about that right now, but I will.

Oh, yeah... I will.

.........

Plan for tomorrow: I might go swimming. And I'll probably cook something.

Listening to Old People at Target Today, I Realized Something

2011-06-02T00:05:00.000-05:00

I'm terrified of being old only slightly less than I fear being dead.

I don't want to wander around a department store, repeating the same six details of how I had to make a toilet-paper sanitary seat in a different store's bathroom a month ago as if this were knowledge worth disseminating to an impossibly tolerant forty-something year-old sales associate who isn't quite sure what I want to buy, but can't risk letting me get lost and forget where I am in a tearful moment of complete animal panic.

There aren't many things I think I'd rather be dead than, but that coupled with forty or so years of celibacy and nothing to discuss but reality television, is a fate too grim to envision.

........

I'm pretty near done with graduate school. Just a twenty-page essay and then all that's left is the hand-shaking and hat-tossing.

What's next? Indeed.

I'm Watching People Steal Dirt

2011-05-30T15:05:00.001-05:00

They're an old couple — hunched-over, wearing denim shorts, and shoveling big scoops of dirt into plastic buckets.

Across the street, there's an empty lot which isn't so much empty as it is filled with bulldozers, a hefty pile of dirt, and an iron spider-like device which separates the large pile of dirt into two smaller piles, one of dirt and the other of dirt-and-rocks/wood/unidentified-remains.

I suspect stealing several buckets-full of dirt is a crime, but I can't justify protecting the interest of a company that's been waking me up (not really... but only by technicality) at the expense of a pair of thrifty retirees who, presumably, are going to sell that dirt for crack.

One might say I have a duty to report crime to the authorities, not in the interest of protecting the victim, but out of respect for the institution of law, and that my personal feelings about the victim (eg: they're loud, and they suck) should be irrelevant, in that, as a universal practice, only arresting people we don't care for would prove counter to the interests of the just society we are attempting to create.

On some level though, I suppose the basis for our legal system is (in un-nuanced terms) that we arrest and imprison the people we don't care for, if we can prove to our satisfaction that they've done something we don't care for, for reasons of which we do not approve.

It appears, as I was typing that last sentence, the hoodlums made one of those daring escapes that law-breakers are known for making (daring in the sense that they got in their car and drove away at speeds approaching the mandated limit for this road). Any chance that I might have convinced myself, for sake of queen and country (metaphorically speaking), to ignore my personal prejudice and uphold an oath I've never actually been made to swear (I imagine it's something like the Green Lantern's oath) has sped off into the early afternoon sun-(not-at-all)-set.

.........

Here's a pertinent question: It's ninety degrees outside, but when it's not ninety degrees outside, there tends to be lightning. If I'm planning to run around for a while (like some sort of fool) which should I try harder to avoid, heat-stroke or lightning?

If you intend to reply, please factor in statistical likelihoods and survivability of injuries.

Thing I Read on the Internet

2011-05-30T03:00:00.000-05:00

Extroverts are offended by introverts, because they interpret an introvert's behavior as communicating a quiet disdain.

Also, there was some stuff about introvert's brains being active by default, while extroverts require feedback and socializing to get their neuronal motor running. Part of me hopes this is true.

The strange thing though, which I've been considering, was the idea that introverts differ from shy people, in that shy people want to socialize, but experience anxiety, while introverts prefer to be alone. This seems too glib to be true, but I suspect there has to be a basis for it.

As it relates to my thinking, I've found that I like to be alone while I do certain things (which isn't weird... it's not) like when I'm driving or jogging or waking up (seriously, don't fucking talk to me while I'm waking up, just fuck off for an hour or so). However, there are other things I'd prefer doing with other people around, such as reading books or sexing it up or seeking reassurance as to my existential significance.

I've decided to look on the bright side of this one and accept that it's great how I can compartmentalize being alone so as not to discount either my loneliness or appreciation for being all on my own. This may be a good step for me.

I'm Trying Not to Write That Much With this Post

2011-05-29T16:13:00.001-05:00

"Surely," you might reply, "it would be better to not post at all, rather than attempt to post something truncated and poorly thought-out." But, as I understand it, this is not what the internet is for.

.........

There are some specific young people whom I occasionally see (occasionally meaning "every few years"), who depress the shit out of me.

Ultimately, arrogant, racist, cruel, ignorant, poorly-groomed human beings exist who are not, so far as I can tell, punished for their inequity, as they had ought to be, were the world a less existentially-absurd sort of place.

As I wrote in an earlier post, it bothers me that good things happen to shitty people. I should probably be able to content myself with the same sort of logic which lets me accept that bad things happen to decent human beings (ie: bad things happen to everyone), but for some reason, when I'm experiencing (rather than theorizing about) awful people being awful and seeming to enjoy it, it makes me want to vomit... a lot.

.........

Also, I realized the other day, while discussing the normative age discrepancy in human mate-choice (male 7 to 12 years older than the female), that I'm at a point in my life in which I can legally date a woman who's seven years younger than me. I have no interest in doing this (because I remember feeling that the sort of people who do that are creeps), but it's weird to think that I both can (theoretically), and would not be outside the normative average were I to, do so.

..........

More to come.

I'm Worried

2011-05-29T03:29:00.000-05:00

I hate that good things happen to bad people.

I might be a better person, if this weren't the case.

Here's Something I Hate

2011-05-23T23:09:00.000-05:00

It's difficult to express anger.

Partially, I think I'm a particularly inept case, because I need people to like me like ordinary people need... well probably people to like them — this could be universal. I tend to notice when other people display a complete lack of concern for whether or not what they're saying is the sort of thing a dick would say, but my guess is that people don't realize when they're being a dick, so that given a large enough sample size, I suspect there could be people to whom I've only ever been a dick (or who have only ever seen me being a dick).

But that's not the point.

My point is, it's difficult to express anger... which isn't true, because it's easy, really; you just have to furrow your brow and say things like "I'm so pissed off, I could just murder a frail-looking, New-England poet."

More-over, you could even approach the cause of your anger (I'm assuming it's a person) and communicate, with specifics, what it is they've done that's made you angry. An example of this might be "Hey, dick, you drank all my beers. I was looking forward to those beers. As it's late, and you're now drunk, you can't go get me more beers, so there's no way for this situation to be rectified, which is why I am left with no recourse but to be nakedly infuriated with you."

The trouble, of course, is that when you desperately need people to admire you (or at the very least, be able to stand being around you), you can't make a habit of communicating your disdain for them, at least not in any way that's more than briefly satisfying.

Here's what I mean:

- your friend washes your shirt (for some reason) and accidentally ruins it.

- you, having given your friend nothing resembling permission to wash your shirt, are angry; you understand that your friend was trying to do you a favor, but you can't ignore the fact that you had a shirt, you no longer have a shirt, and this was your friend's doing.

- in fear that your friend might destroy more of your shirts in the future (perhaps attempting to make-up for destroying the last one), you decide to tell your friend that it upset you that he destroyed your shirt.

- for some reason (possibly because your friend feels guilty), your friend dismisses your expression of anger, either redoubling his assertion that you're the asshole for not appreciating his attempt to launder your shirt, or just accepting that he's fucked up, but taking the opportunity to absolve himself from guilt, on the grounds that he didn't mean to fuck up.

- you, being a rational human being, now want your friend to feel bad. He's taken something from you, you feel bad, and you think he should be made to feel bad. However, you also accept that your friend didn't mean to destroy your shirt, which is to say, had your friend expressed remorse, you like to think you'd have been quick to dismiss this, gloating broadly about how much better it is to forgive and all that.

- so, you now find yourself in the in-enviable position of wanting your friend to feel bad, so that you can be given the chance to be a human being and assure him that you don't want him to feel bad about some stupid ruined shirt. As your friend doesn't feel bad, and as there seems no likelihood that he'll decide to feel bad of his own accord, you realize you can either attempt to make him feel bad (with the irrational hope that you might then flip it around and assure him that feeling bad is ridiculous), or accept that ultimately your work is done (which is to say, your friend doesn't feel bad, so it's very much like you've already convinced him to buck up).

All this is, of course, complicated by the fact that even if you were to berate your loved ones, they'd most likely either dismiss your concerns (because it's just a stupid shirt) or use you being a huge douche to justify not feeling horrible (well, if this is the way you're going to act, I'm glad I ruined your fucking shirt).

In the moment, this is all very stifling.

The key, I imagine (based on years of anecdotal evidence) is to give yourself enough distance (physical and temporal) that you can convincingly say the you that was wronged has ceased to exist (as is the natural process) and the new you feels nothing but a smug sense of "no longer being so much of a prick."

It is worth noting, though, that this tactic (the withdrawal or "English" method), while dependably effective, does have one drawback, which is that future incidents, wherein shirts are ruined, take on the aspect of seeming to be partially your own god-damned fault. You'll think, if only I'd expressed how much I dislike having my shirts ruined in some way that would resonate with that well-intentioned friend, scarring him with my vitriol so that he would be unable to do any laundry without the constant anxiety that every label must be read as if it were gospel, I'd still have my limited edition Star Trek captain's uniform shirt... and honestly, now what am I going to do with the pants? It's not like you can impress women by wearing a mass-produced replica of Captain Picard's trousers. This is such fucking bullshit.

This is, of course, nonsense (the part where you convince yourself you could have avoided this by expressing your anger), because as we've already established, people are unlikely to react to any sort of criticism (or even polite request) with out-right dismissal or blind aggression.

I have no choice but to accept that no matter how we attempt to define the parameters of our personal control, in a society, there are bound to be casualties of human interaction. It is the price we pay for being evolutionarily more likely to survive as a group of interdependent beings than as rugged individualists.

I've Been Thinking About Blogging

2011-05-23T11:00:00.000-05:00

Trouble is, I don't have anything to say at the moment that doesn't seem like a colossal waste of time.

But, we must soldier on, I suppose.

Here are the sort of ideas I might have written about, perhaps posting them will prove instigative:

- People should stop using the word "indescribable." If you lack the vocabulary or self-awareness to express an idea or relay an experience, either develop one of those skills or let someone who knows how words work do the talking.

Also, don't assume I'll accept your crazy bullshit just because you pretend it's difficult to understand. This bothers me.

- I think weddings are stupid. I object to them on moral grounds. It's an elaborate display of commitment (which is nice), but the corresponding assertion is an official public rejection of nearly seven-billion people (most of whom, I'll add, were never interested to begin with).

It probably shouldn't bother anyone to be tacitly rejected by two complete strangers, but must they be so smug about it? Let's put on fancy clothes, send out invitations, and make witty allusions to all the fucking we're soon to be doing, once our extended families have grown tired of the cash-bar/DJ/social obligation.

Assholes.

- I'm trying to become the person who reflexively asks "what's next?" rather than ruminates on accomplishments. So, we'll see how that goes.

Watching a Documentary on Body Modification

2011-05-19T00:50:00.000-05:00

I don't like this about myself, but it distresses me that weirdos are happy.

It can be claimed that they're not, that they take steps so drastic that asking whether or not they're happy becomes unbearable. But, I accept that there are weirdos who are happy being weirdos, people for whom happiness is tenable, and can be acquired by performing some specific task which they deem to be counter to the expectations placed on them. I can't fathom being so easily satisfied.

I suppose I'm just envious by nature.

I've Got a Headache (so, that sucks)

2011-05-14T14:03:00.001-05:00

I've had one of those damned summer colds.

Also, the sore-throat I've had for the past week has led to an involuntary (unintentional) deficit of caffeine in my system, by which I mean, I hadn't been drinking coffee, and having not realized this, I spent Tuesday thinking I was having some sort of nervous breakdown.

Despite it being a wholly pleasant day (as Tuesday was), I felt exhausted, drowsy, and irritable — which doesn't do justice to the experience... I felt genuine disdain for people I've never met. I felt something not exactly envy and not quite hated for the attractive women in their thin summer dresses, athletic young men in their khaki shorts, and especially the too-young, too-intelligent, too-comfortable undergrads. Furthermore, I couldn't focus my mind (or my eyes) on anything, I had nothing at all to say in class, and in my meeting with my professor, I was so incoherent (apparently), she felt compelled to respectfully broach the subject. We both agreed the first "hot day" of the year is liable to put people on edge.

By Thursday, my throat felt worse, but my disposition had improved (I'd recognized the symptoms of withdrawal and made the necessary corrections). I no longer despised the people around me, felt no need to re-contextualize my memories (so as to be suspicious and resentful of my previous relationships), and I was barely even distressed by the sight of someone I genuinely respect as a writer, drinking coffee with, and making amorous eyes at, a greasy-haired, crooked-visor-wearing, over-confident, weasel-faced, cigarette-stained, douche-something-or-other — the sort of young-man intelligent women seem drawn to for reasons I can not begin to fathom (I don't know that there's a male equivalent to this — for some reason, men don't seem attracted to women who seem like they would be heroin addicts, if they weren't too frightened to become heroin addicts) ... not my place to judge, I suppose.

....

I've decided I no longer want to be cynical. I don't know that I am overly-so, but for at least a while, I feel like I want to be a more sincere person... or at least a person capable of sincerity. This may be a passing thought.

Also, I'm lazy, and being funny is easier.

.....

I've decided that there's a difference between being apathetic and not being curious. As for what makes these traits different, I can't be certain (because I have other things to be thinking about at the moment, but I intend to return to this at a later date). People tend to vilify apathy, but I find, more-so, that I dislike people who are not curious.

Maybe it's less "dislike" than it is "distrust." I don't trust people who aren't curious.

.....

I have some more work to do. At this point it's mostly drawing... so that's frightening.

I've determined I don't think visually. This could be a problem.

Something's Been Bugging Me

2011-05-10T10:04:00.000-05:00

I don't like self-deprecating humor.

A few years ago, I decided it was smug (as it puts one's own inadequacies above those of others as being worthy of derision) and fueled the suspicions of fraudulence that have plagued some of the better minds of this and previous generations. Whatever its amusement value (is there a unit for this?), I determined it was to be avoided (and its use, by all means, discouraged in others) as an immoral form of comedy (akin to casual race/sex-ism — as opposed to jokes about race/sex-ism, which are great).

Recently, however, while attempting to erect some mechanism for reminding myself (even in the absence of a creative/academic-ly supportive community) that what I do matters (or at the very least, has value), so that I might continue writing without seeking refuge in academia by pursuing additional advanced degrees, I happened to entertain the notion of self-deprecation (following the sit-com/zen logic of valuing my art by mocking it), and I realized two things: this is a shit idea, and I don't understand why self-deprecating humor is supposed to be funny.

It's not.

It's lazy, certainly, as it substitutes the aphorism "be a dick" for the oft-considered necessary component of making things funny, which is to say, wit (which I posit consists of cleverness, vacillating intellectual distance, the ability to entertain, inhabit, and apply — simultaneously — intertwined narrative tracks, and an intent to amuse).

Self-deprecation is essentially an implicit catch-phrase. "I'm shit, because ..." followed by some common human failing. Loosely translated, every one of these hilarious quips becomes a desperate plea for unsubstantiated laughs.

What, I suppose, makes it funny (in that awful way that's really more depressing than anything else) is that in denigrating a common, human trait, the joke becomes (more or less) "you should like me, because I think we're all shit, only I'm less shit, because I noticed it."

I have decided, in addition to being the enemy of sincerity and obviously immoral, self-deprecation is annoying and unfunny.*

*A notable exception must be acknowledged for the skillful application of self-deprecating humor as a means toward an end, rather than the end in itself (in much the same way that "why did the chicken cross the road? — to get to the other side" is funny precisely because it establishes an expectation for a clever twist and then denies that reality, whereas "the chicken crossed the road to get to the other side" is not funny, because it invites no expectations).

So Damned Bored

2011-05-08T01:27:00.000-05:00

At this moment, nothing can hold my interest.

This is annoying, partially because I have work to do, and somewhat because I realize that very soon, I'll have far less work to do. I would be fine, if what I couldn't care about was "my work," because then I could force myself to do it, knowing that in month, I could read all the magazines I'd like. And, while it's very likely the case that in a month, I'll be thrilled to read all them magazines, at the moment, I can't be bothered with anything... not even mindless distraction (unless you count blogging, which we almost certainly must).

I think I've identified part of the cause for this restlessness, though, I could be wholly mistaken. I had tentative plans to be social tonight. Tentative may not be the best word. The plan was, if nothing was happening, I'd receive a phone call, followed by light-to-moderate drinking.

As plans go, this is not the best sort. It's far better than being stood-up (which is ugly and pathetic, and if you stand people up, you're horrible; stop reading this and go die), because my not receiving a phone call was clearly established as a possible, if not likely outcome. I have no reason to begrudge anyone, as I was not, by any means, wronged.

Unfortunately, I'm beginning to realize that my ability to focus on any one thing (be that writing, reading, or pornography) depends on my not (at most) half-expecting to be suddenly tasked with abandoning whatever it was I happened to be doing.

This is odd, given that I am very much capable of abandoning my work at a moment's notice, only to return to it later, without trouble. But, when I'm entertaining an ambiguity, expecting to maybe be interrupted, I can't seem to commit to my studies (or even, as I've noted, a mindless diversion) in any meaningful way.

In the past, I've used this sort of experience as an opportunity to create one of those satisfying declarations about life, which was if you make plans with other people, have a back-up plan that you can do alone, and start doing that immediately. I would like to say this aphorism has made being consistently stood-up by women easier to bear, but I've discovered the only real fix for that is to no longer ask women out (which has worked splendidly).

Given, however, that I can't seem to capitalize on this insight (due to the ambiguity sapping my focus), I seem to be left with few options.

They are, I believe, as follows:

— No longer make contingent plans. We will meet, or we will not (barring any unanticipated complications).

— Continue to make these plans, but establish a point of no return with my associates, so that, if they plan to call, they must do so by a certain time (likely early in the night). This option has two drawbacks; my friends are not punctual, and I imagine the deflation after such a proliferation of suspense must be massive (and likely would foil my delusions toward productivity).

— Call a phone-sex hotline and un-apologetically explain that I have no fucking idea what sort of thing gets me going.

— Assume that people cease to exist when I can't see them, and that they won't call, because they can't. For this to work, I imagine I'll have to commit entirely to the delusion.

— Make friends who have even less going on than me. This would be difficult, for obvious reasons.

— Do sit-ups. I should be doing more core training. If I'm going to be useless for the night, I might as well be bettering myself in a non-intellectually taxing manner.

— Develop so compelling a personality, so that people will need to spend time with me, lest they feel they're leading half a life.

........

Unrelated note:

I think I need to eat more, if I'm going to continue exercising the way I have been. Apparently, food becomes energy, which is something I, for some reason, need.

Hell's Bells (continued)

2011-05-06T17:26:00.000-05:00

I've decided to post after all. That comment might require context.

Yesterday, at school, we discussed an author whose somewhat autobiographical work deals with childhood and the encroachment of predatory, adult sexuality. It's a complicated set of works, which I don't know well enough to avoid limiting significantly, but cynicism and bleakness play a substantial role in the narrative, though not so much in our discussion, which concerned itself largely with poorly enunciated feminist theory. I should add, the text certainly supports a feminist theoretical analysis.

During our discussion, however, I noticed that I respond poorly to feminist claims, by which I mean, I become momentarily defensive, dismissive, and contrary, before rectifying my disposition to something more fitting an intellectual inquiry (which is to say, I remember to act like an adult).

In fairness, I think much of my urge toward eye-rolling and tongue-cluckery (that's a thing, right?) was warranted, which is to say, it began when comments such as "this chapter made me want to apologize for my gender"* and "this book seems primarily about the failure of men"** were offered in a sort of guilt-by-association/pretension-to-superiority way. Complicating this is the fact that nervous people tend to make bold, half-clever statements, and I don't think it's all right to react to an intimidated speaker with naked scorn (no matter how asinine their point).

But I don't want to side-step the issue, which is that I have an initial response to even valid feminist claims that I find distressing.

I should, I suppose, clarify that there are a great deal of feminist claims (or claims identified as feminist, by those making them) which I do not find valid, by which I mean either having truth value or representing what I understand the to be feminist ethos (of which, I confess, I am mostly ignorant).

These claims are the sort that go:

— Compassion is a feminine trait.***

— This sort of book could not have been written by a man.

— The "male gaze" ....****

— Women are empowered; men are aggressive.

I should apologize for the straw-man-esque nature of (at the very least) the last example. In practice, this sentiment would present itself in a far more subtle fashion, but I mean to denounce the idea that the same behavior (depending on the gender of the actor) is either championed or decried. Although, I suppose the question of whether a behavior is the same (given the gender difference) is fair, or at the very least could be.

Those points aside, I am still bothered by the assertion that my first objection (X is a feminine trait) is unfounded, because "men can have feminine traits." In the past, I've identified this as my chief objection to feminist theory, that traits which any humanist would embrace (compassion, courage, empathy, etc...) are identified as being the domain of half our species, and that men, who are just as capable of acting with integrity, are said to be either abnormal or (worse still) normatively-feminine. I should qualify, by "worse still" (which upon re-reading sounds unrepentantly misogynistic), I mean to suggest that if feminine describes attributes that are not unlikely to be found in men, then the semantic disparity is intensified, which is to say, it makes even less sense to call these traits feminine.

A possibly relevant piece of information is that I don't tend to identify myself primarily by my gender, which I suspect may be an unappreciated perk for dudes, so that I would be more likely to say "I am smart," than "I am male."

I guess, it's possible that, in so much as I don't consider my gender as defining my person, claims that people of my gender are X both call my attention to my being a dude and to the fact that I am either X or not-X, which becomes problematic as, given the propensity for using these opportunities to make "empowering statements," I am not often X, because I'm not awful.

As such, I am often put in a position to choose between my identity/ideals and identifying with my gender.

I do not like this.

With that said, I accept that people (especially those who are intimidated by large discussion groups) don't tend to express themselves as well as they might like, so that "compassion is a feminine trait" may be a signifier of some far more nuanced understanding of gender theory than I possess, and as such, it is not nearly as insulting as I am wont to interpret. It's entirely possible that I'm objecting to some semantic flourish.

Additionally, a lot of people labor under the delusion that comedy "can't be explained" or that a joke expresses nothing but a desire to amuse (so that "it's just a joke" is meant to render the joke meaningless, rather than clarify that the reality presented in the joke is not a view the speaker sincerely proposes).

These two facts (my unfamiliarity with the nuances of feminist thought and the difficulty of comedy) place me in a strange position, when feminism is being discussed. I would like to ask "doesn't identifying a common human trait as gender-specific disenfranchise others' experience, and if not, how is it a useful insight?" or "why is it funny that men are perceived as perpetually on the verge of sexually assaulting women?" but how am I to voice these opinions (or objections) without sounding like some smarmy, self-satisfied little weasel who thinks atheists are going to destroy Christmas, or an unyielding douche who "doesn't get" jokes?

* I never want to hear this phrase again. Let's make that happen.

** This struck me as a little Promise Keepers-esque, by which I mean patriarchal.

*** I do not see how this is different than saying "integrity is a masculine trait."

**** I know I'm not the one to determine this, but is feminism not yet established firmly enough in the academic community that divisive terms (eg: male gaze) might be better expressed in gender neutral variants (eg: objectifying gaze)?

Hell's Bells and Buckets of Blood

2011-05-05T18:10:00.002-05:00

I'm irritated.

I Should Be In Bed Right Now

2011-05-05T01:52:00.000-05:00

I'm in a mood.

It's an odd one.

I expect people to be decent, and I don't think I've been massively disappointed in this respect. I'm reading a book written by a cynic, and I can't stand it (or at least that aspect of it). Clearly, I've been fortunate; people don't take advantage of me, which I guess isn't the case for everyone.

I'm getting a headache, I think.

While jogging the other day, I thought to myself it's too bad I wasn't this invested in being healthy back before I'd given up on attracting the ladies. I don't know if this comment was motivated by a latent resentment (wherein I believe women are shallow) or indicative of the sort of contentment I've achieved with my current iteration of self (in that I don't seem to romanticize the idea of hating myself anymore), so as to say, I don't feel I'm nearly as much of a self-important douche as I used to be.

I suppose I'll just have to enjoy this demeanor while I can.

I've Been Reading About Nutrition...

2011-05-04T01:17:00.000-05:00

Mostly as it relates to fast-food.

Here's some things I've learned:

- Energy drinks have as much sugar as half-a-dozen donuts... so I'm glad I never made a habit of drinking them.

- The dressing on Chipotle salads doubles the caloric content (but salsa does not). Other salads, at restaurants like Fridays and Outback Steakhouse can be worse for you than a (or several) McDonald's quarter-pounder(s).

- Chick-Fill-A has some healthy-assed options (including their chicken nuggets and club-sandwich), though this may be in comparison to other fried chicken establishments.

- Bacon is better for you than sausage (though, this could be a density issue... strips v. links and all). Similarly, hot-dogs are better for you than hamburgers (which are huge now).

- The Factory Burger is apparently the only sane thing to order at the Cheesecake Factory.

- Snapple Water contains as much sugar as two ice-cream bars, Sobe Green tea as half a cherry pie, and a White Chocolate Mocha with Whipped Cream from Starbucks as much as 8.5 scoops of slow-churned ice-cream.

- The best barbeque option is burnt ends (as the fat has rendered off) and baked beans, while the worst is ribs (which breaks my heart) and hush-puppies.

- Milkshakes are apparently verboten.

I Hate Being Rejected

2011-05-03T20:23:00.000-05:00

I got rejected from a stupid dumb internship I never wanted anyway.

Books are for dorks.

On That Thing What Happened Recently

2011-05-03T00:54:00.000-05:00

As you've all heard by now, Osama Bin Laden has been shot in the face, after which, his body was dropped into the ocean and some people rejoiced.

Yesterday, as I heard tell of the cheering outside the White House (chants of "We Are The Champions"), I thought to myself, that seems a bit undignified, but fuck it, these people have been invested in this, they need to cope with what they perceive to be an important moment, and it's not like they're turning over cars.

I went to bed aimlessly dismissing fleeting thoughts about how offended some of these same people have been when reports of celebration in the streets of Iran, in which certain flags are burnt, reach our cable news rage avatars.

But mostly, I felt about the same (as is to be expected), not in the least bit somber, and maybe slightly pleased (though, I imagine this is more the mild thrill of engaging in actual "breaking news"... given that it's such a rare occurrence).

But this morning, as I scrolled through my Facebook's news-feed, I discovered what I can only assume is the natural correlation to chanting in the streets, ie: sanctimonious appeals to our better angels, that we had ought to grieve when any life is taken, lest we forget how precious life is.

I guess it wasn't so much like being adrift in a sea of self-righteousness, as it was strolling along the beach, avoiding the flotsam of trite quotes and proverbs that must, for some reason, inevitably follow even the most non of non-tragedies.

It may be inferred, from that statement, that I believe there's something inherently more tragic about a Youtube video in which a puppy falls asleep in its water-bowl, than in the news that Osama Bin Laden has been shot dead, by a bullet, through the eye, and I won't disavow this interpretation.

I won't pretend that I'm with camp "this is the bitchin-est news ever," because I'm not. I don't feel thrilled, but I'd rather it happened than didn't.

As I posted on the Facebook (on my own wall, not to cause trouble, but to voice a dissenting opinion without singling anyone out) "he was a dick, he's dead, and I'm not in the least bit bothered." And as for moral qualms, I can say I worried somewhat that calling him a dick might be seen as diminishing the horror (akin to saying "the holocaust was such a bummer"), but as to speaking ill of the dead, I'm feeling pretty all right.

I'm torn. On the one hand, I want to extend the same understanding to these Jesus types (they're mostly Jesus types, though not exclusively) as I did to the chanting mob, to tell myself this is how they cope, as I very well may have, by manufacturing an undertone of shame, so as to inhabit a space in which capital punishment is still an evil, even if it doesn't feel at all that way.

Maybe I'd just be happier if they weren't all quoting Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. (the first of whom preached non-violent resistance until his party came into power and then immediately outlawed hunger-strikes, and the latter who famously, like many a pious fella, often took "love thy neighbor" to its natural conclusion... not that this invalidates his statements, but I hate quotes, I hate appeals to the authority of quotes, and even more-so, I hate appeals to the assumed wisdom and sanctity of fictionalized men).

So, that's about it. I still object to the death penalty (biased legal system, wrongful convictions, etc...), but I can't make myself feel bad because I don't care that horrendous people die. It's not what Superman would say, but if the notion of god became quaint for the six year-old me, it was only a matter of time before the last son of Krypton was proven to lack the sort of nuance I require in a moral leader.

I Keep Inceptioning Myself

2011-05-01T11:06:00.000-05:00

I'm having those sort of dreams where I'm not wholly aware that I'm dreaming, but I'm clearly aware that I can edit my surroundings, events, and manipulate time.

I say it's clear that I'm aware, because I keep doing it, seemingly willfully, and I don't tend to worry about assaulting people and getting arrested and such, because I can immediately dismiss the repercussions. Intellectually, I suppose this might ought to be worrying (in that I seem to accept the reality of the dream, in that way we do, and as such, I seem pretty eager to punch people and get arrested), but I'm not sure it is... affectually, by which, I mean I'm not that bothered.

While I love the idea that I'm secretly a super bad-ass, who might put a cigar out in a guy's face if I happened to be a noir-ish detective suddenly, for some reason, and that guy had a particularly important lead, I suspect my brain is too much accustomed to writing, so that it might be fair to say, editing has become my default.

It's possible that I have come to detect reality chiefly by my inability to extend control over time and space.

Today Was a Pretty Good Day

2011-04-30T00:07:00.000-05:00

Just for the sake of balance, I figured I should note that today was not a shit day.

I made turkey-chilli, beef-tamales, corn-bread (with real corn), and macaroni-and-cheese (or rather whole-wheat shells in a white cheddar sauce) for dinner. Some might note that this menu is wholly devoid of vegetables (save for what meager, unidentifiable bits were in the chilli), and to them, I say "why can't you just let me have this? I'm not hurting anybody. Just save your criticism for someone more deserving, like white-supremacists. The energy you expend discouraging me is energy you're not spending discouraging white-supremacists, which is essentially as good as an endorsement. How do you live with yourself? Stop reading this blog. I won't provide amusing missives to racists. Good day, sir."

I've Said it Before...

2011-04-28T01:05:00.001-05:00

Here's a question:

If nearly every species that has ever existed is now extinct, why am I expected to care about polar bears?

Have we even considered the possibility that the world might be better off without the giant, hairy killing machines?

Also, why is it a triumph to wipe out malaria, but a tragedy that there aren't more tigers?

I'm Drinking Water Now

2011-04-27T01:15:00.001-05:00

I'm enjoying it.

Elaboration

2011-04-25T20:50:00.000-05:00

It's been expressed, in that sort of tone-deaf "everyone on the internet seems to develop aspergers" sort of way, that my last post did not contain enough specific detail to sate the inquisitive nature of half this blog's fan-base.

As such, though I worry it will only reward (and thus encourage) the obtuse lack of social grace, I have decided to expand on the post — also, it's kind of a funny story, so I was going to post it anyway.

Yesterday, I woke up pretty hung-over. Having come to the conclusion that five scotches is too many scotches, I began to wonder if the discomfort I was experiencing was not a simple hang-over, but the product of long-term semi-inebriatedness. Several factors influenced this suspicion, but chief among them was my lack of balance (which had never been a problem for me) and my inability to keep my hands from violently trembling.

Later (which is to say this morning), I came to realize that the more likely explanation for these symptoms was that I had spent the better part of Saturday blasting my arm guns, and that I'd somehow not noticed, due to being considerably hung-over, the water sloshing around in my ear (which had a deleterious effect on my equilibrium).

However, as tends to happen, though the impetus for my self-critique might have been misinterpreted, the connections, tangents, and conclusions at which I arrived (I'm often lonely, I spend a lot of time "in my head" which I take to mean I spend a lot of time in conversation with myself, and I seem to have nothing to say to strangers, aside from clever nonsense) may very well be valid or, at the very least, cause for concern.

So, not that you deserve it, but that is what I meant when I said I want to work on no longer being this.

I've Had a Pretty Shit Day

2011-04-25T02:42:00.000-05:00

Nothing terrible happened, so that's great, and I accomplished some things, which I like, but today was a shit day. Also, it was Easter (coincidence).

I had trouble motivating myself to do anything, and it wasn't so much that I thought "gee, I'm wasting a lot of time, aren't I lazy?" as it was "why can't I manage to sit up?" It was as if my sloth was offending me on some hugely vulnerable level.

I have work to do, and part of me wanted to do more of it, but another part seemed resigned to only doing that which is due tomorrow. It felt inevitable, in some way, which I think is what I hate about it. I felt powerless to confront my understanding that "work will get done on time, but only in response to an immediate (and not arbitrary) deadline." Also, just to set the record straight, this is not normal for me. I've gotten pretty good at forcing myself to do things (I've been doing cardio for like a year-and-a-half).

Anyway, I think it's time for a change. I'm not sure what that would entail, but I spent the better part of this evening lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why I've accepted this sort of existence... why I've allowed myself to view it as an acceptable way to live.

Dream Machine

2011-04-22T15:43:00.000-05:00

Had a dream last night, in which a nineteen year-old sadist made out with me, so as to distract me while her friend planted drugs in my house (what so that I'd be put in jail, for their sick thrill). As it happens, I woke up before the dream-cops arrived, so I guess I won that round.

Philosophy Students

2011-04-22T01:25:00.000-05:00

Arrogant, overly verbose, unkind, and lacking in nearly all social graces.

Petty bickering little ego-monsters.

Shut the hell up. All of you, just shut the fuck up.

I'm Bitter and Shit

2011-04-21T21:37:00.000-05:00

I'd like to drink some wine. I should drink some wine.

It would be good for me to drink some wine.

And chocolate cake.

It's settled; I'm gonna blast my guns till I can't see straight.

Disappointed

2011-04-21T21:06:00.000-05:00

Television is disappointing me.

I'm watching Bones, which I enjoy, but they're using the episode as a pilot for another show, which is becoming common (maybe not... I've noticed it twice this year... so that happened). This is annoying. Someone should stop this.

I Don't Care For Hippies

2011-04-20T23:43:00.000-05:00

I've been criticized, as a member of my generation, for not pouring out into the streets to protest all this shit that's happening, the way young people used to, back when hippies were making a difference.

As far as I can tell, hippies were just people who checked out, abdicated their responsibilities in favor of being wonderfully irregular, did an astonishingly solipsistic amount of drugs, made some interesting music, and then proceeded to act as feckless straw-men, turning the word liberal into something pathetic and absurd.

These are my thoughts.

Arrogance

2011-04-19T11:11:00.000-05:00

Here's a distinction I think needs to be recognized: arrogance v. smugness.

Arrogance, as I understand it, refers to an unearned sense of superiority; smugness, alternatively, denotes an unearned sense of satisfaction.

I'd like to note that "unearned," in this discussion, refers to the perception thereof. As such, one who is unfamiliar with (ignorant of) how much education is required to become a doctor, might describe their physician as arrogant, due to their physician's reluctance to consider homeopathy as a viable treatment for anything (save for mild dehydration).*

I suppose what motivates this post is some combination of wanting to mutter appropriate invectives at televised interviews with potential Republican presidential candidates (as campaign season rears it's ugly head) and my disinclination to be wrongly accused (due to some future arrogant rhetorical flourish) of harboring a delusional satisfaction I'm not fortunate enough to experience.

Additionally, though I haven't thought this through, so bear with me, I'm thinking this might be what keeps me from enjoying "bro-humor," which is to say, television shows wherein frat-guys make half-clever appeals to ignorance. I find these shows to be smug.

Actually (I'm writing this thing sort of live... so you know, exciting), I was anticipating proposing a divergent sort of ... something to assert that I'm more willing to approve of arrogance but not smugness, but come to think of it, I'm not sure that's true. Then again, maybe it is... just not as a blanket statement (I like that Bill Maher is righteously indignant and, occasionally, self-righteously indignant), which is a bullshit sort of defense, but it's probably true.

As for blanket statements though, I hate when people say "profound" things, with the assumption that what they're saying is "profound." I imagine this is smugness ... self-satisfied morons allowing themselves to feel "smart" by yammering some half-thought-out, pseudo-mystical or "commonsensical" wisdom.

These are today's thoughts.

*Also, a note which might not be germane to the discussion, the dismissal of educated people on the grounds that one does not accept the validity of their chosen field (eg: "creationists' disdain for science" or "me and my colorful relationship with religious scholars"), is entirely arrogant.

Hot-Dogs

2011-04-19T01:10:00.000-05:00

I would like one hot-dog, please.

Internet, make it so.

I've Got a Bee in My Bonnet

2011-04-17T16:58:00.000-05:00

People are bothering me with their minor idiosyncrasies.

And, unless everyone's gotten together and agreed to be way more grating, I'm forced to assume the fault is mine.

But, just in case:

Turn-signals — people have stopped using them, and for this, I think they should go to prison.

Ethics

2011-04-15T01:18:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, I find, ethical concerns get in the way of my writing things I'd like to write.

I think, were I willing to be crueler, I might be a more compelling writer.

On the other hand, I'm also capable of empathy... so fuck.

Etymology

2011-04-12T09:27:00.000-05:00

A penitentiary is a place where people are put with hopes that they will be penitent.

Why aren't these things obvious?

The Horror

2011-04-10T23:29:00.000-05:00

So, I'm washing blankets, and I find it's easier to wring them out in the sink than put them through several spin cycles (so as to make them dry enough to be put into the dryer... don't ask).

Anyway, what I noticed, as a result of doing this, is that doing this is fucking exhausting (it's like that thing with the bar and the string with a weight tied to it, only so much worse).

Those who know me can attest to my large blankets collection (I get cold). Long story short (because it's hot and I'm tired), mostly through wringing out the sixth blanket of the day, I noticed the muscles in my forearm start to seize up... which is the objective description; a considerably more emotionally honest description would be I jerked with horror at the realization that I couldn't open my fist.

This happens to me occasionally (once, after pumping air into my bicycle tires, I couldn't straighten my elbow and frantically swung my arm until it started working again), and each time, it is the single most horrifying experience of my life.

I don't know why this bothers me so much, and I don't tend to fear it in the abstract (even now, I can't so much access that horror), but in the moment, it's all I can do to keep from urinating all over myself.

Questions That Don't Support The Narrative Logic Presented By 'Are You Smarter Than A Fifth-Grader'

2011-04-10T17:33:00.000-05:00

— Which is the better book: 'Ulysses' or 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'?

— Would you like a cup of coffee?

— What is best in life?

— What were things like before 9-11/the internet/White-Water?

— You like Becky, but Becky says she can't decide if she likes you or Jimmy. Jimmy's on the wrestling team and can grow a moustache, while you're smart, funny, and capable of empathy. What have you done wrong?

— What tastes better: Coca-Cola or Johnnie Walker Black (and don't say both, you heathens)?

— Is there a God?

— Wouldn't this whole mess be solved if everyone just decided to stop fighting and get along?

— Shouldn't children be granted the right to vote in presidential elections, given that they will inherit the problems caused by today's politicians?

— Where is the clitoris?

— Isn't it totally unfair that you have to mow the lawn even though you never even asked for a lawn in the first place?

— Why is the word 'lube' so damned funny?

— Some philosophers suggest our innate character exists in a perfect, immutable form that transcends our physical reality, while others assert that the self is a fiction created by our attempts to connect and justify the convoluted interaction of matter and energy which continually produces our awareness of it, which explanation is correct, and why should anyone care?

— You know nobody likes you, right?
— Aren't rated R movies the best?

— No, seriously, where is the clitoris?

I'm So Damned Hungry

2011-04-10T02:33:00.000-05:00

I want:

fried chicken
cheeseburgers
french fries
cheesecake
ribs
clam chowder
macaroni and cheese
bacon
bacon
bacon
wine
ice-cream
malt
ham
meatballs
sushi... just all the sushi
steak
lobster
creme brule
chocolate cake
quiche
hot dogs
garlic bread
deep-fried vegetables
chilli
brisket
deviled eggs
mushrooms
spinach
sausage wrapped in pastry
waffles
bananas
blueberries
brown mustard
calamari
pad thai
onion rings
cheese-sticks
gumbo
cornbread
cheese-bread
corn-dog
fried-ravioli
corn
french dip
roast boar
burritos
fried burritos
tacos
nachos
hot dogs (more)
oat-meals
pudding
catfish
frogs
roast beef
beef wellington
stew
pot pies
shepherd's pie
goat
curry
naan
baguettes
crepes
custard
strawberry short-cake
pound cake
falafel
thai iced-tea
country-fried chicken
bratwurst
lamb
croissants
jerky
mango lassi

......

Make it so.

2011-04-09T02:57:00.001-05:00

balls.

Anxious

2011-04-08T00:46:00.000-05:00

I almost went a whole week without posting something insipid on this blog.



That was close.



And my foot hurts (I've been sitting on it).

I Hate Everything (Again)

2011-04-02T18:56:00.000-05:00

Think I'm gonna go to the movies, by myself... because I'm not popular.

Also, everything's stupid, and people should be nicer to me.

I Don't Care For April Fool's Day

2011-04-02T03:46:00.001-05:00

It's not funny. People just lie to each other and, for some reason, assume this is hilarious.

Here's an April Fool's trick — I'm wearing shoes.

Oh, you just got fucked, because I'm not wearing shoes at all, you gullible prick.

This is almost as bad as when people try to be funny by saying something random (isn't that crazy?). Non-sequiturs aren't funny unless they non-sequit (ie: don't follow), which is to say, humor challenges an assumption, and to challenge the logic of a statement, that logic must first be established. It bothers me that people don't care about this.

.......

Unrelated thoughts:

— I don't like advice. Specifically, I don't like that advice gets internalized so that when I'm feeling petty and bitter (for instance, after being stood up), I get to feel petty and bitter while also feeling above that, due to a chronological or intellectual disparity between the self that is petty and the self that recognizes, understands, and dismisses that pettiness. I'm unfocussed (at the moment), but I suspect what I hate is that "this feeling is temporary" doesn't challenge, substantially, the interpretation hope is stupid.

— Sometimes, when I'm depressed (or not even... just nihilistic, or maybe nearing it), I find myself drawn into arguments with people who are interested in helping me not be depressed (or whatever it is I happen to be). The trouble is, despite the idiom, I don't feel inclined, when miserable, to convince others they had ought to be more like me. The result tends to be that I don't voice my objections to their points, which leaves me feeling patronized/patronizing. It's unsettling.

— Eat, Pray, Love is finally available on NetFlix... so I guess there is a reason to keep going.

— I am an idiot.

— Is it just me, or does it seem lazy to set a porno/sexploitaion-horror-movie in a strip club?

I'm Having Health Problems

2011-03-30T14:53:00.000-05:00

By which I mean, I'm having problems that are directly attributed to my having become healthy.

By way of an example, I've been improving my posture (so as to become more confident and better able to see things on higher shelves) which is fun for me, save for the fact that I've been cardio-ing the fuck out of myself (ie: I have been crushing it), the effect of which being that I've lost some girth around the middle. While not an astonishing loss, the combination of my decrease in mass and my standing generally more erect has resulted in my pants being no longer frictionally adhered to my waist (which is troubling, because I don't own many belts).

Similarly, I'm noticing the following:

— It's harder to be comfortable when sitting on hard surfaces or lying on my limbs.

— I have to schedule my cartooning around my exercising, because my muscles get shaky.

— I own a pair of shoes that destabilize my muscles, so as to strengthen them, which I wore in conjunction with a knee brace, meant to stabilize my muscles, so as to reduce minor strain... which, despite being only nominally ridiculous, made me feel like an idiot.

— My iPod now contains two categories of music: music that is great and music that is embarrassing but energetic... also, there is some overlap.

— Occasionally, women in tight purple shirts, running on the treadmill directly in front of mine, turn around and do some absurd backwards running thing, which is neat for them, but confuses the hell out of me. It seems rude not to say anything to the person two feet in front of you when neither of you have anything to look at, but what if I'm so charming that she gets distracted and can't sustain her weird backwards jogging?

— If I don't exercise regularly, I start to feel bummed out and hopeless, which seems like a bad sign.

— I rarely think to myself that I'd like a milkshake anymore. I don't like this.

Grumble.

The Daily Planet

2011-03-29T00:42:00.000-05:00

I was reading a brief article about someone who's re-contextualized the HBO series The Wire as a Dickensian tale, set in 1800's London (or some such nonsense), wherein the writer noted a conflict of interest, which was wholly minor and ineffectual.

This was peculiar, in that my assumption (as to the nature of websites that specialize in news about how awesome Batman is and how much the Spider-man musical is going to suck) was that intense subjectivity was to be assumed. I'm wondering if that assumption was, perhaps, a mistake.

Which made me wonder, why have I never before demanded objectivity in online reporting about Superman?

I'm Noticing a Pattern

2011-03-27T19:46:00.000-05:00

I only feel capable after (and also while) exercising for an hour. I don't know if that is entirely chemical (what with endorphins and all) or some construction of my mind (wherein I spent years believing that exercise is hard and food is better, so that any non-essential running can be considered something of a triumph of the will).

I suppose this means I should be running more.

Inspiration

2011-03-27T16:13:00.002-05:00

Someone do this to me.

Bored

2011-03-27T01:30:00.000-05:00

I'm waiting for something significant to happen.

That is my problem.

That's not even to say I'm waiting for something monumental to happen (though, I am), just something significant to punctuate particular spans of time. Essentially, it feels wrong to fall asleep without having either accomplished something or learned a weird thing about something stupid... or heard a dirty limerick, even.

So much pointless repetition.

It's troubling.

Why Isn't Anything Working?

2011-03-27T01:02:00.000-05:00

It's bullshit is what it is.

Damn internet.

Damn analgesics.

Damn stupid elbows.

Damn horrible ugly jerks.

I'm Feeling Better

2011-03-27T00:28:00.000-05:00

I still feel like I want to vomit on principle.

Damn

2011-03-26T22:58:00.000-05:00

I don't feel well.

And Miles To Go

2011-03-26T02:55:00.000-05:00

My knee seems more healed than it has seemed (for some time). Pretty soon, I think I'll be in fighting form. My worry is that I'll be so excited to run again that I very well might fuck my shit up (for reals and what-not).

.....

I realized, several days later than I probably ought to have, that riding a stationary bike allows me to do some cardio without putting too much weight on my knee, which is why I started swimming... which I don't mind so much anymore, so maybe things worked out for the best.

......

I'd like to be sleeping now.

I Made Eggs and Chips

2011-03-21T17:39:00.000-05:00

I just deleted a lengthy post which essentially made the argument that I'm not comfortable with the fact that I sometimes I feel angry and bitter, and when I'm feeling angry and bitter, I consider how great it would be if I could tell people to fuck off in some way that would be hurtful for them to hear.

I deleted the post, because it was tedious and possibly full of cruelty disguised as an examination of my experience of being unnerved by my potential to be cruel. It's possible that last statement still serves this purpose (in a more ambiguous way), but weirdly, in my mind, while it's inexcusable to say "Fuck you," and still more-so to say "hey, I'm not saying 'you should fuck yourself,' but sometimes I really want to tell you that you should fuck yourself, and that makes me sad," somehow it seems fine to write "I think it's all right to tell you that I don't think it's all right to tell you that I feel bad because I so very much want to tell you to fuck off."

........

I'm watching a woman and her eight year-old son threaten a dachshund for not walking quickly enough; I'm witnessing someone create an asshole.

I've Decided to Do Something Tomorrow

2011-03-21T01:55:00.001-05:00

I'm sure it would work better if I have a specific goal for tomorrow, because having an ambiguous goal is a lot like not having any goal, but tomorrow, I leave the house, I don't spend more than ten dollars, and I accomplish something substantial.

Or I'll wander around and think "were I a pretentious dick, I'd probably pretend this is the real accomplishment."

Should I buy a motorcycle? I'm thinking maybe I should buy a motorcycle.

Fuck it. I'm gonna take some aspirin and try to sleep.

I Feel Weird

2011-03-20T23:57:00.000-05:00

There should be a pill that cures nihilism.

Also, I'm bored.

It bothers me that my pattern of behavior doesn't reflect alterations in my mood and or interests. Which is to say, if I'm feeling bored and useless, I'll stay home and maybe do some homework (or watch television), yet, if I'm feeling full of hope and capable, I stay home and lament the fact that I have nowhere to go with my new-found sense of agency, do some homework (and maybe watch television).

Futility is what I'm noting.

......

Occasionally, I wonder about wish-fulfillment. It's plagued my writing (I'd like to think I've, if not cured it, been vigilant enough to stave it off), and worse still, it keeps me from enjoying other people's work.

In an abstract sense, I entertain a flickering dread before I read a book I've been assured is great, because (on some level) how is expecting a book to mean something to me not wholly absurd? And, in the event that these stories are meaningful (which is more often than not the case), how can I trust that I haven't altered my perception so as to fulfill that particular wish?

This is a stupid anxiety, the cure for which is reading the damn book.

......

I should read more books.

Although, I'm bitter because morons are happier than I am.

Maybe I should read fewer books.

......

Today has not been productive.

It's Possible That I Might Be The Best Around

2011-03-19T19:20:00.000-05:00

It's worth considering the likelihood, nay the probability, that nothing's ever gonna keep me down.

It's Friday

2011-03-18T23:39:00.000-05:00

I'm alone.

There is nothing on television that isn't either vacuous or an affront to human dignity.

Well, fuck. I suppose there are books to be read.

My Abs

2011-03-18T20:32:00.000-05:00

I've injured them with exercises.

Damn my vanity.


......

I need to eat something.

I have no prospects.

Tuna-fish, perhaps.

I'm Doing Homework

2011-03-16T19:21:00.000-05:00

No, seriously... I'm doing homework; I might even have to read parts of the bible.

Such are the sacrifices I'm willing to make for academia.

I Suspect I Might Be An Idiot

2011-03-16T03:21:00.000-05:00

I've been reevaluating my life. I should add, I'm a little drunk.

Recently, I've been chastising myself (as often as it occurs to me to do so) because I'm not writing as much as I should be. In my head, the phrasing is something like existing is not enough, your writing makes you interesting, write something and embrace having value. So, that's the head-space I'm in.

Tomorrow, I'm going to do some drawing (because that's what I should be doing).

It's weird though, because I think of all the places I could be, the relationships I might have had, the things I used to value, and I realize how stupid I am. Reading that back, it seems more ambiguous than I'd intended; I feel stupid because I value stupid things and use their absence to make myself feel bad.

So, in order to make myself a better human being, I've decided to value the following things:

— books

— writing books

— wine

— personal hygiene

— science

— food / coffee

— quietude

— novelty

— folk music

That is the complete list.

I Feel Like it's Time For a Moment Of Drunken Honesty

2011-03-14T02:50:00.001-05:00

The other day at school, I noticed a field trip from some local-ish high-school, which reminded me that I'd been on a similar field trip (to my current school) ten years ago (which is uncomfortable to write).

As my mind works this way, my thought was something like "were I to bump into my high-school freshman English teacher, what advice might I have for the children who are now ten years less wizened than someone like me?"

At this point, my thoughts split.

A part of me considered saying nothing (to my imaginary interrogators), making some excuse that the insights which have been most useful to me (eg: class can be fun if you do the reading, being an encouraging listener is a kind and noble endeavor) were all developed as a result of direct experience, and had someone offered them as advice to a younger me, I'd have likely responded with the same sort of cognitive approval as I did when people would say "you need to wake up before noon and write everyday" (which is great advice, but is only meaningful once you've utilized it).

Another part of me, though, the ignoble part, considered telling them (these not real, not-yet people) that what they should do is cultivate stupidity, get drunk, say vile things to their friends and loved ones, and have lots of promiscuous sex with awful people. This is petty nihilism and likely the result of my suspecting I've missed out on a certain part of being a young human, but I'm not sure that my meager motivations disqualify the advice.

So, I guess what I've done is got sort of drunk (on truly awful wine) and then asked myself "would you advise someone to be like you?"

I don't know that I would.

Also, I can't say that I wouldn't.

It's no secret that I think I'm awesome (because I do... and I am), but it's also somewhat public knowledge that I can be miserable and while I identify part of this as "the universal thump" (it's from Melville), wherein no one can escape some amount of the universal "fuck you" that is existence, I also accept that certain choices I've made (which is to say, on the topic of the sort of person I was to become) have directly led to an increase in misery — and while I don't mean to discount the benefits of these decisions (of which there are many), I have to wonder whether someone with a dispassionate eye and a comprehensive knowledge of my life might have suggested different choices.

Maybe (which is to say clearly), I'm fetishizing the other. The question, ultimately, is about informed consent (ie: if I knew I'd become me, would I have chosen to become me?), which is sort of ridiculous, because (aside from it being impossible to do anything about it) I still only have half-informed consent, in that I know what I've become, but I can't say I'd rather be something else if I have no experience of being that (so that if my fetishized-other is a me who went to film school or developed meaningful relationships in some sort of church community, I can only conceive of that being as a cartoonish abstraction).

I feel like I'm avoiding the issue.



Edit:

I've been thinking about advice I've gotten that has helped me. Here's what I remember:

— Nobody cares about you (re: feeling intimidated by smart people in class).
— Give people the chance to be their best selves (said ironically, but I repeat it in earnest).
— Ninety percent of writing is rewriting.
— You should drink more water.
— Being right by accident is nothing to be proud of.

I Need to Decide What the Best Use of My Time Might Be

2011-03-13T15:45:00.001-05:00

I had something of a lucid dream this morning.

I say "something of," because despite my best efforts, I couldn't manage to summon Natalie Portman into my dream-world, which makes me suspicious. I suspect there's not so much a binary of lucid dreams v. non-lucid dreams, but rather a spectrum (or maybe just three states... is three a spectrum?) wherein one might become aware that one is dreaming, yet might only be able to exercise only so much control over the dream.

This makes me curious.

I'm different than a lot of people, in that my conception of what it is to exist, as human, is peculiar. I've somewhat come to terms with determinism, I understand that the illusion of will can be the result of a consciousness which doesn't have an effect on the body but instead interprets action and alters the perception of time so as to imply causality, and I embrace the notion that I'm a fiction constructed by the unguided interaction of my neurons which can only be said to exist as a continuous being for twelve seconds at a time (which makes choosing a restaurant an existentially perilous endeavor — I don't know if I've addressed this before, on the blog, but occasionally, I'll spend the better half of a day trying to figure out what I'll want to eat for lunch, which becomes dinner, and then becomes whatever's still open).

But, back to the dream.

I had the presence of mind to know I was dreaming, that I could alter aspects of the dream, and that I wanted to have sex with an attractive lady (these are the truths of my being).

I had the expectation that I should be able to alter the dream however I saw fit.

When I attempted to alter the dream, I could change the architecture surrounding me, I could narrate my exploits, and I could explain, to myself, that I wanted to make Natalie Portman appear.

Unfortunately, she did not.

So, I'm perplexed.

As a result of some quick rumination (while drinking coffee), my explainations are as follows:

— I was not lucid dreaming. I had a dream in which I appeared to be aware and in control, but was, in reality, just passing through the dream narrative as I would any other dream.

— I was lucid dreaming, but my lack of intuitive experience having sex with famous people limited my ability to conjure, leaving me with only the words that would signify the experience I wanted to have.

— I was lucid dreaming, and I secretly have no interest in Natalie Portman; this scenario is impossible enough to disregard outright.

— I was only partially lucid dreaming, so that some aspect of my consciousness was aware of what was happening, but another was less awake. I don't buy into subconsciousness, so I'll say it makes more sense to me that my awareness was not continuous but rather sort of shifting in and out of lucidity.

It'd be great if someone could give me some waffles, like right now.


.......

It's still tonight, for a few minutes, so I'm posting here, instead of starting a new post, mostly because I don't have much of anything more to say.

I'm realizing, all of the sudden, that I've gotten to a point in my life where I feel compelled to run until my pulse beats against my neck like a snapping rubber-band rather than allow myself to be consumed by petty bitterness in response to what I believe to be "how the world is."

If you hadn't noticed, in that last sentence, I used a euphemism (which I think makes for shit writing), so in the hopes of bettering myself, I intend to unpack it.

I'm angry with people, and my definitions are losing their crispness. These things might be related. I don't know that I regret anything, yet I feel I would do things differently, were I to do them again. One might argue that this would constitute regret, but I don't know (this is similar to my confusion as to whether my feeling no longer bitter towards those who could have been nicer to me constitutes my forgiving them).

If I regret anything (and surely I must), it's believing the stupid shit other people seem to think is true.

By way of a for instance, people used to say that women are attracted to smart men (which is clearly bullshit), and for a while I believed this (much to my own dismay). Then, I fell in with the sort of rough crowd that rejoices in cynicism, and "women are attracted to smart men" became "women lie about being attracted to smart men" or "people lie because they want you to be smart and women will want to have sex with you is a compelling motivator." Recognizing the vile nature of that line of thought, my understanding became something more akin to "women want to believe they are attracted to smart men, because no one wants to accept that they're shallow." This conception lasted for some time (more than I'm proud of), until someone explained to me that "women like smart men" is a common misconception, and that a more complete statement is "women want someone who makes them feel smart," which seemed plausible (and, I suppose, still does). Having become an adult (25 counts as adult), I've now come to accept that hoping women will want to have sex with me solely because I'm clever is a foolish thing to do — which is to say that I've come to accept the limited truths of most of the previous conceptions of my "women are attracted to ... " statements (existing, as they do, only as partial explanations) as well as a more global understanding that people (who aren't masterful authors) don't tend to articulate fully what it is to be human in every bitter musing.

So, yeah. I guess, I have to accept this as "the learning process," and that's fine. But it's embarrassing, looking back.... I'd like to have the knowledge I have now without the embarrassing bullshit tied to collecting that information.

Fuck it. I'm sleepy.

I'm Thinking About Cleaning

2011-03-12T19:44:00.001-06:00

In a few weeks, my mother is coming to visit, which doesn't effect my life that much, aside from creating the expectation that things in the house are to be cleaned.

Ultimately, things will be cleaned; how things get cleaned is sort of up to me.

My thinking is I can clean everything to my satisfaction (which is likely eighty percent that of my mother's, the result of which being that these things will necessitate further cleaning) or clean a few things to about twice my satisfaction (which would exceed my mother's expectation by a good fifty percent — math... ugh — which is to say, may qualify as not needing to be cleaned).

This makes me wonder. Is it better to have to clean five really dirty things or ten somewhat dirty things? I ask, because I'm not huge on cleaning, so I don't have the experience required to make this sort of decision reflexively. It's possible that I've vacuumed dirtier floors (which require more effort than cleaner floors), but I have not noticed much difference.

My thinking is it's not like mowing a lawn (wherein mowing grass that's slightly longer can make the ordeal twice as exhausting), but I accept this may be flawed logic.

I suppose it's just an equation of energy expenditure, wherein I could expend all my energy (or all that I'm willing to devote to cleaning) over-cleaning five things or adequately cleaning ten things. If my intention is to save my mother the trouble of cleaning things which are already cleaned, it seems like the first option would be better, unless (contrary to my belief) it's significantly easier to clean a half-cleaned rug.

.......

The perils of clean living, I suppose.

Thought I Had While Driving

2011-03-11T17:37:00.000-06:00

If knowledge is subjective, and no subjective claim is any more valid than another subjective claim, then what if my subjective claim is that knowledge is objective?

I'm Itchy

2011-03-11T10:03:00.000-06:00

Think I'm gonna go running today.

That still sounds weird to me.

Reading Magazines

2011-03-10T00:57:00.000-06:00

I was reading a magazine (Scientific American Mind), and I noticed an article on the imposture phenomenon — a condition wherein people who are successful and capable come to believe that they've lucked into their positions and fear they'll some day be exposed as the fraud they are.

While I hesitate to make significant declarations based on things I've read in magazines, I feel I might have this.

What resonated most was a question (there's a questionaire... so, you know, it's scientific) which asked whether I feel anxious, after being praised, that I won't be able to continue meeting expectations.

I do fear this.

.......

Also, today in class, I found an excuse to say "penis" in front of a bunch of people.

Need To Write Some More Fiction

2011-03-08T21:55:00.000-06:00

Actually, I need to draw some more fiction. Tomorrow, I've got to hand in what I've got, then I have to research and edit a new-media based comic (in addition to writing a researched artist's statement), and by next Friday, I need to conceive of and then complete a research paper which is somewhat related to Herman Melville.

Then, I'm free to work on my fiction for a while.

Until it all starts again in three weeks. As it stands, I may already be woefully behind, but I suppose I'll deal with that when I can't possibly not deal with that anymore.

....

Also, I'm cold.

I Allowed Myself Some Television Time

2011-03-06T15:53:00.000-06:00

Which is to say, I got sucked in while eating breakfast and then didn't do anything for an hour. In an attempt to redeem my morning, I've decided to force a blog post out of that nonsense (so, in order to make up for lost time, I've decided to waste more time).

The first thing I watched was a PSA about nuclear fallout. Relatively speaking, this was the most useful thing on television this morning. Apparently, nuclear fallout is comprised of tiny irradiated particles that must be brushed off of overcoats (with one's bare hand) and shaken off of hats before one enters a fallout shelter. That is an unfair joke (I feel compelled to make that point, but not so compelled as to write something better), because the film seemed far more put-together than Duck and Cover (for instance, a tube with a U joint — inverted so that the opening faces the ground — can be used to safely ventilate a fallout shelter, and plants absorb extremely low amounts of radiation from fallout and are thus safe-ish to eat... my thinking is that this has to do with plants absorbing their matter (carbon and what not) from the air rather than soil — that's right, scienced).

After that, I checked to see if there was a new Beyond Scared Straight (and there was) on my television computer machine. At this point, the show's getting wholly repetitive, and there are fewer scenes in which grown men shout hilariously safe-for-TV threats at children using words like butt-hole. So, mostly this was more of the same, but two things stood out (about my viewing experience) today.

1. I still get a little sad when the as-of-the-end-of-production-card informs me that the mousy little emo girl or the big giant football boy has gotten back on track, but can't stop smoking pot.

Often, they note that they need it to sleep, which I guess would seem compelling from inside of it (because sleeping is great, and not sleeping is horrible), but this doesn't seem to hold up to scrutiny. I could say I drink coffee because it's the only way I won't get headaches, which is true, but it ignores the chemical dependency, wherein I only get withdrawal symptoms because I'm drinking coffee daily and that I'd stop getting headaches, were I to reduce my coffee intake* (after a mild stretch of torment).

Also (as an aside), the other day, at the gym, I noticed a teenager defiantly smoking a joint in the bushes beside the main entrance — which I didn't so much care about until I noticed, shortly thereafter, that same young man do some pretty intense cardio for like a god-damned hour. This raised my ire (also, I was doing the stair-stepper, so rage was inevitable), which I found interesting, because there's no reason I should be angry at a teenager who can get wicked high and is still capable of running for an hour, but I was... because it doesn't seem right. Looking back though, good for him.

2. I've taken stock, and as-of-the-end-of-production-of-this-post I still don't want to go to prison. More and more, I'm trying to figure out how no one has sucesfully appealed their conviction on the grounds that our current prison system goes well beyond meeting the minimum requirement for cruel and unusual punishment (what with the stabbings, the hepatitis, and the constant threat of rape... and also the rape).

Later, I flipped over to women's college gymnastics on ESPN2 (that's right, sports), which I found troubling, because I think gymnastics is sort of cool (not I need to watch this all the time cool, but hey, that's neat... what else is on? sort of cool), but today I noticed the athletes were wearing audacious amounts of stage make-up (sparkles and false-lashes and glitter and curly primped hair and such), which, to me, doesn't seem like the sort of thing athletes should be made to do.

Interestingly, one team was well-less made-up than the other, and I immediately started rooting for them. I say rooting, but I can't pretend I was that invested... or even interested in whatever crazy points system they use to rate performance sports (figure skating, gymnastics, diving, and all other sports that are rated on the athlete's proximity to a platonic ideal... I guess). I suppose it wasn't even an endorsement of the less-showy team, so much as it was feeling sorry for the young woman who'd continued to compete after suffering a highly detailed list of bone fractures and yet was still covered in half an inch of blush and sparkles.

So, that's what I've learned — I don't respect teenage pot-heads, and I think athletes should be allowed to jump around in tight spandex without the indignity of face-paint.

*Not fucking likely.

Sartre's Got My Back On This

2011-02-27T16:05:00.000-06:00

Sartre wrote that "in humans, existence precedes essence," which, to me, seems to suggest that asking why do smart people make dumb choices? is less valid than asking why do we insist on calling people who make dumb choices smart?

If you make stupid choices, you're stupid.

If you make stupid choices yet have the potential to have made a smarter decision, you're still stupid.

...

This occurred to me at the gym today.

Damn It All

2011-02-25T23:02:00.000-06:00

I'm hungry.

I'm reading short stories.

I'm beginning to suspect I don't like milkshakes. I can't ignore how excited I am for them, before I drink them, solely because I'm far less excited about them, when I'm done... but I wonder.

........

I think I may have twisted my ankle.

........

I am rapidly losing interest in everything.

........

You know what I think is great? Stretching. Stretching is fucking awesome.

........

Someone should come entertain me, someone with charisma.

........

And, I'm sleepy.

I Don't Have Time To Be Writing This

2011-02-24T19:12:00.001-06:00

I'm doing my homework.

.........

I haven't been to the gym in a few days. Yoga-ing it up though — fucking hardcore and shit.

........

Scholastically, it's been a pretty good week to be me.

Due to scheduling, I'm taking only one class which leaves me consistently drained, sad, and desperately ready to embrace nihilism while driving home (sometimes, I draw up a vague count of things I could crash my car into and likely not survive — that said, my car has excellent safety ratings... so the number might be off).

But, one out of four ain't too egregious, and in the past seven days, two people, whom I have come to deeply respect, have said some fantastically gracious things about me and my writing (so suck on that, everyone who's ever rejected me*).

........

Here's some things I've learned recently:

— No matter how heavily the word bourbon is stressed in the name of a particular glaze or sauce, nothing excuses drowning perfectly under-cooked beef in that syrupy abomination.

— I am inadvertently writing feminist literature, for which I blame my mother.

— Being a patronizing, anti-intellectual Calvinist does not disqualify someone from attaining high academic honors, appearing on the daily show, nor even from being able to write profound and beautiful fiction (profound may not be the most fitting, nor certainly the most important of those adjectives).

— Withdrawals from a daily double-digit intake of cups of coffee are not worth experiencing. Fortunately, they're not running out of coffee.

— It's taken twenty-something years, but I've finally realized why I emjoy reading. I have a hunch it's the same reason church people feel inspired by psalms (which I continue to find tedious), but that may be me being overly hopeful.

Basically, it came to me while reading a short story (In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson is Buried, by Amy Hempel), which someone recommended I read with the expressed warning that "it is not a comedy." Occasionally, when I hear that, my unutterable response is something akin to maybe you just didn't get it or, on a more charitable day, I'm sure I could have managed to figure that out, but in this case, I was grateful to have been prophesied at (and, as such, offer the same caution).

— I equate (or perhaps conflate) feeling human with feeling sad. That may be something to work on.

— I'm still not certain I've ever forgiven anyone. It's possible I'm over-thinking it, but I suspect forgiveness requires something more active and emotionally-participatory than letting those who've been cruel to me slip into the category of humans for whom I harbor no interest, and upon whom I wish no suffering, if only in recognition of how much I dislike my experience of misery.

That may not be a fair criticism, as I remain close with people who've "done me wrong" (ascribe whatever accent to that phrase as you please), which is to say, I don't accept the dichotomy I seemed to imply as to being either emotionally invested (ie: resentful) or disengaged (ie: me, in general)... so that, I suspect there are people for whom I wish nothing but happiness, to whom I am emotionally ensnared and entangled (as people are to one another), and for whom it would be inadequate to suggest I hold a secret desire to murder or otherwise obliterate.

Ultimately, when I do "forgive," I believe what I've done is more in line with deciding whatever bitterness I associate with a person is not worth retaining (justifying this decision with whatever reason sates my temporary passion) and, as such, ignore those distant and pointless pangs of malice.

Also, it helps that no one's ever really been cruel to me. All things considered, I imagine I've given worse than I've received.

.........

No more of this nonsense; I've got graduate schooling to do.

*This is to be the implied epilogue to everything worthwhile I ever accomplish.

Edit:

Here's something I thought of, in relation to my forgiveness nonsense above. My iTunes has shuffled to a song I haven't listened to in a few years, and I'm realizing I came to associate it with a particular woman, who happened to have expressed interest in the artist. Coming to associate music with people seems common enough, but what I notice is the songs I've associated with women I've dated are songs I still like to hear (regardless of how well the relationships went), while the songs I seem to have censored (which is to say, made no attempts to listen to) are songs I've related to women who (for assuredly rational reasons) refused my charming advances (or didn't refuse, but then stood up... because people do that, and it's an awful thing to do to a person).

This struck me as interesting though... women for whom I had only trifling feelings and attachments are the ones of which I'd rather not be reminded.

Also, a similarly unsettling development I've noticed recently: I've been having trouble keeping my memories tied together, by which I mean, I'm finding myself remembering specific details of moments, but I can't remember who it was I was interacting with, so that, I'm remembering someone stroking my arm or breathing into someone's clavicle, and while I recall which blanket we were wrapped in and long brown hairs getting caught in the wet corners of my eyes (the way they do), I can't remember to whom these fragments of hair and blanket correspond.

This is unsettling.

I've Decided to Hate Crime

2011-02-14T14:46:00.003-06:00

Not all crime.

That would be a stupid thing to say.

But, I got a security alert e-mail today (someone got mugged near campus — they were unharmed), and I noticed, as I was reading it, two things, the first being the word 'handgun,' which is just an unsettling word to look at, and the second was that I, noting the diminishing remnants of blizzard out my window, thought to myself it's getting warmer, as if the possibility of being violently assaulted is a natural result of the Earth's axial tilt.

Ultimately, it is. One of the perks of bitter-cold winter is that fewer violent assailants are willing to wait around outside hoping to threaten up themselves one of them iPods or a lap-tops.

I suppose it feels like a really entitled, prissy thing to say, I don't like violent crime because it inconveniences my appreciation of nice weather, but at the same time, that's sort of a fucked up criticism to make... it was cold, now it's warm, and I should be glad to be outside, not wondering how warm it has to become for me to be justifiably terrified of outside.

Anyway, as always, homework to do and things to be frightened of.

Edit:
I re-read the title of this post, and I was thinking it sounds like I'm using the term hate crime as a phrasal verb, as if I were attempting to say I've decided I'm going to hate crime someone. That is not the case.

I hate everything

2011-02-13T03:22:00.000-06:00

I'm drunk and angry.

go to hell, reader.

dick.

Wasting Time

2011-02-06T18:55:00.000-06:00

I've been reading more christian movie reviews (for no particular reason), and they've got me thinking.

Originally, I'd meant to jot down an amusing note on how one to the reviewers had a section on violence in his review of The Green Hornet, as well as a section on sexual innuendo and, for some (possibly telling) reason, included "kicks to the crotch" in the latter section, but I'm noticing something else, which may be less amusing, but likely more intersting.

The reviewer of Tron: Legacy rated the film (on their scale of morality) "Better Than Average." I suppose I expected this, because while arguments could be made that the film is deeply subversive (because, that's how arguments work) nothing in the film (nor its cultural reception — to my knowledge) suggested these arguments had ought to be made; as such, they were not.

But, what got me thinking was that my experience of this film (which I may have written about in some earlier post) was that it was a generic structure which could be imbued (by one so inclined) with a more interesting plot, complex subtext, and narrative flourishes, which might just be another way of suggesting that the way to enjoy something is to decide to enjoy it and then pretend it's something you enjoy (which is to say, either form it into something you do enjoy, or form yourself into something that enjoys what you're watching).

As may be clear (though, with me, I doubt that's the case) my thinking is that the christian reviewer rated this film as morally "Better Than Average," because the structure of moral thinking (not necessarily used in religious thought, but certainly in this website's review practices) is that the absence of immorality (or humanity) is what makes something moral (the reviewer specifically mentions being pleasantly surprised by the lack of blood when programs are deresolutioned — which is to say, they were worried the film might be violent, but since characters fell to digital pieces rather than liquid, squishy ones...).

I suppose it's telling (though, maybe not) that rather than average (or neutral), this film is rated "Better than Average," in that, aside from a few brief (cliched) utterances of cyber-platitudes (software should be free), the film didn't seem to concern itself with morality (this may be unfair... there was that thing about the ethical implications of creation, and some stuff about genocide).

My thought being, if a film doesn't address morality (in the sense that it explores or makes a moral claim — eg: war is bad / Frankensteins shouldn't be / etc...), then how is it fair to suggest it's anything but amoral?

This is all the thinking I have time for... now, back to school-work.

I'm in Mortal Danger

2011-02-06T17:23:00.002-06:00

I just put my shoe on and now my foot is bleeding again (for the first time, kinda). I'm trying to decide whether it'd be better to have an open wound on one's foot during winter or summer. If it were summer, I'd be able to wear my flip-flops (but then would be more likely to expose it to infection); in the winter, it hurts to wear shoes (but I am adequately protected against splashing in pools of bacteria).

Point being, my foot hurts. Somebody, invent some sort of Star Trek blinking light, foot repair medical gun. Just look how well cellphones worked out.

I'm Bleeding

2011-02-06T02:13:00.000-06:00

Somehow, I managed to lodge a giant piece of wood (which is to say, not at all giant) into the heel of my foot, and (after a great deal of coaxing) I could not get the wound to stop bleeding (until it did, which was very soon after it started).

School's Canceled Still

2011-02-02T22:03:00.000-06:00

If this keeps up, I'm going to have to start wondering what to fill my empty life with again.

I've Decided that Facebook is Boring

2011-01-27T23:57:00.000-06:00

There's a possibility I'm not doing it right, but as of today, this is a boring thing that I don't know why people love it.

My house it cold. I turned the heater on, but I think someone's been messing with it.

I bet it would be nice to live on an island. I'd like to try that. An island full of bikini ladies. And fruit smoothies. Oh, and coffee beans. And a vineyard. And the ladies are constantly misplacing their bikinis.

Hear Me, Hear Me

2011-01-25T07:22:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking about how my brain works, and I'm wondering if it might be the case that I'm an auditory learner.

I started reading up on it (not that thoroughly — I got shit to do), and I read the usual nonsense about how visual learners will say "looks like X" or "I see what you're saying", while auditory learners would more likely say "I hear what you're saying".

In response, I started to think about how that seems inconclusive, noting that it's more likely just the idioms we're exposed to, limited vocabulary, and some such... but, before I could form those words, I made the mistake of prefacing my objection with the phrase "that sounds stupid".

I did read something that suggested (or rather stated) that auditory learners require background noise, while reading, for the information to solidify or for associations to be formed or... I don't know. This was interesting for me, because I tend to listen to music (or have the television on) when I'm reading or writing — nothing sort of pointedly wordy (I can't read while listening to an audio-book, something about competing language structures). Often, I'll think to myself that I should grow up and learn to focus on what I'm doing (because that's what adults do), but if this thing I read on the internet is to be believed (best qualifier ever), my conception of "focusing" might require need to shift to reflect the reality which I already seem to act upon.

Anyway, I'm tired and I've got like twelve hours of school ahead of me... so awesome.

Eating Pizza

2011-01-22T21:56:00.000-06:00

I was going to eat half a pizza.

Then, I ate a whole pizza.

It was a small pizza, but it was still too much pizza.

I'm thinking I might like some chocolate milk, to go with my pizza.

My no longer existent pizza.

Actually, I suppose it does still exist, just not as a pizza, as a mass of ingredients in my stomach, what had used to be pizza.

I Ate Bacon For Dinner

2011-01-16T23:38:00.000-06:00

And, now, I'm drinking scotch.

Living the dream.

I Think Everyone's Getting Off This Blogging Train

2011-01-16T17:54:00.000-06:00

I suppose I could get on that facebook again.

I'd probably have to re-friend some people... that'd be awkward.

My fingers are pretty damn cold.

Could start a trash-can fire.

I started watching a show about those scared straight programs, and I'm becoming grateful that nobody ever screams in my face, threatens to sexually assault me, and implies that I'm a coward for not trying to kill them.... all the while avoiding the sort of salty language they try not to broadcast on television before 9PM, because I imagine I would laugh nervously, tremble violently, and possibly pee myself so hard that I'd require medical treatment for dehydration.

It's Seven AM

2011-01-16T07:24:00.001-06:00

and I;m drunk.

take that christians.

Cause it's sunday,

or sundee, as the southerners say.

i got drunk cause i got tired of homework

too much homework

not really,
it's mostly reading

some computer coding

and drawing \shit

I'm in a class on Hawthorne and Melville and every time the professor mentions Emerson, I add (in my mind) Lake and Palmer.... a reference I'm sure will be lost on my dearest readers

I just noticed I'm watching three things on youtube, listening to two different albums, and reading the news... hypermediation.

So, uh... Well, The Thing Is...

2011-01-16T00:42:00.000-06:00

I'm considering working some sick-ass prose into my graphic novel.

It might be a ridiculous idea, but I feel like I'm good at writing, so I should probably take advantage of being in a writing course at an embarrassingly good school to develop that some more (in addition to the graphic work I'm doing).

On the other hand, I can't think of a graphic novel with large portions of prose that I've ever read and thought "oh, great, more reading and less cartoons". In this, I'm including Watchmen, which included book excerpts and the like in an interesting, but none-the-less pace-shattering way.

So, there's my problem. I'm not sure it can be done, I'm not sure it should be done, and I'm not sure I'm the man to do it. I might give it a shot though, just to stick it to all the nay-sayers.

I'm Coding

2011-01-14T20:51:00.000-06:00

That's right, computers.

I'm doing computers.

I'm like Tron.

Fuck you, history... it's the future now.