At odds
For all the bitching and self-indulgent pity that goes on in LJ, I have recognized a good use. It's diary format appeals to the person who is both too shy to express themselves in face-to-face social situations and yet hopes to make connections with his/her peers. You can pretend to be writing solely for yourself, post your entry believing that, and even if you receive feedback, you never have to look at it. In some ways, spilling out everything in a diatribe reveals more about your character than the my-turn-your-turn dynamics of conversation. Your train of thought is uninterrupted, and affords more room for insight. This is, of course, not always the case, but even the most vapid person can occasionally reveal something about themselves that might otherwise have gone unnoticed. Interesting to note that for all the rifting between people that results from reliance on technology that there is this (possible) reconciliation.
I am reminded of an article I saw in a magazine ("SPIN", I think) about the iPod/mp3 player as an isolating device. It's true that, with virtually my entire music library at my disposal, there is rarely a time when there isn't something that I want to listen to. It used to be that you would walk down the street thinking "If I were listening to such-and-such right now, that would be perfect!". Now that you can, you never really have to take off your headphones. Sometimes, I'll be walking around campus, and the majority of people (myself included) will be wearing headphones, glancing at things occasionally but mostly staring straight ahead. Maybe I should be interacting with my environment more, but seeing as how there isn't much to entice me, I keep to my own little world, producing reel after reel of imagery to accompany the musick. I can't help but think that for all its bliss, that musick instills a sense of complacency in you, making it so that you are content to stare out the window while a song plays, and do little else. It becomes hard to draw the line between what is therapeutic and what is inhibiting.
I finally got around to purchasing my own computer. It's a clamshell G3 iBook, which I kind of bought on a whim, but looks good so far. They have a reputation for being indestructible, which is something I need. For all my carefulness, I can be rather clumsy, and though I have a good handle on it, my fiery temper often makes me throw/smash/hit things I regret after my fit has passed. While I hope I'm never mad enough to chuck a computer against the wall, I wouldn't put it past me. Mainly, it will allow me to work on and edit some of my writing, which needs some serious revision. I know, I know, I never post stories anymore, but between work/school/woman, it's been kinda hard. Excuses, excuses.
One of my grandmothers called earlier. She was admitted to the hospital for sepsis/severe bronchitis, and has been oxygen for the past few days. I entertained the prospect of her death while "hmph-ing" at the appropriate intervals during her summary of the tribulation, and was not disturbed to find that her passing would not affect me much. Whoever said that absence makes the heart grow fonder is full of shit - I think the longer you're apart from someone, the more accustomed you become to that absence, so that when they die, even though they meant no less to you since your last junction, you can cope more easily with the fact that you will never see them again. A sophism perhaps, but it sounds true to me. My grandfather (her husband) died and I felt only slight remorse, mostly because he died alone, and we had not seen him in months. I guess it bothers me more that I made bad use of my time versus never seeing him again.
On a slightly more chipper note (actually, I despise it when people say this), The Boredoms are coming to Columbus on Tuesday, June 27. I don't suppose anyone else had planned on going?
I watched "La Dolce Vita" the other night for the second time, and was floored. The first time I saw it, I thought it was a long, dragging series of unconnected events with a few moments of pure beauty, but having gone through it again, it all made sense. It's kind of weird seeing a black-and-white film, from a time period that we traditionally associate with stagnant morality, display the open sexuality and bacchanalia that would alienate many modern audiences. The best scenes are by far the ones with Marcello's acquaintance Steiner, who upstages Marcello in every scene he is in. Marcello Mastroianni/Rubini has a peculiar handsomeness that is as inviting as it is attractive; he seems like the kind of stranger who you would have no problem embracing on a whim. It definitely draws some parallels to "8 1/2", though I'd be hard pressed to say which one was better.
I am reminded of an article I saw in a magazine ("SPIN", I think) about the iPod/mp3 player as an isolating device. It's true that, with virtually my entire music library at my disposal, there is rarely a time when there isn't something that I want to listen to. It used to be that you would walk down the street thinking "If I were listening to such-and-such right now, that would be perfect!". Now that you can, you never really have to take off your headphones. Sometimes, I'll be walking around campus, and the majority of people (myself included) will be wearing headphones, glancing at things occasionally but mostly staring straight ahead. Maybe I should be interacting with my environment more, but seeing as how there isn't much to entice me, I keep to my own little world, producing reel after reel of imagery to accompany the musick. I can't help but think that for all its bliss, that musick instills a sense of complacency in you, making it so that you are content to stare out the window while a song plays, and do little else. It becomes hard to draw the line between what is therapeutic and what is inhibiting.
I finally got around to purchasing my own computer. It's a clamshell G3 iBook, which I kind of bought on a whim, but looks good so far. They have a reputation for being indestructible, which is something I need. For all my carefulness, I can be rather clumsy, and though I have a good handle on it, my fiery temper often makes me throw/smash/hit things I regret after my fit has passed. While I hope I'm never mad enough to chuck a computer against the wall, I wouldn't put it past me. Mainly, it will allow me to work on and edit some of my writing, which needs some serious revision. I know, I know, I never post stories anymore, but between work/school/woman, it's been kinda hard. Excuses, excuses.
One of my grandmothers called earlier. She was admitted to the hospital for sepsis/severe bronchitis, and has been oxygen for the past few days. I entertained the prospect of her death while "hmph-ing" at the appropriate intervals during her summary of the tribulation, and was not disturbed to find that her passing would not affect me much. Whoever said that absence makes the heart grow fonder is full of shit - I think the longer you're apart from someone, the more accustomed you become to that absence, so that when they die, even though they meant no less to you since your last junction, you can cope more easily with the fact that you will never see them again. A sophism perhaps, but it sounds true to me. My grandfather (her husband) died and I felt only slight remorse, mostly because he died alone, and we had not seen him in months. I guess it bothers me more that I made bad use of my time versus never seeing him again.
On a slightly more chipper note (actually, I despise it when people say this), The Boredoms are coming to Columbus on Tuesday, June 27. I don't suppose anyone else had planned on going?
I watched "La Dolce Vita" the other night for the second time, and was floored. The first time I saw it, I thought it was a long, dragging series of unconnected events with a few moments of pure beauty, but having gone through it again, it all made sense. It's kind of weird seeing a black-and-white film, from a time period that we traditionally associate with stagnant morality, display the open sexuality and bacchanalia that would alienate many modern audiences. The best scenes are by far the ones with Marcello's acquaintance Steiner, who upstages Marcello in every scene he is in. Marcello Mastroianni/Rubini has a peculiar handsomeness that is as inviting as it is attractive; he seems like the kind of stranger who you would have no problem embracing on a whim. It definitely draws some parallels to "8 1/2", though I'd be hard pressed to say which one was better.