Yesterday got my hair dyed for the first time I'm a redhead almost now more mahogany really but managing to escape an identity crises thus far. The trip to the mall afterwards was a bit much though. I don't even know why I go to the mall by myself. I am objectively awful at shopping I have a completely lack of any eye for fashion and am easily overwhelmed by too many choices and well it's the damn mall. People-watching can be fun I notice most the boredom. The warm bodies behind the kiosks are bored so bored so desperate to straighten your hair and buff your nails and assault you with robotic helicopters. But most of all the poor bastard running the weird little train for kids. Sitting around in a conductors hat and striped t-shirt and suspenders on his iphone waiting for the one kid to come along to make him start up the whole four car contraption for a tiny brain's hopeful amusement. Fake train sounds. Headphones in all the while.
On the way out got froyo with too many toppings and ate it while reading a trashy mystery novel about a serial killer targeting stay at home moms poorly written with all the red herrings laid out nicely in a row. Later I ended up in the drive thru for Jacknthebox and wondered why I was there almost angry with the nice lady passing me a greasy bag of chicken nuggets curly fries honey mustard.
This morning I consume leftover flamin hot cheetos and greek yogurt for a breakfast I don't have the heart to throw away the sutter home bottle yet. Now to work a double then again a double.
I feel like I have never so much been an American.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
And I'm upgraded daily / All my wires without traces
Today I went shopping for a smartphone.
As of right now, I have a semi-dumb phone that can make all my texts and access some parody of the internet, and even once in a while I use it to make phone calls to other real people. I have no real problem with the phone; with the exception of the inevitable temper tantrums that all the machines I own seem to throw it works quite well. However, for various reasons, I decided to take the step and move into this strange handheld collective world in which everyone else seems to be cheerfully participating.
This is kind of a big deal for me, for complicated reasons of superstition and cyborg anxiety that I hope one day to explore. Suffice it to say that watching people chat not with other people through the phone but with the phone itself makes me visibly and uncontrollably nervous. (I have several friends that find it amusing to team up with their cohort Siri to exploit this tic of mine. I love my friends very dearly.) I myself have been in the past incapable of figuring out how these devilmachines function. When attempting to use a borrowed one I'm generally reduced to helpless flailing and pawing at the screen like a sad animal until the savvy owner takes pity on me and dials the phone number or what have you.
It turns out that this is a real disadvantage when trying to be a wise consumer selecting a smartphone for purchase. If I am overwhelmed by sheer panic at just the sight of any flippy animated screen with higher resolution than the outside world that may or may not been able to read (or at least infer) my thoughts, how in the devil am I supposed to qualify and evaluate the differences among these damn things? Comparing them on a website with nice side-by-side boxes of written out specs is one thing. Holding even the 3 generation old model in my had and knowing this machine is smart enough to do anything but I am too dumb to tell it how is something completely different. Why am I doing this again? Haven't I consumed enough sci-fi to realize never to volunteer for the omnipresent, omnipotent, life-easing upgrade?
[Interesting and slightly troubling sidenote: A large part of the reviews of the HTC One X, one of the phones I was considering, are these weird exultations by former iPhone users that read like escapes from bad relationships: "i love love loooove my HTC. i used to stick with iPhones because even though i was never a big fan i figured i could never get anything better but then i made the leap with this [hone and its so great! i would never even consider going back to iphone" "This phone is great. It never gives me any problems...I never even think about iPhone anymore!"]
And how exactly am I supposed to explain all this to the pleasant young man standing at my shoulder just trying to earn his commission? I'm sorry excuse me sir I'm just having a bit of existential confusion about my commitment to my cyborg identity. No no I know I'm up for an upgrade I'm good for another two years yes. Yes no I heard you about the megapixels thing but it's just is it better? Will it make me better? How much of my soul can it capture in high def? And do I have to download it or can I stream it?
This post would have had a better punchline if I were publishing it with some wry acceptance from a smartphone. But, all things considered, I made what I thought was the best decision in the situation: retreat. Live to fight another day, maybe postpone the Singularity that much longer (ha, unlikely).
[Alternate ending: I'm secretly a robot!]
Will end by reiterating my cyborg anthem, Regina Spektor's "Machine":
As of right now, I have a semi-dumb phone that can make all my texts and access some parody of the internet, and even once in a while I use it to make phone calls to other real people. I have no real problem with the phone; with the exception of the inevitable temper tantrums that all the machines I own seem to throw it works quite well. However, for various reasons, I decided to take the step and move into this strange handheld collective world in which everyone else seems to be cheerfully participating.
This is kind of a big deal for me, for complicated reasons of superstition and cyborg anxiety that I hope one day to explore. Suffice it to say that watching people chat not with other people through the phone but with the phone itself makes me visibly and uncontrollably nervous. (I have several friends that find it amusing to team up with their cohort Siri to exploit this tic of mine. I love my friends very dearly.) I myself have been in the past incapable of figuring out how these devilmachines function. When attempting to use a borrowed one I'm generally reduced to helpless flailing and pawing at the screen like a sad animal until the savvy owner takes pity on me and dials the phone number or what have you.
It turns out that this is a real disadvantage when trying to be a wise consumer selecting a smartphone for purchase. If I am overwhelmed by sheer panic at just the sight of any flippy animated screen with higher resolution than the outside world that may or may not been able to read (or at least infer) my thoughts, how in the devil am I supposed to qualify and evaluate the differences among these damn things? Comparing them on a website with nice side-by-side boxes of written out specs is one thing. Holding even the 3 generation old model in my had and knowing this machine is smart enough to do anything but I am too dumb to tell it how is something completely different. Why am I doing this again? Haven't I consumed enough sci-fi to realize never to volunteer for the omnipresent, omnipotent, life-easing upgrade?
[Interesting and slightly troubling sidenote: A large part of the reviews of the HTC One X, one of the phones I was considering, are these weird exultations by former iPhone users that read like escapes from bad relationships: "i love love loooove my HTC. i used to stick with iPhones because even though i was never a big fan i figured i could never get anything better but then i made the leap with this [hone and its so great! i would never even consider going back to iphone" "This phone is great. It never gives me any problems...I never even think about iPhone anymore!"]
And how exactly am I supposed to explain all this to the pleasant young man standing at my shoulder just trying to earn his commission? I'm sorry excuse me sir I'm just having a bit of existential confusion about my commitment to my cyborg identity. No no I know I'm up for an upgrade I'm good for another two years yes. Yes no I heard you about the megapixels thing but it's just is it better? Will it make me better? How much of my soul can it capture in high def? And do I have to download it or can I stream it?
This post would have had a better punchline if I were publishing it with some wry acceptance from a smartphone. But, all things considered, I made what I thought was the best decision in the situation: retreat. Live to fight another day, maybe postpone the Singularity that much longer (ha, unlikely).
[Alternate ending: I'm secretly a robot!]
Will end by reiterating my cyborg anthem, Regina Spektor's "Machine":
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Time Management requires some acknowledgement of Time
"We cannot say that time 'is' except in virtue of its continual tendency not to be" --Augustine, Confessions
I believe I've mentioned this before, but Time and I have some issues. Well, I have issues with time and it, being a non-cognizant inevitability, takes no recognition of me. Which is how it should be, I suppose. If Time started taking special exception to me it would probably in fact be more than a little unnerving. Anyway.
I am currently living in a state of transition disguised as stasis. I feel like I'm standing still, that my grand movement has been put on hold. So it is always violently disconcerting when I realize, as I occasionally do, that this is not the case. Time is in fact moving (surprise!). All of those moments and hours and afternoons, all of the in-between times, are all sneaking by me constantly. Faster than ever, it seems. All of a sudden it is time to go to work again. Time to hide again. Time to go to sleep again. And repeat. But wait--there should be so much more wedged in there! Life! Activity and exploration! I work just under 40 hours a week. I'm no longer in school. Where the hell do I get off saying I don't have enough time?
It all gets whiled away, unnoticed. Staring at cracks in windowsills. Taking thirty minutes to iron one shirt. Wandering back into the same room three times, trying to remember what I was doing, if anything. The day is spread out before me, and then before I can realize my brain's denial of time, the rushrush to work hide sleep is upon me.
I've taken up keeping a productivity journal today, both to assure myself that time is indeed passing and to try to prod myself into doing something with it. Divide it up into neat packets, my days able to be quantified and assessed. That day I ran. That day I washed and folded clothes. Today I publish a blog post. It's almost humiliating, the banality of these little lists. But even the tiniest ,most tedious of day-lists is better than the days when I can find absolutely nothing to put down. That is what I'm trying to change, to inch away from. Today hasn't been the greatest of efforts in that direction, but even a small step a little late is progress.
I believe I've mentioned this before, but Time and I have some issues. Well, I have issues with time and it, being a non-cognizant inevitability, takes no recognition of me. Which is how it should be, I suppose. If Time started taking special exception to me it would probably in fact be more than a little unnerving. Anyway.
I am currently living in a state of transition disguised as stasis. I feel like I'm standing still, that my grand movement has been put on hold. So it is always violently disconcerting when I realize, as I occasionally do, that this is not the case. Time is in fact moving (surprise!). All of those moments and hours and afternoons, all of the in-between times, are all sneaking by me constantly. Faster than ever, it seems. All of a sudden it is time to go to work again. Time to hide again. Time to go to sleep again. And repeat. But wait--there should be so much more wedged in there! Life! Activity and exploration! I work just under 40 hours a week. I'm no longer in school. Where the hell do I get off saying I don't have enough time?
It all gets whiled away, unnoticed. Staring at cracks in windowsills. Taking thirty minutes to iron one shirt. Wandering back into the same room three times, trying to remember what I was doing, if anything. The day is spread out before me, and then before I can realize my brain's denial of time, the rushrush to work hide sleep is upon me.
I've taken up keeping a productivity journal today, both to assure myself that time is indeed passing and to try to prod myself into doing something with it. Divide it up into neat packets, my days able to be quantified and assessed. That day I ran. That day I washed and folded clothes. Today I publish a blog post. It's almost humiliating, the banality of these little lists. But even the tiniest ,most tedious of day-lists is better than the days when I can find absolutely nothing to put down. That is what I'm trying to change, to inch away from. Today hasn't been the greatest of efforts in that direction, but even a small step a little late is progress.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Reoccurring Character of the Post-Nasal Drip
So last night I was working on this post about boundaries. How godforsaken important they are and how tangled up I am with their features/non-features and relativity and all of these other anxiety-inducing traits. It's either a lead in to or a lead out from my other anxiousness about space and spatial issues and relations &c.
Anyway when I was I "was working" on this I mean I was sitting in a bar scribbling in my notebook (with ensuing violent underlining and arrow-drawing) while other drinkinghumans glanced askance at me. And I also mean "am still working" because these boundary things/concepts are excruciatingly important to me right now and I would desperately like to string some coherent thoughts together about them. BUT! Two things keeping me from finishing & posting that and instead hedging with this:
1) I really feel like I should finish Anne Carson's Eros the Bittersweet because the things she has to say about boundaries and self and others and the intimidation of all that is damn fantastic and deadly relevant. Would hate to go off too half-cocked. (Can one be too half of something? Probably)
2) I woke up this morning with some great post-nasal drip a sure sign I am about to develop some vague and debilitating seasonal sickness. Since it's my day off, I went ahead and let my body acknowledge that I was going to be sick. As soon as I did so, it shut down all non-essential functions, including motivation towards productivity, conducting myself in polite society, and developing theories of interpersonal relation.
So soup, juice and Netflix binge it is tonight. Much needed, anyway. Oh, and tea. Have tea as well.
Anyway when I was I "was working" on this I mean I was sitting in a bar scribbling in my notebook (with ensuing violent underlining and arrow-drawing) while other drinkinghumans glanced askance at me. And I also mean "am still working" because these boundary things/concepts are excruciatingly important to me right now and I would desperately like to string some coherent thoughts together about them. BUT! Two things keeping me from finishing & posting that and instead hedging with this:
1) I really feel like I should finish Anne Carson's Eros the Bittersweet because the things she has to say about boundaries and self and others and the intimidation of all that is damn fantastic and deadly relevant. Would hate to go off too half-cocked. (Can one be too half of something? Probably)
2) I woke up this morning with some great post-nasal drip a sure sign I am about to develop some vague and debilitating seasonal sickness. Since it's my day off, I went ahead and let my body acknowledge that I was going to be sick. As soon as I did so, it shut down all non-essential functions, including motivation towards productivity, conducting myself in polite society, and developing theories of interpersonal relation.
So soup, juice and Netflix binge it is tonight. Much needed, anyway. Oh, and tea. Have tea as well.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
realized / more sharply in more furious selves
Have been tunneling through the depths of a rather intense personal experience--or is is a series of personal experiences? what's the difference?--lately, as well as making a pretty solid aquaintence with some severe post-graduation blues. Not un-worth it, but still can be rough to negotiate at times.
Still, despite being mired in my own head (but really, who isn't) for the majority of the last few weeks, it hasn't been all lack of progress. I have been writing, albeit in fits and starts, and even mustered u some material to submit to Belle Journal, this forthcoming lit journal I'm pretty excited about, centering around the modern Southern Belle &c. Really very interested to see what direction(s) they take the concept in. I'm already booked to return to the good ol' delta Highland Readings on the 18th, and another local reading series, River Writers extended an invitation to me to read as well. Unfortunately, because I work 6 days a week arcane rituals involving the sacrifice of money to even consider getting a shift picked up, I couldn't make it to read with River Writers, nor will I be able to support my friends at the first Highland Reading tonight.
BUT come hell, high water, or oppression by the System, I will be participating in the most exciting of literary opportunities: the Poetry Brothel. Link goes to the site of the original Poetry Brothel in New York, but there is a branch being established in New Orleans right this very now, and I have tossed my garter in the ring and been accepted as a founding poetry whore. I will be casting on a persona, of course, whose birthing pangs are still being felt. Progress expected on Saturday at first meeting. Seriously, I cannot properly communicate my excitement to be a part of the NOLA Poetry Brothel--at least not without using ALL CAPS A LOT, which I am rather loathe to do. Looks like I'm going corset shopping! Updates on the Brothel to follow, of course.
Aside from all these doors to word venues opening up, I'm just trying to take it one step at a time. This is a period of more than a little transition in my life and I'm still not sure which way everything is going to cut. Great amounts of trepidation and excitement and also giddiness swirling around in my head, in all of me, right now. It really gets rather exhausting at times, but better this than numbness. Everything is always beginning. Hang on tight.
Still, despite being mired in my own head (but really, who isn't) for the majority of the last few weeks, it hasn't been all lack of progress. I have been writing, albeit in fits and starts, and even mustered u some material to submit to Belle Journal, this forthcoming lit journal I'm pretty excited about, centering around the modern Southern Belle &c. Really very interested to see what direction(s) they take the concept in. I'm already booked to return to the good ol' delta Highland Readings on the 18th, and another local reading series, River Writers extended an invitation to me to read as well. Unfortunately, because I work 6 days a week arcane rituals involving the sacrifice of money to even consider getting a shift picked up, I couldn't make it to read with River Writers, nor will I be able to support my friends at the first Highland Reading tonight.
BUT come hell, high water, or oppression by the System, I will be participating in the most exciting of literary opportunities: the Poetry Brothel. Link goes to the site of the original Poetry Brothel in New York, but there is a branch being established in New Orleans right this very now, and I have tossed my garter in the ring and been accepted as a founding poetry whore. I will be casting on a persona, of course, whose birthing pangs are still being felt. Progress expected on Saturday at first meeting. Seriously, I cannot properly communicate my excitement to be a part of the NOLA Poetry Brothel--at least not without using ALL CAPS A LOT, which I am rather loathe to do. Looks like I'm going corset shopping! Updates on the Brothel to follow, of course.
Aside from all these doors to word venues opening up, I'm just trying to take it one step at a time. This is a period of more than a little transition in my life and I'm still not sure which way everything is going to cut. Great amounts of trepidation and excitement and also giddiness swirling around in my head, in all of me, right now. It really gets rather exhausting at times, but better this than numbness. Everything is always beginning. Hang on tight.
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