tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63642557902479727642024-03-05T06:55:46.642-06:00Sky Blue, The BulletAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06534818311538289843noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-50041388162011412052014-12-22T10:48:00.000-06:002014-12-22T10:48:05.779-06:00Holly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3HW7GvkCPpqjctbf-JUmgOgHAUwiX7sm3RWviHH7BPr6luMWcuvx9BAtn4nWTRwBkPzUuTqtbKUhhgOPDn4kbPy-dmr4vEUNpLwVGEOsgye2IJFxubW5TAGcl0HiARm_xhGfHRHxlZZU/s1600/Holly+Banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3HW7GvkCPpqjctbf-JUmgOgHAUwiX7sm3RWviHH7BPr6luMWcuvx9BAtn4nWTRwBkPzUuTqtbKUhhgOPDn4kbPy-dmr4vEUNpLwVGEOsgye2IJFxubW5TAGcl0HiARm_xhGfHRHxlZZU/s1600/Holly+Banner.jpg" height="214" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">My car was in the shop, so I've been using Bill's Honda Pilot in
the meantime. Got a call that it was ready for pickup, but they were
closing at 5:30, so I sped across town as soon as I got off work at 5 to at
least pick up my key; anyway, I got home at like 5:35, pull in to the driveway,
and Els runs up to the car, and she's frantic and borderline-crying -
"There's blood everywhere on the deck, I think Holly got attacked," -
so I run into the house, drop my backpack and coat, and head to the deck doors,
where Bill's got Holly inside, a towel held to her face, and the fur on her
front legs and jaw is just matted with blood. There's blood spattered and
pooled out on the deck, as well - rich and red, maybe made more so under the
harsh outdoor floodlights. It looks bad, but Bill's calm, stroking her
side and scratching behind her ears, and even though the towel is a faded old
red/fuchsia, it's polka-dotted with fresh blood spots, so it's hard to say
what's going on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">They had come home from running errands, and
left her outside before they left - why not, after all, she's a husky, it's
cold out - and Els saw Holly waiting by the door, as she usually does.
She thought Holly was covered in mud, at first.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">He tells me to get a couple of blankets that we don't mind
getting dirty - we're taking her to a 24-hour vet, which, as it turns out, is
right by where I work (they had no idea where it was, which I think was
contributing to their panic - they couldn't get a hold of our regular vet) -
and so we grab a couple blankets and lay them down in the cargo area of the
Pilot. Bill leads Holly out by her collar, still holding the towel to her
face, and she's not resisting him or limping or whining, which is kind of a
relief and puzzling at the same time - it seems like if she's bleeding that
much, she's gotta be hurting - and we lift her into the back. Bill gets
in with her and pulls the rear hatch shut. I'm driving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">We get to the clinic, ring the bell, and the first person we see
is a woman coming from Exam Room 1, tear-streaked face and short, raggedy
breathing. Not a nurse or receptionist - another pet owner. You
know it's not good, and even with the volume of blood on the towel and Holly's
fur, I felt kind of silly - it really could be worse, I can't imagine what
she's going through right now. Still, it feels like forever before
someone comes to the front desk, and the first thing we do is... weigh
Holly. Priorities, I guess. Then, to Exam Room 2, right next door
to whatever awfulness we've tangentially witnessed. Since Bill's still
handling towel duty, I grab the door, because Els is sobbing. I stay in
the room long enough to see the nurse start to check some vitals, then I go
back out into the waiting area to try and calm Els down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Which is how we end up outside with Els face down on the cold
concrete in a duck and cover pose. I'm trying to get her to breathe
slowly and regularly - she had asthma when she was younger, and with sufficient
stress it can flare back up - so I have her sit on the bumper of the Pilot and
put her head down by her knees. It's a pretty lame gesture, but I feel
like I have to get something under control.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"She was just waiting by the door, Matthew, just waiting
patiently for us to come home and help her. She wasn't even making any
noise. There was blood by both of the deck doors. Why didn't I let
her in before we left? What if whatever got her is still out there?
God, I'm so stupid, she deserves better than this" and this is where she
crumples to the sidewalk, alternately wailing and gasping for air. It
takes a couple minutes, but I console her the best I can and get her back on
her feet. "You've gotta be strong for her right now. Let's go
back inside."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Will you go in and check on her? I can't look at her
right now, I'm going to lose it again."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">So I do. And despite the smearing of blood on the floor,
everyone involved is really pretty calm - Bill's joking around with the nurse,
Holly's relaxed and laying on her side like she would at home, and the nurse
fills me in: "Her vitals are all really good, her ears are healthy pink,
no difficulty breathing, strong pulse in the back leg, so I'm not too
concerned. There's no signs of trauma anywhere else on her, even with all
this blood, so it's definitely something in her mouth or internal. The
vet should be in soon."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">This seems promising. I relay the information to Els, who
is mostly calmed down now out in the waiting room. "Hell, I'm sure
there's just a lot of blood vessels in the face - think about how much head
wounds bleed, right?" I say, trying to project some authority, even though
I have no idea if that's true or not. Maybe it is, I feel like I read it
somewhere. "I'm sure it just looks worse than it is."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"You'll tell me if it's bad, won't you?"</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">How bad could it be</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">, I wonder, but I
agree. I go back in the exam room, seconds before the vet finally comes
in. She's tall, thin, looks too young to be in a lab coat, but she
carries herself with such cheery assurance that it's kind of calming. She
does her preliminary checks, agrees that Holly's vitals are great, comments on
her beauty (as so many people who meet her do), and then pries Holly's jaws
apart. Her teeth are stained red, and it's a much darker red, almost
plum-colored, on the floor of her jaw - thickly pooled blood, maybe even
coagulating, I think, so maybe that's good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"She got into trouble before, chewing sticks," Bill
notes, as he's stroking her back while the vet looks inside. "Did
something to her salivary gland - it was pretty bad then, so I suspect that
might be related." He says this in the assured, knowing kind of
voice that you expect to hear from someone talking about their kid being a
rascal.<br />
<br />
Which is what makes the next thing the vet says that much worse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Her tongue is gone." The words land on us
awkwardly, in part because of the literal meaning of that sentence - <i>her
tongue is gone</i> - and in part because of the disbelieving tone with
which she utters it, like she herself cannot actually fathom that she is
putting that sequence of words together. My jaw actually drops open; the
slightest twinge of what is absolutely phantom pain hits the bottom of my
tongue. The darkness of the bottom of her mouth is suddenly and painfully
obvious - the muscular reddish-pink of her tongue simply isn't there; there is
only a jagged, pitiful chunk of dark flesh left at the back of her mouth, its
horror made worse by the realization of what and how and why it is there.
It is freakishly quiet in that room for what can only be a few seconds, but
that moment stretches on just long enough to be agonizing before Bill speaks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"But... she... she can't survive withou-ohhhhh," and
he's not even finishing the thought, his already-thin and boy-like voice of
shock giving way to what I can only describe as an agonized, mournful whimper
as he buries his face in her fur. I actually see the teardrops fall and
splash on the ground before he gets there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The vet practically whispers "I'm so sorry," and I can
tell she's mustering every hour of training and professionalism to maintain her
composure as she leaves the room. Bill is moaning in anguish, which is
muffled, again, by her fur and body. Throughout this whole time, from the
house through this exam just now, she has not made a single whine or whimper or
wookie growl - not even a sigh - and while I don't know enough about dog
anatomy to say this with certainty, I become aware of why that might be.
She's quiet. She is so very and dreadfully quiet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">I have to walk out there and tell Elsabeth. I left her out
there with some semblance of hope, even though I had nothing I could really
back that up with, and I have to go out and break her heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">She wails, too, goes limp in my arms, and I feel like a jerk as
I try and calm her down, telling her again that Holly needs us now more than
ever now; we walk into the room and Els drapes herself over the huddled forms
of Bill and Holly. The nurse is already in the room again; even her eyes
are red and puffy, and she's sniffling and apologetic for being that way even
as she's trying to explain what happens next. She has a form on a
clipboard; she tells us to take all the time we need and slips out into the
staff area - I catch glimpses of the vet and other staff, all with similarly
stunned or stricken faces. These are people who see and deal with
terrible things all the time - it's their job - and yet this, <i>this</i>,
is something else.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">I don't know how much time passes; I'm sure it feels longer than
it actually is. Bill and Elsabeth alternate consoling each other,
weeping, and trying to comfort Holly, who is still surprisingly serene,
considering. This whole time, I've tried to keep my eyes glued to hers -
to somehow reassure her and soak up every moment I've got with her - and even
her eyes aren't wide with fear or pain, and her normally melodramatic eyebrows
are relaxed. She looks just like this when she lies under the table or by
the fireplace or outside of our bedroom door in the morning. I
half-expect her to lick the floor (as she does) and know that is impossible and
stupid to think about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The form gets signed at some point; the original nurse and
another one enter with a small plastic basket of supplies - gauze, tubing,
wraps, medical tape, bottles, syringes, hair clippers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Bill used to joke about shaving Holly (especially in the summer)
- "Do you know how much less time we'd spend brushing and cleaning up
after you, dog?" - and that's what I think about as they turn the clippers
on and they shave off a small section of her front leg. She stirs and
tries to wriggle away, kicking with her back legs in a way that reminds me of a
chicken, just as she would when we would try and hold her still so we could dry
her off or clip her nails or trim the fur between her toes. It's the most
I've seen her move or struggle or resist since we first brought her into the
room. We do our best to calm her; somehow, she does better when they put
in the IV catheter than she did with the clippers. The blood beads up
quickly inside of the catheter, because her pulse is still strong and healthy,
because despite the matted and crusted blood all over the front of her, she
really is almost okay in every way that she could possibly be and yet it is
still not enough.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The catheter is held in place with your standard boring
off-white medical tape initially, but it is soon followed by a pink wrap with
bones and paw prints speckled in a pattern on it. It is cheery and advertises
comfort and healing; this is the kind of wrap you put on a sprained joint or a
minor wound. They administer two syringes full of some different liquids
through the catheter. The first nurse asks us if we want impressions made
of her paw prints; we do. They leave the room. Holly sighs, in
drama queen fashion, just like she randomly does around the house at times,
because being a dog is a <i>ruff life</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The vet comes in. She's carrying two other syringes, and
she quietly describes the process: "It's essentially an overdose of
anesthetic, the same kind we would use for surgery. It'll go to her brain
first and make her unconscious; about a minute later, it will go to her heart
and stop it. Her eyes will remain open. I'll listen for her
heartbeat at that time, and she might release urine as the muscles in her body
relax."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Bill and Els are blanketed over Holly as much as they can be;
the vet slowly depresses the two syringes and steps back. I get one last
look directly in her eyes, which are slightly narrowed at this point, and I
have no idea what I am trying to convey to her or receive from her. You
can see the movement of her chest and sides gradually diminish, and the vet
gently taps the area immediately around Holly's eyes. "She's
unconscious," she announces, in her measured, official doctor voice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">I step to the other side of the room, behind Els now; there's
nothing for me at the front now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">It is probably finished, but it's not quite over, though.
She makes a percussive, breathy sound like labored breathing or hacking up a
hairball, once; seconds pass, and she does it again. "That's the
diaphragm relaxing and letting air out," the vet explains, probably for
two purposes - the literal, encyclopedia-esque observe-and-explain ("This
is what is happening and why") and to steer us away from any sense that
Holly is struggling to stay with us. We know it is better for her; we
know she is happier now; she is no longer suffering. "She's
passed," the vet says, quietly. I look at my watch: 7:02 PM, December
18th, 2014. If I'm not mistaken, I met this beautiful, dopey puppy almost
exactly 4 years ago, within a day or two, even. I had four very eventful
years with her</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The ending of our time there is clipped and in stark contrast to
the events occurring literally minutes before: a bill is printed off, a card is
swiped, and the first nurse apologizes for her reaction - "Most of the
time, I can keep it together, it's the nature of things around here, but she
was so beautiful" - and Bill mumbles his thanks, and we walk out into the
night and drive home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">On the road, I realize with a sinking heart that someone has to
go find her tongue, and it can't be Bill or Els. So when we pull into the
driveway and Bill and Els get out and hug tightly, I speed-walk into the house,
drop my backpack on the floor and dig through it to find my headlamp. I
search in vain for the box of latex gloves I had buried somewhere in the
downstairs spare bedroom, until Els reminds me that they're up in the closet
upstairs. I haven't moved fast enough - Bill is already connecting the
hose to the sink in the kitchen, in order to get hot water, to wash Holly's
blood off the deck. You hear choked sobs over the sound of the water
spraying on the deck - and indeed, there is blood spattered and pooled at both
sets of deck doors. She was waiting for us, and she did what she knew to
do - if we weren't by one door, go to the other.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">I follow the trail of spatter across the deck, around the corner
by the hot tub, and down the stairs. Out into her small fenced-off
area. It leads me across the patchy grass and dirt, past the basement
window, where it is slightly more concentrated - did she look in there, as she
often did, looking for us, hoping we'd notice and come help her, because we always
did, because she could rely on us? - along the side of the house and up to the
chain-link fence, the bottom of which is bent alarmingly askew, and there, in
muted brownish-reddish-purple, blood soaked and frozen into the hard ground
around it, is her tongue, stiffly hanging from one of the lazily-triangular
bent metal loops.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Siberian huskies are escape artists. They are
runners. It is in their blood. Every time Holly went outside, she
would check the wooden gate on side of the house, where our trash and recycling
bins were, because that was heavily-trafficked and had the potential to be
forgotten to be latched. She knew that, and that's why she would check
every time. And she would wander, somewhere in the neighborhood, never
running far away, but nevertheless always very proud of herself when she
deigned to return.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">When Molly and her dog lived with us, her dog
was small enough to escape under the fence pretty easily, or dig if necessary;
eventually, Bill installed new landscaping timbers and secured the bottom of
the fence to it, but there were gaps, as we later discovered after several
baffling escape incidents on Holly's part in the past 8 months or so.
Holly didn't dig, but as a medium sized, stubborn dog, she had the willpower to
bend the parts of the fence enough to give her wriggle room. Until now, I
had always assumed that she had done so with her snout and shoulders and sheer
determination, but with the space of a day, it seems plausible that all these
other times, she might have - or probably - used her teeth and jaws to
manipulate the patterned wire making up the fence. In warmer times, it
was probably easier to do so; on a late December afternoon, the metal was tough
and unyielding.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">I yell: "Oh, you stupid, fucking
dog!" into the naked branches of the massive maple in her fenced-in area -
the same one from which a good-sized limb came crashing down onto the deck from
a good height as she cowered, whimpering, in the basement, one afternoon this
summer - and more generally, the night sky, not because she can hear me or
because it will make any damn difference, but because there is nothing around
for me to batter and deform with my hands, my fists, my feet, so I must deface
the stillness of the evening. I know Bill's still out on the deck, trying
to blast the remnants of blood off and away from our sight, and that he might
take offense, but what else can I do?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Well, I kick the tree. That doesn't
help. I walk back to the fence, and the cold feels extra strange around
my rubber-gloved hands, like chilled water flowing around nonetheless dry skin.
The tongue itself feels, frankly, like a chunk of partially-frozen meat,
which really adds to the utter <i>what-the-fuck-ness</i> of the whole
situation - it doesn't lay flat like it used to, hanging relaxed and lazy
between her fangs when she'd pant, and I'm struck by the thought that the way
it's posed now is maybe the last way it was ever attached to her, and that is a
dark, dangerous path of speculation beyond that. In any case, the damn
thing's not budging, so I'm forced to consider exactly how it happened,
regardless:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">And probably what it was is this - when you
see the bottom of a chain link fence, you've seen it so many times that you
don't stop to consider the intricacies of how they're constructed, as such, but
at their most basic, it's just patterns of bent, thick gauge wire braided
together and joined on the edges by hook-like loops, like a macro-scale weave
similar to any garment you're wearing. It's the loops, emphasis on the
"hook-like," that are the important thing here - for what I'd assume
are both structurally-functional and safety reasons, the loops are usually
closed back in on themselves, with any edges filed down or rounded to prevent
snags, or crevices for rust to start to take hold, or to prevent little Johnny
Dipshit of suburban America from getting tetanus from playing near the fence
(which is now, of course, a near impossibility, as no one under the age of 25
has played outside and unhovered over in their lifetimes.) But as with any
mass-produced product, there will be imperfections as soon as it is finished,
or as the years pass, and here, the loop/hook had worked itself open just
enough to have a small gap that left it weighing much more heavily on the
"hook" side of the aforementioned loop/hook continuum. Enough
to push through yielding flesh with sufficient pressure, and not enough of a
gap to allow it to pull back out quickly or cleanly. It was a barbed
fishing hook without the barb.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><br />
So I can only speculate beyond that - the metal wasn't simply snagged in/out
like a fresh trout, and it wasn't looped through the thinnest part of the
surface like when you accidentally catch your finger with a fishing hook.
It's hard to distinguish the specific front/back of her tongue in any
obvious fashion. It seems as if it is far away from any edge and deep
enough into the "meat" that her tongue, at its flattest, might have
been able to slide into the gap at first as she was trying to get a good grip
on the metal with her jaws. Yielding enough for the metal to pinch on
both sides, the tongue swells up, trapping it further. Who knows how she
handled it then - was she puzzled? Was she worried? How long was it
stuck just like that, if that's how it happened? When did she start to
panic and try and disengage right away, only to realize she was trapped,
possibly wedging and forcing the metal deeper into the tongue, enough to push
it all the way through?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">When did her fear become so great that her
fight-or-flight, adrenaline-fueled neck and shoulder muscles - the same ones I
had seen severely shake any number of toys she held clenched in her mouth, the
ones that reminded you that deep inside her was an animal who could just
absolutely ruin some other animal's shit in seconds - overcame all other pain
and fear she was feeling at that instant and said, shouted, <i>PULL, PULL
NOW</i>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">When she finally tore herself away from what
was trapping her, did she even know what she had done right then and there?
Did she look at her tongue hanging on the fence and know what it was?
Did she know how very bad and terrible things were going to be?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Because she didn't run back. I'm no
forensic expert, but you can pretty easily tell the pace with which she
returned to the deck to wait for us was, at best, a loping trot: the trail of
blood spatter is concentrated and consistent enough that it had time to fall
and collect as she went for help, first (maybe) to the basement window to see
if anyone was down there, then back between the hot tub and the tree, around the
corner to the stairs, around the corner again in a switchback, across the deck,
to the first set of sliding doors. She waited there, maybe for a few
seconds, maybe for a minute or two. Then she went to the other set of
sliding doors. She waited there, maybe not as long. She went down
the steps to the wooden gate that had been unlatched so many other times - if
it had been, would they have found her waiting for them at the front door,
laying quietly on the sidewalk, the blood and trauma even less obvious in the
early-encroaching darkness of mid-December? It wasn't unlatched.
She went back to the first set of sliding doors. She waited.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The fluids - saliva, blood, whatever else lies
inside of the muscular tissue of the tongue - were surprisingly still, well,
fluid. They stained my rubber gloves, and I knew I needed tools to pull
the tongue off the fence, and those would be in the garage, so I stripped the
gloves off to get to those. I walked back up to the deck, past Bill with
the hose, mumbling "I found it, don't come over there," into the
kitchen, past Elsabeth at the sink, holding the hose adapter to the faucet,
asked her for a couple of plastic grocery bags. "I found it," I
said, flatly. I grabbed a fresh pair of rubber gloves, and went out to the
garage.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Improvisation is key to any toolbox.
Inevitably, you're not going to have quite exactly the tool you need for
a job - maybe it doesn't exist, maybe you just never purchased it or ever
thought you'd need one - so you work with what you have. Understandably,
there was nothing guiding me as I rummaged through Bill's tool chest, nothing
that specifically said <i>In Case of Dog Tongue Removal From Backyard
Fence, Select These </i>- so eventually I settled on a pair of scissors
and a pair of needle-nose pliers. For whatever reason - maybe some
silly, stupid seed of sentiment - it was important that I was able to do this
with a minimum of further damage to this until-very-recently-gainfully-<wbr></wbr>employed
mouth organ. It seemed respectful.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The removal was much simpler than I'd
anticipated, considering the difficulty I'd had with my gloved hands. I
gently gripped and twisted the tongue around until I had it at a point where
the only way to finish the job was to make a small, quick snip, and it fell
free into my hand. It was heavier than I'd anticipated, and this had the
weird effect of further diminishing any association between it and Holly, which
made me feel better and yet still worse about the whole thing. I dropped
it into the plastic bags, tied them up the same way we would when we'd pick up
after her unceremonious squat, waddle, and shit ritual on walks. Walked
over to the garbage can, hesitated: is this how I treat the last physical
remains we had of her? Should I, like, be burying this somewhere?
Or burning it, Viking funeral pyre-like, in which case, what if it <i>kind
of fucking smelled good, wouldn't that be the weirdest fucking thing</i>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">I dropped it in the trash can. Garbage
day was tomorrow. I went and collected the trash from the rest of house
and piled it on top of it, glad for the distraction of an annoying chore while
Bill finished furiously cleaning the deck and then salting it to prevent anyone
slipping on it. Out in the garage, I grabbed one of those really thick,
super-absorbent auto-repair paper towels and did my best to clean the small
bits of tongue off of the scissors and pliers.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Inside, Bill and Els continued to alternate
bursting into tears and speaking somberly, wistfully, about this house's one
constant occupant for the past decade. I pulled out three tumblers, a
shot glass, and a half-full bottle of bourbon, poured it in each, handed the
glasses to Bill and Els, picked mine up, the shot glass in the other hand.
"To Holly," I say. Glasses are clinked and we look for
comfort in the tipped-up bottoms. I slowly pour out the shot glass into
the sink. "Why'd you waste it?" Bill says. "Gotta
pour one out for her," I reply. I turn the shot glass around, look
at the screen printing on it. It says <b>Cancun</b> in rainbow
lettering, and above it, the Jimmy Buffet of turtles swims at you in a
good-natured manner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Well, that's fitting. Look,
Els."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Holly was a weird dog, for a lot of reasons,
but this was always one of my favorites: when she would lay flat on her
stomach, she didn't lay there with her head in her paws in front or slightly
off to the side. She'd bend her paws back and out, her jaw flat against
the floor, looking like a cross between a bearskin rug with the head still
attached and, yes, a sea turtle with its fins guiding it through the water.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Our little sea husky," she says,
smiling and then choking up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">She was such a dopey, sweet puppy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The next day is Elsabeth's commencement
ceremonies for her master's degree - what should have been a pretty damn big
celebration is still happy but slightly muted. The night before, Els had
gathered all of Holly's toys to be thrown away - probably for the best, to
eliminate any painful reminders as quickly as possible. Still, in the
morning, as I groggily walk out into the hallway, I don't have to step
carefully over a mass of fur and outstretched limbs; I walk up the split-level
stairs, and I don't hear the plodding, muffled paws thumping against the wood;
I don't shuffle to the deck doors as a wet and furry nose pokes the back of my
legs impatiently; and so there's no reason to have a half-full bag of
"mature" dog food around. We used a red and speckled white cup
to measure out and serve her food and always left it in the bag of dog food.
I pull it out, but not without it making a familiar clinking sound
against the food inside, which is all the more reason to rush out into the cold
in my shorts and make sure the bag is in the damn trash as soon as possible.
Bill's at the top of the stairs when I walk back inside, and I explain: "Had
to get the dog food out in the trash before they come by."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">I focus on the endless procession of forms and
the accompanying data entry as much as I can throughout the day. Before
the ceremony, I leave work early to go home and quickly change into something a
little bit more presentable, punch in the key code to the lock, open the door,
and remember that there's no furball laying on the landing and partially
blocking the door as I step in. I think of all the times I've sighed or
grunted in exasperation as I waited for her to <i>streeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetch</i>,
shake her body and generate a cloud of Holly-hair, and sashay nonchalantly up
or down the stairs, and how in spite of all that, I always said "Hello
puppy," (sometimes in comically-bad accents - try saying it in an exaggerated
French accent and you'll understand why) and "See you later, pup"
before I closed the door and hit the lock button, knowing that she'd be right
there when I came back.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06534818311538289843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-11794017538178460732014-08-11T17:23:00.000-05:002014-08-11T17:23:09.935-05:00Today In Fun Adventures With Marketing and Artist Relations Derptitude <i>[editor's note: I wrote this almost a year ago when I was playing with my old band. I was recently reminded of it when I came across an earlier draft of this rant someplace else. In any case, seeing as I'm no longer in that band and don't particularly care about any "backlash," I figured I might as well publish it. Also worth noting: the DJ mentioned in this rant turned out to be a pretty cool guy, but the show was still fucking stupid as hell and there's no reason we should have wasted our time playing it.]</i><br />
<br />
So my band is playing this show on Friday - one we've prepared for all summer and for which we've turned down other paying gigs. Now, let me point out that this isn't our "career," by any means - but we still put time into it, into sounding good and putting on a show worth watching, so as far as I'm concerned, there is some expected value for our services rendered.<br />
<br />
The following e-mail, however, demonstrates 1) how easily this value is lost on people and 2) misspelled passive-aggressive incompetent arrogance at its finest.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Hey guys, this is ---- -------. I work over here at ----- and i'm kind of taking care of the entertainment/marketing area of the show at --- --------- on Friday. Angela hit me up and informed me that you guys were inquiring about getting paid for your performance Friday night and that $300 would cover your costs. I just want to be upfront with where we're at with the event, our costs, and overall purpose of putting on such a large show for charity.</i> </blockquote>
Correct. You just met us. And this is crazy. But we play music. And people pay us. Much as I imagine they pay you for your "entertainment/marketing" work. Please, continue.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>While I wasn't working for ----- at the time of last year's event, I'm decently involved with this year's production. Obviously the costs put into doing any kind of event at such a large venue like --- --------- nearly quadruple our costs from last years event at Green Square. </i></blockquote>
Let me get this straight - the venue that you guys chose, knowing it would be <i><b>more expensive</b></i>, such that you could upgrade your presentation, the very one <i><b>we were involved with last year</b>, </i>has somehow caught you by surprise by costing more than the one you used last year? SHOCKER. <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Also, this year we've brought in ------- --------- which is the charity we're trying to raise money for. With that being said, profits from ticket sales are the main income for raising said funds for the charity once our costs are covered and unfortunately this draws a very thin line between being able to cover our expenses and being able to make a donation.</i></blockquote>
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Mein gott! </i>So you offered proceeds from an event to a charity before fully accounting for the costs of said event? COOL! "Hey, we'd like to have your organization be involved with us as a draw for our event and in return we'll give you the money we make from it! You know, if we have anything left over. But definitely let us put your name on our materials either way, okay?"<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>As Angela informed me, she said she would let our boss know that you guys had inquired about a payment for the show. With already being so over budget, this being so last minute, and the fact that our boss is out of town until Wednesday - I will not be able to give you an answer on if this compensation can be paid until he returns, also with this being a last minute inquiry/expense that we did not budget for I can not promise that he will be as gracious as he was for last year's performance due to the immense expenses we already have. </i></blockquote>
Last minute to <i><b>whom?!</b> </i>Did you seriously expect that our services - and let me be clear, that is what we are paid for, you know - were something we would just donate out of the kindness of our hearts? I mean, sure, the charitable aspect of what you're putting on - IF, you know, you actually turn a profit (better cross your fingers, charity, lolz!1!!1!) - is certainly a noble thing, but we were not brought in to account for your poor budgeting, over-promising and potential under-delivering. Then again, maybe that's why you're in "marketing." And <i style="font-weight: bold;">gracious?!</i> You mean it's gracious to pay people for their services?! Man, I sure hope that your employers feel the same way about the people who "graciously" pay tuition and go into debt to afford your education. Again - did your boss think that he had pre-paid for a subscription for us to deliver upon?<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>We were under the impression that ---------- was taking advantage of a great opportunity to play for a large crowd at a nice venue, with no previous mention of compensation.</i></blockquote>
<b>HOLY FUCK.</b><br />
<br />
Sorry. I'm just... it's... so if you paid us last year to do the thing that we are doing AGAIN this year, it never ONCE crossed your collective financially-savvy feces-throwing budgetary planning operation that we might again expect payment for this year as well? And let's go crazy here for a second and ride along with your assumption of no compensation: are you actually going to guarantee a "large crowd" at this "nice venue?" Because if you have such a "large crowd," then how are you failing to make enough money from your ticket sales to this event? <b>[gasps]</b> Unless... no... it couldn't be... did <b><i>YOU</i> NOT DO YOUR JOB</b>, Mr. Marketing Guy?<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>This does factor into our boss' overall perception of having our end of the details hammered out in advance, and this may put a negative light on our personal efforts in budgeting our event over the last few months so I want to make it clear that while Angela will inquire about said payment, she may be forced to deal with the repercussions of bringing a last minute expense to the table when we're so far over budget as it is. </i></blockquote>
<b>AND THERE IT IS</b>. "This does factor into our boss' [sic] overall perception of having our end of the details hammered out in advance, and this may put a negative light on our personal efforts in budgeting our event over the last few months" - so your concern is about <i style="font-weight: bold;">covering your own ass </i>for your <i><b>own failure to do your job with due diligence?</b> </i>MAN, I CANNOT FATHOM WHY YOUR BOSS' [sic] (bosses? Is that what you were going for?) MIGHT BE CONCERNED ABOUT PAYING SOMEONE AND THEN NOT GETTING ANYTHING FOR THEIR MONEY. (Which is why it totally makes sense to get something like us playing an extended show without creative control or input <b>without paying for it</b>. You know, to balance things out.)<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>While I do not doubt that Chris our boss, would have compensated ---------- in some fashion regardless of your inquiry today I can not promise a specific amount at this time simply because he's not here to confirm anything. If this in any way hinders your involvement with the event, please let me know as soon as possible.</i> </blockquote>
Huh. So you "do not doubt that Chris [...] would have compensated <i>---------- </i>in some fashion regardless," but you felt the need to tell us that we should not expect payment? Oh, right, the whole "GRACIOUS" thing. Got it.<br />
<br />
[wanking motion]<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I'm extremely familiar with the music/entertainment biz for it was my past profession for nearly a decade before working for -----. I understand the costs involved in traveling, being a touring band, gear, etc.</i></blockquote>
Without being a total tool about all of this, let me point out that the gentleman in question WAS in a band that successfully made it as an mtvU "Artist of the Week" and which was once reviewed as having, quote,<br />
<i><br /></i>
<b><i>"</i><span style="font-size: x-small; font-style: italic;">fallen into the category of groups that cannot fully cross the “bump of originality” in the road to success. Too often talented groups seem to fall apart, not because they don’t have quality songs but because they lack a uniquely original, overall sound." </span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small; font-style: italic;"><br /></span>
So there's that. But you know what's a great way to undermine your credibility, besides that? By claiming familiarity-based empathy and then acting in a completely opposite manner. That's pretty neat.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> At the same time, performance fee's/riders need to be brought to the table much sooner than the week of in order to solidify a band's guarantee in advance. Like I said above, if this payment is the deciding factor on </i><i>----------'</i><i>s participation on the event, I would suggest forwarding me your performance contract before Wednesday when Chris returns so that I can present it to him and it be signed before load in - for your sake and ours.</i> </blockquote>
OR MAYBE IF YOU ALL HAD DONE YOUR JOBS AND CONFIRMED YOUR EXPENDITURES WELL AHEAD OF TIME IN THE COURSE OF PLANNING, WE WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN DISCUSSING THIS THE WEEK OF THE EVENT, JUST MAYBE, I DON'T KNOW.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>We've invested in a lot of promotion for this event weather</i></blockquote>
WAIT HOLY SHIT NO WONDER YOU HAVE NO MONEY LEFT OVER, YOU CAN CONTROL THE WEATHER, I GET IT NOW<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> it be with - ---.-, --- -------, Hooplah, event T-Shirts, etc that all include your name.</i></blockquote>
Aww. So no weather control, then? I guess you can go ahead and junk any plans of being a successful super-villain. (For the record: yes, misspellings are among the cheapest of jokes, I know. I continue to give zero (0) fucks, because in this dude's case, it's a pretty wet well, if you know what I mean. [See?! Aquifer jokes! Now <i>that's</i> something you can't buy any ol' day of the week!])<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> This is expensive marketing (free to you) for any artist trying to get their name out there and raise awareness on your music. </i></blockquote>
Seriously? You're going to pull out the "look at all the free marketing, now kneel before me and kiss my feet" card on all of this? Everything you just described - all of the things! - are promotional techniques, channels and items that you would have, nay, <i>should have</i> been using in the course of doing your job as a "marketer" for the event. Do not turn around and attempt to guilt-trip us into not being paid for our hard-to-substitute services (you did take basic economics at some point in your life, right?) Get your Skrillex-wanna-be jockey of the discs to do our thing better than us, since he's apparently willing to work for free (read: has nothing to offer that an iTunes playlist couldn't do just as well.)<br />
<br />
I mean, we're not, by any means, some super-good huge name or act that's going to just straight-up blow everyone's mind at any point or time. (I am not a marketer, as you might guess.) We're not pretending to be anything more than a working band. But please, PLEASE, show me an example of when you could reasonably assume that you could only pay someone to deliver a service or product the one time, and then continue to receive that service or product from there on out?<br />
<br />
We do this for fun. Fine. We do this because music is an important thing to us. Fine. We do this because it's an interesting, unconventional venue/event to perform our music at. Sweet!<br />
<br />
But do not come to us, attempting to swing your "I was in the music business too and this is how it's supposed to be done"/"we weren't anticipating your cost" dick around at us as if we're new to the game and easily cowed. We don't <i>need</i> you like you seem to think we do - we're doing pretty well at being a little-known Iowa band without your "help," and let's be frank, your "help" is nothing more than having done your job correctly in the first place. This isn't an opportunity for us. This is a show. You are basically one step removed from "pay-to-play" promoters and venue owners. Your opportunity <i>was</i> to not suck at your job. Your new opportunity is to get the hell out of our way.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>With all of this being said, feel free to shoot me an email at your earliest inconvenience. I greatly appreciate your guy's time.</i></blockquote>
<i><b>"Earliest inconvenience?"</b></i> Oh, fuck me. You can't even proofread your e-mails, why should I expect that you can handle this correctly?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06534818311538289843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-44460566560862016952013-05-14T00:10:00.000-05:002013-05-14T00:10:55.815-05:00I Wish I Knew How To Quit You - Wait, I Did. (On Leaving Facebook and Letting Go)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="" name="_GoBack"></a> Way
back yonder in the year 2005, when I was just a jackass high school senior who
had no idea that it was going to take eight years to earn that college degree,
a good friend of mine (who had the good sense to have the school district pay
for actual college classes rather than taking Advanced Placement classes that
did nothing to prepare us for college) was talking about a new website for
college students that he had just joined with a stupid name: "The
Facebook."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As a denizen of
Myspace (shut up, it was 2005, it was still a thing) at the time, I was
hard-pressed to see why I would leave "a place for friends" (shut up
shut up shut up) for a site that had as its mascot what appeared to be the
creepiest young photo of Al Pacino in existence in muted corporate tones.
Of course, when he (my friend, not the creepy young Al Pacino photo)
pointed out that it was "what all the college kids are using," I shut
up and kept checking for access to my college e-mail account so I could finally
get into what I assumed would be this mythical college cyber-bacchanalia (I may
have had some lofty expectations about many things college-related, in
general.) Instead, it was... pretty bland and basic. No HTML
customization, interactions were weird (<i>"poking?"
What? Man, I already don't get college</i>)<i>,
</i>and in their FAQs they were actively soliciting employees (some joke-y
question about network graphing algorithms that I think I finally just got last
fall after a *sigh* social networks class.) Regardless, because it was
new and college-associated and kind of exclusive in that manner, I thought it
was pretty neat, although I basically did nothing with it all summer until a
couple of weeks before move-in and classes started.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Because that was
when I started getting friend requests from people I had not yet met – mostly
women, but even a few guys (I'm guessing based on musical interests, but who
knows) and I mean – was this not college? Was this not the promises and
life implied in every glossy-print brochure and magazine photo littered with
attractive and diverse backpack-strapped students strolling across autumnal
tree-strewn campus walkways in between majestic academic buildings, nay, halls?
I mean, or something?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I want to remember
what Facebook was like in those days – and I guess I do, a little bit, but it's
really pretty hazy. I remember walls being editable by anyone (if I
remember correctly, the analogy was your dorm room door whiteboard, but with
fewer erasable dongs, or perhaps not, depending upon who you were friends with,
etc.), groups were a thing, which rapidly turned into pretty much any sort of
thing one with the time to invest might turn them into (a lot of novelty
groups, which, COLLEGE, amirite), and most importantly, it was limited to your
institution. Seriously. And it was a thing people sorta complained
about, but not really. Or at least, that's my recollection. I also
remember typing in "thefacebook.com" for a lot longer than when the
company apparently owned the actual "facebook.com" domain name.
And actually, now I'm even wondering if the school-to-school thing was
even an issue at that point, since I'm seeing that friends of mine were posting
on my wall in August and I know for a fact they were at different schools.
Maybe it was a "by permission" feature, or something.
Also: college-only. (For about my first semester, anyway.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Point being: boy
things sure were different back then! Gee willikers golly. [presses submit
button, walks outside whistling a jaunty tune] <i>[Editor's note: listen, jerkface, you can't just half-ass it
(quarter-ass it?) and scoot off and cash that check, get back here.]</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Um. For
example. I became friends with three different girls I had never met
prior to Facebook. One is still a very dear friend who I never see anymore;
the other two were roommates, one of whom, in retrospect, I'm positive had a
thing for me and yet I probably came off as soul-crushingly aloof or mildly
asexual when, for example, she asked me to come check on her computer (which
had nothing really wrong with it: it was September of 2005 and P2P malware was
barely even a thing), and then proceeded to hang out, post-shower, in only a
towel while I checked it (the computer) over. I don't know, man.
Anyway, tell me: is that a thing that would happen now? Like, a
complete stranger who happens to be starting school at the same time in a
nearby dorm surmises that you have a particular skill and invites you into her
dorm room after some wall-to-wall banter? (I submit that it does not, but
what the hell do I know.) Actually, what's interesting to me is that for
the first three months of my first semester, the majority of my interactions or
registered wall posts appear to be from women. I lived in an all-guys
hallway, so maybe we never felt the need to post on each other's walls because,
you know, we were actually interacting with each other in person on a regular
basis. (Unlike these girls, because girls, teeheehee, also, see also:
towel story from earlier.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Look: the whole
point of this meandering first part is that, OF COURSE, when I started up on
Facebook, it was something completely different – at least, for me, anyway, it
was inextricably connected to college and young adulthood and it was a pretty
huge part of that formative era of my life. And to some extent, it's been
amazing, thanks to Timeline, to be able to go back and actually see that part
of my life documented in a way that I never expected or took on in my own
right. Hell, a great deal of this written piece wouldn't be possibly,
strictly speaking, without the ability to look in on all of that. And
yes, I'm sure this beats dragging out old, heavy photo albums and who knows
what else in the way of physical memorabilia, or by being able to basically, <i>literally</i>, rehash the text of an
otherwise-pointless digital conversation you had with someone when you were 19
that ended up being kind of your go-to inside joke for the next ten years.
Fine. These are all good points.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> But none of this
explains why I should feel compelled to STAY.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> About a month ago,
give or take, with crunch time rapidly approaching in my final undergraduate
semester, I had to restrict my own access to a variety of sites and web portals
– because I can't trust myself to have any modicum of self-control and actually
accomplish things otherwise. No big deal. I think it was much
harder almost two years ago when I first had to do it, but at this point the
"withdrawal" symptoms maybe lasted three days at most and in any case
I was too busy with "actual" work to really notice. Facebook
and Tweetcaster even got deleted from my phone (side note: immense savings on
battery life commenced, even on a three year-old Android device, which tells
you something right there), just to make sure I had no possible
"outs."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> What was striking
to me was that, about two weeks in, I actually had to THINK about Facebook.
(Like, brief exertion of mental effort, but still.) There was no
mindless/muscle-memory clicking and typing. Of course, having thought
about it, I decided to give myself a 5-minute reprieve to go see what all I was
being deprived of while I was being a student of some sort of quasi-diligence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And it was
basically this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shitty Buzzfeed
repost</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shitty
highly-biased political re-post</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whatever unfunny
derivative of eCards that's going around these days</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Baby pictures</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pregnancy
announcement</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Promo for a band I
barely care about</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lame attempt at
pithy frothing (which is not "pissy frosting" as spoken by someone
with a lisp, in case you were wondering, which you were not, but I made the
dumb joke anyway)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grammatically</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">-poorly-headlined
articles about pet causes (sometimes about pets)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pet photos</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your way cool
lunch/weekend/vacation/outing/brofest/bachelorette party pictures</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"My life is
terrible, __________"-esque statuses</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Re-posts of
arguments I'm barely interested in with people I don't know or care about</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Product
placement/"__________ likes ___________"</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ...and so on,
random sort, shuffle, mix, lather, repeat, never rinse, get off my lawn, etc.
Yes, I know, I've been just as guilty as anyone of a lot of this stuff,
so as regards pot-kettle reciprocal nomenclature, roger, affirmative, I get it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The thing is,
whatever dorm/tribal/collegiate shenanigans Facebook used to kind of limit
itself to, that's not what it is anymore. I'm not sure what it is,
frankly – intergalactic psy-ops, perhaps, wherein we overwhelm our interstellar
enemies with weapons of mass drivel? Is there, somewhere, a crack team of
papyrus or amphora experts who are recording all this bullshit we have in digital
form, to make it easier for the anthropologists of eons to come to analyze
(incorrectly) and make wild assumptions about the religious practices of our
culture ( <b><i>WHIRRR WHIRRR BEGIN TRANSMISSION IT APPEARS THAT THEY WORSHIPED
NUMERICAL DEMI-GODS OF A RAPIDLY-REPEATING/BLINKING NATURE KNOWN AS GIFS
PRONOUNCED JYFES AND LIFE WAS EVIDENTLY TERRIBLE MOST OF THE TIME END
TRANSMISSION</i></b>)?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I can't handle it,
man. The people I really, truly want to keep in contact with on a regular
basis are not being kept in touch with through this clunky-ass hodgepodge of
memes and self-gratifying wankery – and, perhaps not surprisingly, they're not
necessarily the ones that are clogging teh tubez (although they're certainly
far from blameless in that regard.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Having just written
a research proposal along these lines, I know that social network theories
suggest that important ties are usually retained no matter what, but "weak
ties" tend to turn over in large amounts and in a relatively short amount
of time. I'm suggesting that this is beneficial to us – that there is
something to not hanging on to the jackass dudes you pounded Keystone Lights
with as 19 year-old, not the least because if they're still doing it they're
doing it "ironically" and even then not really because of the common
misunderstanding of what the word mea- sorry, I got sidetracked. Point
being: you are carrying so much dead weight, and I can promise you that if
Facebook did not exist (as it managed to quite easily not do so for, literally,
millennia), you'd not for a second volunteer to keep these ties instead of
cutting them. That is how life works.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> But Facebook
doesn't make that possible. It takes more effort to defriend people than
it does to remove them from your News Feed, or for that matter, to let them
blather on and waste space and your time/attention. And even presuming
that you can somehow successfully filter out the noise, is this really how you
want to stay in touch with those who mean anything to you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It's so easy to
stay trapped though. We place way more value on our memories and the
things and people attached to them than we frequently ought to, so of course
you're going to jump at the chance to keep alive any knowledge that you can
about that one girl you desperately wanted to fuck at age 17 or the people that
you wasted time with in the best way possible when you were 22. There's
no real cognitive cost to doing so, so why not keep these ties? And so
you stick around and don't change things up and now all of your goddamn photos
and <i>hilarious</i> conversations are all
in one place and it would just take forever to readjust after leaving it all
behind and blah blah blah, because god forbid we acknowledge that there might
be more to life than our precious memories and their associated artifacts,
right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The other thing, of
course, is that we have all this access to information that we not only never
really needed in the first place, but actually having access to that
information seems to make relationships far more strained than they would have
been previously. I'd like to think I have some semblance of civility in
"real life" (I've cut inadvertent crumb/dip/sauce-spilling by like
43% in the past two years alone), such that I'd never feel the need to go on
the attack anytime I saw a view I disagreed with vehemently – and yet, I find
myself actively detesting certain friends and family members for that very
reason, despite the fact that these various ugly (to me) things pose no real
threat to my relationship with them. But even fairly rational adults seem
to regress into dipshit "me-too" adolescent mode when something they
find amusing or agree with passes in front of their eyes and of-fucking-course
they're going to "like" it or "share" it when they'd at
least have the courtesy to not be douchebags about it in the actual company of
other people. (As you can see, I feel slightly strongly about this whole
thing.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> In the course of normal,
everyday (or in the case of extended family, less than everyday) conversation,
these are things that manage not to come up with any sort of regularity and
everybody seems to have done pretty well. Oh, sure, we all
know/work/drink with that one person no one can really stand because of their
continued need to discuss topics of urgent interest (to them) that are
otherwise pretty unnecessary to converse over in any sort of "polite"
company (a term I can't believe I'm honestly using, but here we are), but the
thing is, you get to walk away from the office at the end of the day or the bar
at the end of the night or away from their particular hobo corner stand, etc.;
Facebook has become so needlessly ubiquitous for so many of us that that
choice, for all practical purposes, doesn't exist. Somewhere along the
line here, the community aspect of Facebook was lost in the interests of making
sure that every aspect of an individual becomes paramount to that everyone
else's... except that everyone is acting this way, which only serves to
increase the noise even further. Which: whatever, I guess – I'm not here
to decry some general narcissism epidemic in society, or accuse Facebook of
attempting to forcibly penetrate our mindbits unless you buy my special 2-ply tin-foil
hat – but more generally, I don't see any reason that I <b><i>have to</i></b> be a part of it.
It's as simple as that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Still, it's weird
to just disengage so abruptly and completely, I'll admit it. As dumb as
it sounds, after backing up my Facebook "archive" (and "expanded
archive," which is more information about your relationship with Facebook
than you probably ever needed to know), I was genuinely concerned that even
though I had a lot of the originals of my photos up there, I was going to lose
a lot of other photos that I had been tagged in, for example – so I spent a
couple of hours finding a couple of different solutions to make sure <i>that</i> didn't happen (even though this
does not even rate anywhere on the scale of "tragedy," by any means –
it's not even within telescope distance of it, for that matter) and even <i>that</i> wasn't enough to keep me from
finding <b><i>another</i></b> solution to back up all my interactions and messages
and posts and the like. In truth, what is the real value of all of it?
Because it's not as if I'm constantly referring back to a stupid status
and the subsequent 15 comments that immediately followed it for some kind of
affirmation; the photos, I mean, okay, it might be neat for my kids to see them
at some point (although they will probably be bored with 11 seconds and will be
back in whatever stupid virtual world that I'm too old understand as soon their
neural implants will allow them to mentally slip away without me noticing) or
for me to remember what I looked like with a hairline that had not receded like
so much glacial ice, and there's no promise that any of the data backup methods
I've taken are going to be any more safe or secure than all that out in the
cloud. But that’s how it goes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There's this
interesting (extremely) short story from Jose Luis Borges, which goes as
follows:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>"In
time, those Unconscionable Maps no longer satisfied, and the Cartographers
Guild drew a Map of the Empire whose size was that of the Empire, coinciding
point for point with it. The following Generations, who were not so fond of the
Study of Cartography saw the vast Map to be Useless and permitted it to decay
and fray under the Sun and winters.</i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i> <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the Deserts of the West, still today, there are Tattered Ruins of the Map,
inhabited by Animals and Beggars; and in all the Land there is no other Relic
of the Disciplines of Geography."</span></i></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Basically, the
point is made about the map-territory relation: can the collection of all this
information about our happenings and existences ever come close to describing
or matching the real thing? I mean, at some point, the meta-data about
the actual data becomes the focus at the cost of the actual data – in other
words, how much are we losing by insisting upon this ever-more-precise
records-keeping? How much of our lives become structured and staged with
the knowledge that some audience now exists that we must constantly cater to?
(Why do I dress for going out with an eye on how many times I've been
photographed/tagged on Facebook in it? MAYBE THE SHIRT IS REALLY
COMFORTABLE AND FREQUENTLY-LAUNDERED, SHEESH.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It's an underlying
concern that I don't need to carry in my life. I mean, when these things
happened, I was THERE. No, I didn't catch everything. I probably
missed a lot of things – probably some pretty great things, in fact. And
sure, if you want to share them with me, awesome! Narrative is important
– I don't deny that. And it's imperfect and incomplete by nature – but
holy shit, that is life. It is okay to not have all the answers or even
all of the information – it's absurdly arrogant to assume that you could
possibly capture it, as far as I'm concerned. I do not cease to exist
because I do not exist in a particular place and time or widely-accessible
computerized social network. There is life after Facebook, much as there
was before it. I'm going to go live it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So that's it, then.
I'm not the first one to address these concerns or throw up these
objections – I'm not special for talking about it or justifying it, and I
present myself as no sort of hero by actually deleting my account.
Facebook doesn't care if I'm gone. That collection of bits on their
servers and elsewhere never completely captures who I am, and as soon as it's
all overwritten, I will have no made mark on their existence. That's okay
– it really is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So, bye. Yes, I’m really sure I want to delete.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06534818311538289843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-80280484044408334582012-11-28T20:05:00.000-06:002012-11-28T20:05:03.582-06:00Window 8 Install Failing? One Very Easy Fix... <br />
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
<i>Editor's note: I am also the author, so this is entirely a superfluous editor's note to begin with. Sorry. Nonetheless, the first part of this blog is really more of a rant about how stupid this whole thing was, so you might want to scroll down a bit to get the actual answer...</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
So more or less since Windows 8 came out, I've been trying (quite unsuccessfully) to get it installed after downloading it from OnTheHub.com (which is the University of Iowa's "partner" for Microsoft products, or more correctly speak, one more middleman to fuck things up, as per usual. ANYWAY), and of course, that meant that I got to play the "frantically Google the shit out of every possible iteration of the phrase 'Windows 8 install fail'" game, as well as the fine past time of "get passed back and forth between OnTheHub (a division of an equally shitty company known as Kivuto Solutions, who were about as douchey as they sound), Microsoft and University of Iowa ITS (who were initially helpful, but in person were your typical front-desk shitheads who refused to let me talk to someone who could actually help me)" - all of which was totally fun, and had me losing faith in my vaunted ability to Google the shit out of something until I figured out (AKA, 94% of what Geek Squad actually does behind their curtain, or <a href="http://xkcd.com/627/">really basically what any good tech support fiend does first</a>), and at one point I even resorted to torrenting the goddamn ISO just in case I somehow was never able to download the installation file (because OnTheHub's baby-retard-zebra service only gives you access for 30 days, ostensibly so enterprising students don't somehow keep using their free software illegally, although how you're supposed to do this without the Product Key is beyond me, so as usual, poor design to prevent unlikely piracy fucks everyone again) until I finally found the answer <a href="http://www.eightforums.com/tutorials/13200-windows-8-upgrade-iso-redownload.html" style="color: #0000aa;">here</a>, but here's the brief summary:</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
(<b><i>HI! If you read the editor's note above, and decided not to read the above rant and skip down here, this is where the actual information starts)</i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
-I'm guessing that at some point, you probably downloaded the Windows 8 preview, yes? For whatever reason, when you go to do it "for real," the Windows 8 setup doesn't overwrite the old file, called the "<strong>WebSetup</strong>" folder. If that folder is still there, you'll get the <i>"Sorry, something happened and we couldn't finish creating the ISO. Restart setup and try again" </i>message.</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
The location of the folder is at: <strong>C:\</strong><b style="background-color: #f6fafb; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: normal;">%UserProfile%\AppData\Local\Microsoft\WebSetup</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
where <strong>%UserProfile% </strong>is the user account you downloaded it under (probably your default account) - this is the folder you need to delete.</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
Once that folder is deleted, run the Windows 8 setup file (<a href="http://windows.microsoft.com/en-US/windows-8/upgrade-product-key-only" style="color: #0000aa;">found here, if you haven't, like me, already downloaded it 8 different times thinking it was a corrupted file</a>), and it should prompt you at that point for your product key - which is something it wasn't doing for me. <span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI', 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">After that, you can choose to make it an ISO, run it normally, run it from USB, etc.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
If you need screenshots, check the EightForum link below.</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px 0.2em;">
(h/t to <a href="http://www.eightforums.com/tutorials/13200-windows-8-upgrade-iso-redownload.html" style="color: #0000aa;">EightForums</a>, where I originally found and condensed this guide.)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06534818311538289843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-23524749693471528902012-11-03T13:27:00.000-05:002012-11-03T19:23:17.132-05:00Why I Should Probably Stop Being An Asshole To Complete Strangers (Una Saga De Los Dos Idiotas En Twitter)<i>(So this is a long and mostly-stupid story and I apologize in advance. Also I'm lazy and don't feel like re-telling it when people ask, so I'm just going to refer them to this page for future reference, as I assume that my posts will be enshrined for the multitudes of future generations to read and think, "God, what a douche canoe.")</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
It all started with someone else's misfortune.<br />
<br />
While my moderate insomnia drove me to my usual routine of <i>checkTwittercheckFacebookcheckDeadspincheckTwittercheckTheAtlanticcheckDeadspin ad nauseum</i> this past Tuesday (October 30th), <a href="http://www.dailyiowanmedia.com/live/2012/10/31/update-police-respond-to-two-armed-robberies-late-tuesday-result-in-hawk-alert/" target="_blank">two different unfortunate individuals were attacked and robbed at gunpoint</a> in a different part of the city. As a UIowa student, I receive "Hawk Alerts" when there's quote-unquote "dangers" on or near campus, but as the land line in my girlfriend's house rang 3 times, here's the <b>actual</b> message I received:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: 'PT Serif', arial, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">“ALERT: Hawk Alert: REPLACE THIS LINE: with activity/event, location, and (optional) recommended protective action. See e.uiowa.edu (More information)”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: 'PT Serif', arial, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
This was not what we might call especially "helpful," and in a manner indicative of the time we live in, I took to Twitter, searching the keyphrase "hawk alert." Most of what came back were <a href="https://twitter.com/kyrae26/status/263513342600151040" target="_blank">tweets pertaining to the ridiculous message above</a> (which, notably, the official UIowa Twitter scrubbed and replaced with <a href="https://twitter.com/uiowa/status/263630408988651520" target="_blank">an apology</a>), and I ended up getting the actual story (as I assume most people did) from the <a href="http://www.dailyiowanmedia.com/live/2012/10/30/ui-issues-armed-robbery-hawk-alert/" target="_blank">Daily Iowan</a> story on it that was up very quickly. (If you want to see some other Hawk Alert fails, <a href="http://imgur.com/uGmTR" target="_blank">here's a compilation from the DI.</a>) So anyway, that's what was up. <br />
<br />
But of course, I didn't stop there. Twitter is fantastic for the fact that people will post stupid shit on there and forget that unless you protect your account, it's available publicly for ANYONE to see and be all "Holy shit, you're kind of a terrible human being" about (for example, <a href="https://twitter.com/BestFansStLouis" target="_blank">the collected tweets of St. Louis Cardinals fans</a> do a fantastic job of displaying this.) So as I was scrolling through the tweets collected by that search, ostensibly to get more information but mostly to, lesbehonest, <i><a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:3krYLn0D0-0J:jezebel.com/5876891/the-art-of-hate%2Breading+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us" target="_blank">hate-read</a> </i>(because feeling smug and superior to complete strangers is always an excellent use of one's time, especially around 1 AM CT, I'd say), I came across <a href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona/status/263522000465707009" target="_blank">this little gem</a>:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet">
Am I the only one who isn't freaking out about the hawk alert? Maybe it's because I'm in a surveillance protected sorority house...<br />
— Brittany Giammona (@brittgiammona) <a data-datetime="2012-10-31T06:05:15+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona/status/263522000465707009">October 31, 2012</a></blockquote>
<script charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
<br />
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Which, okay, all sorts of what I would kind of expect from your classic airhead/over-privileged sorority gal. I think that, given the circumstances, most people would agree that saying something like that is a bit callous, if not exactly grounds for impugning their existence as a member of the human species, right?</div>
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So, given the ease with which one can spread a stupid thing someone else has said on Twitter, I immediately retweeted it:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKKBc2V9vQ6ee-W52s-Vv3EYa8LjKotI6PUSDGWabs5jFQpbdit1j2iauEiBsfJJE6zp33kCxwJQMBP4TFH1WPxeDe3YxbWi5uEwKueZyh9DIjZP5rwhUrGZ2HEYM122e7ukafkGH-WkH/s1600/the+retweet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKKBc2V9vQ6ee-W52s-Vv3EYa8LjKotI6PUSDGWabs5jFQpbdit1j2iauEiBsfJJE6zp33kCxwJQMBP4TFH1WPxeDe3YxbWi5uEwKueZyh9DIjZP5rwhUrGZ2HEYM122e7ukafkGH-WkH/s320/the+retweet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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...and <a href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher/status/263523919733080064" target="_blank">added some followup commentary</a>:</div>
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<blockquote class="twitter-tweet">
Regarding the previous tweet, this @<a href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona">brittgiammona</a> is doing a FANTASTIC job of totally NOT perpetuating any negative Greek steretypes. <a href="https://twitter.com/search/%23not">#not</a><br />
— Matthew Hepworth (@rekrdskratcher) <a data-datetime="2012-10-31T06:12:53+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher/status/263523919733080064">October 31, 2012</a></blockquote>
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However, because I am a moron, I decided it would be a good idea to to keep reading this girl's feed - you know, to reinforce the already-negative conceptions I had about her (again, no one would argue that I'm a peach of an individual for doing this), whereupon <a href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona/status/246063672416428033" target="_blank">THIS was a thing that existed:</a></div>
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I fucking hate group projects.... Especially with Asians <a href="https://twitter.com/search/%23killme">#killme</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/search/%23please">#please</a><br />
— Brittany Giammona (@brittgiammona) <a data-datetime="2012-09-13T01:52:05+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona/status/246063672416428033">September 13, 2012</a></blockquote>
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H'OKAY THEN.</div>
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Naturally, as the <a href="http://xkcd.com/386/" target="_blank">certified internet vigilante of the universe</a>™, I had the duty, nay, THE SACRED OBLIGATION to be kind of a total dick about the whole thing.</div>
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So <a href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher/status/263527891936104448" target="_blank">I retweeted it</a> as well... again, with some commentary.</div>
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Oh man, that's even better! <a href="https://twitter.com/search/%23UIGreeks">#UIGreeks</a> RT @<a href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona">brittgiammona</a>: I fucking hate group projects.... Especially with Asians <a href="https://twitter.com/search/%23killme">#killme</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/search/%23please">#please</a><br />
— Matthew Hepworth (@rekrdskratcher) <a data-datetime="2012-10-31T06:28:40+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher/status/263527891936104448">October 31, 2012</a></blockquote>
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Now <i>I guess</i> there was some anticipation that I might get some sort of response to it (for example, if you are so inclined, and have a serious amount of valueless free time on your hands [I guess?], look up Twitter activity between me and a certain <a href="https://twitter.com/BailofRights" target="_blank">@BailofRights</a> - I waste a lot of time arguing with people who aren't going to change their minds, because I AM <strike>TERRIBLE AT TIME MANAGEMENT</strike> AMBITIOUS), but it's not exactly like I was also banking on that being the case. I thought it'd be more along the usual shouting into the void that is the internet/Twitter/etc. Anyway, I followed it up with my usual sage witticisms and thought I'd call it a night.</div>
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Anyway, the lesson here, as always: Twitter is a black hole of hopelessness for humanity [except for my followers you lovely lovely people]<br />
— Matthew Hepworth (@rekrdskratcher) <a data-datetime="2012-10-31T06:40:28+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher/status/263530862564483072">October 31, 2012</a></blockquote>
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So I wake up the next morning (okay, actually THAT morning, but as far as I'm concerned, the previous day remains the same day until you sleep for an extended period of time, because I refuse to align myself with how time actually "works," I guess), and as I'm going through my morning routine, I see <a href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona/status/263577911280410624" target="_blank">I've gotten a reply</a>:</div>
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I think I'm being cyber bullied.... Anyone please feel free to let this @<a href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher">rekrdskratcher</a> person know they're out of line and obscene....<br />
— Brittany Giammona (@brittgiammona) <a data-datetime="2012-10-31T09:47:25+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona/status/263577911280410624">October 31, 2012</a></blockquote>
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1. 4:47 AM?! WHY ARE YOU UP SO EARLY?!</div>
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2. Cyber-bullied?! OBSCENE?!! OUT OF LI- okay maybe a little <i>I guess</i>.</div>
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This, too, <a href="http://www.twitlonger.com/show/jrd30i" target="_blank">got a retweet</a> (which I had to do a workaround for, because she was apparently blocking retweets. WEIRD) <a href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher/status/263620595386839040" target="_blank">and a reply</a>:</div>
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<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-in-reply-to="263577911280410624">
.@<a href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona">brittgiammona</a> Ah, right.Because quoting someone directly on something *IS* bullying, yes. Maybe try being a less-entitled human being?<br />
— Matthew Hepworth (@rekrdskratcher) <a data-datetime="2012-10-31T12:37:02+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher/status/263620595386839040">October 31, 2012</a></blockquote>
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And yes, that was perhaps a bit harsh, I admit. But cyber-bullying is what people like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanda_Todd" target="_blank">Amanda Todd</a> or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suicide_of_Megan_Meier" target="_blank">Megan Meier</a> endured and eventually lost their lives as a result of - so in my mind, that's more than just a little bit of histrionics on the part of Ms. Giammona, methinks. What I <i>actually</i> did was, like I said, call her out on something offensive she said publicly, with her real name attached to it. (And yes, I suppose there is a whole separate debate as to what the reasonable expectation of privacy ought to be on the internet when an individual takes no measures to protect their activities being connected to their name despite the ready availability of these measures... but anyway.)<br />
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In the course of my morning Facebook/Twitter routine, I also <a href="http://rekrdskratcher.tumblr.com/post/34703117925/if-youve-been-following-this-utterly-silly-but" target="_blank">saw that someone had answered Ms. Giammona's cry for justice</a>:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLUMD8aD6ZFvtb1R_mAK061SBTXT5OzxTKZhU58sQ5mN3JGCDju6_BgUuzamnZRZ5nlaS9MSoIxfpMewU1akWNWJPZzeOU_KphfwDhnj9Q1jhX_50Ux9DZPyrrh4susshY9D2AuZanEgX/s1600/reprisals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLUMD8aD6ZFvtb1R_mAK061SBTXT5OzxTKZhU58sQ5mN3JGCDju6_BgUuzamnZRZ5nlaS9MSoIxfpMewU1akWNWJPZzeOU_KphfwDhnj9Q1jhX_50Ux9DZPyrrh4susshY9D2AuZanEgX/s320/reprisals.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong class="_36" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=622387427" href="https://www.facebook.com/emily.gaziano" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; color: black; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Emily Gaziano</a></strong><br />
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<em style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Maybe you should stop being such a jackass on twitter and calling people out. What did you not get into the fraternity you wanted? Just because you are not a part of the Greek community does not mean you have to bash it. Yes there are stereotypes, I agree. But judging someone by what they tweet? It’s twitter, people write whatever they please. It’s called social media. Get over it.</em></blockquote>
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As I noted on <a href="http://rekrdskratcher.tumblr.com/post/34703117925/if-youve-been-following-this-utterly-silly-but" target="_blank">the Tumblr entry</a> (<b>ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: </b>shameless plug for mediocre Tumblr), <a href="http://www.linkedin.com/pub/emily-gaziano/54/935/608">Ms. Gaziano</a> is, <a href="https://twitter.com/Emewheee">among</a> <a href="http://pinterest.com/emewheee/">other things</a>:</div>
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- a journalism major</div>
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- a marketing major (although prior to these, she was a "<span style="background-color: white; color: #272727; font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Health and Human Physiology/Sports Pyschology" </span>major, so, you know: <i>credibility</i>)</div>
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- <b><i>the</i></b> "social media director" <i>and</i> a writer for <a href="http://www.theodysseyonline.com/" target="_blank">this fine industry/trade publication</a>, where she has <a href="http://www.theodysseyonline.com/results.asp?q=emily%20gaziano" target="_blank">written acclaimed articles</a> such as:</div>
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<a href="http://www.theodysseyonline.com/article.asp?articleID=16839" style="border: 0px; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, 'Liberation Sans', FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">The "Frattiest" Fraternity Member</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.theodysseyonline.com/article.asp?articleID=17355" style="border: 0px; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, 'Liberation Sans', FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>Friends WITH OUT </b><i>[sic]</i><b> Benefits</b></a> </div>
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<a href="http://www.theodysseyonline.com/article.asp?articleID=17655" style="border: 0px; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, 'Liberation Sans', FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">College Relationships, Will They Last for Summer?</a></div>
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- a member of Pi Beta Phi, whose mission statement is, quote:</div>
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<a href="https://www.pibetaphi.org/pibetaphi/About_Us/Who_We_Are/Mission,_Vision,_Core_Values/" target="_blank">"<span style="background-color: #eb99a9; color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;">to promote friendship, develop women of integrity, cultivate leadership potential and enrich lives through community service</span>"</a></blockquote>
...which, as we can see, would well-describe both of these ladies' remarkable and respectable interactions with yours truly. (Note: before anyone gets all up in arms for me somehow being misogynist and expecting these women to "shut up and play nice" - uh, no, that's not at all what this was about. Believe me, if it had been frat bros, same reactions from me. Male or female, I don't care. My point in bringing up the sorority mission statement is to show the distance between their alleged "good things they do that people always leave out when they bring up the stereotypes about the Greek community" and... uh... how members of this hallowed community <i>actually</i> act.)<br />
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So anyway, I replied to Emily. Well, okay, I actually wrote out a more-or-less page-or-so-long rant (in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Notepad_(software)" target="_blank">Notepad</a>, HOLLA!), and then I stepped on the power switch of the power strip that the computer I was working on was plugged into, so I lost that whole spiel - what some might say was a "sign" that I was probably taking this far too seriously - so this was the second, somewhat lazier draft:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0]" style="background-color: #edeff4; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[0]"><b>11:10am Matthew Hepworth</b> </span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[1]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[2]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[3]">Dear Emily,</span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[4]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[5]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[6]">Thank you for your kind words and concern.</span></span><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]" style="background-color: #edeff4; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]."><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[0]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[1]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[2]">Originally I had this super-long rant written out that explained, point-by-point and in detail, why your message/attitude (and that of your compatriot/"sister"/colleague/friend-for-pay) was bad and wrong and what-not, but I feel like if you read your own words a couple more times there, as well as hers, you'll understand better than through any lengthy diatribe I could muster in your general direction.</span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[3]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[4]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[5]">Also, for someone who's a "social media director," I would consider being a little bit more internet-savvy: this message and my reply are being posted for the world to see and evaluate accordingly.</span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[6]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[7]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[8]">I wish you only the finest every single bit of what's coming to you.</span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[9]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[10]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[11]">Cheers,</span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[12]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[13]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[14]">Matthew</span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[15]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[16]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[17]"><b>11:15am Emily Gaziano</b></span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[18]" /><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[19]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[20]">Matt, </span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[21]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[22]">Thank you so much for the threat. Happy Halloween.</span><br id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[23]" /><span id=".reactRoot[39].[1][2][1]{comment38204888:10100215416176433:63_4945092}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[24]">Cheers mate.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Threat?!</span></i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://techredible.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/You-keep-using-that-word1.jpg?9d7bd4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="http://techredible.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/You-keep-using-that-word1.jpg?9d7bd4" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="text-align: left;">(Okay, fine, by "keep" I mean, </span><i style="text-align: left;">"once,"</i><span style="text-align: left;"> but IMAGES ARE FUN HARF HARF HARF)</span></span></td></tr>
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Anyway, back to Ms. Giammona - here were some reactions from some followers of mine:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEkhBa519WpXC8pkrsWVvWaRwZAvJdVN5G4vEI71s0muQ3_d1v6a25appYuTy0FI_wZupjvUFmB_H0rGkrXv_nNZfZQKt3sEnKBWU9_I0YSTE7yxTAY3_2LBfNMvfANhyphenhyphenMgUsZwoXrBNm/s1600/reactions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEkhBa519WpXC8pkrsWVvWaRwZAvJdVN5G4vEI71s0muQ3_d1v6a25appYuTy0FI_wZupjvUFmB_H0rGkrXv_nNZfZQKt3sEnKBWU9_I0YSTE7yxTAY3_2LBfNMvfANhyphenhyphenMgUsZwoXrBNm/s320/reactions.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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But without a doubt, this may have been the best reaction:<br />
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<script charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
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<blockquote class="twitter-tweet">
all i want to know is why @<a href="https://twitter.com/brittgiammona">brittgiammona</a> is trying to cyber intimidate my dear friend @<a href="https://twitter.com/rekrdskratcher">rekrdskratcher</a>, it's just not a nice thing to do<br />
— alan high (@alan_high) <a data-datetime="2012-10-31T13:37:42+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/alan_high/status/263635864377257984">October 31, 2012</a></blockquote>
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<a href="http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/rex2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/rex2.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">THAT'S GREAT HUSTLE!</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(h/t <a href="https://twitter.com/drewmagary" target="_blank">Drew Magary</a>/<a href="http://kissingsuzykolber.uproxx.com/" target="_blank">Kissing Suzy Kolberg</a>, a writer and an NFL blog you should probably read)</span></div>
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I guess here's what I was <i>trying</i> to do (as well as my thoughts on the results) - and then I'd like to reply to some objections that I believe may have been raised by others who saw this, but were kind enough to not do to me what I was doing to these hapless strangers.<br />
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<ul>
<li>First of all, despite the apparent philanthropic leanings of the Pan-Hellenic community of fraternal organizations at large (which is like ALWAYS the first thing that gets brought up any time one makes negative claims about Greeks), I would argue that the actual calculus of utility would show that their charitable works are far, <i>far</i> outweighed by the harms that fraternity and sorority life cause to both their members and the communities in which they reside. I don't think anyone would dispute that the original impetus for collegiate female fraternal organizations (e.g., to provide a support network for the extreme minority of women who were attending colleges in the late 19th and early 20th centuries) was a noble and instrumentally good thing - but can anyone seriously claim that these organizations continue to fulfill that need, or that such a need even exists <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/ccap/2012/02/16/the-male-female-ratio-in-college/" target="_blank">when women make up at least 57% of student populations in public universities?</a> (The answer here, if my gentle leading-you-by-the-hand has not been enough, is "<b>no</b>.")</li>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Okay, so wither their continued existence? Well, in short, go read Max Weber or Georg Simmel or C. Wright Mills - exclusive in-groups of any kind will do what they can to make power use predictable in a fashion that ensures their continued existence and maintains advantageous power and status hierarchies. IN OTHER <a href="http://rekrdskratcher.blogspot.com/2012/09/they-call-me-thumper.html#4">LESS</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/BailofRights/status/251104261637820416">SNOOTY</a> WORDS, when your organization already exists, you're gonna keep it going even if your original purpose isn't the reason for it anymore, especially if you get to feel cool and special and like <i>totally</i> better than everyone else. That's right: <strike>GREEKS ARE NOTHING MORE THAN INSTITUTIONALLY-ANCHORED HIPSTERS</strike> the Greek community continues to exist because it feels like it <i>ought</i> to, not because it actually serves any useful purpose. And in areas/social classes of this country where the, ahem, "prestige" associated with being Greek was a source of power for otherwise-disadvantaged classes of individuals (teh wimmens), it's not surprising that fraternal affiliation gained the status it still currently "enjoys" - EXCEPT IT IS NOW 2012 AND WOMEN ARE NOT DELICATE LADY-FLOWERS NEEDING THE PROTECTIVE CHARMS OF "SISTERHOOD." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Obviously, the persistence of these organizations seems to suggest (rather untruthfully) otherwise - and of course they do, because what are they doing to do, be honest? I.e., "Yes, you, as women, are empowered as never before, so we're not really necessary but if you'd like to continue paying to be a member of our club and have 'friends' it'd be really great because we have this whole infrastructure in place that we need to continue supporting rather than finding ways to <i>actually</i> contribute to society?"</blockquote>
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But, no. Instead, <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:Il_zPwMPDbwJ:gawker.com/5926766/if-you-dont-want-your-daughter-to-be-a-little--asshole-dont-send-her-to-rushbiddies+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us" target="_blank">we get women from already-privileged socioeconomic backgrounds, who continue to enforce this undeserved social hierarchy</a> (if not "actively" causing problems, the fact they are still participating makes them, at a minimum, part of the problem and definitely not part of the solution), women who as a result of their participation are never challenged on their assumption that <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pledged-Secret-Sororities-Alexandra-Robbins/dp/0786888598/" target="_blank">their paradigm is normal and good</a>, and as a latent effect, who fail to see any problem with saying blatantly racist things in a public forum or trumpeting their economic privilege in a situation that clearly didn't call for that information. The lack of self-awareness kills me, and moreover, lends no credibility to the claim that these stereotypes are merely stereotypes.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
(That the second sentence of Ms. Gaziano's delightful message to me was literally "<i><b>What did you not get into the fraternity you wanted?</b></i>" speaks to how powerfully entrenched these affiliations are for some of these women - they can't possibly understand why someone would dislike/disapprove of the Greek system <i>unless</i> that individual had been weighed and found wanting by said system, and therefore, any complaint could only be motivated by their failure to be accepted and of course that means the system IS FUNCTIONING PROPERLY <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W84DLa0CLNE" target="_blank">ALL GLORY TO</a> <a href="http://r33b.net/" target="_blank">THE HYPNOTOAD</a>.)</blockquote>
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<li>And I know that Greek-affiliated people who were aware of this whole silly spat probably were offended both by the viciousness of my remarks and the implied insinuation that they themselves were being targeted for their affiliation. Nope. I hate the system, I was annoyed with (but at least aware of the circumstances engendering) the responses of the two individuals, but I am definitely aware of the difference between an individual and an organization. Yes, I realize that attacking something you hold so dear as a part of your identity <i>feels</i> like a personal attack in some sense, but be objective about it - you are not solely the letters of your pledge pin.</li>
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<ul>
<li>Of course, I realize that there is a sheer ludicrousness <span style="font-size: xx-small;">[side note: that the word is not actually "ludicrity," really bothers me far more than it should] </span>to the assumption that arguing with/attacking a stranger, <i>especially</i> on the internet, will somehow bring their misguided views around to see the light. All hopes for a sudden infusion of reason and clarity aside, we are not at that scary point of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Technological_singularity" target="_blank">technological singularity</a> where <a href="http://irl.urbanup.com/734893" target="_blank">IRL</a> me is ACTUALLY me to complete strangers, which means that people are going to act exactly as they would towards hostile complete strangers - i.e., be hostile right back to them. This is the tendrils of our pre-human brain on the internet, and that's how it goes, folks (or else, trust me, trolls would be vastly less successful at what they do and Yahoo/YouTube comments sections would be sparkling bastions of enlightened discussion as opposed to their current nuclear disaster/sewer-like mutations.) Basically, if I were to act this way in a classroom [confession: sometimes I do in a rather muted form], I'd be looked at as an immature and pedantic prick. And I suppose it is fair to hold people to real-world standards of conversational civility in online interactions, BUT- </li>
</ul>
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...<b>doesn't this also indicate that people who put their actual identity to things they write on the internet <i>ought to be held to the same scrutiny as if they said it out loud?!?!</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
(Hey! Let's ask Ms. Gaziano, our aspiring marketing guru and resident social media "expert," what her reasoned opinion is on this matter:<br />
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<em style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"It’s twitter, people write whatever they please. It’s called social media. Get over it."</em><br />
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<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Companies of the world: DEFINITELY make sure Emily Gaziano's resume lands in your <b>"interview"</b> pile! You probably will not regret it! MAYBE. [All predictions of this blog are held to and neither express nor imply any warranty!1!1!!1])</span><br />
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<b>In the end, what I've done here is write a long goddamn diarrhea of verbiage that mostly ridicules two women I've never met and know no more about than what <i>nearly</i> 2 minutes' worth of Google-searching could tell me. There IS something repulsive and creepy and pathetic about a screed of this length, the effort put into something of such little consequence, a question of what deep and dark and monstrous damages I must necessarily carry with me that would drive me to do THIS WHOLE THING.</b><br />
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<b>You tell me.</b><br />
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<b>Of course, on the other hand:</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>[no but seriously you guys I need to stop being a dick and be a more generally decent and productive human being HALP]</b></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06534818311538289843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-58883538809541849302012-09-14T18:52:00.000-05:002012-11-03T13:19:01.221-05:00"They call me Thumper!"<i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anJtaNY8zNI" target="_blank">(Post title: completely unrelated to anything, but it makes my girlfriend laugh.)</a></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Well hey again.</i><br />
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<i>Bailey <a href="http://bailofrights.com/2012/09/06/abortion-from-the-perspective-of-biology-ethics-and-math/comment-page-1/#comment-4" target="_blank">responded</a> to <a href="http://rekrdskratcher.blogspot.com/2012/09/a-faux-servative-blogger-gets-fire-joe.html" target="_blank">my earlier post</a> (after, admittedly, I Tweeted<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6364255790247972764#1">*</a> at her to get her attention - it turns out that my original shorter comment was caught in a spam filter of some sorts, which I ought to have suspected; on the other hand, we're not exactly talking about a densely-populated comment section between either of us, so it seems a little silly to want protection from comment section spam artists, but better safe than sorry, I suppose) in the comment section of her blog, and <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjteUTUl-BoHM7g9vNgu0GwiecpzE5U6ZLXCf0dX_RypjehjEXeQrasuWRTU_C_M1RkHPgJtRBvvJv34_CLtoWQVjIrpq7QMT9KkjXDvhBwH_avIuFrvLHLmw6OfpPCH2xlEs9x73KGSVs/s1600/hall-of-mirrors.jpg" target="_blank">I felt that her reply deserved its own reply.</a></i><br />
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<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">I’m glad you spent so much time analyzing my asymptote analogy (which was intended to depict how the development of human life is very intricate and evolving rather than characterized by distinct points–the “holes” are irrelevant to that point) calling me stupid, and negating the conservative movement as some crazy group of bible thumpers. Really effective.</span><br />
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Oh, Bailey.<br />
<br />
I never called you stupid. You're not. Hence my disappointment with the way you advanced your argument - I expected better from you know in the ~11 years I've known you. When I first clicked through to that article, I thought, "You know, I'm sure we won't see eye-to-eye on some things but the fact that she's taking this kind of approach to the whole debate is interesting." Sadly, given the type, frequency and volume of the posts that caused me to unfollow you on Twitter and de-friend you on Facebook last fall, I should have known better - but there we are.<br />
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<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">I can’t wait to read the biology articles you gave me that argue about the beginning of human life. Oh wait, you didn’t…you just said “How daaare she claim something as scientific fact!! There are biologists out there that would argue and stuff!” Ooooooh. Got me there!</span><br />
<br />
To start out with, <a href="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/19672118/OBGYN%20Pregnancy%20Belief%20AJOG%202012.pdf" target="_blank">here's a study published this year by the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology</a> as to when OB-GYNs consider pregnancy to have begun. <i>Notably</i>, yes, 57% OB-GYNs who responded share your views - that pregnancy begins at conception, while 28% responded in agreement with the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) definition of <em>pregnancy</em> as "beginning with implantation of the embryo in the uterine wall." (16% were undecided.)<br />
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"Now Matthew," you might say, "that study indicates that the majority of OB-GYNs believe that pregnancy starts at the moment of conception! So stop writing posts that are easily debunked. Also please stop speaking as me in your blog. Starting... now."<br />
<br />
Fair enough, but you'll want to read more of the study than what I'm posting here, broseph. Also, some basic math - 57% isn't a consensus. (Additionally, <a href="https://dl.dropbox.com/u/19672118/12%297-6-264--AID-MFM2-3.0.pdf" target="_blank">another study from 1998</a>, cited by the authors of this study, concluded that the disagreement sat at the 50% conception and 48% implantation marks, respectively.) Yes, it's a majority (YAY DEMOCRACY), but SCIENCE isn't about getting the votes - it's about theory, and refining that theory through observation and testing. Inasmuch as ACOG is an authority in the field of obstetrics and gynecology, I think it's reasonable to consider that their definition carries water, but if nothing else, that seems to indicate to me that there is CONSIDERABLE DISAGREEMENT in the obstetrics field about when exactly pregnancy begins - in fact, not surprisingly, the 2012 study finds a significant association between religiosity/religious affiliation and belief about the start point of pregnancy. (Feel free to check the references provided in both studies; I've helpfully provided you with the PDFs so we can be clear about this. As far as goes the "biology articles...that argue about the beginning of human life" request, you'll find those referenced in the cited articles. I am not going to do ALL your homework for you.)<br />
<br />
That said, whither thy own citations? To call me out for pointing out that you begin your argument with a well-known logical fallacy, rather than responding to the actual argument, does you no favors in that regard.<br />
<br />
Of course, then you retort with this:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><a name="4">I’ve</a> known you a long time, and I’d never say this to you had you not been a complete JERK in your comment, and worse in your blog post–but I have NEVER in my life met someone who gets off so much on toeing the “moderate” line and using words like “de rigueur” than yourself. Doesn’t get more “self-congratulatory” than that. Sitting on a fence doesn’t make you wiser or more reasonable–it just gives you a sore ass.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
First of all, I think my browser history would be completely at odds with what you claim I "get off so much on."<br />
<br />
/opens "Incognito Window"<br />
//searches for "elitist French-y catch-phrase quintuple entendre orgy"<br />
///FAPFAPFAP<br />
<br />
(Har har. This is a joke, you see. About porn. And that you made a remark concerning what gets me off.)<br />
<br />
I don't "toe the 'moderate' line" - I simply recognize that nothing worthy of debate is ever so simple that it can be broken down into the black and white areas for which we seem to be so insistent upon creating boundaries. And holy shit, you're going to take me to task for using the phrase "<i>de rigeur?</i>" God forbid that I choose to use words well-suited while writing; with that kind of remark, you'd think I was a literary "1%" pissing upon the "99%" with words that I DIDN'T DESERVE TO MAKE USE OF YOU VERBOSE PIG <a href="http://i3.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/original/000/001/296/morans.jpg" target="_blank">WE IZ OCCYOUPY LITTERACY GET A BRAIN MORAN</a><br />
<br />
Yo, the thing is, Bailey, have you even SAT on this fence? The view's great up here, it's padded, I have friends on both sides who tell me I'm pretty, etc. <i>Mein Hintern </i>feels pretty good, actually.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> I personally felt your analysis was nit-picky, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
I'm actually pretty terrible at math, but if there's one thing I detest, it's bad arguments and bad analogies. (That's actually two things. Again, I'm terrible at math.) And you know what I did? I picked at your argument's structure. I'm not saying that your main point is WRONG, or somehow INVALID, but good lord, the way you went about it was in no way cogent (OH DAMMIT THERE I GO AGAIN WITH MY HIGH-FALUTIN' VERBIAGE [ARGHHHHH ANOTHER $0.62<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6364255790247972764#2">**</a> WORD NOOOOOO]) and that's what bugged me. I felt like you were doing your cause (one, as it happens, that I have some sympathies towards) no favors with your approach.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">avoided my actual points</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
Okay, so here's what I'm interpreting as your "actual points," as reduced to a logical argument:<br />
<br />
Premise 1: "Any legitimate biology book and doctor will tell you that human life begins at conception."<br />
Premise 2: "It is morally wrong to kill innocent human life."<br />
Premise 3: "<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2An5o9HUO34yIh2oQtLBXU7lThjVHx3-ZYDCT2pLZQpOiE5_JuKKu3BIfcFORNC0SZNogIcsljzImI2echwE7cKd3vbD12pYhU6waPMjBK-gRfoicO0AEuGJPqcdHAjcPEKmz1mQO5EQ3/s1600/asymptote.png" target="_blank">See how the curved line goes seems to slope down, but never quite touches the X-axis?</a> Theoretically, this line will continue to slope downward infinitely, NEVER touching the X-axis. Now in my head, I think of the X-axis as the point of conception of human life." My paraphrase: "If this line is the course of human development and life, the X-axis is the point of conception, except that I just said that '<i>this line will continue to slope downward infinitely, NEVER touching the X-axis.'"</i><br />
Conclusion: "Now, doesn’t this make us sound just a little naive when we use terms like “blob of cells”?"<br />
<br />
Premise 1: I actually just debunked this above. <b>False.</b><br />
Premise 2: <b>True. </b>(C'mon. I'm callous, but I'm not a total monster.)<br />
Premise 3: The premise is self-contradictory: if "the X-axis is the point of conception of human life," but "this line will continue to slope downward infinitely, NEVER touching the X-axis," only one can be true, but not both. <i>[editor's<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6364255790247972764#3">***</a> note: (P v Q) & ~(P & Q) is the logical operation there, and it's known as a exclusive disjunction.] </i><b>False.</b><br />
Conclusion: I don't know. Can someone parse that one for me? Because it sure doesn't seem that the premises lead to the conclusion, so it seems like a pretty bad argument to me. Which is what I was addressing. Which seems to be the opposite of avoiding your actual points.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">very assuming of parts of my life you know nothing about,</span><br />
<br />
WHERE?! <i><a href="http://xkcd.com/285/" target="_blank">[CITATION NEEDED]</a></i><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> and had no indication that you *actually* think for yourself.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
Hmmm. I guess except for the fact that I wrote the whole thing. <a href="http://xkcd.com/329/" target="_blank">Wait a minute... is this</a> a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turing_test" target="_blank">Turing Test?</a> DID I JUST GET ACCUSED OF BEING A COMPUTER PROGRAM? On behalf Excel installations everywhere that are much better at math than I am, I'm offended. (I think. I mean, I think I'm offended. I think, therefore, I-<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlz8qtYrVqEv2pVpoKXie9UTeohN_pPA4TiR6LBD2SQ_z_sQfcSZXkYxGaKLiMjKLjwLsBB9GH-KhISDGKDQmqPt9AoHjzlFTbwmAoVBgNh8UGJ7HLqQgJKECqOvOPIiTL9c2lz2ePdtk/s1600/00bsod.jpg" target="_blank">RUNTIMEERROR</a>)<br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> You’ve always been the “Conform to non-conformity” type, but you’d think that eventually you’d have learned that that doesn’t make you a non-conformist. It just makes you look and sound bitter.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
I- what- just- whatevenis-<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; line-height: 28px;">"<a href="http://twitter.com/BailofRights/status/246666581822803968" target="_blank">Why do people get off on using words like "Faux-servative" anyway? Makes you look like an asshat.</a>"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span>
Oh, I dunno, because when I think "conservative," I tend to think of "minimal governmental interference," not "let's regulate the shit out of things as it suits our particular moral position." But that might just be me. Maybe that's where my less-than-clever phrase came from. Let me ask YOU: why do you get off on the phrase "get off?" That's like TWO TIMES in this retort! And what's wrong with <a href="http://static2.fjcdn.com/comments/I%20just%20wanted%20to%20insert%20a%20diagram%20of%20an%20asshat%20_7e740ce72e839e127e835736c7a3f9db.jpg" target="_blank">this hat?</a> It looks comfortable!<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://twitter.com/BailofRights/status/246670833538445312" target="_blank">My explanation of "moderates": They evolve from bulls, whose butt cracks come from sitting on fences too long & that's how bull shit is made</a></span><br />
<br />
Hold on. You're training to be a nurse, right? You do understand <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bristol_stool_chart.svg" target="_blank">the whole buttcrack thing</a>, right? I mean... it's... it's just that... that explanation, to my decidedly-untrained biomedical mind, seems a bit dubious.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/BailofRights/status/246674592536600577" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: white; color: #b2dca7; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; line-height: 28px; outline: 0px;">@</span><b style="background-color: white; color: inherit; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 28px; outline: 0px;">SynyT</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; line-height: 28px;"> I know. I think he gets off on writing like that--he thinks his logic goes above people's heads or something.</span></a><br />
<br />
WOULD YOU QUIT SPECULATING ON HOW EXACTLY I GET OFF IT IS GETTING A TAD CREEPY UP IN THIS OL' BUH-LAWG<br />
<br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/sgtwolverine/status/246674095289270274" target="_blank"><s style="background-color: white; color: #66c1c1; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; line-height: 28px; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">@</s><b style="background-color: white; color: inherit; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 28px; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">BailofRights</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22px; line-height: 28px;"> I stopped at “I spend a lot of time on Deadspin.” That told me what I need to know.</span></a><br />
<br />
What? That I like irreverently funny coverage of sports and sports media? So sue me.<br />
<br />
Also, with that last tweet, I think we just broke the ad-hominem counter:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://home.comcast.net/~phil.keller/gif/BrokenCounter.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://home.comcast.net/~phil.keller/gif/BrokenCounter.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I guess at the end of the day, none of this really matters. Bailey, I think your views, as they are now, are pretty disappointing and don't align with mine at all, but there's nothing I can do about that. I'm sorry if you think I crossed the line in my responses (which is odd, because I can't find a single spot where I impugned YOU personally in my initial post, but, you know, feelings and all that, I guess), or if I didn't do exactly what you said was okay, (i.e., "<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">That being said, if you take serious issue with any of my points on here, please direct them to the comments section on this post</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">,</span>") - lesson learned, I guess.<br />
<br />
(Not really.)<br />
<br />
<b>Bailey, I think you're smart, funny, passionate, that you have a beautiful voice, that you will probably be an fantastic nurse and aside from our differences, that you have generally been a pretty cool person. I mean you no ill will personally. Take that as you will.</b><br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6364255790247972764" name="1">*</a>God dammit. This is the future we live in, folks. "Tweeted" is a legitimate word that has meaning, rather than just being a fun little onomatopoeia ostensibly bird-related in some fashion.</i> <i>Ugh.</i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6364255790247972764" name="2">**</a>Adjusted for inflation</i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6364255790247972764" name="3">***</a>The author is the editor, because this is an EXTREMELY low-budget two-bit operation, see?</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-88226720481934598352012-09-10T21:04:00.000-05:002012-09-14T10:02:15.424-05:00A Faux-servative Blogger Gets The Fire Joe Morgan Treatment<br />
<i>Because I have this problem where I can't just leave well enough alone, I sometimes read the Twitter feeds and blogs of people who are basically targets of my disdain otherwise, which is, frankly, not healthy. To be fair, they said stupid things first; I just read them and get inordinately (perhaps even FROTHILY) pissy.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Thankfully, I am not blazing new ground here - the classic <a href="http://www.firejoemorgan.com/">Fire Joe Morgan</a> blog set this kind of template for us years ago, and I'm just following in their giant bitchy footsteps. Also I spend a lot of time on <a href="http://www.deadspin.com/">Deadspin</a>. A LOT OF TIME. Anyway, that's what gave me the inspiration to stop getting mad... and start getting (selectively) snarky. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Someone I've known for a number of years has, inexplicably, been caught in the foul-smelling winds of the current faux-servative movement that has sprung up with a vengeance in the years since the 2008 election. And hell, good for that person, if that person were, in any true sense of the word, "creative" about their approach to the whole "parroting the narrative of one particularly loud sector of the shithole that is the current American political system" -<br />
<br />
BUT -<br />
<br />
This person is not. This person IS a college graduate, which, at the moment, makes them higher-status than me (not everyone can pull off the "eight-or-so-years plan" with the kind of flair I bring to the table, y'all), and perhaps as a result, I would expect slightly better writing/reasoning from them, but as you'll see, this is not the case. <br />
<br />
What IS the case is that the following piece you'll read (and have dissected by yours truly) is pretty well indicative of the self-congratulatory attitude that the more vocal wing of the "People's Liberation Front of the Non-Coffee Hot Beverage Variety" has adopted as their de rigueur method of approaching anything they disagree with other people on. Look, I appreciate being a dick just as much as anyone here - but do one of two things whilst taking this approach:<br />
<br />
1) Be funny<br />
<br />
2) Be accurate<br />
<br />
If you can't do one or the other (or both, if you're feeling ambitious), then what's the point?<br />
<br />
*wanking motion*<br />
<br />
Ah, yes, that. <br />
<br />
Anyway, I originally submitted a response because this person claimed that, quote, "<span style="background-color: white; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">if you take serious issue with any of my points on here, please direct them to the comments section on this post, and I will be sure to reply to you as soon as possible. I am always up for a debate on abortion, all I ask is that it be done on the proper forum.</span>" So I did, but it turns out that it's one of those things where the blog owner has to approve the comment, which is HIGHLY convenient when there's a chance that someone might take the things you say at their face value... and call you out on them. Once I realized that my little fit of comment-rage wasn't going to have a shot at seeing the light of day, I done brung it over yonder.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://bailofrights.com/2012/09/06/abortion-from-the-perspective-of-biology-ethics-and-math/">Here's the source piece (for the sake of veracity)</a> - and my response begins below...<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3 style="clear: both; color: #4d555a; font-family: Abel, sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 26px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">Pro-Life: not because the church told me to be, but because biology, ethics, and a little algebra led me there.</strong></h3>
<br />
"Pro-Life: I am TOTALLY not justifying my religious beliefs that I don't want held to any sort of reasonable scrutiny so these are my reasons that I came up with after the fact."<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: #cccccc;">Any legitimate biology book and doctor will tell you that human life begins at conception.</b><br />
<br />
Ah, yes, beginning with the ol' <a href="http://www.iep.utm.edu/fallacy/#NoTrueScotsman">"No true Scotsman" fallacy</a>. Good start. Because any disagreement here could not POSSIBLY be legitimate.<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: #cccccc;">When the sperm penetrates the egg, new life is formed,</b><br />
<br />
Aside from the already-living cells that this mixture contains. OMG ITS CELLULAR INCEPTION (also, HAHA, "penetrates")<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: #cccccc;">which is an undeniable fact. It’s not alien life; it’s not zebra life; and it’s not polar bear life. Nothing can possibly come from that “blob of cells” besides a human. Ergo: human. life. period. </b><br />
<br />
Nothing, except miscarriages, those too - which, to be clear, we don't hold pregnant women liable for negligence when those occur, do we? To say nothing of the fact that proper terms for these human precursors (i.e., cytoblast, zygote, fetus) existed before the abortion "debate" ever did, and I doubt that was merely some elaborate maneuvering of a liberal conspiracy of Communist Satan-worshiping doctors.<br />
<br />
We'll skip the ethics section, because this entire section cannot stand on its own and is predicated by the previous section, so let's skip to conveniently-mis-explained math analogy:<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: #cccccc;">This is an asymptote. (Dear math geniuses, please avert your eyes while I attempt to explain this. It won’t be pretty.) See how the curved line goes seems to slope down, but never quite touches the X-axis? Theoretically, this line will continue to slope downward infinitely, NEVER touching the X-axis. </b><b style="background-color: white;"> </b><span style="background-color: white;"><i>(editor's note: <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2An5o9HUO34yIh2oQtLBXU7lThjVHx3-ZYDCT2pLZQpOiE5_JuKKu3BIfcFORNC0SZNogIcsljzImI2echwE7cKd3vbD12pYhU6waPMjBK-gRfoicO0AEuGJPqcdHAjcPEKmz1mQO5EQ3/s1600/asymptote.png">this is the picture that author used, for reference.</a>)</i></span><br />
<br />
And theoretically, it will also continue to slope upwards continuously, never touching the Y-axis, either, which must mean... *GASP* NONE OF US IS REALLY HUMAN HOLY BALLS THIS IS ALL AN ILLUSION MATRIX MATRIX WHERE IS NEO<br />
<br />
To be fair, you said that this would be not completely accurate, math-wise, and that's fine - however, if you're gonna make an analogy, stick to analogies that don't have holes in them. You yourself said:<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: #cccccc;">Now in my head, I think of the X-axis as the point of conception of human life.[...]Pro-lifers can all agree that the asymptote will NEVER touch the X-axis, no matter how much pro-choicers want it to.</b><br />
<br />
Okay, so in keeping with your analogy, if the X-axis is the "point of conception," but said asymptote never touches it... waitaminute, does that mean that conception never occurs? And furthermore, doesn't that mean that you're REALLY saying that pro-lifers don't WANT it to touch the X-axis, i.e., for conception not to occur, and pro-choicers DO want it to occur? Hmmm... I'm getting some mixed messages here.<br />
<br />
Math hint: honestly, what you were looking for in that particular analogy [and, in your defense, you were thinking along the right lines, just the wrong shape] is a curve that emerges quickly, cleanly, and firmly from the X-axis and ne'er comes the closer to it - so here are two suggestions:<br />
<br />
1 - an exponential curve - pros: it can [roughly] be made to pass through near [but not at!] the origin (0,0) and never touch the X-axis after that; cons: if you want to get technical, prior to the origin it's getting all sorts of intimate [and then less so, in a -y fashion] with the X-axis, but I suppose we can just attribute that to like, pre-ejaculatory/pre-follicular-burst/pre-puberty/pre-birthOHGODHALLOFMIRRORSINCEPTIONAGAIN<br />
<br />
2 - a cubed root curve, where x is >= 0 would also work, assuming you're willing to revise your "point of conception" to the Y-axis [side note: axes aren't points - they're lines, but now we're just being pedantic] and, again, ignore the shenanigans occurring to the "south" and "west" of the origin that still exist but are tragically forgotten... just like all the wasted sperm and eggs that never go on to create a human life [I'd like to put a number to this, but the best I can do is like something that's 40% of the ~105 billion humans [[estimated]] multiplied by 180 million [[average number of sperm per ejaculatory emission]] and frankly I tried to punch that into my calculator and it pulled a knife on me and backed slowly out of the room, but call it a BIG NUMBER] but it'd at least fit the analogy you're trying to make I guess?<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: #cccccc;">You cannot undo conception. Our solution? Don’t draw the graph in the first place; i.e. don’t get pregnant!</b><br />
<br />
BUT THE LINE NEVER STARTS AND NEVER ENDS IT IS INFINITE AND THIS IS WHY WE DO NOT USE TORTURED MATHEMATICAL ANALOGIES<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: #cccccc;">Now, doesn’t this make us sound just a little naive when we use terms like “blob of cells”?</b><br />
<br />
Hey, you know what's naive? Forcefully shoving analogies into places they aren't designed to go.<br />
<br />
But so yo', that's a reply.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-31020501342029358092011-04-29T18:53:00.004-05:002011-04-29T18:55:35.849-05:00You Still Haven't Found What You're Looking For?I may or may not swing by through here quite as much anymore (maybe that'll change this summer when school's not kicking my ass), but in case you'd like to follow me on a more consistently-updated basis, check 'em:<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rekrdskratcher">http://twitter.com/#!/rekrdskratcher</a> <------ Twitter</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://rekrdskratcher.tumblr.com/">http://rekrdskratcher.tumblr.com/</a> <------ Tumblr</div><div><br /></div><div>And... scene.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-36897781626004310132010-09-15T10:13:00.005-05:002010-09-15T12:03:25.188-05:00In Case I Needed More Proof That My Childhood Has Been Shot and Dumped in a River But I Am Secretly Okay With It (A Music Review)In my "Hurrr Durrr I Likez Da Muzikz" series, I delve into my "musical DNA" - the formative structure that defines my musical tastes/jackassery. I haven't reached the part where I discuss the impact of the band Linkin Park on all that (hint: it's large) but suffice it to say that against all other reason, I've stuck by the band, although my affection has dwindled over the years.<div><br /></div><div>Remember <i>Hybrid Theory</i>? I certainly do. For better or worse, my favorite guitar drop-tuning (drop-C#) came from this album - Brad Delson used this tuning pretty exclusively (other than a 7-string on "With You" and Eb standard on "Forgotten") on that album and their follow-up (2003's <i>Meteora</i>), and arguably this album is what pulled me into rock music and its derivatives, because of the blend of rap and rock. Okay, not ground-breaking there, part of their popularity came precisely because in a saturated nu-metal/rap-rock market around the turn of the decade, they stood out over the aggro-frat boy antics of Limp Bizkit and the creepy-weird angst of Korn mostly on the strength of really, really tight production (Don Gilmore is in no way an earth-shattering producer, but it's hard to argue with his track record) and an accessibility that other bands didn't offer. Your mom probably knew who Linkin Park was, and she might have felt a vague sense of unease, but you could reasonably play their music without her totally freaking out. AND it sold 24 million copies this past decade, so...</div><div><br /></div><div>But okay. <i>Hybrid Theory</i> and <i>Meteora</i> appealed to 13 - 16 year-old me, what with my "angst" and all, even as the post-hardcore/emo craze took over and bands like Linkin Park became passe, I stuck by them. I learned songcraft and some guitar from those first two albums; it never occurred to me that "getting" LP songs might not be such an accomplishment, after all. Still, you listen to my first album, you can hear the influence. I studied their DVDs, tried to emulate Brad Delson's guitar sound, tried to push my voice to sound like Chester Bennington's, and counted Mike Shinoda amongst my musical heroes for his multi-talented approach to music (emceeing, guitar, effects, production - I dunno. He just seemed to know what was going on.)</div><div><br /></div><div>But what's interesting is that in the interceding time between <i>Meteora </i>and <i>Minutes to Midnight</i> in 2007, my tastes had shifted. I still counted Linkin Park among my "top 5" (at the time it probably would have been Thrice, Linkin Park, Metallica, Nirvana and... Alice in Chains? I had gotten into U2, but they weren't as heavily weighing on me at that point) but I was nervous about where <i>MTM</i> was going fall in the scheme of the new music scene, where flashy guitar and drums had become <i>en vogue</i> compared to concise chunks of slick production. You had Shinoda's solo project, Fort Minor, pretty much confirming what we already knew - he's a pretty okay rapper, decent songwriter, good producer, but you had to wonder if that was going to inform the direction of <i>MTM</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>And as it turned out, <i>Minutes to Midnight</i> wasn't really what anyone was expecting. With Rick Rubin attached, expectations were already high - and what came out was an emphasis on... politics? Kind of?</div><div><br /></div><div>It was confusing. No one really knew how to react to it. "Leave Out All The Rest" sounded like a Savage Garden song, "No More Sorrow" sounded like a wanna-be Black Album-era Metallica, and really, where was Mike Shinoda? The interplay between the two vocalists was missing - the closest you heard to <i>HT-</i>era music was on "Bleed It Out." Some wondered if Fort Minor had siphoned away the rap, some wondered if there was really any "rage" for them to draw on - when your first two albums (plus remix album) are all multi-platinum, what, exactly, do you have be mad about?</div><div><br /></div><div>Personally, I regretted having purchased the "deluxe" version of the album (with the "making-of" DVD) - it set my expectations too high. But I felt a little bit more even-handed/pragmatic in my assessment of the album: there couldn't be a final word on this album until the next one, 'til we saw the path they would follow and we could go, okay, that's why, that's where they were going, and maybe then it would make sense.</div><div><br /></div><div>SO OKAY THEN. What are the haps, my friends?</div><div><br /></div><div>Linkin Park of the first half of last decade is gone. Time to bury the body. You're not going to hear another "One Step Closer" or "In The End." The balanced blend of rap-rock is gone. Hell, I'm not even sure how much "analog" guitar/drums there is on most of this album - they've very much embraced a synth-driven electronic sound, for better or worse. And so judging it by judging the direction they took on <i>Minutes to Midnight</i>, yeah, the seeds were sown there. Remember how any guitar you heard was less about crunchy power chords and you saw Brad Delson using worn Stratocasters(?!)? Yeah, your drop-tuned PRS/Ibanez into Dual Rectifier days aren't coming back.</div><div><br /></div><div>The identity of the band, as such, has always been focused on its dual frontmen, but in earlier days, there was still the sense that Linkin Park was a traditional band, not a concept/studio project. You could make the case that they tried to become "even more" of a traditional rock band on <i>MTM</i>, but on <i>A Thousand Suns</i>, I don't get that faceless group anonymity of a band at all. The showcasing is pretty firmly on the vocalists and the instrumentation supports that. You thought <i>Minutes to Midnight</i> was poppy? <i>A Thousand Suns</i> is a techno-pop album with smatterings of rock instrumentation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, "old school" Linkin Park fans, you're going to be butt-hurt because your rage isn't reflected in what you hear. It's time to grow up. Meantime, Linkin Park apologists: you know you don't actually win points for defending the band no matter what, right? Like, Mike Shinoda's not gonna show up on your doorstep after you post your 30th "OMG1! STFU if u dont like LP LP rulez 4eva" and hug you. (Probably.)</div><div><br /></div><div>That said, if you come into this album with low expectations, you'll be... maybe not pleasantly surprised, but it turns out better than you'd think. The spoken-word interludes fall flat for me, but tracks like "When They Come For Me," "Blackout," "Wretches and Kings" have the kind of fire to them that you heard on "Bleed It Out" and are probably the closest nods to old school high-energy LP tracks. Unfortunately, these are also probably the STANDOUT tracks overall, other than a sort of random acoustic closer ("The Messenger") which, again, doesn't feel like it's so much a Linkin Park track as a Chester Bennington solo song. "The Catalyst," the first single off the album, is probably the most representative track of the entire album overall - there's still some rock instrumentation towards the end (though it's reminiscent of the boring U2-wannabe feel of "What I've Done), you have a vocal blend of Shinoda and Bennington, and it's got the electronic feel dominating the rest of the album. "Burning in the Skies," "Robot Boy," "Waiting for the End," and "Iridescent" sadly all sound about the same - a bland mix of <i>Pop</i>-era U2. It's almost as if you're having to hear "Shadow of the Day" (the very boring fifth track on <i>Minutes to Midnight</i>) four more times, and while Bennington has one of the more recognizable voices in modern rock, it's not THAT special to where I want to hear him crooning and crooning and crooning... unfortunately, as I mentioned before, this is probably a good indicator of what he will sound like from now on. They're not terrible songs; they're just terribly indistinctive.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can accept this now. In some ways, it's almost as if Linkin Park were a dying relative, with <i>MTM</i> the diagnosis and battle of a terminal disease, and <i>A Thousand Suns</i> is the acceptance and dignified death. As other reviewers have mentioned, the majority of the band is on the better side of their thirties, and the empire they built on neatly-trimmed angst isn't even crumbling; rather, it's quietly faded away. The best thing you can do is acknowledge what they meant to you, celebrate what's still there, and continue moving on. There is nothing life or death important to be found here; it's just an album.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-47199513356858649812010-08-09T15:02:00.004-05:002010-08-17T13:02:32.425-05:00HURRR DURRR I LIKES DA MUZIKS (A series)(Note: there is a very strong possibility that I abandon this after one or two posts. I apologize in advance... this is also why I'm not very good at building fences [HEYOHHHHHHHHHH].)<div><br /></div><div>Because I tend to be (in my own mind, at least) exceptionally narcissistic and self-ruminating, the journey of my musical tastes tends to be a topic of frequent interest (again, to myself... okay, shut up. I spend a lot of time thinking and not talking. Probably for the best.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I always find it amusing when I read the profiles of musicians in whom I have something greater than or equal to a passing interest; without fail, there is always a parent involved who "constantly played X" (where X = your choice of the Beatles, Stones, The Who, Zeppelin, 50's Chess Records bluesmen, Motown, etc.) Somehow this awakens their musical ear, or is some sort of sleeping giant seed waiting to burst into bloom, and maybe they take after a parent or relative or older sibling's desire/penchant for a particular instrument, or it's a church thing... okay, so maybe it's a little varied, but basically, it would appear that there's kind of a formula, based on the above factors, that inevitably plays out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hmmm. Perhaps this is why I am not a rockstar.</div><div><br /></div><div>I remember the musical stylings of 99.3, KWAY-FM, out of Waverly, IA, somewhere between the ages of 3 and 5. It was, if I remember correctly, an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_Adult_Contemporary">adult-contemporary/light-rock</a> format... and basically I seem to recall a lot of Whitney Houston, late-80's soft rock, and Kenny G. SO OKAY, we know that's not how I got started. But that was basically what I recall on the radio of my mom's car or in the house, at that age.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fine. So fast-forward 2 years, different house, and now I recall... Barry Manilow? Good lord, "Copacabana." (One wonders what the statue of limitations is on child cruelty charges, in that regard. Thanks, Mom.) She had a greatest hits tape of his, but she also either had The Police's "Greatest Hits" tape or... it might have just been <i>Synchronicity</i>, now that I think about it, since to this day, the songs off of that album tend to be the most familiar of their work. Apparently, she also had at least one U2 album (<i>War</i>), but I don't recall hearing that.</div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, the funny thing is, and I'm sure I'm not alone in this regard, music was just a weird concept to me when I was that age. I guess I understood that someone MADE the music, obviously, and I knew about bands, but my concept of rock bands was that they were scary, potentially evil groups of people. (The relative hilarity of this world view is doubly compounded for me by the fact that my parents, at the age I am NOW and younger, listened to BANDS. I mean, yes, they came of age in the late 70's/early 80's, and you had the slickly-produced artists [as individuals, I guess?], and perhaps they weren't necessarily into hair bands or punk rock or anything along those lines, but I mean... I don't even know what I mean. I WAS APPARENTLY KIND OF FUCKING SHELTERED, METHINKS.) Hell, for all I knew, the DJs I grew up hearing were just kind of picking music at their leisure and in whatever manner contented them; maybe music was just kind of a THING that happened and came out of nowhere. Anyway, I guess my point, as far as that goes, is that the eventually love affair and/or obsession I would come to have with music was not something that would have been easily predicted or even indicated by my behavior or the behavior of those around me as a young'un.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I was maybe 8 or 9 and I remember perhaps becoming aware of music as its own thing, separate from the tastes of adults, something that I could actually understand as a CREATION of sorts. Naturally, I was turned on to this by...</div><div><br /></div><div>...Green Day. Oh, and Coolio... and also Weird Al. (In fact, it's likely that I was introduced to Weird Al prior to Coolio, which really put a mind-boggling spin on "Gangsta's Paradise" for me. Also, yes, I was functionally retarded.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah.</div><div><br /></div><div>So the neighbor kid across the street, child of a divorced mom (and of course, by the logic of my strict Catholic upbringing, partially and painfully predicated towards SIN NO MATTER WHAT) basically could watch, listen to, and play whatever the hell he wanted. I don't remember watching much in the way of TV over there, but I'm pretty sure I saw my first pair of bared adult breasts thanks to this kid (w00t?) and of course there was ORIGINAL Quake (HELLSPAWN!!!), and yes, Green Day's <i>Dookie</i>, which he had on CD, along with Weird Al's <i>Bad Hair Day</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was something in the snottiness of Billie Joe Armstrong's voice, something dangerous, and initially I was hesitant to pay too much attention to the songs because I could only assume that naughty things were being said. (The fact that this is, you know, kind of true, especially on "Longview," is besides the point.) What I love is, at the time, just based on the sound of "Amish Paradise," not the words, there was a definite feeling of unease for me, like I was doing something forbidden - maybe, I imagine, not all that different from hearing the first rock and roll records in the 1950's. But that was basically that.</div><div><br /></div><div>I started playing viola in 4th grade, for reasons I'm still somewhat unclear on. In fact, thinking back on it, this seems like another decision, conscious or not, to just be a little bit different from what everyone else might be expecting of me. I know it caught my parents off guard - I hadn't shown any musical tendencies prior to this, and I'm sure they expected to suffer through your classic screechy starter instrument sounds before I finally gave up on it and went back to being a bookworm and... doing whatever else I did at the age of 9.</div><div><br /></div><div>But they were wrong. I think after a few weeks I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder; in traditional orchestration, the viola's role is one of support and harmony, unlike your violins and cellos, those traditional carriers of melody - but my already formidable ego wasn't having that. I could already sense that the violinists received more attention than the violists from our instructor; we played in a clef that no other instrument used, and when I proudly told questioning adults that I played viola, more frequently than not this proclamation was followed with an explanation of what exactly a viola <i>was.</i> If anything, all of this made me hunker down even <b>more</b>, cling more tightly to this instrument of mine, especially when the great migration of musicians to BAND instruments occurred the next year.</div><div><br /></div><div>EVERYONE was in band. All my friends, some of the "cool kids," whatever - string orchestra was the second-class citizen of the musical hierarchy at both the elementary and middle-school levels. Somehow, it was an upright, quasi-patriotic *snort*, even "more masculine" thing to be in band, to be a wind player or a brass player or percussionist, but to be a string player automatically cast some sort of "fag" shadow on you. Or at least that's how I perceived things. (Projected insecurities FOR THE WINZORS!!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, whatever. Now, I could have really taken this to its extreme, pushed my parents for private lessons, practiced obsessively outside of school, attempted to teach myself music theory, but... well, I'm lazy. Maybe not lazy, but my time seemed better spent reading, or playing sports (poorly) outside with neighborhood kids, or slowly developing my fascination with (and misguided attempts to woo) the opposite sex. Fine. So what ended up happening was that I never learned how to read outside of the alto clef, time and key signatures remained vaguely frightening entities/major-pains-in-the-asses foisted upon me by my sadistic orchestra instructor, and the idea that any of this shit could actually be rationally tied together in some coherent manner didn't ever cross my mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, I can't completely blame the public school system for not fully educating me in the ways of music - at a time where a good share of public schools didn't even HAVE publicly-funded music programs to offer to students, I was probably relatively spoiled in that regard, BUT, by that same token, music was taught in an assembly-line fashion: "learn your role (part), perform it correctly at the right time, end result is a performance with few mistakes." Our instructor's job, in other words, was not to educate and open our eyes on the wider world of music, but rather to make sure that we didn't make him look terrible at our semi-annual concerts, a trend I would note into my years of playing in high school (and partially why I quit.)</div><div><br /></div><div>So while all that was happening, I at some point started to consciously develop my own music taste, of sorts. Mind you, it was still mostly influenced by what I could hear on the radio - for whatever reason (okay, we were poor, I guess) my family NEVER owned a CD player until 1997 or 1998, but ANYWAY, the station in question was basically a "best of 80's, 90's, and today" (which I find to be odd, given that this was STILL IN the 90's, but whatever) and what I really remember sticking out was the occasional 80's song. Yes. Once again, I had managed to shoehorn myself into another oddity, becoming probably the only 10-11 year-old in 1998 who would readily admit to loving the music that my parents listened to in college... thanks, Friday Night Flashback on Mix 96. No joke, I could easily identify most 80's pop hits, but had you played a year-end Top 40, I think I could maybe pick out the name AND artist of a total of 6 songs on there... let alone anything that was more, shall we say, underground, like hip-hop or hard rock. Those just weren't sounds I was hearing in my household... in fact, I recall that as a sixth-grader, we used to have some kind of "bring your own music" on Fridays in my homeroom, and I'm pretty sure I brought in Prince ("When Doves Cry") and Rod Stewart ("Maggie May"??)... Yes. I was a cool kid.</div><div><br /></div><div>BUT! At the same time, I did acquire a CD player of my own (a cheapie, $25 AZ Jeans-branded one from JCPenny, as I recall) and through a couple of neighbor kids, I acquired Eminem's <i>The Slim Shady LP</i> and The Offspring's <i>Americana</i>... and I think one guy had a good share of Barenaked Ladies' discography, despite the fact that he was a year younger than me. (This same kid is also in prison now for having killed a guy in a gang fight, so... extrapolate from that what you will.) And for Christmas, I somehow ended up getting Weird Al's <i>Running With Scissors</i>, which, hey, was kind of awesome as an 11 year-old. Also, I recall that my dad thought it was hilarious, which was the beginning of a cautious sharing of music tastes that continues to this day.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I remember is that at that point, I definitely recognized the "danger" in listening to Eminem and The Offspring. I still wasn't at a point where I recognized artists as more than just their songs, and there was definitely not the celebrity/larger-than-life factor for me at that point, but I was starting to take some sort of possession of my musical taste - if nothing else, it was your typical adolescent separation syndrome, maybe. I definitely had to hide what I was listening to, lest I incur the wrath of my ever-so-pious parents...</div><div><br /></div><div>OH! And then boy bands happened. This, yes, I do remember quite well... and I suppose that's maybe where I started to make the connection between the music I heard and the "people" as I saw them. Mostly, I think, in the rabidly-retarded reactions that I saw from the girls in my age range, and in desperately (but on the down low!) listening to these songs and trying to UNDERSTAND what it was that meant so much to these creatures whose attention I craved.</div><div><br /></div><div>[On the face of it now, I understand it much better - it was mostly image, excellent marketing, and some very well-written/produced pop schlock that came together in a perfect storm that also proved to be very profitable for the record industry... the ultimate in the shit not only sticking to the wall, but smelling like ROSES (cash?) as well.]</div><div><br /></div><div>Naturally, me being Mr. Devil's Advocate/Contrarian Extraordinare, I had to find something in opposition (if for no other reason to at least attract attention by being argumentative. Um. This is also a strategy I have yet to have abandoned.) BOY WAS I IN LUCK. The neighbor kids were at this time getting into rap, so evidently this is what I chose to embrace (the alternative was not hanging out with them, but since most of my school friends lived a 15-minute car ride away and it was like pulling teeth to get my parents to drive me anywhere, you had to work with what you had available) - although, in all honesty, I never actually GOT INTO rap, in the sense that I knew who the hell I was listening to or what they were rapping about (aside from Eminem - and I think the reason for that was, as I *think* Chuck Klosterman once noted, I could actually understand what he was rapping), but if nothing else, it was the slightly discernible background noise that would inform the music direction I started to get into...</div><div><br /></div><div>But we'll save that for the next time. (Next... post. Whatever.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Thusly, I leave you all stranded in the year 1999.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-87855044754498416982009-10-22T23:10:00.005-05:002009-10-22T23:27:24.716-05:00Desire, or, The Real Reason You're Not Getting Any<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So I came to the realization the other night (well, maybe not THE realization - let's call it a key point of my musing) that the issues I seem to be having with my dating life may actually be due to something that at first glance would have nothing to do with romance, per se.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I'm sure at some point, you've experienced a situation wherein something or someone was unattainable - and that made it/them all the more attractive or desirable. The old "forbidden fruit," as it were.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Well, this is sort of a sub-branch/genre (?) of that whole thing. But hang with me here.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">You see, I'm not so sure it's just the "forbidden fruit" thing - the fact that whatever it is, it's inherently unattainable - because really, that's almost more of a "you shouldn't" (i.e., this is probably not a good idea) rather than a "you can't," as in, it's impossible under current conditions. That, I think, is probably more akin to insanity. (Although I admit it is difficult to distinguish between the two at times.) In any case, a "shouldn't" situation still allows for it to play out as you hope, whereas the "can't" situation is basically like hoping you can somehow violate the laws of physics (unless we're talking about quantum physics, in which case apparently there are no rules... thanks, Schrodinger, you and your cat can go fuck off now.</span><a href="#*"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">*</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Philosophy aside... okay, so let's focus on, say, a love triangle to better illustrate this. Person A desires Person B, who is actually in a relationship with Person C and pretty happy about it as well. In terms of a triangle, the direction of the "vectors" are all pointing away from each other, except in the case of B and C, which is, obviously, a dual-headed vector (a feature you can also find on newer vaccuum cleaners</span><a href="#**"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">**</span></b></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">)... okay, actually, this isn't even a triangle. It's triangular, yes, but you're missing a side, since as far as we know, A and C have no desire for each other (although this would definitely make for a more interesting problem and potentially a seven-episode story arc on a TV drama of your choosing.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">ANYWAY, so in this case, it's not just that B is unattainable - let's say, for the purpose of this example, that B could potentially be interested in A, under different circumstances or after enough "drank units," but frankly, the opportunity cost really isn't economical and the case isn't compelling enough - but for A, the possibility of this happening is enough of a reason to hope it could happen. So, that's your classic "forbidden fruit" analogy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">But what if A actually isn't, per se, desirous of B, but rather the actual relationship between B and C (although A doesn't actually realize it, being not quite as painfully self-knowing/self-aware as say, your author) and is actually just projecting the desire for what B and C actually have as A's desire for B? In other words, A (without realizing it) doesn't actually want B, just what B and C have, and if it's with B, well, great, but if for some reason D (who was not an option until I just made them up) came along and provided the same thing as B+C, is A going turn that down? Nope. A jumps at that shit, and probably doesn't even care to check to see if B is 1) aware and 2) jealous (because A is not self-hating, bitter prick like I sometimes am.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Okay, hold on, let me break this down equation-style:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A -----> B <-----> C</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A -----> B [or] object(B+C)</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A -----> object(A+D) [or] object(A+B) = object(B+C)</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Yeah? No. Whatever. Anyway, the point is, if you want to call it love, A basically equates the "love" of B+C to "getting" B and presumes that will take care of things, which is why A+D is also okay.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">SOOOOOO, what I'm getting at is that it doesn't have to be the fact that someone is "unattainable" that may make them, for some reason, more attractive - it may actually just be the fact that they have a passion for something at all, and for some reason this makes us want to be the object of that passion, since that beats the opposite (which I guess would be no passion at all?)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Right, so I can't actually test this, so I'm gonna go off of my personal experience (and I could be totally wrong here.) But first, let me explain how I got on this topic...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Since getting out of my last long-term relationship, that whole arena has been mostly a frustrating series of false-starts, misreads, and self-doubt. (Well, okay, I grant you that the self-doubt thing may not be inherently related, but whatever.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">On the one hand, I can theorize that this is because, generally, I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to the whole dating scene. I don't function very well in the bar scene - what usually happens is that I end up feeling way too intimidated, drink too much to overcome the intimidation, and then make an ass of myself, assuming I actually do anything. Otherwise I tend to just be judgemental of the girls I see in bars, probably because it's easier to project my own self-loathing on them in the form of CLEAR AND PRESENT MORAL SUPERIORITY. (Also, let's be honest: there are some goddamn sorostitutes, and it is our duty to judge them. This is the role they serve in society.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And that's with the girls that I don't know. I mean, that's relatable, I guess - plenty of guys get a little bit of anxiety in these situations, and a lot of guys strike out - but oftentimes I feel like the odd man out in this town. It seems like the bro-skis at some point had some training in being jerks and still picking up women; I appear to have missed that class before I graduated from high school.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I also spent the first 3 years (2.5, but whatever) of college in a relationship. So maybe when there was supposed to be this crucial period of drunken, lascivious jackassery occurring, I was busy being a pretty okay boyfriend and wondering what the hell was wrong with guys who were single... it couldn't be that hard.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">NEWSFLASH: IT IS.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Okay, so ignore the bar scene; outside of that, gatherings, workplace, wherever, I just fundamentally do not understand how to interact with someone that I'm interested in, with a mind towards making them interested in me. Oh, on a rational, academic level, I understand flirting, and I can watch other people and analyze the shit out of it. When it comes to me though... I got nothing. If I'm consciously "spitting game," then not only do I seem like kind of a jerk, but I myself am aware of what I'm doing, and I feel a little bit disgusting; on the other hand, I rarely find myself in situations where I'm unconsciously, naturally flirting. Mostly because my rampaging self-awareness crashes in to point out to me that, "Hey! You're doing it! You're doing it!" in much the same manner that a proud parent watches their kid finally ride down the street without training wheels... and in that same vein, has that moment of horrified realization that, no, they're not doing it, they don't even know how to brakeOHFUCK and then their kid crashes into a curb or a tree or a parked car or the next door neighbor's dog. Kind of like that, except this is all internal dialogue that manages to happen in the span of 3 - 10 seconds, and then we each go about our business and separate ways, and I manage to self-flagellate for the next hour or so. Point being, from an evolutionary standpoint, my genetic line would probably normally not able to keep going, so I can only rely on what I assume is pity most of the time.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Right, okay, so back to the main idea here. So since I've come back on the market, so to speak, I've spent an inordinate amount of time desperately trying to get back off the market - and I think that there may actually be some sort of invisible desperation pheromone that I'm giving off. Yet, you'd think that with the amount of time I (kind of) spend on it, eventually my luck would change, right? Sort of a probability thing? Nah.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And that's how I came to realize this the other night - desperation is not attractive. (Duh.) By which I mean, even if your intentions aren't blatantly obvious, there is still some unconscious awareness on the part of both people that someone is just trying a little too hard.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">However! Let's say you have something you're just absolutely passionate about - if it was a person, you'd be head-over-heels in love - and that's where you focus that same energy (both positively and angry), because that's where you're at your most authentic, stripped of any trimmings, for better or worse.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Let's tie that back to our good old open-ended love triangle from before. You've forgotten it already? Okay... go back and read it. I'll wait.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Alright alright? So recall how I theorize that A might not necessarily be attracted specifically to B - the attraction might be actually be to the equivalent of (B+C), but is basically best manifested as B?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In a more tangible form, when you have your passion consuming you and all that energy, in some ways, I think that in the same way it strips away an outer facade that we build up for ourselves, partially as a protective measure and partially as a attraction measure - people want to be liked, right? But if it's really at our most visceral level that attraction sometimes comes from, then doesn't it follow that at our most authentic, if someone was going fall for us, that's when they SHOULD?!?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My own personal experience seems to quasi-confirm this theory; like I said at the beginning, I could be way off, but whatever, I still think my theory holds true. ANYWAY, so according to my ex, she first found herself attracted to me when she came (with a couple of our mutual friends) to see my high school-era band play a battle of the bands; and I can promise you it wasn't a physical attraction - I took off my shirt at one point and the crowd's reaction ACTUALLY MADE ME PUT IT BACK ON after one song. Six months later, when we encountered each other again in the two nights that led to us beginning our relationship, I was hard at work writing/recording my first album, eschewing school (I had a FUCKING FULL-RIDE SCHOLARSHIP, which I proceeded to piss all over - at least I have my artistic integrity [?!?]) and any general sense of responsibility and/or reality... the former situation had me in full-on band mode (just ask my former bandmates - I was straight-up creative, dedicated, and probably NUTS), and the latter situation was a combination of creativity and wonder at the things I was able to do - in both cases, I was "in love" with my music, you know? In any case, I highly doubt it was my "charms" that made me attractive to her - but I think she sensed that fire in me and wanted it, maybe without completely realizing it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Obviously, it's not everything - you still need a lot of other things to make a healthy relationship work, and once I'm in one, I think I'm a pretty decent partner overall, but yeah, that was kind of my realization.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So fast forward to the present, and now, being jobless, broke, single, and overall not incredibly happy, it occurs to me that in order for me to "love" someone else, I need to love something in my life, which, given the current state of things is difficult to find, but in all honesty... I still have music. I have SO MUCH music... and yeah, it's really hard to find people to play it with, and it's a little frustrating, but you know... my best high time recently was getting to play an acoustic set in front of my friends, co-workers, and someone I was pursuing at the time (and if I do say so, I was definitely some sort of confident in regards to her - probably because I was IN THE ZONE), and in watching a video of the aforementioned battle of the bands... Okay, I have terrible stage presence and crowd interaction, I'll grant you that, but when we were firing on all cylinders that night, you can just see it in my body language and in my face - it was pure bliss. That's where I'm happy. That's where I'm awesome. That's where my fire is..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And so what if the EP hasn't done as well as I wish it would have? I still went and did it, and between that and the first album, you know, that's 20 songs THAT ARE MINE. Nobody can take that away from me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">(Side note that partially adds maybe some weight to my theory: a former interest of mine came back into my life right as the EP was coming out... and I was kind of IN THE ZONE then too, because things got started up between us again. Granted, it turned into a shitstorm, but I suppose I can also blame this on my disappointment with the EP's sales, which of course crossed over into the rest of my life and made me less attractive, but still. I think the theory holds water.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And weirdly enough, so, I was reading a book by Nick Hornby - "A Long Way Down" - and in it, there's an American musician who, along with the other three main characters, tries to commit suicide on New Year's Eve, but then they all refrain - anyway, so basically, he had a band (and they tried real hard? Okay, sorry) and they were moderately successful, but then they break up and he's stranded in England, and to make matters worse, his girlfriend dumps him, ostensibly because "she can't be with him anymore if he's not going to be a musician." So he's in the shitter, delivering pizza and contemplating suicide... anyway, so the whole plot of the book centers around these four characters finding reasons to live, but at the end, he somehow meets up with girlfriend and ex-bandmate, and his girlfriend clarifies what she meant - she didn't leave him because he wasn't in a band anymore, but because it appeared he had given up on the one thing that he loved more than anything else - music. So they don't get back together, but I think she had a good point (obviously, since it sort of lends credence to what I'm saying) - how can you give love to others if you can't love yourself, or by extension, the thing that most makes you... you? Anyway, it was an odd coincidence, but I'll take it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So really, the point is, find what it is in life that makes you happy, and go do that. The rest, I think, will just follow. :-)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Notes:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><a name="*"></a></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> *</span></span></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Yeah, I realize it's very much a gross oversimplification of quantum physics and the whole thing with Schrodinger's cat, and I'm probably really referring to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, but if you're still reading this note and shaking your head, you know what that makes you? A GODDAMN NERD. NERRRRRRRRRRD!</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><a name="**"></a></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">**</span></span></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I just made that up.</span></i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-51039264664058740312009-07-28T02:31:00.003-05:002009-07-28T02:56:50.176-05:00pride, possibly in the name of love maybe<div>things that are a plus:</div><div><br /></div><div>1) in the last week, i've dropped from 58 to 43 on the Burns Depression Checklist. So now, instead of being severely depressed, i'm evidently only MODERATELY depressed. i can only assume that this is a positive step of some sort.</div><div><br /></div><div>on the other hand, if you look at my counter, i look like a damn alcoholic. granted, this is about 2 weeks' worth of drinking there, but there's easily at least 30 standard(?) empty bottles of beer there... from me... drinking by myself. i haven't done dishes in about a week, i have clean laundry chilling on my couch and my drums are kind of packed up all over my living room (as opposed to, say, my dining room, or family room... i have 3 rooms in my place, if you count the bathroom as one.)</div><div><br /></div><div>it's a combination of things, to be honest. obviously, my last post dealt with a sort of realization - a fear, of sorts, of fully committing to anything, and the possible reasons behind that. what i think i might have left out is the effect that it's had on my creative process and my life, to some extent, in general.</div><div><br /></div><div>musically, i think i have a lot of great ideas, but executing them to their full extent is evidently rather difficult for me. you see, i think "Highland Park" was something of a red herring for me - even as i was the one who wrote the songs, i had the advantage of having sort of "field-tested" them with a full band, as it was really supposed to be Nearfall's first album, so i at least had an idea of the arrangements and such. and frankly, some of how those songs turned out was because of how they ended up working when i was in Nearfall - the compromises i made on songs to make sure they would work for us ended up becoming habit. if nothing else, they had input from people who weren't inside of my head at all times (not that i am implying that there are people inside of my head at all times or at any times for that matter. in case you were wondering.)</div><div><br /></div><div>and no, there wasn't an overarching "theme," if you will, for "Highland Park." it was basically a collection of songs that i had written and decided to release. i can claim a sort of musical story arc (like one of those ones we always used to use in middle and high school to chart a story's progression... the name escapes me at the moment) - i think there's a rise and fall of tension, kind of, on that album, or an attempt at it - and if nothing else, it serves as a unified collection of where and who i was in that time (late high school/early college?)</div><div><br /></div><div>"A Preview of What Lies Behind Us," on the other hand, was deliberately an EP - i knew that there was no way i could tie any of it together. to some extent, i'm okay with that, but at the same time, i kind of feel like it was whatever i had that was just... "finished." and maybe there's something to be said for why certain songs were finished or why i was motivated to complete them as opposed to others, but you really can't claim any sort of raison d'etre that explains how all of the songs are connected... which is sort of why the release has the title it has - about half of the songs on there came from the time of Nearfall and just had never really been fleshed out, and the other half kind of show maybe what i'm capable of in general, so i guess it's a glimpse of the future and the past... you know?</div><div><br /></div><div>i realize that for most people, this is relatively a small issue (this probably goes without saying... given that i am kind of the sole driving force behind my work. well, not true, but whatever. maybe the sole executive force. yeah. we'll go with that.) in fact, i'm pretty sure that i'm sounding like a pretentious "artist" as opposed to what i really kind of am... which is just a (to this point) relatively unsucessful multi-instrumental musician with a mediocre singing voice... who just happens to really care about this more than i think i can really explain.</div><div><br /></div><div>at the moment, i've sort of lost my train of thought, but i've decided to put up some of <a href="http://bit.ly/2HMf6d">my old writings from my freshman year at UNI...</a> i know just getting this out on paper (MSnotepad?) sometimes helps more than i remember, and a certain webcomic i've been reading lately has inspired me to maybe not hold everything in as much. so we're gonna keep trying this.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-58874295672002380552009-07-22T03:16:00.000-05:002009-07-22T03:17:13.189-05:00a realization of a fear<div>small revelation:</div><div><br /></div><div>i think i unconciously keep myself from really becoming a part of anything larger, or fully committing to anything more than just me. the catch to this, however, is that it only it serves to isolate me, to make me feel even more lonely at times than i already feel.</div><div><br /></div><div>examples:</div><div><br /></div><div>- when it comes to music that is not my own, in trying to work with other musicians, i find that i either a) refuse to branch out to anyone new at all or b) beg off or disappear after a few sessions. why? i suspect this has to do with the way that i left nearfall. all the energy and time i put into that band at that age, and then the frustration in realizing that it wasn't going to become what i wanted it to be, and the subsequent severing of ties with the rest of the band made me leary of working with others, of seeing my vision taken away, destroyed, my dreams stomped on and ruined right in front of me. to that end, even when it involves my own work and having complete control over it, my reluctance to trust others with my work keeps me from finding people to go out and play with - and thereby keeps me in the same defeated, but less vulnerable, position i find myself in. along the same lines, i find it hard to even go and jam or write with other people for much the same reason - why put work into something that will most likely never come to fruition or worse, be grotesquely distorted beyond what is enjoyable for me?</div><div><br /></div><div>-my workplace (and by extension, my social circle). when i first moved to my current store, i assumed that it would be an easy transfer - unfortunately, it was not. not only did i not have a definite spot available for me, it would be six months before one would open up - and it would be a demotion. from this, it appeared that even within an organization i had been a part of for 2.5 years, there was nothing secure about my employment, and that the store i was leaving did not see fit to better assist me in my transition - essentially leaving me out to dry. (the facts are much more nuanced and better explain the issues, but here i am explaining the perceptions of events that have led to the way i now face things.) in any case, appearances being what they were, the store i transferred into at least had somewhat of an excuse - they didn't know me and had no one to really advocate on my behalf, therefore, why waste the time investing a stranger in a valuable position? my old store, on the other hand, seemed to have washed its hands of me as soon as i left - even if it wasn't entirely the case - and therefore, i evidently came to assume that my value as an employee only went so far. in one sense, this may have been a blessing in disguise - i came to find myself working hard to prove my value once i started working at the second location, eventually resulting in my promotion to department senior and my eventual transfer to the department that i am in now (where i am well-suited in terms of knowledge base and skills.)</div><div><br /></div><div>the flip side of this, however, was that it took me a long time to feel comfortable integrating myself into the store's social scene, and given the demographic of the store's employee base, it stung even worse than it otherwise might have. for whatever reason, i kept to myself initially (especially given that the position i was in is generally undervalued among employees) and this didn't help make me very approachable - which basically spiraled into me feeling like the eternal outsider until recently (and even then, there is still a sense for me that i will never fully feel at home with the people that i work with.)</div><div><br /></div><div>unfortunately, my workplace is more or less my social circle. i originally moved to this city to be with my girlfriend at the time, and as a result her friends were my "friends" (i use the term lightly because i essentially only associated with them while i was around her - they were not necessarily people i would have gone out of the way to befriend and pursue a relationship of any value with.) at the same time, i felt like i had left my "real" friends behind in my old city, so any pursuit of new friendships down here evidently smacked of a betrayal of sorts to me - therefore, i grew complacent with the situation i had. unfortunately, when she and i broke up, again, the ties i had were quickly severed, a situation all the more exacerbated by a rebound relationship that i became briefly involved in - in any case, i was essentially left stranded in a city where the main form of recreation was drinking, most friendships were already made, and most people my age were in their final year of school and not looking to build any sort of relationship of substance, given the transient nature of this town.</div><div><br /></div><div>in short, i found myself lost, floating, cut off from what i at least "knew" (even if i didn't like what was there) and not finding the alternative (the people i worked with) to be a very attractive substitute. unfortunately, circumstances didn't serve to disprove what i already seemed to perceive about the newer group, but they were my only option.</div><div><br /></div><div>still, however, what this really served to do was to make me more reserved - a part of the group to some extent, but still always an outsider, deliberately so, just to make sure that i couldn't be "abandoned" again.</div><div><br /></div><div>-in general, as i look back through life, i can see this trend of making sure that i was always NOT "completely" part of something - a desire not to be pigeonholed, branded, easily identifiable - and yet at the same time, recognizing that it seems to have only brought me loneliness and despair. this same trend, i believe, has begun to affect me creatively - i find it hard to commit to any sort of creative work or begin it, because of the fact that it might fail and that my time will have been wasted... and yet i have overcome this on occasion, which only seems to make me think that the creative forces behind what i do must be stronger than i can even realize, to overcome what seems to be overarching paralysis throughout the rest of my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>then, i must ask - where does this refusal to commit myself to anything - this thread of neutrality and complacency - where does it come from? why do i let this fear of just doing something, starting something, finishing something and moving on control my life?</div><div><br /></div><div>.....</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-83460097427271176112008-12-18T03:30:00.000-06:002008-12-18T03:45:53.453-06:00Ummm... so let me put it this way. <br /><br />The flu SUCKS.<br /><br />It used be I hated getting it because I never got sick (except, you know, when I caught the flu.) So of course, I was no good at being sick... which made/makes me a miserable, whining baby when I got/get it.<br /><br />This time around, of course, it was no different. Came home from retail paradise early Monday evening (having procured the white board I assume will jump-start me, creatively... or not), and suddenly I was aching just everywhere in my body. Then I started getting the chills. Urgh.<br /><br />So I climbed into bed, hoping that couple of hours sleep would take care of it. No such luck. Woke up at a quarter to 10 (PM) and decided that it would probably be a good idea to forewarn the esteemed leaders that yours truly might not be in the next day. There was still a little bit of hope though - my shift wasn't until 3 PM the next day, so I hoped I could just sleep it off and bounce back. Unh-uh.<br /><br />My ex was kind enough (during finals week, especially) to bring over some cold/flu medicine, soups, orange juice, and some seasonal Hostess cakes (?); yet another reason I can't figure out how exactly I feel about her. But that's an entirely different story.<br /><br />So I took the nighttime medicine, and dropped into my bed. Whereupon I proceeded to suffer an epic 18-hour battle between two forces fighting over whether my body should a) lay as close to linear as possible and sweat buckets or b) curl as tightly as possible inwards and freeze. The whole time, as well, I think I was actually hallucinating the various parties arguing over which way was better. Yi...<br /><br />It got a little bit better in the evening, but I still had to call in sick for today. Lamesauce. Oh well, I think I'm headed back uphill now, mostly just a little cough, sore throat, and some congestion.<br /><br />Just wanted to note that I'm really running into the problem of finding songs and lyrics that in no way match up to each other AT ALL. Urgh. Like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole... and it'd be one thing if it was a couple of isolated incidents, but I have a ton of lyrics and ton of instrumental ideas stacked up, and the results as of yet have not been very encouraging... maybe the lesson here kids is, don't wait too long before you start working on the next one. Or something. Sleep now?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-64417925586440828162008-12-11T01:13:00.000-06:002008-12-11T01:38:23.713-06:00Sometimes I question whether or not anything really inspires anymore... if there's really innovation or if it's just a different angle on the same old thing.<br /><br />Earlier today I read a <a href="http://www.time.com/time/business/article/0,8599,1864168,00.html?iid=perma_share">Time article on what Detroit is facing if to "survive"</a>, and some of the things they mention as having previously thwarted off disaster included... SUVs. Really?? Somehow, it made sense to keep making these vehicles, knowing that they used ridiculous amounts of gas, and in the meantime, UAW/associated unions got to kept demanding ridiculous benefits, even as it became more and more apparent that the way of life they were so desperately trying to "preserve" was fast disappearing. I tell you what, clutching just that more tightly to something doesn't usually keep it alive... usually chokes it off, actually. But anyway. That's more of a "relevant" issue.<br /><br />I guess in listening to music, it just amazes me how often the most successful stuff is that which tends to fall back into the same usual chord progressions or scales or whatever, to the point that even if I've never heard a song, there's a good chance I can guess its direction within minute... and I feel like that paralyzes me as I'm working on my new stuff. I really feel like there's a difference between "good" as in, it's pleasing to the ear but quickly fades into the background, and "good" as in, maybe more complex than the ear can just take in a single listen... requires a little bit more appreciation. (I swear I've read somewhere that one of the main reasons children don't like liver, for example, is the inability to "appreciate" some of the more complex flavors and subtleties that their immature taste buds simply can't recognize... having not tried it since I was 5, I can't confirm or deny.) And I mean, that's not to knock some of the great pop writing (to say nothing of all the music I don't listen to/haven't heard... I know I need to expand these here horizons), it got to that point for a reason... well-written, universal appeal.<br /><br />Maybe what I'm looking for is justification that I haven't really made much progress with my new material, partially because I'm overwhelmed with how much crap (that may eventually be polished into "less-than-crap," hopefully) I've either written lyrically or kind of come up in just messing around on my various instruments that I "play," and partially because I'm torn between what I guess you could call "settling" with what I know have, and the desire to see what could happen if I keep working at it.<br /><br />Let's keep in mind that I have no deadline, no real impetus to just throw down and push more product out there... I'm not sure if I've even sold more than 20 copies of my last album, with virtually no promotion and no shows, so it's like there's a market begging for my sweet, sweet music. Basically, I think it comes down to two things: first, that it's been almost three years since my last release, I've bought more equipment that I haven't really used that I basically justified for using on this release, and I'd like to show something for all of that, especially in light of some of my newer influences; and secondly, knowing that there are those out there who I came up in the "scene" with who are currently doing things or at least appear to be, and just the sense that I don't want to "fall behind."<br /><br />I feel like I've got a voice worth sharing, but again, it sort of comes back to my original question: will I really be a unique voice, or am I just providing a different lens with which to view the music I now love for others...?<br /><br />Listen to my album from 2.5 years ago, and I think you could probably pick out 5 obvious influences: Linkin Park, Thrice, Metallica, Nirvana, and Alice in Chains. Now, bear in mind, there's probably nothing wrong with aiming high, but I feel like I've gotten a lot more self-concious about sounding so "radio-friendly..." and yet these are all great bands, why the hell wouldn't I want to be compared to them?<br /><br />So who am I doing this for, then? Knowing that I have no clamoring audience, I would say that it becomes obvious: myself. Which is tough schtuff, because <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span> don't even know what I want.<br /><br />I think the plan is to get this EP out ASAP, see if anyone's like, "Oh sweet, you're back!" Worst case, I get exactly the same response as before. I can live with that.<br /><br />This was a ramble.<br /><br />Sorry.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364255790247972764.post-70910919576816429822008-12-05T04:06:00.001-06:002008-12-05T04:11:14.100-06:00Back in the game?Yeesh.<br /><br />I haven't honestly "blogged" since high school, when it was all the rage on MySpace. (If you can manage to find that embarrassing, if somewhat heartfelt stream of consciousness, abandon hope all ye who enter.) So we'll see how this goes; I'm partially just overly excited about finally getting a bunch of my Google crap to work together (or maybe just figuring out how to make all this stuff work together... having not really tried before.)<br /><br />Eventually here, I'll probably post up some of my longer written works, or at least link to them, but I'm sort of hoping this will allow me to get back into the writing game while I'm busy kind of treading water in the rest of my life.<br /><br />Stalk/comment away.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0