Monday
Apr232012
Some fool say he different
Monday, April 23, 2012 at 2:45AM This is all in the past. This all happened. But who can say exactly when?
The correct answer is everybody.
Because every post and every draft is timestamped.
Monday, April 23, 2012 at 2:45AM Saturday
Mar172012
Our monthly whatever this is now
Saturday, March 17, 2012 at 1:06AM
Not the center of the universe. As obvious and anciently Copernican as this discovery is, it's still kind of hard to believe. Honest. A lot changes, e.g., in four years that one cannot know, as one is not the center of the universe. Four years is, in fact, a long enough to forget about pretty much everyone you (hypothetical you) knew. For me, four years ago as of today doesn't even put me in *high school* anymore. The heck's with that, right?
It's weird, also, then, when you (hypothetical you) run into someone from four-plus years ago. Pretty sure the odds are actually really strong in favor of such events happening when you bum around the city that four-plus years ago people bum around in. Small city. Small neighborhood. Small small small.
But the thing about this is that you (no longer speaking about you as in hypothetical you, here, now) more than likely don't really care about this people. Or maybe it's a really abstract kind of caring, as in, I've known these people for four years but haven't bothered to actually *know know* them. And that's the sort of caring that you don't bother to keep alive. No point. Small world, but then, it's a short day, too, and you can only see so many faces before they all look way too much the same.
But then there's always another face. Or two. That stick around. Seen everywhere. Everyone *else* looks like *them*. Someone you (hypothetical?) love. Or used to. That was four years. More or less on the dot, here. Love someone else now. But sometimes you drink too much Maker's and you wonder if it ever could have been real. As real as what you've got now. Or as good. As bad. When it comes, as it always does. The deluded yrs. truly hopes not. That nothing---nothing positive---could have ever happened. That yrs. truly is a better person for suffering, and that something this good could have come only from something that hopeless. Yrs. truly hopes, among other things, discussed previously, that this is the case; he surely does.
It's weird, also, then, when you (hypothetical you) run into someone from four-plus years ago. Pretty sure the odds are actually really strong in favor of such events happening when you bum around the city that four-plus years ago people bum around in. Small city. Small neighborhood. Small small small.
But the thing about this is that you (no longer speaking about you as in hypothetical you, here, now) more than likely don't really care about this people. Or maybe it's a really abstract kind of caring, as in, I've known these people for four years but haven't bothered to actually *know know* them. And that's the sort of caring that you don't bother to keep alive. No point. Small world, but then, it's a short day, too, and you can only see so many faces before they all look way too much the same.
But then there's always another face. Or two. That stick around. Seen everywhere. Everyone *else* looks like *them*. Someone you (hypothetical?) love. Or used to. That was four years. More or less on the dot, here. Love someone else now. But sometimes you drink too much Maker's and you wonder if it ever could have been real. As real as what you've got now. Or as good. As bad. When it comes, as it always does. The deluded yrs. truly hopes not. That nothing---nothing positive---could have ever happened. That yrs. truly is a better person for suffering, and that something this good could have come only from something that hopeless. Yrs. truly hopes, among other things, discussed previously, that this is the case; he surely does.
Monday
Feb132012
My gut reaction is that cryogenics is our best bet at this point. But I wouldn't bet on it anyway.
Monday, February 13, 2012 at 11:03PM
When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut. This was before I knew that real astronauts didn't actually go into space especially often. Before I knew that you can't explore distant stars without filing pounds, literal *pounds*, of paperwork. Not to mention the decades it'll take to make that sort of travel possible. And no kid ever thinks about the line. The cable. Whatever you want to call it. Just one. The cable looks so thin. That keeps the astronaut connected, however delicately, to air and warmth and whatever comforts of home that they can squeeze through a tube.
It's a safe assumption that I'll never be an astronaut at this point. Or you. Sorry. The way it is. But it's enough to think about it. You grow up. Eventually you get your cables elsewhere. You channel your anxiety and worry, your hope and your wonder into something else. Equally tenuous. I do, anyway. The cable looks thin. It always does. I built it strong as I could. I hope it holds. I really do.
It's a safe assumption that I'll never be an astronaut at this point. Or you. Sorry. The way it is. But it's enough to think about it. You grow up. Eventually you get your cables elsewhere. You channel your anxiety and worry, your hope and your wonder into something else. Equally tenuous. I do, anyway. The cable looks thin. It always does. I built it strong as I could. I hope it holds. I really do.
Friday
Jan132012
Late but not forgotten
Friday, January 13, 2012 at 2:30PM ### FUN FACT ###
For a while back there, part of my daily hair routine involved wearing my bigass headphones for at least two hours. How far we've come since then. Happy new whatever thing.
Tuesday
Dec202011
Riding planes everywhere, ugh
Tuesday, December 20, 2011 at 7:52PM
I think I got myself a job.
One of the weirder things about accepting an offer is the bit where you're supposed to withdraw your application with everyone else you've been interviewing with. Problem is, this runs counter to everything I've been doing for the last seven months, which is begging for any sort of arrangement, written or not, wherein I receive money for performing some labor. Wouldn't even have to be legal.
Of course now it's like I'm calling the shots. I mean, *what?* Who, seriously, *who* am I to say that I *don't* want such-and-such job?
Mentioning that previous bit for some context. But so this morning I was writing my withdrawal-of-application letter to a certain organization when the hiring manager called me and said they weren't hiring me. Which actually would have worked out great if not for the fact that she sounded extremely sympathetic and inwardly conflicted about the decision and stressed that it had been a very difficult call between myself and the person they did choose. So, way to go, me. Should have sent that letter earlier. Save everyone a ton of grief.
One of the weirder things about accepting an offer is the bit where you're supposed to withdraw your application with everyone else you've been interviewing with. Problem is, this runs counter to everything I've been doing for the last seven months, which is begging for any sort of arrangement, written or not, wherein I receive money for performing some labor. Wouldn't even have to be legal.
Of course now it's like I'm calling the shots. I mean, *what?* Who, seriously, *who* am I to say that I *don't* want such-and-such job?
Mentioning that previous bit for some context. But so this morning I was writing my withdrawal-of-application letter to a certain organization when the hiring manager called me and said they weren't hiring me. Which actually would have worked out great if not for the fact that she sounded extremely sympathetic and inwardly conflicted about the decision and stressed that it had been a very difficult call between myself and the person they did choose. So, way to go, me. Should have sent that letter earlier. Save everyone a ton of grief.
in absurdity
absurdity Thursday
Dec082011
YMAC
Thursday, December 8, 2011 at 12:23AM
### SLEEPY STARE ###
Being unemployed is pretty great. And by "pretty great," I mean pretty terrible. I wake up around nine or ten in the morning, a couple hours after my de facto roommate has left for work. I make some eggs and eat it with bread, and then shower and shave. I like eggs. I like bread. I like showers. I even like shaving. Pretty great.
It's after the morning routine that I try to guilt myself into looking for work. This is the worst part of my day. If I succeed here, I spend the next five or six hours writing cover letter after cover letter, making countless tweaks to my resume, and throwing each into the Yawning Maw of American Capitalism. I think for every fifteen application I send, I get one reply back after two weeks. This reply is usually, "Yeah, no."
If, as is more likely, I fail the self-guilting process, then I go and play Skyrim while feeling guilty and terrible. By mid-afternoon I am wrought up with guilt, so much so that I am effectively anesthetized to embarrassment and have an overwhelming urge to apply to something, *anything*.[^fn1] I shoot off an application after fifteen minutes of work, think, "Oh, that was easier than I thought. I'll do another in half an hour."
Then I go play Skyrim for a few hours until my de facto roommate comes back, at which time the workday is over and it just seems even more pointless than usual to throw more job applications at the Yawning Maw of American Capitalism, especially since, again, business hours are over.
So, yeah. Skyrim is fun.
### I PREFER A STEALTHY, LONG RANGE APPROACH. WHAT ABOUT YOU? ###
Last week I had the immeasurable pleasure of going through the final round of interviews with a Seattle software consulting company called Avanade, which is great. They deal mostly (read: exclusively) with Microsoft -based coding and programs, which is great, even though I am a huge Apple fanboy and currently have little to no respect for the Windows platform.
So, good-ish news is, I received a phone call from them a few days ago, and they have promised me a verbal offer. I think this is a good sign. I suspect this means that I will get hired, probably. Which is great! Unless their paperwork doesn't come through, which would not be great. But of course since this company is the opposite of not great (i.e. great), I don't see that happening. Please.
[^fn1]: For example, I applied to be a sushi chef apprentice. I know, that sounds incredible. Too bad they weren't looking for software developers.
Being unemployed is pretty great. And by "pretty great," I mean pretty terrible. I wake up around nine or ten in the morning, a couple hours after my de facto roommate has left for work. I make some eggs and eat it with bread, and then shower and shave. I like eggs. I like bread. I like showers. I even like shaving. Pretty great.
It's after the morning routine that I try to guilt myself into looking for work. This is the worst part of my day. If I succeed here, I spend the next five or six hours writing cover letter after cover letter, making countless tweaks to my resume, and throwing each into the Yawning Maw of American Capitalism. I think for every fifteen application I send, I get one reply back after two weeks. This reply is usually, "Yeah, no."
If, as is more likely, I fail the self-guilting process, then I go and play Skyrim while feeling guilty and terrible. By mid-afternoon I am wrought up with guilt, so much so that I am effectively anesthetized to embarrassment and have an overwhelming urge to apply to something, *anything*.[^fn1] I shoot off an application after fifteen minutes of work, think, "Oh, that was easier than I thought. I'll do another in half an hour."
Then I go play Skyrim for a few hours until my de facto roommate comes back, at which time the workday is over and it just seems even more pointless than usual to throw more job applications at the Yawning Maw of American Capitalism, especially since, again, business hours are over.
So, yeah. Skyrim is fun.
### I PREFER A STEALTHY, LONG RANGE APPROACH. WHAT ABOUT YOU? ###
Last week I had the immeasurable pleasure of going through the final round of interviews with a Seattle software consulting company called Avanade, which is great. They deal mostly (read: exclusively) with Microsoft -based coding and programs, which is great, even though I am a huge Apple fanboy and currently have little to no respect for the Windows platform.
So, good-ish news is, I received a phone call from them a few days ago, and they have promised me a verbal offer. I think this is a good sign. I suspect this means that I will get hired, probably. Which is great! Unless their paperwork doesn't come through, which would not be great. But of course since this company is the opposite of not great (i.e. great), I don't see that happening. Please.
[^fn1]: For example, I applied to be a sushi chef apprentice. I know, that sounds incredible. Too bad they weren't looking for software developers.
Friday
Nov042011
Graveyards and gewgaws
Friday, November 4, 2011 at 1:07AM
### AGAIN, A FEW MATTERS OF FOLLOW-UP 'N SHIT ###
Yeah uh so there goes all of the summer and quite a bit of the autumn. That was fun! Let's do that again.
They say no news is good news, but the fact is that there has been no news as of late because I am *still goddamn unemployed*. Ugh. Likely I am complaining way too much about this, and so a bit of of me is just all, "Yeah well there's probably a reason for that HUH." But anyway I am probably not going to work in the glamorous, sexy[^fn1], and high risk, high reward world of software engineering anytime soon. I've always wanted to be a baker, though.
I've decided to pack up my things, then, my clothes and a book or two, and set off for sunny Washington State. I have a couple thousand dollars in savings, which I think will let me live for awhile as I couch surf. I think this means I am having a "[homeless period][aaaaauuuuuugghhhh]." Lack of permanent residence and all that. It's very exciting. I am actually seriously hoping to get a job in a bakery, despite having known the terror that is the food service industry. I am willing to deal with terrible people as long as it means that I can look at a fresh loaf of bread every day.
### GEWGAWS ###
I figure what better way to adequately express the joys of *la vie boheme* than to carry around a really goddamn expensive camera and put some goddamn pictures on the internet. Anyway I'll be applying to jobs all day, which leaves little room for "fun." So when I do go outside I'll try it. Although anyone who's ever done street photography knows it's hard. Shooting a good photo is hard enough, but goddamn suddenly you've gotta be brave enough to stick a lens in someone's face without permission. We'll see. We'll see.
All of which assumes that Flickr gets their game together! Because you see I made the terrible mistake of doing the Google sign-in thing that Flickr lets you do, then changing my mind and unlinking it. Except now I can't log in. It says the Flickr account's associated with a different Yahoo account than the one I'm using. Oh god. Yahoo. You ruin everything you touch. This is what I get for throwing $25 at them for a pro account. Goddammit.
### GRAVEYARDS ###
This one's been on the ol' brain for awhile. Did I tell you about this one? I knew a girl in high school, but she died young. Brain tumor. I think I've mentioned it. She'd married just two months before, not even twenty years old. Earlier this summer I tried to track down her grave, and I'm not entirely sure why. Did I mention that too? I don't think it was guilt or latent grief or anything, you know, because I barely knew her. We played in high school orchestra together, and that was about it. I was a violin, of course, because that's the instrument that all Asian children play by legal mandate. I think she played viola, but don't quote me on that. And I knew her husband. I remember him from second grade, gluing together the blades on my child-safe scissors. He was kind of an asshole then, though no doubt he got nicer. I didn't find the grave, which is just as well, since I didn't know what the hell I'd've said if I'd found it.
[^fn1]: I saw *The Social Network* just the other week, and it made me think: you know how *Jurassic Park* inspired millions of children to become archaeologists, only for them to discover that archaeology actually involved a lot of mud and squatting in ditches? And exactly zero pteranodons whizzing overhead? Yeah, well.
[aaaaauuuuuugghhhh]: https://twitter.com/#!/warslaw/status/132312990245601280
Yeah uh so there goes all of the summer and quite a bit of the autumn. That was fun! Let's do that again.
They say no news is good news, but the fact is that there has been no news as of late because I am *still goddamn unemployed*. Ugh. Likely I am complaining way too much about this, and so a bit of of me is just all, "Yeah well there's probably a reason for that HUH." But anyway I am probably not going to work in the glamorous, sexy[^fn1], and high risk, high reward world of software engineering anytime soon. I've always wanted to be a baker, though.
I've decided to pack up my things, then, my clothes and a book or two, and set off for sunny Washington State. I have a couple thousand dollars in savings, which I think will let me live for awhile as I couch surf. I think this means I am having a "[homeless period][aaaaauuuuuugghhhh]." Lack of permanent residence and all that. It's very exciting. I am actually seriously hoping to get a job in a bakery, despite having known the terror that is the food service industry. I am willing to deal with terrible people as long as it means that I can look at a fresh loaf of bread every day.
### GEWGAWS ###
I figure what better way to adequately express the joys of *la vie boheme* than to carry around a really goddamn expensive camera and put some goddamn pictures on the internet. Anyway I'll be applying to jobs all day, which leaves little room for "fun." So when I do go outside I'll try it. Although anyone who's ever done street photography knows it's hard. Shooting a good photo is hard enough, but goddamn suddenly you've gotta be brave enough to stick a lens in someone's face without permission. We'll see. We'll see.
All of which assumes that Flickr gets their game together! Because you see I made the terrible mistake of doing the Google sign-in thing that Flickr lets you do, then changing my mind and unlinking it. Except now I can't log in. It says the Flickr account's associated with a different Yahoo account than the one I'm using. Oh god. Yahoo. You ruin everything you touch. This is what I get for throwing $25 at them for a pro account. Goddammit.
### GRAVEYARDS ###
This one's been on the ol' brain for awhile. Did I tell you about this one? I knew a girl in high school, but she died young. Brain tumor. I think I've mentioned it. She'd married just two months before, not even twenty years old. Earlier this summer I tried to track down her grave, and I'm not entirely sure why. Did I mention that too? I don't think it was guilt or latent grief or anything, you know, because I barely knew her. We played in high school orchestra together, and that was about it. I was a violin, of course, because that's the instrument that all Asian children play by legal mandate. I think she played viola, but don't quote me on that. And I knew her husband. I remember him from second grade, gluing together the blades on my child-safe scissors. He was kind of an asshole then, though no doubt he got nicer. I didn't find the grave, which is just as well, since I didn't know what the hell I'd've said if I'd found it.
[^fn1]: I saw *The Social Network* just the other week, and it made me think: you know how *Jurassic Park* inspired millions of children to become archaeologists, only for them to discover that archaeology actually involved a lot of mud and squatting in ditches? And exactly zero pteranodons whizzing overhead? Yeah, well.
[aaaaauuuuuugghhhh]: https://twitter.com/#!/warslaw/status/132312990245601280
in absurdity
absurdity Thursday
Aug182011
Oh geez aw man
Thursday, August 18, 2011 at 4:11AM
Internet, the last time we talked, I was was bleeding and worrying about my dwindling cash hillock. You'll be happy to know that the former, at the very least, is no longer a concern, so now I'll die, malnourished, in a cardboard box, rather than slumped over and headfirst in a blood-filled sink.
That's the short of it. Basically I am still an unemployed slacker; not too proud of that one. Granted, nobody's hiring---that is, nobody's hiring *unexperienced college graduates*, a category that I slot into nicely. Point stands.
### HERE'S THAT THING AGAIN, A FOLLOW-UP THING, IF YOU WILL ###
You might remember this past winter when I talked about My Friends Wot Seem Like They're Getting Married. Anyway, that happened just the other week. I was not invited because I am Shiva the Destroyer[^fn3] and was therefore liable to make an awkward, unplanned toast. But Groom and Best Man invited me to the bachelor party, which I am more than happy about. There were no cakes, or strippers, or (it logically follows) strippers in cakes, but there were a lot of chips and cupcakes and even video games, which, I don't know, close enough? Groom doesn't drink, and Best Man's not drinking age anyway, so no shenanigans.[^fn2] But you know what? Sometimes that's okay![^fn4]
### CALLING AROUND ###
Did you know that I have been in a long distance relationship? Shit sucks, man.
### AND FINALLY ###
Have you noticed the fancy footnote shit going on yet? I admit that it is totally unnecessary, what with my posts being minuscule and all, but it still looks great. You wish I made that all by myself. ***[Damn!][footnotify]*** Maybe one day I will make things that fancy.
[^fn2]: Bride is a total wino, though. I'm told the reception was hilarious.
[^fn3]: Rumor has it.
[^fn4]: Haha yeah who am I kidding.
[footnotify]: http://openideas.ideon.co/2011/rehabilitate-disruptive-footnotes "but damn, like in a good way"
That's the short of it. Basically I am still an unemployed slacker; not too proud of that one. Granted, nobody's hiring---that is, nobody's hiring *unexperienced college graduates*, a category that I slot into nicely. Point stands.
### HERE'S THAT THING AGAIN, A FOLLOW-UP THING, IF YOU WILL ###
You might remember this past winter when I talked about My Friends Wot Seem Like They're Getting Married. Anyway, that happened just the other week. I was not invited because I am Shiva the Destroyer[^fn3] and was therefore liable to make an awkward, unplanned toast. But Groom and Best Man invited me to the bachelor party, which I am more than happy about. There were no cakes, or strippers, or (it logically follows) strippers in cakes, but there were a lot of chips and cupcakes and even video games, which, I don't know, close enough? Groom doesn't drink, and Best Man's not drinking age anyway, so no shenanigans.[^fn2] But you know what? Sometimes that's okay![^fn4]
### CALLING AROUND ###
Did you know that I have been in a long distance relationship? Shit sucks, man.
### AND FINALLY ###
Have you noticed the fancy footnote shit going on yet? I admit that it is totally unnecessary, what with my posts being minuscule and all, but it still looks great. You wish I made that all by myself. ***[Damn!][footnotify]*** Maybe one day I will make things that fancy.
[^fn2]: Bride is a total wino, though. I'm told the reception was hilarious.
[^fn3]: Rumor has it.
[^fn4]: Haha yeah who am I kidding.
[footnotify]: http://openideas.ideon.co/2011/rehabilitate-disruptive-footnotes "but damn, like in a good way"
Wednesday
Jun012011
Who the fuck?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011 at 10:20PM
Long story short, I graduated and moved back in with my parents. UGH. One of those people.
### JOB CONCERNS ###
"Technical interview." *Technical*. No, not comforting.
Here's something I forgot that grown-ups have to do: know stuff. Since when?! I thought grown-ups just sat around and drank beer and watched their interpersonal relationships dissolve, sip by sip. I had *that* one down, solid.
### BLOG CONCERNS ###
I figure I need to be technologically informed or some shit and I decided to look into cached webpages, and so but like long story short, you're supposed to be looking at a cached, static page. A lot of stuff is supposed to be served by Amazon S3. Like a buck a month, so why the heck not?
This is supposed to be good, but I have no clue if it's actually working. It's pretty goddamn obvious when it's not working, though, which is all the goddamn time. What am I doing wrong? I haven't got the slightest. It's probably super simple to figure out what it is, exactly, but four years of formal computer science classes have made me despise technology, and so I give up.
### MONEY CONCERNS ###
In high school, I worked in the (fast) food service industry, and as a result, I received tips in the form of wads and wads of wrinkled small bills. I was also (and still am) shy and awkward and lazy, and I didn't want to put the bank teller through the ordeal of sorting through wads and wads of wrinkled small bills, even though that is sort of their job, and even though I straightened out the bills and stacked them neatly and ordered them by denomination and oh god.
Anyway, I got into the habit of squirreling away my tips in weird places, thinking, *I'll remember this.* Guess what? I didn't! And so now every time I take a book off my bookshelf, or I look in my desk for a pen, I run the risk of encountering a wad of singles or something. Which is great, except I like knowing where my money goes, so I want to stick it in my checking account so the spending shows up on my account statement, oh, but I don't want to take it to the bank because it'll look weird that all I'm walking into the building with just this stack of singles, and sir? is that all you're depositing, sir? and oh god.
### BLOOD LOSS CONCERNS ###
And so eventually I just sucked it up and deposited like a hundred bucks in ones and fives into my checking account, and basically the fact that I waited so long to do it just really made it worse, somehow, but no matter! Because I decided I needed a graduation present, and there is literally no better way to reward the fact that you have grown-up responsibilities than by spending one hundred dollars on wetshaving supplies and [sharp blades][blood everywhere] that you put near your face, every morning, when you're groggy and not at all with the program.
It's questionable exactly how much I can justify the purchase, since I only have, like, four square inches of face that require shaving. But the shave cream's pretty fancy, so my face smells great, at least. The actual shave's pretty smooth, I guess, smoother than I was getting with my crappy, ancient electric shaver, but maybe that's just the blood lubricating everything.
[blood everywhere]: http://www.classicshaving.com/catalog/item/522941/284057.htm
### JOB CONCERNS ###
"Technical interview." *Technical*. No, not comforting.
Here's something I forgot that grown-ups have to do: know stuff. Since when?! I thought grown-ups just sat around and drank beer and watched their interpersonal relationships dissolve, sip by sip. I had *that* one down, solid.
### BLOG CONCERNS ###
I figure I need to be technologically informed or some shit and I decided to look into cached webpages, and so but like long story short, you're supposed to be looking at a cached, static page. A lot of stuff is supposed to be served by Amazon S3. Like a buck a month, so why the heck not?
This is supposed to be good, but I have no clue if it's actually working. It's pretty goddamn obvious when it's not working, though, which is all the goddamn time. What am I doing wrong? I haven't got the slightest. It's probably super simple to figure out what it is, exactly, but four years of formal computer science classes have made me despise technology, and so I give up.
### MONEY CONCERNS ###
In high school, I worked in the (fast) food service industry, and as a result, I received tips in the form of wads and wads of wrinkled small bills. I was also (and still am) shy and awkward and lazy, and I didn't want to put the bank teller through the ordeal of sorting through wads and wads of wrinkled small bills, even though that is sort of their job, and even though I straightened out the bills and stacked them neatly and ordered them by denomination and oh god.
Anyway, I got into the habit of squirreling away my tips in weird places, thinking, *I'll remember this.* Guess what? I didn't! And so now every time I take a book off my bookshelf, or I look in my desk for a pen, I run the risk of encountering a wad of singles or something. Which is great, except I like knowing where my money goes, so I want to stick it in my checking account so the spending shows up on my account statement, oh, but I don't want to take it to the bank because it'll look weird that all I'm walking into the building with just this stack of singles, and sir? is that all you're depositing, sir? and oh god.
### BLOOD LOSS CONCERNS ###
And so eventually I just sucked it up and deposited like a hundred bucks in ones and fives into my checking account, and basically the fact that I waited so long to do it just really made it worse, somehow, but no matter! Because I decided I needed a graduation present, and there is literally no better way to reward the fact that you have grown-up responsibilities than by spending one hundred dollars on wetshaving supplies and [sharp blades][blood everywhere] that you put near your face, every morning, when you're groggy and not at all with the program.
It's questionable exactly how much I can justify the purchase, since I only have, like, four square inches of face that require shaving. But the shave cream's pretty fancy, so my face smells great, at least. The actual shave's pretty smooth, I guess, smoother than I was getting with my crappy, ancient electric shaver, but maybe that's just the blood lubricating everything.
[blood everywhere]: http://www.classicshaving.com/catalog/item/522941/284057.htm
Saturday
May072011
Windmills cut through
Saturday, May 7, 2011 at 8:55PM
### IN WHICH THE AUTHOR MAKES NO APOLOGY ###
Some real RSS wonkiness recently, what with the test posts and such. I make no apologies. *No!*[^fn1]
### THAT SETTLED ###
And here it is---the ever elusive Last Week of School. *Ever*.[^fn2] What's really most concerning about this is that I have only been Faking It until such point that I will have been Making It, and yet somehow I've made it this far? Which means FI 'til you MI ***is a viable strategy***? I guess?
Yes, okay, it's not that weird. Not weird, no, but disconcerting, certainly, like that entire "Oh Christ I'm such a phony" thing. You know the one. But there is also (I am trying to convince myself) a certain dignity in willing to fake it, distinct from (but no better than, it must be said) the dignity one gains from being (say) a fifth-year senior or someone wanting to "travel" and "experience the world" and "fall in love with and marry some guy in Morocco."[^fn3]
### THE REALLY FUN BIT ABOUT ALL THIS: BEING ALL LIKE, "FUCK WHAT DO I DO AFTER GRADUATION OH RIGHT JOB INTERVIEWS" ###
Currently two are on the table: an in-person interview with a tech startup in Spokane, WA, the seat of all human suffering; and a phone interview with Amazon (dot com). I buy stuff from them all the time! How weird. Point is, shit's all fucked.
[^fn1]: None at all.
[^fn2]: Until grad school.
[^fn3]: Latter thing being a legitimate strat of one of my peers, a very nice girl, no clue if she plans to actually marry said Moroccan, but either way more power etc.
Some real RSS wonkiness recently, what with the test posts and such. I make no apologies. *No!*[^fn1]
### THAT SETTLED ###
And here it is---the ever elusive Last Week of School. *Ever*.[^fn2] What's really most concerning about this is that I have only been Faking It until such point that I will have been Making It, and yet somehow I've made it this far? Which means FI 'til you MI ***is a viable strategy***? I guess?
Yes, okay, it's not that weird. Not weird, no, but disconcerting, certainly, like that entire "Oh Christ I'm such a phony" thing. You know the one. But there is also (I am trying to convince myself) a certain dignity in willing to fake it, distinct from (but no better than, it must be said) the dignity one gains from being (say) a fifth-year senior or someone wanting to "travel" and "experience the world" and "fall in love with and marry some guy in Morocco."[^fn3]
### THE REALLY FUN BIT ABOUT ALL THIS: BEING ALL LIKE, "FUCK WHAT DO I DO AFTER GRADUATION OH RIGHT JOB INTERVIEWS" ###
Currently two are on the table: an in-person interview with a tech startup in Spokane, WA, the seat of all human suffering; and a phone interview with Amazon (dot com). I buy stuff from them all the time! How weird. Point is, shit's all fucked.
[^fn1]: None at all.
[^fn2]: Until grad school.
[^fn3]: Latter thing being a legitimate strat of one of my peers, a very nice girl, no clue if she plans to actually marry said Moroccan, but either way more power etc.
in absurdity
absurdity Sunday
Apr172011
Young man, where on earth have you been?
Sunday, April 17, 2011 at 6:11PM
A little more complicated than just that. See, the problem is less a lack of things to say than an ability to say them. It's easy to say, e.g., that I've been making foods[^fn1] or freaking the shit out over [this][senior project] particular piece of work---if you can call it that[^fn2]---and it is *almost* trivially easy to say that I have filled the rest of my time with a collegiate creative writing class, although mentioning it makes me feel like I have to justify it by saying that I just had nothing better to do, okay, don't judge, which I have just done. Easy. Fair enough. A little less easy: girls who taste like garam masala. Where do you even start with that?
[^fn1]: Commence regaling: roast poultry, soups, stews, stocks, stirfries, sauces of various colors, textures, and viscosities. Rather lukewarm, all of them.
[^fn2]: The fact of the matter is that I haven't put in nearly enough work in this project to feel like I should be graduating, which you can probably tell by the fact that I've made like three commits to that repository.
[senior project]: http://code.google.com/p/ups-cs460-augmentedreality/ "and let's face it---I'm not even really trying anymore."
[^fn1]: Commence regaling: roast poultry, soups, stews, stocks, stirfries, sauces of various colors, textures, and viscosities. Rather lukewarm, all of them.
[^fn2]: The fact of the matter is that I haven't put in nearly enough work in this project to feel like I should be graduating, which you can probably tell by the fact that I've made like three commits to that repository.
[senior project]: http://code.google.com/p/ups-cs460-augmentedreality/ "and let's face it---I'm not even really trying anymore."
Friday
Feb252011
Night light
Friday, February 25, 2011 at 3:00PM What makes Iago evil? Maria asked, although she was in denial about it.
A reason, one that springs to mind because I have been thinking about it for far too long: there isn’t a reason. He’s just a prick.
Pretty sure I don’t buy that, though, because nobody is “just” a prick. (Well, only if they’re a real person. Which is maybe a weird thing to say about a fictional character.) Prickishness develops out of—I don’t know—a lot of things. Early personal trauma. Misguided formative years. Beer. You know. That sort of thing. Iago’s not drunk, but maybe he just hides it well? And we can only speculate as to his earlier days.
I figure he just cares too much. it’s just jealousy.
Assuming you can have "just" jealousy.
I doubt it’s just jealousy. It’s too easy. I mean, it may seem easy that he’s "just" a prick, but then think about it—jealousy makes sense; it makes sense; it’s easy to make sense. It’s harder to rationalize irrational evil. Right? Isn’t it?
Questions, questions.
When Em talks about pot brownies, I know that I am culpable. I am a bad influence. I am the one your parents were afraid of. This is the exact opposite thing that I have ever wanted to be, is a bad influence. I have always thought of myself as a cautionary tale, like, this is your brain if you do this much coke… No, a marijuana brownie is not a line of coke, not even by a long shot. But a smile is, apparently—science!—and even if it isn’t, at least it’s more wholesome and worth more. Right? Right?
Questions, questions.
Rob once told me that life is a waiting game.
So then: Some people don’t know they’re playing, but they’re holding all the cards. Some people know they’re playing, and they ask why or why not. But am I playing or dealing? Is there a difference? How much do I care? Does it make a difference? What makes Iago evil?
Sunday
Dec262010
All the time, we get by
Sunday, December 26, 2010 at 12:19AM Merry Thing. I forgot about all about you, but now I am back with more information about bagels and concerns re.: my bank account.
SO HERE’S A THING
B proposed to his girlfriend. We watched. He got down on one knee and almost didn’t make eye contact with her, but then he did, and he asked her, except he didn’t have a ring because he was still getting it fitted and they couldn’t have it ready in time, so he only had a little box to give her.
He put a lot of things in that box.
I’ve always found the concept of a public marriage proposal, that is, any proposal that involves spectators, to be brave but cringeworthy, and I’ve always hoped that I’d never witness one. Not especially because I feel like I wouldn’t belong, because it’s the proposer’s choice as to who should be around at the time, and if he1 thinks a bunch of us should witness it, then so be it, but no, really, it’s more because what if she2 says no? What if the proposal comes as a complete sucker punch because they haven’t ever, for whatever reason, talked about their white picket dreams, and all she can do is smile kind of weakly and go, “Haha,” and then, “Um, what?” And in this case, if they were alone, they could just have a nice heart-to-heart, but if there are people around, are there rules? Because there is expectation. Terrible, terrible expectation.
So when he went down on one knee, all of us said, “Ohhh!” And then fell silent when he produced the box. Looked up into J’s face. Said, “Will you marry me?” That single second, between his question and her answer, lasted so, so long.
And then, as the milliseconds stretched, I had a different sinking feeling, a more personal, decidedly more selfish feeling:
I thought, it’s finally happening.
Everyone is getting married to everyone else.
I will have to go to my friends’ weddings, and I will feel like an utter faker.
What if there ends up being an odd number of marriable people? And that I am the odd man out?
Which is completely insane. Like a fear of invisible cars.3
Why do people marry, anyway?
Who even gets married? Twelve year olds?!
All this and more. I can’t comprehend marriage. I think this makes me an idiot, but I have an excuse: I’m too young.4 Or maybe just too stupid. Am I completely insane for thinking that you shouldn’t get married while you’re an undergrad? Because we’re all undergrads. We’re almost graduated, but we’re students, at least for now. I’m still not sure that I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing right now. Marriage seems like it should be way foreign for people our age—even if I’d been in a relationship since high school, keeping it alive through all those collegiate relationship hurdles, proving my love, etc. etc. etc., right now, I don’t think even going through that could convince me of my emotional maturity and/or my ability to make any commitment beyond lunch for next week, and that is to say nothing of my economic situation.5 So I guess I won’t be getting married until I “get” it, except maybe you need to be married before you “get” it? Or in a meaningful relationship? I don’t know. Sounds vicious either way. Perhaps I will grow up to be a spinster. Or a crazy cat lady. Only, you know, the male equivalents.
ANYWAY
She said yes. Of course she said yes! It was very sweet. She jumped into his arms. They could not stop giggling at each other. They’ll have the ring by New Year’s.
Totally unnecessary for me to say this, I think, but any gender can propose to any other gender, and I am not just being all “traditional” and “reactionary” when I use these pronouns, rather, it’s just for convenience. Yes! Kitty Lumpkins is politically correct! Tell your friends. ↩
See: footnote 1. ↩
The future will arrive with a broken clavicle. ↩
Although everyone else my age isn’t! ↩
Could I be any more pragmatic and wet-towelish? I doubt it! ↩
Friday
Nov262010
God knows what you think of us
Friday, November 26, 2010 at 11:48PM Maybe we could slip away. For ages and ages. Greasy hair and split cuticles. Long nails and bad breath. Old socks. Cracked nail polish. Nothing but details. The only way I know how. I listen to the plink-plink of water on the windowsill. Even after dark, the snow melts.
in absurdity
absurdity