There's an aspect about the internet that is much more eternal than any other type of record-keeping device. Once you put something out there, it's out of your control. What's done is done; an idea that has always comforted me. This dawned on me while watching a 1993 episode of the X-files about a learning computer taking over its surroundings. That's why i write in this blog, rather than a silly word document. Well, that and the fact that windows vista is evidently more intelligent than i am, and i'm fairly resentful of its accomplishments. I would like to hope that if, or maybe i should say when, one day, technology surpasses us meek humans, my oh-so-important thoughts will be a part of the impending imperialism. What if i never get the chance to do my part to destroy an entire race? I need to get my hostile tendencies out somewhere. Look ma, i'm evil!
Anyways, i'm glad the following wonderment is about to be added into what will eventually lead to the technological apocalypse. And zach, this one's for you champ, if you're out there :). I recognize that clearly i am not totally comfortable with myself in my surroundings all the time. But i don't understand what about attraction makes most people change or overly analyze the way they are. It seems to me that there is no point in going after someone who won't return the same feelings to you, as yourself. In fact, most people harbor qualities that are unique to themselves only, and because of that, people are naturally attracted to you. So where does changing yourself come into play? If anything, one should be overly self-like if they want to have that reciprocated care. The only people who have real game are those who just know how to play their game well enough.
I know too many people who assume that they aren't good enough for someone (including myself) and simply give up on the idea. Lets depict this in a cost-benefit analysis format so that i can get my econ practice in for the day. If you do dare to make a move on someone, you run the risk of getting rejected, and if it's really serious, it can end in full-fledged heartbreaking, tears falling, tub of ice cream, emotional damaging, meg-ryan-movie-watching disaster, but if you get what you want, it's just the opposite. Now, if you see the previously listed costs as too dangerous (that's a lot of meg ryan you'd have to handle), the decision is made to exit the industry and shut down your business in that market. However, you still have invested many fixed inputs, such as emotional commitment, and tons of mental capacity that was wasted on imagining you and that special someone in a wedding gown, or bed covers, or whatever your ideal situation was during the process. And because of this, you end up losing anyways. Now it seems to me that there is no point investing in an idea you know you'll lose by not taking the risk. It's just more practical to go for it. Hey, you might just gain experience from it. Or at least a shitty story you can tell to your friends when you're crying over meg ryan's tribulations about falling in love with a man on the radio, or the same man that happens to run her out of the competitive bookstore business. It's all working towards some greater ends i guess.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Is it hot in here or is it just me?
It's hard to find alone time here, and when i do, i tend to feel like it's being wasted. 976 lost games of mindsweeper doesn't exactly give me the peace of mind that i'd have hoped for, contrary to popular belief. Even if i do choose to exit my riveting game of MS (i'm clearly too comfortable with minesweeper when i start acronyming it), i somehow end up on facebook, which is the internet equivalent of a giant fucking party. I think the issue is that i like playing host a little too much. If we're gonna get analytical then i think it's best that i delve into my childhood, a time when i vehemently was against playing house with the rest of the class, mostly because for some reason i was always voted mom. What in the world qualified me as the most matriarchal of all my fellow jewish female friends is beyond me. I figure that now i'm just compensating. This may also be the source of my anti-children attitude. Thanks PJA, you severely fucked me over as far as conventional housewives go.
I think Thoreau had it right when he wrote Walden, aside from the fact that he's a loony. It should also be noted that when i typed the word loony, an instant picture of Thoreau chasing after Roadrunner and getting hit by an unexplainable amount of TNT popped into my head. Where can one actually find time to reflect when we're surrounded by distractions like making other people E-Z mac and blowing yourself up via old school computer games? All of these factors have also made it pretty hard to be one on one with people, since i can't even stand to be one on one with myself. This also explains my severe hatred for phones, and most things that mimic a phone. Sorry liat. You seem to be on the losing end of this distaste, but i swear i want to talk to you :). I mean, i love spending time with people, but sometimes when it's just me and someone else i get this prodding anxious feeling. It may be because when i'm in a group, there's little to no opportunity for the room to totally clear out so i can get my time for myself, but when i'm just one person away from my mini-finish line, my unconscious goes psycho and does all it can to clear that person out. The truth is i tots miss my old life, despite how much i love it here. I can't find the same comfort, which is to be expected since it took 4 years to find my place at home. I just miss the unconditional acceptance and complete understanding that my friends seemed to be naturally equipped with. Plus to add more to my mental stack of work, i have to choose my clases for next semester, and, let me tell you, i have far too many options. Among these are an american culture class called "beatniks, hippies, and punks", an astronomy class explaining the big bang, an art history class which is perfect for my neglected art background and lack of interest in art altogether, a creative writing course, spanish readings, psychology of language, and to top it off a "frauds and fantastic claims" archeology seminar. You know, strictly the necessary basics for a girls college experience. This weekend need to all sorts of low key for me to organize my distraught state-of-mind. Alls i can say is thank goodness for thanksgiving.
I think Thoreau had it right when he wrote Walden, aside from the fact that he's a loony. It should also be noted that when i typed the word loony, an instant picture of Thoreau chasing after Roadrunner and getting hit by an unexplainable amount of TNT popped into my head. Where can one actually find time to reflect when we're surrounded by distractions like making other people E-Z mac and blowing yourself up via old school computer games? All of these factors have also made it pretty hard to be one on one with people, since i can't even stand to be one on one with myself. This also explains my severe hatred for phones, and most things that mimic a phone. Sorry liat. You seem to be on the losing end of this distaste, but i swear i want to talk to you :). I mean, i love spending time with people, but sometimes when it's just me and someone else i get this prodding anxious feeling. It may be because when i'm in a group, there's little to no opportunity for the room to totally clear out so i can get my time for myself, but when i'm just one person away from my mini-finish line, my unconscious goes psycho and does all it can to clear that person out. The truth is i tots miss my old life, despite how much i love it here. I can't find the same comfort, which is to be expected since it took 4 years to find my place at home. I just miss the unconditional acceptance and complete understanding that my friends seemed to be naturally equipped with. Plus to add more to my mental stack of work, i have to choose my clases for next semester, and, let me tell you, i have far too many options. Among these are an american culture class called "beatniks, hippies, and punks", an astronomy class explaining the big bang, an art history class which is perfect for my neglected art background and lack of interest in art altogether, a creative writing course, spanish readings, psychology of language, and to top it off a "frauds and fantastic claims" archeology seminar. You know, strictly the necessary basics for a girls college experience. This weekend need to all sorts of low key for me to organize my distraught state-of-mind. Alls i can say is thank goodness for thanksgiving.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
So it's sunday
The chalk vandalists finally hit my soft spot. They have been leaving their awful pasty mark on our facility for weeks. Honestly, i kind of enjoyed the obese unicorn and pair of stunna shades which served as a sort of hipster branding, telling all that they are about to enter the indie section of michigan... east quad. but the silly words that people felt obligated to scribble was what ruined the perfectly clean brick. "never let school ruin your education". even after some head of administration ordered the chalk to be powerwashed off our walls (thank fucking g-d), i decided that maybe school is in fact holding me back. so what was my obvious answer to my educational standstill? thanks to the cosmic preachings of Ice Cube, i went to church. And holy hell, was it educational.
The idea of faith was still very distant for me being a person who rationalizes everything until it completely deteriorates. But what was even harder for me to grasp was the belief that there are those who have belief. Total blind faith. Today's sermon was about hope, and where to find hope in a broken world. The preacher refrenced a day, much like this one, and quite frankly like every one to come living in Michigan, where the sky's are grey and they air is cold, and it makes you feel a disconnect from this G-d that they so heavily depend on. But it is there, they say. That feeling that they KNOW is, and will forever continue to be there. So they prayed, hands outstretched, eyes closed, with their faces beeming. While i stood, surrounded by this overpowering feeling of faith, i realized that i have never felt more grounded. My eyes filled with tears, that were both out of sadness and fear. And when i looked up, unable to even lift my feet, i saw all of the congregation, floating timeless in this space. Were all these members truly filled with spiritual light? And if so, why was i missing the feeling of elevation? Their words of praise turned colder as they reached me, and broke against my shell, instead of absorbing into my being like they were intended to.
Then it hit me. I'm not empty, but just the opposite. These people around me have this simple source to guide their life that they can always refer back to, and though i'm glad they have their answer, it doesn't mean that faith is mine. So where was i supposed to turn? All of my life's choices are a burden that only i can carry, but along with that come all of my joy and accomplishments. I don't live my life only for one idea, but for thousands of thoughts and feelings and people that i still have yet to encounter. Every struggle that i bear through will change me, and most importantly, it will be inspired by only me. So with every step i take, i have so much more to lift. This heaviness is not anything to be ashamed of or to get rid of. It's me and my surroundings. It's who i am, and i left feeling empowered.
The idea of faith was still very distant for me being a person who rationalizes everything until it completely deteriorates. But what was even harder for me to grasp was the belief that there are those who have belief. Total blind faith. Today's sermon was about hope, and where to find hope in a broken world. The preacher refrenced a day, much like this one, and quite frankly like every one to come living in Michigan, where the sky's are grey and they air is cold, and it makes you feel a disconnect from this G-d that they so heavily depend on. But it is there, they say. That feeling that they KNOW is, and will forever continue to be there. So they prayed, hands outstretched, eyes closed, with their faces beeming. While i stood, surrounded by this overpowering feeling of faith, i realized that i have never felt more grounded. My eyes filled with tears, that were both out of sadness and fear. And when i looked up, unable to even lift my feet, i saw all of the congregation, floating timeless in this space. Were all these members truly filled with spiritual light? And if so, why was i missing the feeling of elevation? Their words of praise turned colder as they reached me, and broke against my shell, instead of absorbing into my being like they were intended to.
Then it hit me. I'm not empty, but just the opposite. These people around me have this simple source to guide their life that they can always refer back to, and though i'm glad they have their answer, it doesn't mean that faith is mine. So where was i supposed to turn? All of my life's choices are a burden that only i can carry, but along with that come all of my joy and accomplishments. I don't live my life only for one idea, but for thousands of thoughts and feelings and people that i still have yet to encounter. Every struggle that i bear through will change me, and most importantly, it will be inspired by only me. So with every step i take, i have so much more to lift. This heaviness is not anything to be ashamed of or to get rid of. It's me and my surroundings. It's who i am, and i left feeling empowered.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Borderline ADD
i dabbled around the idea of drinking only tea for a solid three days. Only tea so as to cleanse my soul, or mind, or perspective, or some meaningful shit like that. After a couple hours of consecutive hunger, i changed my mission from tea drinking to daily excercising. I had my first jog at college (if you can call it that), and during the run i saw that though running was a grand idea, and definately a plan that i, being the bionic woman that i am, could uphold, it isn't what i was looking for. I tried showering for lengthy periods, i thought about not smoking, yet here i am, full, out of shape, dirty and puffing, desperatly attempting to focus on my spanish homework. Bad dog. What was this classical conditioning that psychology discussed? Where's pavlov when you need him?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
never let me give a eulogy
it's officially the death of individual style, and this tragedy was one that caught me off guard. it's a shame, because i finally thought i was about to experience some sort of deeper, more powerful sense. the issue is that classic schooling teaches us to stand a safe distance away from the edge. never toe the line, because one fault can turn a masterpiece into a disaster. but because of this, the majority of people never have, or never will, come close to making something incredible. I discovered this sudden death in the following presumptuous obituary, written in today's issue of the mind of, well, myself.
Creative expression, child of two loving parents (father, time and mother, nature) has tragically passed away, early this tuesday afternoon at around 12:38 pm. Her effect will long be remembered, for she shared a presence that was ubiquitous and ancient. Though the general population is grieving through the classic form of denial, those who have recognized her absence are still only partially in the know. The bitter truth is that this famous individual was murdered. (queue dimming lights and jaws theme song). Yes my friends. This was no "accidental" loss, but the result of a cold-blooded killer. Now, before we point fingers towards the big G.W. bush, Russia, osama, the fundamentalist christians, or the ever-so-popular gays, tranny's, and vegitarians, let's take a step back and examine all the evidence. It seems that the individuality in writing was being suffocated long before the classic people to place the blame on were even around (however i tend to blame russia for the majority of my issues). If we take a look back on how we have been taught to write and express ourselves over the past 100 years, one can observe the steady decline of distinctiveness in how the majority of the population (and by majority of the population i mean kids in the public school system) convey their thoughts and beliefs academically. In noticing this, we cannot blame one person, but our own desire to fall inside of the rigid guidelines set fourth for us learned students by our educators. Creative Expression will forever be in the hearts of those who truly appreciated her beauty, and her assassination will be remembered as a date which will live in infamy... wait, has that been said already?
As i sat in my social criticism class mentally sketching out the perfectly objective piece shown above, i was shocked by how apathetic my professor was to the points we were making. Over and over again, my classmates maintained that they have no idea what their style of writing would be, because the majority of what they write is directed towards a teacher of some kind or another. Instead of trying to arrange an argument in a new and innovative way, we have all been trained to write only to display our knowledge. It caters strictly to whoever is assessing the piece, so trying to spend the extra time imputing your own identity and voice is completely forgone. I find this disgusting, and worst of all, extremely hypocritical. I am this student, just another statistic like those TRUTH commercials beg me not to be. No, i don't actually think that individuality is lost, but the drive to discover it seemed so deeply buried that very few are willing to delve into themselves to find their own expressive tone. even when people begin to hone their own words into a penetrating voice, they easily get sucked back into the classic 3 part essay mentality and continue to color inside of the lines. I'm not satisfied. I want a challenge in writing. something that will sharpen my writing in my own respect (because g-d knows it needs sharpening), and inspire me, most likely through a series of horribly frustrating and disheartening attempts at perfection. until then, RIP identity
Creative expression, child of two loving parents (father, time and mother, nature) has tragically passed away, early this tuesday afternoon at around 12:38 pm. Her effect will long be remembered, for she shared a presence that was ubiquitous and ancient. Though the general population is grieving through the classic form of denial, those who have recognized her absence are still only partially in the know. The bitter truth is that this famous individual was murdered. (queue dimming lights and jaws theme song). Yes my friends. This was no "accidental" loss, but the result of a cold-blooded killer. Now, before we point fingers towards the big G.W. bush, Russia, osama, the fundamentalist christians, or the ever-so-popular gays, tranny's, and vegitarians, let's take a step back and examine all the evidence. It seems that the individuality in writing was being suffocated long before the classic people to place the blame on were even around (however i tend to blame russia for the majority of my issues). If we take a look back on how we have been taught to write and express ourselves over the past 100 years, one can observe the steady decline of distinctiveness in how the majority of the population (and by majority of the population i mean kids in the public school system) convey their thoughts and beliefs academically. In noticing this, we cannot blame one person, but our own desire to fall inside of the rigid guidelines set fourth for us learned students by our educators. Creative Expression will forever be in the hearts of those who truly appreciated her beauty, and her assassination will be remembered as a date which will live in infamy... wait, has that been said already?
As i sat in my social criticism class mentally sketching out the perfectly objective piece shown above, i was shocked by how apathetic my professor was to the points we were making. Over and over again, my classmates maintained that they have no idea what their style of writing would be, because the majority of what they write is directed towards a teacher of some kind or another. Instead of trying to arrange an argument in a new and innovative way, we have all been trained to write only to display our knowledge. It caters strictly to whoever is assessing the piece, so trying to spend the extra time imputing your own identity and voice is completely forgone. I find this disgusting, and worst of all, extremely hypocritical. I am this student, just another statistic like those TRUTH commercials beg me not to be. No, i don't actually think that individuality is lost, but the drive to discover it seemed so deeply buried that very few are willing to delve into themselves to find their own expressive tone. even when people begin to hone their own words into a penetrating voice, they easily get sucked back into the classic 3 part essay mentality and continue to color inside of the lines. I'm not satisfied. I want a challenge in writing. something that will sharpen my writing in my own respect (because g-d knows it needs sharpening), and inspire me, most likely through a series of horribly frustrating and disheartening attempts at perfection. until then, RIP identity
Thursday, September 11, 2008
g-d save the queen
A british accent is much like marijuana in the sense that it just amplifies the current state of the situation. In this specific case, the subject of my thesis is brittney murphy. What i'm avoiding admitting is that i just wasted and hour and 46 minutes of my life watching possibly one of the worst romantic comedies of all time. I'm not sure how terrible the movie was originally, but the kicker was when the director gave brittney murphy a pseudo american/british accent. The movie did in fact note that Murphy was half american, half british, thus explaining her awkward accent, which is most likely due to the fact that she can't form a proper british accent on her own. What a sly cover for such a horrible sound. What is it about a british accent that makes life so appealing? Everything seems to be that much more attractive when there's a healthy layer of british sounding words slathered on top. Harry potter, the osbournes, prince william, david beckham, VICTORIA beckham, the word colour, poorly dressed pop groups, psychology, spice world, orbit gum, the spanish armada. All of these things seem to lose their glamour as soon as you remove the adorably soothing voice of the UK from the picture. If only my attempt at a british accent didn't morph into the voice of mr. quikimart clerk meets western meets oliver twist. Maybe i'd be a whole lot cuter.
Speaking of adorable, i recently ate my body weight in cheesy fries. Or maybe they were cheez-e fries. The class of cheese is fairly questionable. But no matter where this cheese originated from, there was a ton of it. The basket of fries themselves wasn't actually that large. I think it was just the density of the meal all together that sealed the deal. This was some massive side dish. I'm pretty sure i couldn't bench this basket, even with proper spotting. But i'd like to think that the fries were a positive contribution to my soul as opposed to my belt buckle. I'm fairly confident that weight control is all mental. Take that jenny craig. The clickety sound of me typing is making my cheesy-self a little nauseated. I'm gonna go throw up my major internal organs.
Speaking of adorable, i recently ate my body weight in cheesy fries. Or maybe they were cheez-e fries. The class of cheese is fairly questionable. But no matter where this cheese originated from, there was a ton of it. The basket of fries themselves wasn't actually that large. I think it was just the density of the meal all together that sealed the deal. This was some massive side dish. I'm pretty sure i couldn't bench this basket, even with proper spotting. But i'd like to think that the fries were a positive contribution to my soul as opposed to my belt buckle. I'm fairly confident that weight control is all mental. Take that jenny craig. The clickety sound of me typing is making my cheesy-self a little nauseated. I'm gonna go throw up my major internal organs.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Ouch charley
I sunburned my lips. Scratch that. I fucking sunburned my lips. There, that has the right amount of umph to it. Because of this issue i have encountered, i have recently taken notice at just how important lips are. Now, originally i saw lips as simply a sexual tool, which is one of their many great purposes. However it seems that lips are also important for the following: eating (fuck), drinking (damnit), breathing (meh), talking (uh oh). And for the not so lip-savvy like myself, let me give you ample warning of things sunburned lips do not respond well to: pineapple, alcohol, listerine, balsamic vinaigrette, rachel.
Aside from my excessive pain, today has been yet another day. I went to a fencing club meeting, and stuck out like a sore... [insert fencing term here]. On the up side, i did learn a lot about fencing. On the down side, i did learn a lot about fencing. This can just be another tally added to my obnoxiously pretentious club meetings that i have, and will be going to. So far i have sailing and fencing under my belt, both of which were inspired by other people, but neither of which was i hesitant to attend.
I still don't like the phone. I'm convinced it's the government's way to keep tabs on me. I'm also ridiculously self involved. Also, i think i've developed a physical reaction to speaking on the phone, or skype for that matter. Extreme discomfort is a medical condition, right? Now i have the heart-wrenching decision to make between finishing my spanish homework, or watching Dexter on netflix and living vicariously through a serial killer. The latter it is then.
Aside from my excessive pain, today has been yet another day. I went to a fencing club meeting, and stuck out like a sore... [insert fencing term here]. On the up side, i did learn a lot about fencing. On the down side, i did learn a lot about fencing. This can just be another tally added to my obnoxiously pretentious club meetings that i have, and will be going to. So far i have sailing and fencing under my belt, both of which were inspired by other people, but neither of which was i hesitant to attend.
I still don't like the phone. I'm convinced it's the government's way to keep tabs on me. I'm also ridiculously self involved. Also, i think i've developed a physical reaction to speaking on the phone, or skype for that matter. Extreme discomfort is a medical condition, right? Now i have the heart-wrenching decision to make between finishing my spanish homework, or watching Dexter on netflix and living vicariously through a serial killer. The latter it is then.
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