you keep hanging on for more... i keep tripping over hints

My favorite part of today so far: the silver haired older man's tie flapping tirelessly in the wind, which just kept launching my hair into fits at very random moments.

Unfortunately, no one ever calls my cellphone. don't really ever use the thing, so it's understandable, and I've only gathered 10-15 numbers since my old one crapped out on the day I was stuck downtown in the tornado thunderstorm. I really like phone calls...

Everyone's hours are getting cut at work, we're trying to keep each others morales up, and it's happened before (generally happens for 'end of the months' but they also hired a crapload of people really quickly who can't code...) got my resume writing idea up and out on craigslist, but due to not having the internet, can't check it as much as I'd like to.

A few days ago I actually did obtain a voice recorder. while I haven't ultimately decided what to do with it, i've began taking little notes and recording random things. people've been all retarded after i tell them i have it... they're all, 'oh god you're taping me right now aren't you?' or they stop talking. pffft, i told them no, and that why would i want to tape them. (muahah.)

I will SEE THE OCEAN for the first time in FOREVER on Sunday... Patrice is going to rent a car and her, Jill, and I are going to go to hamonASSett beach to convene with practically every friend of mine from Noho.

Monkey documentary last night = monkeys of different kinds all watch out for each other, and then watched a clip about a gorilla being adopted by an old french couple. HELLO, human race...

And just as Colbert pointed out, even though Wal-Mart is 70% women and 30% men, and the men make more in all positions, we (males and females) are now genderly powerless against big corporations. GREEEEEAAAAATTTTTT! (....)

Ending this on a 'note', I saw a commercial recently with Obama with him saying something to the extent of how awful it would be to prevent some certain people (with some certain problem I can't particularly remember) from having 'the American Experience.' so move over American Dream, now it's the 'American Experience,' and it sounds like we're some horrible, awry laboratory experiment. lovely.

in my head right now...

wednesday wee crack o' the day warbles

every nation should spend
some time governing themselves,
but it won't ever happen -
what's with this new world order riffraff?

the end of career politicians!
or is it an evil that needs to Exist?
certain elements would disappear
and the hypocrites would appear,
it's what we all are.

all I know is world... we Americans do NOT need Michele Bark-men-up-a-tree. Having a nightmare about her is me being legitimately worried about who will be manning the helm in a year.


also, weebles wobble but they don't fall down.

the mayhem feels like its over... so let life begin

Where I am going to be at the end of august? weighing the pros and cons of two different careers: pursuing political science, or possible massage therapist.
[if political science:] look at schools in the midwest, ranked somewhat better than average
[if massage therapist:] two yr certificate
also, THINK entrepreneurial: possible copywriter/resume builder for anyone who needs it

Tomorrow: going to free health clinic on pomeroy avenue for hopeful leg diagnosis

In betwinkst all this: work, and push for creativity (mini canvasses, angelo story)
while taking care of myself physically (more water, less booze)

Kozak also called me and said everyone loves my cartoons so much at work, that I should do cartoon drawing on the streets... I just need to get my own faith behind that idea.

Having gotten home from southwick at 7am today, I accomplished two loads of laundry early on, cleaned, and even found time to treat myself to a big floppy hat and new sunglasses.

Ate lunch with Kathy and Kreg - Kathy has realized, through a girl that currently works at Moshi, that Sam isn't following proper labor laws (yeah, I knew that...) but she was so mad about us ladies working our booties off for less than we really should have made... but it felt weirdly fulfilling - like someone finally found out the pain endured. not sure if I can be in any more of a positive attitude at the moment, I'm really trying to get my act together.

And, I have a new (and should be embroidered) philosophy about guys: they're unworthy till they prove themselves worthy. New empowered sense of self Karyn does not need you to live. but if you want to be her equal, give it a try. at the very least you'll be a good friend. sounds like a gain to me.

Morale Meter: 99.7%




"Howdy, ya'll!"

late night laundry

K: and i hate feeling the cynicism of 'oh the economy is horrible theres no jobs for me theres no way i can improve so im just going to stay stagnant'..

A: there are times where i do, buuuut eventually i'm like....i can't give in to this shit, the idea of giving up on everything completely..

K: well i know i dont like feeling that way, i'm constantly trying to fight myself against those feelings.

K: our generation really baffles/infuriates me.

A: right? i don't like going into open places where i find people our age.... malls, downtown spaces of cities and such huge festivals.....

K: we dont even know what we're in for... because we're going to have to go pro and really get on the ball if we want to succeed (and fight off all these 'career politicians', founding fathers did not mean for it to be that way) and yeah, what the hell are we doing? twiddling our thumbs and getting high at massive festivals?

A: washington...he warned against shit at the end of his term, but yes, tip of the iceberg..

A: i honestly feel more at home amongst old people..

K: me too.

'it's like so manual... its like all these tracks of silence.'

MY STOMACH FEELS LIKE IT IS GOING TO EXPLODE INTO MICRO BITS OF SOOT AND POO.


Why has basic conversation between people become so one worded? One reason I don't like coming to coffee shops to use internet - I'm mindboggled by what is deemed worthy of coming out of certain people's mouths. it's like that most recent South Park episode I watched... shit & farting noises = everyone else & whatever they have to say.

why is everyone a self processed/professed master musician? i don't want to sit here and object myself to this dribble:
'omg it's really boring it just sounds like techno', 'no man it's really cool, and it's not like a bad sound, it's real like drawn out or whatever, and you can hear what nates doing because its real cool, and they're not tryin' to be like that yanno, it's kind of... yeah.' (takes sip of coffee.) [VERBATIM]

I actually now wish I was taping this conversation. 'The record's called 'I Hate Myself' or something...' (group laughter)

Still in Queue of Things I Want: punching bag, tape recorder, new shoes, a vacation, baby back ribs, a body that didn't hurt, laughter, to be able to do the mural I've decided to map out, some cuddles, and in this random cold spell: warmth!

C'mon. Get a Clue.

It's really pointless to get pissed at each other, especially when everyone is dealing/coping with their own stress. If you're really poised to slander, you certainly don't have enough to do with your time. Also incredibly interesting how the people who talk about 'how ridiculous' and 'chatty' this town is seem to be the guiltiest of them all. Yeah, I'd know. We've all been through it, and we all should be able to get past it. I don't dislike anyone. So wise up. and maybe... get a job, even if it sucks. stop complaining about your life if you're not willing to do anything to fix it. (not directed at anyone in particular. rly.)

every other day of the week is fine, yeah

"Do what scares you."


I'VE DONE THAT PLENTY.


I could do more though.


Others take heed with this advice too.
You might 'think' you're doing this,
but you have to keep at it and constantly
step out of your comfort zone.
If you don't, you're kind of a pussy,
but if that's what someone wantstabe,
you can't tell them otherwise, right?

frumpysweaterweather.

doing some living so i can write about it later,
but really, things have been much better.


here's a lazy 'it's in color because its SUNDAY' comic!



been doing some photography & drawing. it'd be cool to just get a general website up. and a scanner. thoughtsthoughtsthoughts. the end for now.

uh-uh-huhuhuh

"Patriarch on a Vespa,
Runs a red and ends up
Crushed under the wheel."

Yessir.

Past two days filled with:
more entries to paper journal.
working; reading Lolita.
reading Lolita in specific
nooks around the paradise -
reorganizing swank bedroom
while blaring hues of blues...
but don't let that fool,
I'm just plain dandy.

Happy tails

Miranda is talking hilariously to Elliot, and watching a random modern western on the tele; I skilleted up some zuchini, baby bellas, and brussel sprouts for us to enjoy -- and Elliot just channeled Satan. As comforting as this is, both of us agree we need Gaby to come back from NYC already.

Young Dude: "I'm done."
Old Farmer: "You know, the thing is, living on a farm, work is never done."
(cut to super angsty look on young dudes face)

Having paid off my rent for next month finally on time, I can actually situate a vacation soon. Someone take some time off and come with me. (I love writing shit like that into a random void.)

Elliot responds to Miranda when she talks to him. IT-IS-SO-CUTE.

Got some music suggestions recently that I'm milling through, so far, this band is tickling my fancy at the mo':



Time to crack open a growler of IPA! OPA!


(PS: Check out ChristianMingle.com)

An article worth reading.

Liking Is for Cowards. Go for What Hurts.
By JONATHAN FRANZEN
Published: May 28, 2011

A COUPLE of weeks ago, I replaced my three-year-old BlackBerry Pearl with a much more powerful BlackBerry Bold. Needless to say, I was impressed with how far the technology had advanced in three years. Even when I didn’t have anybody to call or text or e-mail, I wanted to keep fondling my new Bold and experiencing the marvelous clarity of its screen, the silky action of its track pad, the shocking speed of its responses, the beguiling elegance of its graphics.

I was, in short, infatuated with my new device. I’d been similarly infatuated with my old device, of course; but over the years the bloom had faded from our relationship. I’d developed trust issues with my Pearl, accountability issues, compatibility issues and even, toward the end, some doubts about my Pearl’s very sanity, until I’d finally had to admit to myself that I’d outgrown the relationship.

Do I need to point out that — absent some wild, anthropomorphizing projection in which my old BlackBerry felt sad about the waning of my love for it — our relationship was entirely one-sided? Let me point it out anyway.

Let me further point out how ubiquitously the word “sexy” is used to describe late-model gadgets; and how the extremely cool things that we can do now with these gadgets — like impelling them to action with voice commands, or doing that spreading-the-fingers iPhone thing that makes images get bigger — would have looked, to people a hundred years ago, like a magician’s incantations, a magician’s hand gestures; and how, when we want to describe an erotic relationship that’s working perfectly, we speak, indeed, of magic.

Let me toss out the idea that, as our markets discover and respond to what consumers most want, our technology has become extremely adept at creating products that correspond to our fantasy ideal of an erotic relationship, in which the beloved object asks for nothing and gives everything, instantly, and makes us feel all powerful, and doesn’t throw terrible scenes when it’s replaced by an even sexier object and is consigned to a drawer.

To speak more generally, the ultimate goal of technology, the telos of techne, is to replace a natural world that’s indifferent to our wishes — a world of hurricanes and hardships and breakable hearts, a world of resistance — with a world so responsive to our wishes as to be, effectively, a mere extension of the self.

Let me suggest, finally, that the world of techno-consumerism is therefore troubled by real love, and that it has no choice but to trouble love in turn.

Its first line of defense is to commodify its enemy. You can all supply your own favorite, most nauseating examples of the commodification of love. Mine include the wedding industry, TV ads that feature cute young children or the giving of automobiles as Christmas presents, and the particularly grotesque equation of diamond jewelry with everlasting devotion. The message, in each case, is that if you love somebody you should buy stuff.

A related phenomenon is the transformation, courtesy of Facebook, of the verb “to like” from a state of mind to an action that you perform with your computer mouse, from a feeling to an assertion of consumer choice. And liking, in general, is commercial culture’s substitute for loving. The striking thing about all consumer products — and none more so than electronic devices and applications — is that they’re designed to be immensely likable. This is, in fact, the definition of a consumer product, in contrast to the product that is simply itself and whose makers aren’t fixated on your liking it. (I’m thinking here of jet engines, laboratory equipment, serious art and literature.)

But if you consider this in human terms, and you imagine a person defined by a desperation to be liked, what do you see? You see a person without integrity, without a center. In more pathological cases, you see a narcissist — a person who can’t tolerate the tarnishing of his or her self-image that not being liked represents, and who therefore either withdraws from human contact or goes to extreme, integrity-sacrificing lengths to be likable.

If you dedicate your existence to being likable, however, and if you adopt whatever cool persona is necessary to make it happen, it suggests that you’ve despaired of being loved for who you really are. And if you succeed in manipulating other people into liking you, it will be hard not to feel, at some level, contempt for those people, because they’ve fallen for your shtick. You may find yourself becoming depressed, or alcoholic, or, if you’re Donald Trump, running for president (and then quitting).

Consumer technology products would never do anything this unattractive, because they aren’t people. They are, however, great allies and enablers of narcissism. Alongside their built-in eagerness to be liked is a built-in eagerness to reflect well on us. Our lives look a lot more interesting when they’re filtered through the sexy Facebook interface. We star in our own movies, we photograph ourselves incessantly, we click the mouse and a machine confirms our sense of mastery.

And, since our technology is really just an extension of ourselves, we don’t have to have contempt for its manipulability in the way we might with actual people. It’s all one big endless loop. We like the mirror and the mirror likes us. To friend a person is merely to include the person in our private hall of flattering mirrors.

I may be overstating the case, a little bit. Very probably, you’re sick to death of hearing social media disrespected by cranky 51-year-olds. My aim here is mainly to set up a contrast between the narcissistic tendencies of technology and the problem of actual love. My friend Alice Sebold likes to talk about “getting down in the pit and loving somebody.” She has in mind the dirt that love inevitably splatters on the mirror of our self-regard.

The simple fact of the matter is that trying to be perfectly likable is incompatible with loving relationships. Sooner or later, for example, you’re going to find yourself in a hideous, screaming fight, and you’ll hear coming out of your mouth things that you yourself don’t like at all, things that shatter your self-image as a fair, kind, cool, attractive, in-control, funny, likable person. Something realer than likability has come out in you, and suddenly you’re having an actual life.

Suddenly there’s a real choice to be made, not a fake consumer choice between a BlackBerry and an iPhone, but a question: Do I love this person? And, for the other person, does this person love me?

There is no such thing as a person whose real self you like every particle of. This is why a world of liking is ultimately a lie. But there is such a thing as a person whose real self you love every particle of. And this is why love is such an existential threat to the techno-consumerist order: it exposes the lie.

This is not to say that love is only about fighting. Love is about bottomless empathy, born out of the heart’s revelation that another person is every bit as real as you are. And this is why love, as I understand it, is always specific. Trying to love all of humanity may be a worthy endeavor, but, in a funny way, it keeps the focus on the self, on the self’s own moral or spiritual well-being. Whereas, to love a specific person, and to identify with his or her struggles and joys as if they were your own, you have to surrender some of your self.

The big risk here, of course, is rejection. We can all handle being disliked now and then, because there’s such an infinitely big pool of potential likers. But to expose your whole self, not just the likable surface, and to have it rejected, can be catastrophically painful. The prospect of pain generally, the pain of loss, of breakup, of death, is what makes it so tempting to avoid love and stay safely in the world of liking.

And yet pain hurts but it doesn’t kill. When you consider the alternative — an anesthetized dream of self-sufficiency, abetted by technology — pain emerges as the natural product and natural indicator of being alive in a resistant world. To go through a life painlessly is to have not lived. Even just to say to yourself, “Oh, I’ll get to that love and pain stuff later, maybe in my 30s” is to consign yourself to 10 years of merely taking up space on the planet and burning up its resources. Of being (and I mean this in the most damning sense of the word) a consumer.

When I was in college, and for many years after, I liked the natural world. Didn’t love it, but definitely liked it. It can be very pretty, nature. And since I was looking for things to find wrong with the world, I naturally gravitated to environmentalism, because there were certainly plenty of things wrong with the environment. And the more I looked at what was wrong — an exploding world population, exploding levels of resource consumption, rising global temperatures, the trashing of the oceans, the logging of our last old-growth forests — the angrier I became.

Finally, in the mid-1990s, I made a conscious decision to stop worrying about the environment. There was nothing meaningful that I personally could do to save the planet, and I wanted to get on with devoting myself to the things I loved. I still tried to keep my carbon footprint small, but that was as far as I could go without falling back into rage and despair.

BUT then a funny thing happened to me. It’s a long story, but basically I fell in love with birds. I did this not without significant resistance, because it’s very uncool to be a birdwatcher, because anything that betrays real passion is by definition uncool. But little by little, in spite of myself, I developed this passion, and although one-half of a passion is obsession, the other half is love.

And so, yes, I kept a meticulous list of the birds I’d seen, and, yes, I went to inordinate lengths to see new species. But, no less important, whenever I looked at a bird, any bird, even a pigeon or a robin, I could feel my heart overflow with love. And love, as I’ve been trying to say today, is where our troubles begin.

Because now, not merely liking nature but loving a specific and vital part of it, I had no choice but to start worrying about the environment again. The news on that front was no better than when I’d decided to quit worrying about it — was considerably worse, in fact — but now those threatened forests and wetlands and oceans weren’t just pretty scenes for me to enjoy. They were the home of animals I loved.

And here’s where a curious paradox emerged. My anger and pain and despair about the planet were only increased by my concern for wild birds, and yet, as I began to get involved in bird conservation and learned more about the many threats that birds face, it became easier, not harder, to live with my anger and despair and pain.

How does this happen? I think, for one thing, that my love of birds became a portal to an important, less self-centered part of myself that I’d never even known existed. Instead of continuing to drift forward through my life as a global citizen, liking and disliking and withholding my commitment for some later date, I was forced to confront a self that I had to either straight-up accept or flat-out reject.

Which is what love will do to a person. Because the fundamental fact about all of us is that we’re alive for a while but will die before long. This fact is the real root cause of all our anger and pain and despair. And you can either run from this fact or, by way of love, you can embrace it.

When you stay in your room and rage or sneer or shrug your shoulders, as I did for many years, the world and its problems are impossibly daunting. But when you go out and put yourself in real relation to real people, or even just real animals, there’s a very real danger that you might love some of them.

And who knows what might happen to you then?

Jonathan Franzen is the author, most recently, of “Freedom.” This essay is adapted from a commencement speech he delivered on May 21 at Kenyon College.

feeling real.

CURRENTLY IN THE MIDST OF MENTAL HEALTH WEEKEND!

which feels like: