1) i'm "'typing" this on a wii whilst drunk.
2) i'm supposed to be here in TN, but have yet to discover why. I've been having fun, but fun's not what I'm about. Scott's got shit existential, Leslie's got shit physical, and others seem to have shit personal... and I'm on vacation? Michael and I talked about being "on" all the time, but is there ever, in my world-view, time to be "off"?
Before I left here for the last time last year, I blogged, 'I don't belong here any more.' Do I belong here now?
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Court Anonymous fights dirty. Fights with teeth. Fights girls.
"I hope you're as bruised as I am," she said when I came into work on Tuesday, and I have to admit that was hot. But the bruises were reminders of a different kind of gratification. I didn't remember the details, I just remember this girl at the beach wanting to start something. And I remember getting hit. A lot. And I remember ultimately taking her down.
"Throwing sand, that's dirty." Talking about it here-and-there throughout the day brought it back enough that I was able to piece together bits of the brawl. "Eventually my fists started hurting, and I had to use my elbows to hit you anywhere I could, to hit you where it counts." I didn't remember that at all. How does someone forget an elbow to the groin? "When I did that, did it really knock you down, or were you just faking it toget me?" Oh, yeah, now I remembered. I don't remember the impact of the elbow, I just remember the sound of the air exiting my body, and then my face hitting the sand, and the sound of the sand in my ear. And as soon as I realized she was standing right next to me ("Are you okay? Here, let me help you up."), that's when I threw the sand. I couldn't see, but as soon as I heard her sputter, I tackled her, held her wrist and she yelled as my teeth met the skin of her neck.
Then, my arm tight around her neck, choking her: "Who won this fight?"
"We both did."
"No, who won this fight?"
"We both did."
"No, who won this fight?"
"You did. You won."
fin
"Throwing sand, that's dirty." Talking about it here-and-there throughout the day brought it back enough that I was able to piece together bits of the brawl. "Eventually my fists started hurting, and I had to use my elbows to hit you anywhere I could, to hit you where it counts." I didn't remember that at all. How does someone forget an elbow to the groin? "When I did that, did it really knock you down, or were you just faking it toget me?" Oh, yeah, now I remembered. I don't remember the impact of the elbow, I just remember the sound of the air exiting my body, and then my face hitting the sand, and the sound of the sand in my ear. And as soon as I realized she was standing right next to me ("Are you okay? Here, let me help you up."), that's when I threw the sand. I couldn't see, but as soon as I heard her sputter, I tackled her, held her wrist and she yelled as my teeth met the skin of her neck.
Then, my arm tight around her neck, choking her: "Who won this fight?"
"We both did."
"No, who won this fight?"
"We both did."
"No, who won this fight?"
"You did. You won."
fin
Pay Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain
[this is going to be a rough blog, best to be considered a first-draft... more a collection of statements than a cohesive work...]
If you hold on to the handle, she said, it's easier to maintain the illusion of control. But it's more fun if you just let the wind carry you. -- Brian Andreas
In the book The Way Out, Dirk Vaughn recounts waiting in line for a backcountry permit. He listened as the people ahead of him asked questions about "which trails had toilets, wooden steps, shade, cell phone reception." He goes on a rant from there, and it's one that I agree with (heck, it might be one I've had myself). He makes his point: "We're so addicted to information and knowing everything a person can possibly know that we can't just say oh, here's a nature trail, let's go check it out."
Now allow me to reintroduce myself. I am an advocate for giving up control. I don't need air conditioning--I can survive without it (and have, for almost half my life). I don't need television, I don't need computers, I don't need my car, I don't need anything I don't have, and neither do I need most of what I have.
And yet I have a hard time giving up control. I doubt any half-hour of the day goes by that I don't check my phone for missed calls or text messages. I didn't even see how deeply this addiction ran, because I didn't see it as such until I read that passage from the book. That really brought some things together for me.
I like it when I forget my phone somewhere. BAM! It's out of my hands. It's not good enough to lack coverage--then, I just check the signal status constantly. But that made me realize that not having the phone took more than the physical object out of my hands--it took the control it allowed me out of my hands.
Which made me thing of traffic. I typically don't mind traffic, and when I would drive from Murfreesboro to Nashville to work I would actually enjoy it... because it took control out of my hands. I have to bust my ass to get to work on time (not that I did, really), but as soon as I hit traffic, sorry, nothing I could do.
And this tied to my appreciation of disaster. That is perhaps hard to explain, but another example is a microcosm of the situation: They say that if you want to hear God laugh, make a plan. I make plans with the actual hope that they'll fall through. Traffic? Flight delayed? Car broke down? Power outage resulted in a reset alarm clock? Hurricane destroyed your house? Bliss.
A couple of years ago, hearing the Post Secret guy talk (I can remember his name any other time, of course), he read a postcard, Everybody who knew me before 9/11 thinks I'm dead. It sent chills down my spine, and I think that feeling was a combination of horror and exhiliration.
The only thing that seems to feel good to me is to give up control, I'm starting to realize. (This isn't even a new thought; I'm just experiencing a more full realization of what I've always known... that Andreas quote up there is from a print I've had on my wall for years, and I've always known it was right.)
But check this out: Icould be am described as having self-destructive behaviour. I took this into great consideration when planning to leave Tennessee and, rather than making a plan that couldn't fail to get me out, I simply sabotaged all the plans that could keep me there. Now, if this is self-destructive behaviour, would that imply that these plans, this control, is our concept of self?
I advocate giving up control, and yet I go on controling my life. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I won't allow myself into a management position at my job, because I know what a control freak I am.We're taught to believe we should be in control. We're taught to be in control, and never even question whether we should be. It's not even acknowledged that we could not be.
But we "have to" be in control... the only other option is chaos, we're given to believe. Except that's not true... that's the backdrop painted by people who want to be in control. One more tapestry in the story we tell ourselves we need to perpetuate. L. Frank Baum tells us if we look past the curtains, you'll find the Wizard. Daniel Quinn calls it Animism. Buddhas call it Nirvana. Jesus calls it Heaven. I call it Life. It's all there really is, but for the illusions of control we've made to distract ourselves from it.
If you hold on to the handle, she said, it's easier to maintain the illusion of control. But it's more fun if you just let the wind carry you. -- Brian Andreas
In the book The Way Out, Dirk Vaughn recounts waiting in line for a backcountry permit. He listened as the people ahead of him asked questions about "which trails had toilets, wooden steps, shade, cell phone reception." He goes on a rant from there, and it's one that I agree with (heck, it might be one I've had myself). He makes his point: "We're so addicted to information and knowing everything a person can possibly know that we can't just say oh, here's a nature trail, let's go check it out."
Now allow me to reintroduce myself. I am an advocate for giving up control. I don't need air conditioning--I can survive without it (and have, for almost half my life). I don't need television, I don't need computers, I don't need my car, I don't need anything I don't have, and neither do I need most of what I have.
And yet I have a hard time giving up control. I doubt any half-hour of the day goes by that I don't check my phone for missed calls or text messages. I didn't even see how deeply this addiction ran, because I didn't see it as such until I read that passage from the book. That really brought some things together for me.
I like it when I forget my phone somewhere. BAM! It's out of my hands. It's not good enough to lack coverage--then, I just check the signal status constantly. But that made me realize that not having the phone took more than the physical object out of my hands--it took the control it allowed me out of my hands.
Which made me thing of traffic. I typically don't mind traffic, and when I would drive from Murfreesboro to Nashville to work I would actually enjoy it... because it took control out of my hands. I have to bust my ass to get to work on time (not that I did, really), but as soon as I hit traffic, sorry, nothing I could do.
And this tied to my appreciation of disaster. That is perhaps hard to explain, but another example is a microcosm of the situation: They say that if you want to hear God laugh, make a plan. I make plans with the actual hope that they'll fall through. Traffic? Flight delayed? Car broke down? Power outage resulted in a reset alarm clock? Hurricane destroyed your house? Bliss.
A couple of years ago, hearing the Post Secret guy talk (I can remember his name any other time, of course), he read a postcard, Everybody who knew me before 9/11 thinks I'm dead. It sent chills down my spine, and I think that feeling was a combination of horror and exhiliration.
The only thing that seems to feel good to me is to give up control, I'm starting to realize. (This isn't even a new thought; I'm just experiencing a more full realization of what I've always known... that Andreas quote up there is from a print I've had on my wall for years, and I've always known it was right.)
But check this out: I
I advocate giving up control, and yet I go on controling my life. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I won't allow myself into a management position at my job, because I know what a control freak I am.
But we "have to" be in control... the only other option is chaos, we're given to believe. Except that's not true... that's the backdrop painted by people who want to be in control. One more tapestry in the story we tell ourselves we need to perpetuate. L. Frank Baum tells us if we look past the curtains, you'll find the Wizard. Daniel Quinn calls it Animism. Buddhas call it Nirvana. Jesus calls it Heaven. I call it Life. It's all there really is, but for the illusions of control we've made to distract ourselves from it.
Books
I first heard of Jeffrey Ford around the end of January, when Leslie told me about a collection of his short stories. What she told me was amazing enough on its own, but when I looked into the author and found out his first novel was titled The Physiognomy, I got really excited... Physiognomy is one of my favorite words, and it was actually the subject of what could be considered my first blog entry (before the term 'blog even existed).
The book was out of print, and of course the Himmel Park library in Tucson didn't have it (the library only stocks books I'm not looking for, as best I can tell). But at Seattle's Central Library, I found it. In large-print only, but I wasn't going to be picky (although the large type did give me headaches for the first few days of reading).
ANYWAY, I finally finished the book the other day. It was a really cool story set in a really interesting sci-fi world. The narration is from Cley, Physiognomist First-Class (physiognomy refers to the study and reading of faces, and in this world physiognomists are basically detectives), and follows him to a mining town, where he's been sent by Master Drachton Below to find out who stole... a piece of fruit. Cley sees it as a punishment after being overheard mentioning that the Master's own facial features suggest an over-abundance of pride. After the crime is solved, the story follows Cley to an island for extended punishment, and in the last third of the book he tells of what happened once he was restored to his esteemed position in the Master's Well-Built City.
The book and the story were great, but I didn't see where it was going. There was no mystery to solve (even though Cley spent a third of the book assigned to such a task, the investigation consisted of looking at faces, so we're not given many clues to go on), and no gaining momentum throughout. For the majority of the reading, I felt these were missing elements, however the last chapter proved that everything in the book was just as it should have been. I don't know if I've ever been so satisfied by a final chapter in a book as this. There are two other books that follow, but they are both out-of-print, and my magical library does not have them. Luckily, The Physiognomy is being reprinted in October, and Memoranda and The Beyond are being reprinted for November.
So after I finished off the book, I still couldn't sleep, primarily due to an abundance of painful bruises (yeah, just wait for the blog about that story...), so I scanned the stacks of books around my room, trying to feel out what I ought read next. I picked up Round the Bend, thinking it was the right time to re-read it, but no. Other things that weren't right include The Martian Chronicles, Living Buddha, Living Christ, Salt of the Air, Days of War, Nights of Love, The Holy Bible, Oryx and Crake...
When Christmas shopping in 2006, a book caught my eye and at a glance I knew it was Scott's gift. A couple of months later he handed it back to me and told me I ought to read it. The book is The Way Out by Craig Childs. From the back cover: this taut, intensely dramatic narrative immerses us in a labyrinth of canyons in the American Southwest where virtually nothing is alive... and where we pay witness as two men confront not just immutable forces of nature but the limits of their own sanity.
And when I saw the book on the shelf there was no way to have known that a year later, Scott and I would have been living in the same desert for months having faced our own issues with nature and sanity. Craziness.
At this point I realize I wrote more than I anticipated about these books. This was meant to be a short introduction to a very different subject, and to go down that path now would seem really out of place... so I'll make it a new entry instead.
The book was out of print, and of course the Himmel Park library in Tucson didn't have it (the library only stocks books I'm not looking for, as best I can tell). But at Seattle's Central Library, I found it. In large-print only, but I wasn't going to be picky (although the large type did give me headaches for the first few days of reading).
ANYWAY, I finally finished the book the other day. It was a really cool story set in a really interesting sci-fi world. The narration is from Cley, Physiognomist First-Class (physiognomy refers to the study and reading of faces, and in this world physiognomists are basically detectives), and follows him to a mining town, where he's been sent by Master Drachton Below to find out who stole... a piece of fruit. Cley sees it as a punishment after being overheard mentioning that the Master's own facial features suggest an over-abundance of pride. After the crime is solved, the story follows Cley to an island for extended punishment, and in the last third of the book he tells of what happened once he was restored to his esteemed position in the Master's Well-Built City.
The book and the story were great, but I didn't see where it was going. There was no mystery to solve (even though Cley spent a third of the book assigned to such a task, the investigation consisted of looking at faces, so we're not given many clues to go on), and no gaining momentum throughout. For the majority of the reading, I felt these were missing elements, however the last chapter proved that everything in the book was just as it should have been. I don't know if I've ever been so satisfied by a final chapter in a book as this. There are two other books that follow, but they are both out-of-print, and my magical library does not have them. Luckily, The Physiognomy is being reprinted in October, and Memoranda and The Beyond are being reprinted for November.
So after I finished off the book, I still couldn't sleep, primarily due to an abundance of painful bruises (yeah, just wait for the blog about that story...), so I scanned the stacks of books around my room, trying to feel out what I ought read next. I picked up Round the Bend, thinking it was the right time to re-read it, but no. Other things that weren't right include The Martian Chronicles, Living Buddha, Living Christ, Salt of the Air, Days of War, Nights of Love, The Holy Bible, Oryx and Crake...
When Christmas shopping in 2006, a book caught my eye and at a glance I knew it was Scott's gift. A couple of months later he handed it back to me and told me I ought to read it. The book is The Way Out by Craig Childs. From the back cover: this taut, intensely dramatic narrative immerses us in a labyrinth of canyons in the American Southwest where virtually nothing is alive... and where we pay witness as two men confront not just immutable forces of nature but the limits of their own sanity.
And when I saw the book on the shelf there was no way to have known that a year later, Scott and I would have been living in the same desert for months having faced our own issues with nature and sanity. Craziness.
At this point I realize I wrote more than I anticipated about these books. This was meant to be a short introduction to a very different subject, and to go down that path now would seem really out of place... so I'll make it a new entry instead.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
One Year
[Yeah, so, I started this post 31 July 2008 and never finished it... so now, nearly a year later (5 may 2009), I'm publishing it as-is.)
So it's been over a year since I finally left the part of the country I called home for most of my life. It's been a damned great year. I've learned so much--and to me, learning is what life's about. As of tomorrow, it's a year ago since I arrived in Hawaii. That's where I learned the most vital lesson so far on this journey.
As I mentioned in the previous blog, I was pretty much living a life of luxury* with a job paying $14/hr, and splitting already-low rent and utilities three-ways with the coolest roommates in the world. I knew I had to leave these comforts behind (since 2001, my primary motivation in life was a dream that told me to 'go to the monastery'), but I really didn't know just how far that would have to go.
I told myself I'd save up "enough" money. Problem is, what is enough money? Enough for what? Well, for anything. Anything could happen, so I would have liked an inexhaustible backing (as I mentioned, I became obsessed with winning the lottery). But I was also realistic enough to know that a couple thousand dollars would probably suffice. If I was going to be in the monastery, I could sell my car when I got there--not because I'd need the money, but because I wouldn't need the car. Do you see the problem with the way I was thinking? If you do, you're better off than I was. I wasn't thinking about how much I needed the money, or how it might be useful; it just never entered my mind to have no money at all.
----- ---- --- -- -
*A couple of weeks ago, James Funderburk called for a chat. I told him about all the things I'd done in Seattle so far, and he told me he didn't get to do much while he lived here, because he had to work so much, living on "the verge of homelessness." I reflected that for me, the "verge of homelessness" is a step away from that condition, rather than the last step before it. To me, now, the verge of homelessness seems like a leisurely, decadent lifestyle.
So it's been over a year since I finally left the part of the country I called home for most of my life. It's been a damned great year. I've learned so much--and to me, learning is what life's about. As of tomorrow, it's a year ago since I arrived in Hawaii. That's where I learned the most vital lesson so far on this journey.
As I mentioned in the previous blog, I was pretty much living a life of luxury* with a job paying $14/hr, and splitting already-low rent and utilities three-ways with the coolest roommates in the world. I knew I had to leave these comforts behind (since 2001, my primary motivation in life was a dream that told me to 'go to the monastery'), but I really didn't know just how far that would have to go.
I told myself I'd save up "enough" money. Problem is, what is enough money? Enough for what? Well, for anything. Anything could happen, so I would have liked an inexhaustible backing (as I mentioned, I became obsessed with winning the lottery). But I was also realistic enough to know that a couple thousand dollars would probably suffice. If I was going to be in the monastery, I could sell my car when I got there--not because I'd need the money, but because I wouldn't need the car. Do you see the problem with the way I was thinking? If you do, you're better off than I was. I wasn't thinking about how much I needed the money, or how it might be useful; it just never entered my mind to have no money at all.
----- ---- --- -- -
*A couple of weeks ago, James Funderburk called for a chat. I told him about all the things I'd done in Seattle so far, and he told me he didn't get to do much while he lived here, because he had to work so much, living on "the verge of homelessness." I reflected that for me, the "verge of homelessness" is a step away from that condition, rather than the last step before it. To me, now, the verge of homelessness seems like a leisurely, decadent lifestyle.
[general]
I post MySpace bulletins from time to time (i.e., that's pretty much how you can tell on which days I have access to the internet) with a "Song of the Day." I basically take the lyrics to a song I've heard within the past 24 hours, which stuck with me or made me feel something, and I rework those lyrics as prose. Today I did two Saul Williams songs ("1987" and "Tao of Now"), but this is the real song of the day. It's so catchy, I just might get circumcised.
I'm going to eventually get around to revising the tags on my previous posts, and using only very general and common tags. There's just no use for so many. I think I'll narrow it down to things like "revolution" for my rants, "adventure" for my, well, adventures, and "piracy" for my Big Idea. And even though I already have sixteen blogs, I just might start up one for book reviews (actually, there is one among those sixteen; I suppose I'll just update it--I last posted there almost six years ago) and another for song-of-the-days... I have it in my head that now I'm actually living an interesting life, I might just start up a website rather than make use of MySpace for all my publishing needs.
Oh yeah, and I'll definitely keep the "wx" tag, because weather in Seattle is worth mentioning. It's July--the end of July, even--and it's not going to get over 70°F today. Here's some perspective:
Murfreesboro, TN: currently 91° (feels like 100°), with 57% humidity
Tucson, AZ: 103° (98°) 14%
Killeen, TX: 100° (109°... good Lord, dad, leave) 38%
Seattle, WA: 69° (68°) 42%
Let's see... what else is up? Josh (Jenn's boyfriend) moved in with us, so now we're three people living in a one-bedroom apartment. We're planning to relocate next month, hopefully to another, equally affordable place in the area. Also, I'm squirelling money away in the hopes of being able to afford rent & deposits for the new place and still make it to Burning Man. As long as I limit myself to the supermarket (i.e., cut out Red Robin and the Joker--but Jolly Roger's still cool 'cause it's cheap), I should be able to save up weird amounts of money.
I remember working full-time for T-Mobile, making something like $14/hour... what a life of luxury! But the thing is, I always lived up to my means... I have just as much spare cash as I did then, it seems, even though here I pay nearly double the rent, and over double in gas (even though it's a 30% shorter drive to work).
And I was obsessed with winning the lottery, then. I was spending $50/month on lottery tickets and thinking about what I'd do with the winnings.
And do you know what I was going to do? I was going to live more simply, and travel more. With the excess dough, I was going to do things that would help people. I actually thought to myself, "if I had more money, I could help people."
And then I thought to myself, "what are you doing to help people with the money you have now?" I stopped playing the lottery, then.
And then I did an even crazier thing: I quit my job. So not only did I have less income... I had no income.
And do you know what I did then? I lived more simply, and I traveled more.
This is treatening to turn into a much longer post that what I've resigned myself to (I'm about to head to the library to pick up a book that's being held for me), and so I'm going to change tack (but note to self, add "money" to the list of blogs-to-come) and just mention that me:income / water:pitcher. Whatever size container my employer grants me, I conform to its shape. I see no reason to do that, when I could live even more simply, and have even more money... and then I could actually use that money to help people--for now. Ultimately, I intend to help people with no money at all. But until I work up that much nerve...
Oh, yes, and other things I've been up to:
last Monday, Jenn, Josh and I met up with coworkers+ at Golden Garden (the beach not far from our home; have I mentioned we hope to find a new place in the same general area?). It was a good time, although I managed to get embarrassingly drunk, and Jenny (one of my coworkers) told me it's going to be a weekly event now. Perhaps with a bit less alcohol, though. So anybody coming to visit Seattle, be sure you're here on a Monday.
The day before that, Anna and I went to the Center for Wooden Boats to take part in the free sailing they make available on Sundays. Most of the voyages were booked full by the time we arrived, but there was room left on the last one--which was on John Wayne's yacht! So we got to go out for a 45min trip around Lake Union. Very nice. When visiting, also plan to be here on a Sunday.
Yesterday, I saw the new X-Files movie. I was very pleased. Katie said it wasn't like the X-Files. It wasn't like an episode of the show (it was, in fact, like a movie), but I thought it had everything that the X-Files had ever had going for it. Katie complained there wasn't enoug Skinner, but that's because she's a perv.
Top it off with a good (abeit short) conversation with Nathan, and making Jenn watch V for Vendetta, and yesterday was just another good day in a good week in a great city.
I'm going to eventually get around to revising the tags on my previous posts, and using only very general and common tags. There's just no use for so many. I think I'll narrow it down to things like "revolution" for my rants, "adventure" for my, well, adventures, and "piracy" for my Big Idea. And even though I already have sixteen blogs, I just might start up one for book reviews (actually, there is one among those sixteen; I suppose I'll just update it--I last posted there almost six years ago) and another for song-of-the-days... I have it in my head that now I'm actually living an interesting life, I might just start up a website rather than make use of MySpace for all my publishing needs.
Oh yeah, and I'll definitely keep the "wx" tag, because weather in Seattle is worth mentioning. It's July--the end of July, even--and it's not going to get over 70°F today. Here's some perspective:
Murfreesboro, TN: currently 91° (feels like 100°), with 57% humidity
Tucson, AZ: 103° (98°) 14%
Killeen, TX: 100° (109°... good Lord, dad, leave) 38%
Seattle, WA: 69° (68°) 42%
Let's see... what else is up? Josh (Jenn's boyfriend) moved in with us, so now we're three people living in a one-bedroom apartment. We're planning to relocate next month, hopefully to another, equally affordable place in the area. Also, I'm squirelling money away in the hopes of being able to afford rent & deposits for the new place and still make it to Burning Man. As long as I limit myself to the supermarket (i.e., cut out Red Robin and the Joker--but Jolly Roger's still cool 'cause it's cheap), I should be able to save up weird amounts of money.
I remember working full-time for T-Mobile, making something like $14/hour... what a life of luxury! But the thing is, I always lived up to my means... I have just as much spare cash as I did then, it seems, even though here I pay nearly double the rent, and over double in gas (even though it's a 30% shorter drive to work).
And I was obsessed with winning the lottery, then. I was spending $50/month on lottery tickets and thinking about what I'd do with the winnings.
And do you know what I was going to do? I was going to live more simply, and travel more. With the excess dough, I was going to do things that would help people. I actually thought to myself, "if I had more money, I could help people."
And then I thought to myself, "what are you doing to help people with the money you have now?" I stopped playing the lottery, then.
And then I did an even crazier thing: I quit my job. So not only did I have less income... I had no income.
And do you know what I did then? I lived more simply, and I traveled more.
This is treatening to turn into a much longer post that what I've resigned myself to (I'm about to head to the library to pick up a book that's being held for me), and so I'm going to change tack (but note to self, add "money" to the list of blogs-to-come) and just mention that me:income / water:pitcher. Whatever size container my employer grants me, I conform to its shape. I see no reason to do that, when I could live even more simply, and have even more money... and then I could actually use that money to help people--for now. Ultimately, I intend to help people with no money at all. But until I work up that much nerve...
Oh, yes, and other things I've been up to:
last Monday, Jenn, Josh and I met up with coworkers+ at Golden Garden (the beach not far from our home; have I mentioned we hope to find a new place in the same general area?). It was a good time, although I managed to get embarrassingly drunk, and Jenny (one of my coworkers) told me it's going to be a weekly event now. Perhaps with a bit less alcohol, though. So anybody coming to visit Seattle, be sure you're here on a Monday.
The day before that, Anna and I went to the Center for Wooden Boats to take part in the free sailing they make available on Sundays. Most of the voyages were booked full by the time we arrived, but there was room left on the last one--which was on John Wayne's yacht! So we got to go out for a 45min trip around Lake Union. Very nice. When visiting, also plan to be here on a Sunday.
Yesterday, I saw the new X-Files movie. I was very pleased. Katie said it wasn't like the X-Files. It wasn't like an episode of the show (it was, in fact, like a movie), but I thought it had everything that the X-Files had ever had going for it. Katie complained there wasn't enoug Skinner, but that's because she's a perv.
Top it off with a good (abeit short) conversation with Nathan, and making Jenn watch V for Vendetta, and yesterday was just another good day in a good week in a great city.
Monday, July 21, 2008
... then the laundry
I don't like my last post. it's lame, boring, and poorly written. However, editing or rewriting it would make me think of the Summer Jam again, and I'm just not willing to do it. Removing it would be counter-productive to this blog.
So I'm going to write another article to feel better about myself. Also because, I tend to do anything but laundry on laundry day. Blog excessively, for example.
I never minded doing laundry. For one thing, I usually wouldn't have done much else with my day. I would sit and watch TV or play games or laze about in my room. Laundry would not stand in my way, except for the few minutes it took to move a load from washer to dryer.
Now, though, I have to go to a laundromat. I'm way lucky and perhaps even spoiled to have lived thirty-one years before going, but that only makes it worse now. I can't watch TV--when I'm doing my laundry, the TV is two miles away. I can hardly read, since I have to check and recheck and finally move the laundry (when I had my own washer/dryer, they would get moved when I felt like it; it was rare that someone would be waiting in line). (This is not to say I don't read; it's just frustrating, is all.)
But the real bother to me isn't that I can't sit at home & be lazy--it's that I wouldn't sit at home and be lazy. The day of laundry (and at this point it will be a day, since I haven't done laundry in something like three weeks) is a day where I am forced to sit and be lazy.
After yesterday's tedium, I would love to get out and do something today. I would like to go to Portland, specifically. I could have gone out this morning, checked it out, spent the night [somewhere], and come back tomorrow in time for work. Except that I need clean clothes to wear to work.
Of course, the real issue isn't how long the laundry will take, but how long I'll take to do the lanudry. I woke up at 9:00AM. It's not after 2:30PM, and I still haven't done it. I'd be back by now; I could be on my way to Portland by now, even.
This is one of those of those backwards ways my mind works. I'm wicked prone to procrastination. I can talk myself into waiting for or delaying anything. I can also distract myself with a billion things that suddenly seem interesting. For example, I've watched three episodes of "The X-Files" today (okay, that's a weak example; "The X-Files" is interesting). For example, I've read the imdb.com trivia page for the movie Like Mike today. For example, I edited my MySpace page today. And the thing is, I even have productive things I could do online (I can already feel Katie silently damning me for not reading her screenplay)! But: I Cannot Allow Myself to do productive things when there are more important productive things to do. I can't go to Portland--I have to do laundry! I can't read that screenplay--I have to do laundry! I can't break out the watercolors--I have to do laundry! I can't buy shelving for my room--I have to do laundry! I can't pick up my book from the library (oh shit, I had better do that, actually)--I have to do laundry! But I will get around to the laundry just after I watch this episode; just after I make my MySpace page orange; just after have lunch; just after this beer.
le sigh
So I'm going to write another article to feel better about myself. Also because, I tend to do anything but laundry on laundry day. Blog excessively, for example.
I never minded doing laundry. For one thing, I usually wouldn't have done much else with my day. I would sit and watch TV or play games or laze about in my room. Laundry would not stand in my way, except for the few minutes it took to move a load from washer to dryer.
Now, though, I have to go to a laundromat. I'm way lucky and perhaps even spoiled to have lived thirty-one years before going, but that only makes it worse now. I can't watch TV--when I'm doing my laundry, the TV is two miles away. I can hardly read, since I have to check and recheck and finally move the laundry (when I had my own washer/dryer, they would get moved when I felt like it; it was rare that someone would be waiting in line). (This is not to say I don't read; it's just frustrating, is all.)
But the real bother to me isn't that I can't sit at home & be lazy--it's that I wouldn't sit at home and be lazy. The day of laundry (and at this point it will be a day, since I haven't done laundry in something like three weeks) is a day where I am forced to sit and be lazy.
After yesterday's tedium, I would love to get out and do something today. I would like to go to Portland, specifically. I could have gone out this morning, checked it out, spent the night [somewhere], and come back tomorrow in time for work. Except that I need clean clothes to wear to work.
Of course, the real issue isn't how long the laundry will take, but how long I'll take to do the lanudry. I woke up at 9:00AM. It's not after 2:30PM, and I still haven't done it. I'd be back by now; I could be on my way to Portland by now, even.
This is one of those of those backwards ways my mind works. I'm wicked prone to procrastination. I can talk myself into waiting for or delaying anything. I can also distract myself with a billion things that suddenly seem interesting. For example, I've watched three episodes of "The X-Files" today (okay, that's a weak example; "The X-Files" is interesting). For example, I've read the imdb.com trivia page for the movie Like Mike today. For example, I edited my MySpace page today. And the thing is, I even have productive things I could do online (I can already feel Katie silently damning me for not reading her screenplay)! But: I Cannot Allow Myself to do productive things when there are more important productive things to do. I can't go to Portland--I have to do laundry! I can't read that screenplay--I have to do laundry! I can't break out the watercolors--I have to do laundry! I can't buy shelving for my room--I have to do laundry! I can't pick up my book from the library (oh shit, I had better do that, actually)--I have to do laundry! But I will get around to the laundry just after I watch this episode; just after I make my MySpace page orange; just after have lunch; just after this beer.
le sigh
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