If you've ever seen that movie Office Space, you'll know what a brilliant movie it is. If you haven't, you should go see it right now and then come back to read this.
I've often found myself in precarious situations, or situations that make me uncomfortable. If I were ordinary, or more ordinary than I really am, these situations would bother me. But being me, and not some ordinary square, they don't (despite the fact that my real name is very ordinary). I seem to have become the kind of person that doesn't care, or cares every now and then. I've also noticed that this comes with questions and accusations regarding laziness.
I quote Peter Gibbons on this: "It's not that I'm lazy. It's that I just don't care. It's a problem of motivation."
I'm really not a lazy person though the output of content from this blog would indicate otherwise. I would counter that by saying that I try to focus more on quality than quantity, which I believe is a healthy thing. I would rather write one sentence that says a lot rather than a dissertation that says nothing. So, there's that: I want to provide quality content. Now, the question of whether I do that... a discussion for another time.
I don't care about certain things because I don't have the same motivations as everyone else, nor do I seem to have any real motivations at this point in time, other than the immediate ones: food, rest, a longing for silence whilst I do my thing. Am I regressing into an id-like state? No! Don't be ridiculous. Though I wouldn't rule it out for the future when they invent the id-machine. Other than my motivation to be happy, I don't really seem to care about the things people tell me I'm supposed to care about. I don't see why I'm supposed to strive to be like everyone else. I've already got a strike against me in that department: my name, not my pen name. Trust me, it's dreadful: my name.
I suppose in the eyes of some people, that makes me a bum of some sort: not having the same motivations and goals of buying televisions and living in a box with a wife and 2.5 children and picket fences. If that's your goal, I'm not stopping you. In fact, go for it.
I don't think it makes me a bum or a villain to not want these things. I just think it makes me a little different than whoever wants these things.
I think the only real motivation I have that extends beyond the realm of the immediate is the desire to be happy, somehow. This would explain why I do the things I do, or don't. It would certainly explain my actions as of late. Or the things I say.
I often say that I wouldn't mind working in a bakery for the rest of my life and living in a single room by myself either.
Now, you could argue that this is simply my current self talking a load of nonsense. And that someday, I'll meet a nice girl who'll make me want to change that state of thinking and that I'll find myself wearing a suit, short hair, and etc. And you may be right (about my goals and motivations changing), I'll give you that. But the thing is that I only really truly seek happiness, or a sense of satisfaction with myself, not a desire to please others or satiate their desires or expectations and live for them.
No. That's not healthy. I only have one life unless I can be reincarnated by magic or science. I don't think I should spend it seeking some piece of paper in some particular field of study just so someone else can feel proud and ride the coattails of my accomplishments and completely disregard the fact that in the process of obtaining that piece of paper, I've lost my mind and the fiber of my sanity is basically in tatters.
A little theatrical quality to my writing but the exaggeration is pretty apt: I've gone bonkers a few times since starting school.
Maybe later I'll be motivated enough to do things I don't want to do but for now, I'll stick to finding some sort of happiness and being satisfied with myself.
Peter Gibbons seeks to do just nothing, as he says at various points in the film.
I seek some sort of happiness. Or: I think I do.
You, reader, probably fall somewhere in between there. More power to you.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Delay
Since I started the non-swearing solidarity Lent thing, I've looked at some of the drafts I've in my list of entries to be posted and they've some foul language. I want to post them up but I think it'd seem hypocritical of me to do so since I said I wouldn't swear. Still, I want to stick with this so I'll keep them delayed for the time being. While we wait, holding our breaths for the next installment of A Real Mess, I'll write things that don't contain so much profanity.
If anyone cares.
If anyone cares.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Dies Cinerum
Today is Ash Wednesday. Yesterday was Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras en français. Today marks the start of Lent.
I'd participate in Lent but I'm not a Catholic, or a quitter. (I made this joke about 3 or 4 times today, and it stops now. Until next year)
All joking aside, I'll participate in Lent this year. I hope to have more success this time around. The last time I tried (in 2010, if I recall correctly), I failed on the first day. I sought to give up my anger even for about a month and a few weeks because I have a horrible temper. When I get angry, I get very angry. To this day, I am still very grateful that I haven't been exposed to gamma radiation. The story goes that I was crossing the street (while the little man on the light was still on display) and this dreadful motorist zooms right in front of me, almost hitting me! In a blinding fit of rage and (understandable) frustration, I shout a few obscenities at him as he drives off. He flips me off while driving away, presumably being smug and a jerk, and I yell another obscenity at him.
Then, it hit me like a sack of hammers weighing a ton: I lost my temper. I was immediately ashamed and struck by guilt. And it proceeded to haunt me for the rest of the day and week. I pretty much gave up because if something so minor could set me off, then what chance did I stand at suppressing my anger for 40 days?
Now, I set my sights on something I can control with more ease: a particular way of speaking. I don't have to swear but I choose to because I feel it adds color to the way I speak, and because I like being a bad boy. (Author's note: the preceding sentence was facetious in nature). And since I choose to swear, I can choose to not swear, as well. Let's see how this goes.
I'm also going through with this because a number of my friends are Catholic and they're giving up things they really enjoy like video games and sweets, and like I tacitly mentioned: I enjoy swearing. While they don't seem too beat up about it, the way they choose to go about Lent is by giving up something that they genuinely enjoy, as such, the decision must be difficult, and rather than flaunt my non-association with any particular religion, I choose solidarity so they don't feel distanced, and so I don't come off as a jerk when I eat 4 slices of cheesecake in their presence.
Respect. Solidarity. Not swearing.
I'd participate in Lent but I'm not a Catholic, or a quitter. (I made this joke about 3 or 4 times today, and it stops now. Until next year)
All joking aside, I'll participate in Lent this year. I hope to have more success this time around. The last time I tried (in 2010, if I recall correctly), I failed on the first day. I sought to give up my anger even for about a month and a few weeks because I have a horrible temper. When I get angry, I get very angry. To this day, I am still very grateful that I haven't been exposed to gamma radiation. The story goes that I was crossing the street (while the little man on the light was still on display) and this dreadful motorist zooms right in front of me, almost hitting me! In a blinding fit of rage and (understandable) frustration, I shout a few obscenities at him as he drives off. He flips me off while driving away, presumably being smug and a jerk, and I yell another obscenity at him.
Then, it hit me like a sack of hammers weighing a ton: I lost my temper. I was immediately ashamed and struck by guilt. And it proceeded to haunt me for the rest of the day and week. I pretty much gave up because if something so minor could set me off, then what chance did I stand at suppressing my anger for 40 days?
Now, I set my sights on something I can control with more ease: a particular way of speaking. I don't have to swear but I choose to because I feel it adds color to the way I speak, and because I like being a bad boy. (Author's note: the preceding sentence was facetious in nature). And since I choose to swear, I can choose to not swear, as well. Let's see how this goes.
I'm also going through with this because a number of my friends are Catholic and they're giving up things they really enjoy like video games and sweets, and like I tacitly mentioned: I enjoy swearing. While they don't seem too beat up about it, the way they choose to go about Lent is by giving up something that they genuinely enjoy, as such, the decision must be difficult, and rather than flaunt my non-association with any particular religion, I choose solidarity so they don't feel distanced, and so I don't come off as a jerk when I eat 4 slices of cheesecake in their presence.
Respect. Solidarity. Not swearing.
Monday, February 20, 2012
She says "Shh..."
I often find myself unable to listen to David Bowie's cover of China Girl. Any time I listen to the Let's Dance album, I skip the song or lower the volume enough to barely hear it. One time, I was with a group of friends, and the cover came on. Instantly, I recoiled in disgust and quickly skipped to the next song. I think we all had a nice laugh. I'm not kidding, I did recoil in disgust. I think I writhed a bit, too.
It's because I find that David Bowie's cover of China Girl is more style and not enough substance. I realize how odd this must sound but I feel it'll make sense once I give some sort of explanation. What I mean by being more style is that that it has too much of a pop sound to it. I know how odd that sounds given that Let's Dance was pretty much a pop album. Too much pop, gleam, and this overproduced feel to the song only hinders it, for me. It had too much of an 80's pop feel to it which isn't always a bad thing, see The Cars' Shake it Up for an 80's pop song that doesn't sound so... odd. I'm also not a fan of SRV's guitar work on this song in particular. Too much blatantly 80's gleamy overproduced pop for my taste. The bass is fucking tight, though.
And then there's the delivery. It lacks heart and conviction causing it to come off as detached and uncaring. Whereas Iggy Pop's version had this sort of weary but steadfast passion and genuineness to it, as well as a certain kind of vulnerability and almost romantic desperation. Bowie's comes off as too restrained and nonchalant and generally uncaring (like I said, but it's worth repeating as to drive my point forward). Whereas Pop comes off as a genuine fellow singing about the titular China Girl. Now, a lot of people will argue that Iggy Pop sounds like he was singing about heroin. While I don't agree with that particular interpretation, I won't actually hold any animosity towards anyone who does. Well, not much because I should point out that the inspiration for the song came when Iggy Pop was smitten with some dude's Asian wife who rejected him. (When I get more details, I'll edit this portion of the entry so it doesn't come off as weird and somewhat brash). In a nutshell: Pop seems to care, whereas Bowie's on a seemingly nonchalant auto-pilot.
True, Bowie only recorded and released the cover to help Iggy Pop get back on his feet financially, but that's still no excuse to be underwhelming and not give your best. Hell, if you're doing it to help a friend you should probably be more motivated to make sure your cover sells like hot cakes or some other lucrative commodity that people would buy in large(r) quantities! Still, Bowie's cover introduced more people to the works of Iggy Pop so it isn't all bad.
Right?
It's because I find that David Bowie's cover of China Girl is more style and not enough substance. I realize how odd this must sound but I feel it'll make sense once I give some sort of explanation. What I mean by being more style is that that it has too much of a pop sound to it. I know how odd that sounds given that Let's Dance was pretty much a pop album. Too much pop, gleam, and this overproduced feel to the song only hinders it, for me. It had too much of an 80's pop feel to it which isn't always a bad thing, see The Cars' Shake it Up for an 80's pop song that doesn't sound so... odd. I'm also not a fan of SRV's guitar work on this song in particular. Too much blatantly 80's gleamy overproduced pop for my taste. The bass is fucking tight, though.
And then there's the delivery. It lacks heart and conviction causing it to come off as detached and uncaring. Whereas Iggy Pop's version had this sort of weary but steadfast passion and genuineness to it, as well as a certain kind of vulnerability and almost romantic desperation. Bowie's comes off as too restrained and nonchalant and generally uncaring (like I said, but it's worth repeating as to drive my point forward). Whereas Pop comes off as a genuine fellow singing about the titular China Girl. Now, a lot of people will argue that Iggy Pop sounds like he was singing about heroin. While I don't agree with that particular interpretation, I won't actually hold any animosity towards anyone who does. Well, not much because I should point out that the inspiration for the song came when Iggy Pop was smitten with some dude's Asian wife who rejected him. (When I get more details, I'll edit this portion of the entry so it doesn't come off as weird and somewhat brash). In a nutshell: Pop seems to care, whereas Bowie's on a seemingly nonchalant auto-pilot.
True, Bowie only recorded and released the cover to help Iggy Pop get back on his feet financially, but that's still no excuse to be underwhelming and not give your best. Hell, if you're doing it to help a friend you should probably be more motivated to make sure your cover sells like hot cakes or some other lucrative commodity that people would buy in large(r) quantities! Still, Bowie's cover introduced more people to the works of Iggy Pop so it isn't all bad.
Right?
Monday, February 13, 2012
Could Be Worse
I always say this because it's true. If you're in what appears to be a bad situation, it could be worse. If one is dead, it could be worse: they could be forgotten completely, or still be alive in horrible pain, or they could have never existed in the first place. I often use this phrase to downplay the severity of a situation. Usually because said situation is pretty frivolous, or more precisely: the attitude towards the situation is too frivolous or needlessly dramatic, which explains my loathing of the phrase "Fuck my life". Usually because it is often used frivolously, without merit, and recklessly, in situations that don't warrant hating one's life enough to wish it harm.
I'm usually satisfied with just saying, "Goddamn it!" if I'm particularly stressed out. If not, I'll just combine "meh" and "Could be worse" followed by shrugging and walking it off. Am I resilient or did I lose my mind at some point and decide some things aren't worth stressing over? A bit of both would be the safest answer. And the most accurate.
Not admitting that things could be worse and accepting the negativity of a harsh situation as the end takes on a defeatist attitude that I dislike. I'm not saying that one should look forward to how worse the situation could be, but note that it doesn't mean that this is the point in the story in which the character dies. If I'm stuck in a room with no exits, it could be worse: the room could be filling with water. As long as the situation doesn't turn into that, everything will be okay.
(If you can't see any exits, make one.)
Calm down, collect yourself, and carry on.
I believe it is pointless to debate the limits of this phrase because any situation could always be made worse.
I'm usually satisfied with just saying, "Goddamn it!" if I'm particularly stressed out. If not, I'll just combine "meh" and "Could be worse" followed by shrugging and walking it off. Am I resilient or did I lose my mind at some point and decide some things aren't worth stressing over? A bit of both would be the safest answer. And the most accurate.
Not admitting that things could be worse and accepting the negativity of a harsh situation as the end takes on a defeatist attitude that I dislike. I'm not saying that one should look forward to how worse the situation could be, but note that it doesn't mean that this is the point in the story in which the character dies. If I'm stuck in a room with no exits, it could be worse: the room could be filling with water. As long as the situation doesn't turn into that, everything will be okay.
(If you can't see any exits, make one.)
Calm down, collect yourself, and carry on.
I believe it is pointless to debate the limits of this phrase because any situation could always be made worse.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Obligatory Post about Valentine's Day
In various Spanish-speaking countries, St. Valentine's Day is also known as "Día de amor y amistad" or: Day of Love and Friendship. (And in many countries around the world, St. Valentine's Day is about more than "love")
That's what I like to focus on, regarding Valentine's Day: alternatives.
It's better to not think about this consumer holiday as an excuse to be excessively romantic by breaking the bank on flowers and sweets and such and thinking that this day out of all days of the year is destined for (a vague but inaccurate idea of) love. This day is actually a pretty twisted day, if you peel back the layers. However, it gets things done... for the most part; so, you kind of have to give it up for this version of Valentine's Day.
Día de amor y amistad. Day of love and friendship.
People get so caught up in making a big deal about Valentine's Day being about chocolate and flowers and one particular version of "love" that they forget (or ignore) that love swings multiple ways: platonic, family, friend, non-romantic. This doesn't mean I'll get my male friends a bouquet of roses but I'll at least make a note of it. Once I explain the friendship part, they should stop raising their eyebrows suspiciously. Of course, they'll still think me weird but that's been the case since I could speak so it doesn't matter.
I don't have a problem with the day itself but more with the people who have warped it into something else, or what it has become: more about consumerism than the original idea. Of course, everything is bound to change so there really isn't much that I can do about it other than not let it bother me. Still, it'll bother me that rather than spread love throughout the entire year, most people focus it on one or few days in particular.
Hmm.
Looking back, I think I've always had this mindset even when I did have someone whom I could call my "Valentine". Of course, that didn't mean that I would ignore her or anything of the sort. I wouldn't piss all over the day and get on a soap box to preach the evils of consumerism and Valentine's Day. It's the people, not necessarily the holiday itself that is messed up. I played by the rules, or expectations, but made sure not to make it about expectations but more about her and us and so forth, and tried to be as genuine and warm and fuzzy as possible.
Even now, I'll continue to do that, the fuzzy part being a bit more possible given that I have facial hair. Oh, bad joke.
Regardless of what I did/do/will do/won't do/etc, I hope you, reader, have a good time all the time. And if you're one of "those", I hope you get candy and stuff. And if you're alone, that's all right.
Don't sweat it.
That's what I like to focus on, regarding Valentine's Day: alternatives.
It's better to not think about this consumer holiday as an excuse to be excessively romantic by breaking the bank on flowers and sweets and such and thinking that this day out of all days of the year is destined for (a vague but inaccurate idea of) love. This day is actually a pretty twisted day, if you peel back the layers. However, it gets things done... for the most part; so, you kind of have to give it up for this version of Valentine's Day.
Día de amor y amistad. Day of love and friendship.
People get so caught up in making a big deal about Valentine's Day being about chocolate and flowers and one particular version of "love" that they forget (or ignore) that love swings multiple ways: platonic, family, friend, non-romantic. This doesn't mean I'll get my male friends a bouquet of roses but I'll at least make a note of it. Once I explain the friendship part, they should stop raising their eyebrows suspiciously. Of course, they'll still think me weird but that's been the case since I could speak so it doesn't matter.
I don't have a problem with the day itself but more with the people who have warped it into something else, or what it has become: more about consumerism than the original idea. Of course, everything is bound to change so there really isn't much that I can do about it other than not let it bother me. Still, it'll bother me that rather than spread love throughout the entire year, most people focus it on one or few days in particular.
Hmm.
Looking back, I think I've always had this mindset even when I did have someone whom I could call my "Valentine". Of course, that didn't mean that I would ignore her or anything of the sort. I wouldn't piss all over the day and get on a soap box to preach the evils of consumerism and Valentine's Day. It's the people, not necessarily the holiday itself that is messed up. I played by the rules, or expectations, but made sure not to make it about expectations but more about her and us and so forth, and tried to be as genuine and warm and fuzzy as possible.
Even now, I'll continue to do that, the fuzzy part being a bit more possible given that I have facial hair. Oh, bad joke.
Regardless of what I did/do/will do/won't do/etc, I hope you, reader, have a good time all the time. And if you're one of "those", I hope you get candy and stuff. And if you're alone, that's all right.
Don't sweat it.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Erstwhile
Every now and then, the past will barge in unannounced.
This is a universal truth because time and memory are two wild stallions that can rarely be tamed. If we could tame time, we would be able to travel through time to our hearts' content. And existence would be warped or even destroyed by now 2012 CE (or AD, if you prefer) or 900 A(other letter here).
If memory could truly be tamed, we would be able to recite all sorts of facts, figures, and dates for our exams. We would never be able to forget. Conversely, we would be able to forget anything and possibly everything at will, or particular memories.
Should they be tamed? Can they?
When the past barges in, I'll be doing something unrelated to the past. Unannounced, seemingly out of thin air (with rarely a warning). I dread these instances less and less now. Probably because while I don't welcome them, they bother me less and less. I know they're on their way and there isn't much I can do to stop them. Like I said, time and memory are generally wyld stallyns- I mean wild stallions, that cannot be tamed.
Each run-in with the past has a varying effect on me. Sometimes, it'll make me miserable for a few heartbeats, during which my head will be filled with stupid, irrational, idiotic, foolish thoughts and fantasies. Other times, it'll just piss me off to no end; I'll be mad at myself or at the circumstances that seemingly allowed the past to bludgeon me over the head with a large cricket bat (which is pretty pointless because in the end, I only have myself to blame). But no matter what effect it has on me, it (ultimately) leaves me with some sort of resolve (or goal): stop fucking up.
While things will happen spontaneously, without warning of any sort, my reaction can be controlled, or guided at the very least. To some extent. I can either let it get to me or I can shrug it off as best as I can and keep trudging forward as I am wont to do. And as I am obligated to do. I owe it to myself and to the future (an aspect of the wild time) to march on however painful each step may be.
Hmm.
Of course, the best advice I have ever practiced was "wing it." Excessive planning and plotting is a bad thing. Things have a strange way of working out. I like to think of pretzels as an analogy to times like these. They're twisted, have an odd form, are covered with strange things, and are generally something strange and maybe confusing, but they make sense (or will).
This is a universal truth because time and memory are two wild stallions that can rarely be tamed. If we could tame time, we would be able to travel through time to our hearts' content. And existence would be warped or even destroyed by now 2012 CE (or AD, if you prefer) or 900 A(other letter here).
If memory could truly be tamed, we would be able to recite all sorts of facts, figures, and dates for our exams. We would never be able to forget. Conversely, we would be able to forget anything and possibly everything at will, or particular memories.
Should they be tamed? Can they?
When the past barges in, I'll be doing something unrelated to the past. Unannounced, seemingly out of thin air (with rarely a warning). I dread these instances less and less now. Probably because while I don't welcome them, they bother me less and less. I know they're on their way and there isn't much I can do to stop them. Like I said, time and memory are generally wyld stallyns- I mean wild stallions, that cannot be tamed.
Each run-in with the past has a varying effect on me. Sometimes, it'll make me miserable for a few heartbeats, during which my head will be filled with stupid, irrational, idiotic, foolish thoughts and fantasies. Other times, it'll just piss me off to no end; I'll be mad at myself or at the circumstances that seemingly allowed the past to bludgeon me over the head with a large cricket bat (which is pretty pointless because in the end, I only have myself to blame). But no matter what effect it has on me, it (ultimately) leaves me with some sort of resolve (or goal): stop fucking up.
While things will happen spontaneously, without warning of any sort, my reaction can be controlled, or guided at the very least. To some extent. I can either let it get to me or I can shrug it off as best as I can and keep trudging forward as I am wont to do. And as I am obligated to do. I owe it to myself and to the future (an aspect of the wild time) to march on however painful each step may be.
Hmm.
Of course, the best advice I have ever practiced was "wing it." Excessive planning and plotting is a bad thing. Things have a strange way of working out. I like to think of pretzels as an analogy to times like these. They're twisted, have an odd form, are covered with strange things, and are generally something strange and maybe confusing, but they make sense (or will).
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